Category: English

One year after menopause, my period came back. My best friend said this wasn’t normal and told me to get to the hospital immediately. The test results were covered in dense data I couldn’t understand. The doctor stared at the report for a long time, then suddenly looked up and asked me, “Is your husband here?” I said he was waiting outside. The doctor said, “Have him come in. There are some things I need to tell him directly.” I panicked. “Doctor, is it some kind of disease? You can just tell me.” The doctor shook her head. “This matter—he needs to know.” After my husband went in, the door closed. I pressed my ear against it and heard the doctor’s first sentence: “Your wife’s condition is very unusual…” 0 I’m forty-five years old. I’ve always been healthy. One year after menopause, I started bleeding again. Not much, but bright red. My heart sank. My best friend Lily said this was called postmenopausal bleeding, and it wasn’t good. She told me to get to the hospital right away. I didn’t dare delay. The next day, I had my husband Marcus accompany me to City First Hospital. I got an appointment with a specialist. After a series of tests, it was already afternoon. I sat in the gynecology director’s office holding a stack of reports, my heart pounding with anxiety. The smell of disinfectant in the office was so strong it was suffocating. Marcus sat next to me, his hand gripping mine. His palm was hot and sweaty. I knew he was even more nervous than I was. The doctor was a woman in her fifties, Director Wilson. She took my test reports and examined them one by one, extremely slowly and carefully. Her brow was furrowed from the start. My heart sank along with her expression, bit by bit. Was it some terrible disease? Cancer? I didn’t dare think about it. My son had just started college. I hadn’t seen him settle down yet. If I died, what would happen to this family? Marcus felt my trembling and squeezed my hand hard. “Don’t be scared. It’ll be okay,” he said in a low voice. His words didn’t help. My fear was like vines, growing wildly from the bottom of my heart and up, wrapping around my throat. Finally, Director Wilson put down the reports. She pushed up her glasses and looked past me at Marcus. “You’re her husband?” Marcus nodded quickly. “Yes, I am.” Director Wilson’s expression was complicated—sympathetic and grave. “You—come with me for a moment.” She pointed to the inner office. I froze. Marcus froze too. “Doctor,” I spoke first, my voice trembling, “is my illness very serious? Just tell me directly. I can handle it.” Director Wilson shook her head. Her gaze remained fixed on Marcus’s face. “There are some things I need to discuss with your husband first.” “Why?” I grew anxious. “It’s my own body. Why can’t I know?” Marcus also said, “Director Wilson, just say what you need to say. We’re husband and wife. There’s nothing we can’t hear together.” Director Wilson’s expression didn’t soften at all. She stood up, her tone brooking no argument. “You come in first.” She walked into the inner office first, leaving the door slightly ajar. Marcus glanced at me, his eyes full of reassurance. “Don’t worry. I’ll go in and ask. It’s probably just some things men need to pay attention to… about cooperating with treatment.” He stood up and followed her in. The office door closed in front of me with a soft click. My heart was shut into an airtight box along with that soft sound. Fear and anxiety grew wildly in the darkness. What kind of illness was it that they couldn’t tell me directly? Why did they need to tell my husband first, to prepare him mentally? I couldn’t sit still anymore. I walked to that door and pressed my ear against it. The door was thick with good soundproofing. I couldn’t hear anything clearly. I could only hear Director Wilson’s muffled voice, as if through a layer of water. I was anxious like an ant on a hot pan, sweating all over. I pressed my ear closer, straining with all my might to make out the words. Suddenly, Director Wilson’s tone seemed to rise a little. One fragmented sentence, like a needle, pierced through the door and into my ear. “…your wife’s condition… is very unusual…” Unusual? What did that mean? My mind went blank with a buzzing sound. All kinds of terrible guesses flooded in like a tide. Had I contracted some extremely rare terminal illness? Before I could process that sentence, the office door suddenly opened from inside. I stumbled and nearly fell. Marcus stood in the doorway, his face deathly pale, his eyes hollow. He looked at me like I was a stranger. I had never seen that look before. It wasn’t concern or worry, but a mix of shock, absurdity, and… a trace of indescribable resentment. His look made my skin crawl. “Marcus, what did the doctor say? What’s wrong with me?” I grabbed his arm and asked urgently. He didn’t answer. He just looked at me, his lips moving but making no sound. His arm was rigid. Director Wilson came out from behind him, glanced at me, and sighed. “Your husband will tell you.” “Go home.” Marcus seemed to have lost his soul, turning mechanically. He grabbed my wrist with surprising force. “Let’s go.” Just one word, cold and stiff. He dragged me out, making me stumble. My mind was completely in chaos. This wasn’t how a husband should react after learning his wife had a serious illness. What was going on? 0

The drive home from the hospital felt extraordinarily long. Marcus didn’t say a word. He drove with his eyes fixed straight ahead. The street scenes outside the window flew backward rapidly, like a silent movie. The air in the car was so oppressive it felt like it was solidifying. I sat in the passenger seat, wanting to speak several times but swallowing the words back. His profile was tense, his jawline rigid like stone. I’d known him for over twenty years and had never seen him like this. We’d been together since college, through marriage, and our son was already eighteen. He’d always been a gentle, responsible man. No matter how serious the problem, he would shoulder it himself and never let me worry. But today, he was completely abnormal. That coldness that emanated from his bones made me feel cold to my core. “Marcus,” I finally couldn’t help it and called to him softly. No response, as if he hadn’t heard. “What exactly did the doctor tell you?” I raised my voice. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “Nothing.” He said. His voice sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth. “Nothing?” I raised my volume. “Then why did she call you in alone? Why do you look like that?” “Why are you looking at me like I’m your enemy?” A series of questions shot at him like bullets. The car suddenly swerved. He seemed to have hit the brake, then quickly released it. “Diana,” he called me by my full name. “Can you just be quiet for a moment?” My heart was pierced by those words. In all our years of marriage, he’d never called me that. He always called me “Di” or “honey.” “Marcus, you have to tell me,” my attitude hardened too. “It’s my body. I have the right to know.” He took a deep breath, as if trying desperately to suppress something. “The doctor said it’s just ordinary hormonal imbalance.” “Bleeding after menopause is a common phenomenon. Nothing serious.” “Just rest and don’t overthink things.” He spoke quickly and smoothly, as if reciting lines he’d prepared beforehand. I didn’t believe him. Not a single word. If it was just hormones, why would Director Wilson be so grave? Why would she need to call him in alone and say the “condition was unusual”? He was treating me like a fool. “You’re lying,” I said coldly. He suddenly turned his head and looked at me. That glance was full of anger and irritation. “I’m lying?” “Diana, do you think your life is too peaceful? Do you have to create drama?” “The doctor said nothing’s wrong. What more do you want?” His yelling stunned me. Tears welled up despite my efforts to hold them back. I wasn’t creating drama. I was just scared. I just wanted to know the truth. But he treated my fear as unreasonable nonsense. My heart turned completely cold in that instant. I turned my head to look out the window and said nothing more. Tears silently slid down my cheeks. The rest of the drive was deathly silent. When we got home, he threw his car keys on the entryway table and walked straight into the study. With a bang, he shut the door. I stood alone in the empty living room, feeling ice cold all over. This home where I’d lived for twenty years suddenly felt utterly foreign. That evening, I made dinner. All his favorite dishes. I waited at the dining table for a long time, but he never came out of the study. I knocked on the door. “Marcus, dinner’s ready.” “Not eating. No appetite.” His voice came through the door, muffled and impatient. My hand stopped on the doorknob and stayed there for a long time. That night, we slept in separate rooms. This was the first time we’d slept apart since our marriage, aside from business trips. I lay on the big empty bed, eyes open, sleepless all night. 0

I replayed everything that had happened that day over and over. Director Wilson’s expression. Marcus’s look. That closed door. That phrase “very unusual.” Everything told me that things were far from simple. Marcus was lying to me. He was hiding a huge secret. What was this secret? Late at night, just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard the master bedroom door open. I immediately held my breath and closed my eyes. I felt Marcus walk in and stand by the bed. He stood there for a very long time. I could feel his gaze scanning my face like a searchlight. That gaze no longer held its usual warmth, only scrutiny and coldness. My heart pounded so fast it was about to leap from my chest. What was he looking at? What did he want to do? Finally, he turned and left. I heard the balcony door being pulled open softly. After a while, I quietly got out of bed and walked to the bedroom door, looking out through the crack. Marcus stood on the balcony with his back to me. He was on the phone. The night was quiet, and though his voice was low, I could still hear. He seemed to be arguing with someone, his tone full of irritation and helplessness. “…How was I supposed to know this would happen?” “…” “Don’t panic!” “…” “I said, let me figure something out!” “…” Suddenly, as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he growled quietly. “How could she at this time…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but those unfinished words were like a sledgehammer, pounding hard on my heart. She? Which “she”? Who was this “she” Marcus was talking about? That sentence was like a poisoned thorn lodged in my heart, festering all night. The next morning when Marcus got up, I was already sitting on the living room sofa. I hadn’t slept all night. My eyes were full of bloodshot veins. When he saw me, he froze, his eyes somewhat evasive. “Up so early?” He walked over, seeming to want to say something. I ignored him and walked straight into the bathroom. In the mirror, I looked haggard with dark circles under my eyes, like a ghost. In just one day, I’d been tormented into this state. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face over and over. I needed to be clearheaded. I couldn’t just sit and wait anymore. I couldn’t let him keep brushing me off with lies. I had to find the answers myself. Coming out of the bathroom, Marcus had already changed and was preparing to leave. “I have an early meeting at the office today.” He picked up his briefcase, didn’t even look at me, and hurriedly changed his shoes. “Wait a minute,” I called out to him. He stopped and looked back at me. “Who were you calling on the balcony last night?” I asked point-blank. His expression changed instantly. A flash of panic crossed his eyes but was quickly covered up. “Work stuff,” he said. “A project ran into some problems.” “Really?” I stared into his eyes. “Which project manager is named ‘she’?” Marcus froze completely. His lips moved but couldn’t form a sentence. “Diana,” he finally spoke, his tone carrying a hint of pleading, “can you stop asking?” “I’m begging you.” “Some things are better not knowing.” That sentence completely confirmed my suspicions. He was having an affair. That so-called “she” was his mistress. Something was wrong with my body—I might have a serious illness—so he was anxious to cut ties with his mistress? Or was my illness related to that woman? In an instant, countless melodramatic scenarios played out in my mind. My heart felt like it was soaked in ice water, both cold and painful. “Marcus,” I looked at him and said word by word, “we’re done.” With that, I stopped looking at him, turned and walked back to the bedroom, and closed the door. 0

I heard him stand outside the door for a while, then came a heavy sigh and the sound of the door closing as he left. I was alone in the house again. This time, I didn’t cry. Tears couldn’t solve any problems. I needed evidence. I needed to know what had really happened. My gaze fell on the nightstand. There lay Marcus’s backup phone. He had two phones, one for work and one personal. He never left his work phone behind, but he didn’t use this personal one much and sometimes forgot it at home. My heartbeat began to accelerate. This was an opportunity. I picked up that phone. It had a password. A four-digit pattern lock. I took a deep breath and started trying. Our wedding anniversary? No. His birthday? No. My birthday? No. Our son’s birthday? I traced our son’s birthdate on the screen with my finger. Click—the phone unlocked. My heart raced. I opened the call log. Recent calls were all from friends and family. He must have used his work phone for last night’s call. I opened his Snapchat. His Snapchat was clean without many chat logs. No pinned contacts, no suspicious female profile pictures. Had I guessed wrong? Unwilling to give up, I opened the browser. Search history. When I saw the recent search entries, my breathing stopped instantly. My fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. There, several lines were clearly displayed: “Can a man who had a vasectomy still get a woman pregnant?” “What’s the success rate of vasectomy reversal?” “If a wife gets pregnant after a husband’s vasectomy, whose child is it?” “What materials are needed for a paternity test?” “How does the law handle illegitimate children?” One after another, sentence after sentence, like sharp knives stabbing into my eyes. Vasectomy? Pregnancy? Paternity test? Marcus had gotten a vasectomy over ten years ago, after our son was born. It was our joint decision. He said he felt bad for me and didn’t want me to suffer through childbirth again. I was moved to tears at the time, thinking I’d married the best man in the world. For all these years, we’d been careful about contraception. But now… My hand involuntarily moved to my lower abdomen. Postmenopausal bleeding… Director Wilson’s grave expression… That phrase “very unusual”… Marcus’s pale face and resentful look… An absurd thought that I didn’t dare believe sprouted in my mind like a seed, growing wildly.

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I was with Lucas for five years. I gave birth to a daughter for him. On the day of our daughter’s first-month celebration. I had just finished breastfeeding in the lounge. The moment I came downstairs holding my daughter, a shrill scream rang out in the banquet hall: “Someone help! She stole my baby!” I jerked my head up to see a strange woman rushing toward me, eyes brimming with tears. And my husband stood right beside her, his eyes ice-cold. He shielded the woman and barked orders at the security guards: “Grab her! Don’t let this child trafficker get away!” I desperately tried to explain, desperately called his name, telling him the child was mine. But the family photos, birth certificate, postpartum care center records, pictures with friends and family—in every piece of evidence, the mother wasn’t me. Even the people closest to me said I had never been married, let alone given birth to a child. In the end, I was beaten to death at my daughter’s first-month celebration, branded as a child trafficker trying to kidnap someone else’s baby. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment right after I finished breastfeeding. Outside the door, the sound of guests’ laughter filled the hall. **1** That day was my daughter’s first-month celebration. Until I walked into the hall holding her, everyone pointed at my nose and called me a child trafficker. The banquet hall was filled with clinking glasses and elegantly dressed guests at the celebration. Outside, I had just finished nursing my daughter in the lounge, my heart full of joy, ready to receive everyone’s blessings. I had been with Lucas for five years. To give birth to this daughter, I had nearly left half my life on the delivery table. I still clearly remembered that night—my water broke early and the massive hemorrhaging left my entire body ice-cold. Lucas burst into the delivery room despite the doctor’s attempts to stop him, and fell to his knees beside the hospital bed with a thud. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands gripping my freezing fingers so tightly, his tears scalding hot as they fell onto the back of my hand. “Honey, don’t fall asleep! As long as you pull through, I swear on my life I’ll protect you and our child! Even if I have to give up everything else, all I want is for you and our daughter to be safe!” That was the only belief that kept me going through that brush with death. But on the day of the celebration, that belief was viciously torn to shreds. The moment I pushed open the banquet hall door, the glaring crystal chandelier light made me squint. Before I could even manage a smile, a shrill female voice suddenly exploded across the entire venue. “Someone help! Stop her! She stole my baby—!” I jerked my head up. A woman in an elaborate designer gown pushed through the crowd like a madwoman, rushing toward me. Her eyes were bloodshot. And my husband—Lucas, the man who swore to protect me with his life—was holding her shoulders tightly, shielding her by his side. The look he gave me held nothing but disgust. “Where’s security? Are you all dead?” Lucas pointed at me. “Hold her down! Don’t let this child trafficker escape and hurt my daughter!” I froze in place, my brain instantly crashing. I desperately protected my daughter in my arms as she started crying from fright, screaming at him with everything I had. “Lucas! Have you lost your mind? Look carefully—it’s me, Jade! I’m the one who gave birth to this child!” But what happened in the next half hour became a hell I would never forget. The family photos displayed on the celebration’s big screen showed that strange woman as the mother. The birth certificate pulled from City Hospital clearly printed “Lena Young” in the mother’s column. Even the top-tier postpartum care center where I had stayed for a month had her listed as the VIP client in their system. Like a lunatic, I dialed my mother’s number. The voice on the other end was cold and guarded. “Are you some kind of scammer? My daughter Jade is a workaholic who doesn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a child. Call again and I’m reporting you to the police!” So I was labeled as a mentally disturbed child trafficker. Enraged guests surrounded me. I don’t know who kicked me first, followed by the brutal blows from security guards’ batons. I curled up tightly on the ground, using my back to shield my daughter in my arms. In the chaos, a leather shoe kicked me hard in the temple. My head slammed into a sharp table corner with a “bang.” Blood blurred my vision. In the final second before my sight went completely dark, I saw Lucas holding my daughter, gently comforting her, while that woman named Lena leaned against him, watching me die in a pool of blood. “Bzzzz—” A sudden ringing filled my ears, followed by a warm, soft sensation in my arms that made my entire body shudder. I snapped my eyes open. I was sitting on a leather sofa. My daughter in my arms had her eyes closed, her tiny pink mouth still making little sucking motions, smelling of milk. Outside the door, I could faintly hear the cheerful chatter and laughter of the gathered guests. My entire body turned cold. Cold sweat instantly soaked through the clothes on my back, my fingers trembling violently. I had been reborn. Back to ten minutes before the celebration began, right after I finished nursing. This time, I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, confirming this wasn’t a dream. I would absolutely never again carry my daughter into that slaughterhouse that wanted my life. **2** I had to preserve ironclad evidence. I held my daughter tightly, my chest heaving violently, forcibly suppressing the trembling that seemed to carry the phantom pain throughout my body. I couldn’t panic. I absolutely couldn’t rush out to confront them directly. That would be suicide. “Creak—” The lounge door handle was gently pressed down. Every muscle in my body instantly tensed as I stared fixedly at the door. Lucas walked in wearing that perfectly tailored pure black designer suit. The light fell on his chiseled profile. His eyes were as tender as always, tender enough to drown in. He walked softly to my side and naturally reached out to straighten my slightly disheveled collar. Then he lowered his head, his lips gently touching our baby’s forehead, his tone indulgent. “Honey, you worked so hard. It’s chaotic with all those people outside, so don’t rush. I’ll go handle things first. You can rest, and we’ll go downstairs together when you’re ready.” He then walked over to the water dispenser, skillfully filled half a cup of warm water, tested the temperature against the side of the cup, and brought it to my lips. “Here, breastfeeding takes a lot out of you. Drink some warm water, and be careful not to catch a chill.” Looking at this face I knew all too well, seeing the love that seemed ready to overflow from his eyes, a trace of doubt arose in my heart. His attentiveness toward me was too real. Every bowl of hot soup, every embrace over these five years—could it all have been an act? Could I have just had a nightmare caused by postpartum depression? But the instant he turned to grab a tissue, I clearly caught a flash of impatience at the corner of his mouth. In that second, the excruciating pain from my shattered skull in my previous life shot through my entire body like an electric current. It wasn’t a dream! Today was the day they wanted my life! I forced myself to pull out a weak smile and accepted the water cup. “Honey, I got up too fast and feel a bit dizzy. Let me sit for five more minutes to recover.” Lucas didn’t suspect anything and gently ruffled my hair. “Okay, I’ll tell the staff not to disturb you. I’ll wait for you both downstairs.” The door closed. The instant the lock clicked into place, the weakness on my face vanished completely. I didn’t trust people’s hearts. I only trusted evidence! I immediately pulled out my phone, opened the front camera, and framed both myself and my sleeping daughter in the shot. Suppressing the tremor in my voice, I spoke clearly to the camera. “My name is Jade Chen. Today is April 8th, 2026. The location is the third-floor lounge of the InterContinental Hotel. The child in my arms is the biological daughter of Lucas and me.” I then zoomed in the camera, focusing on the birth certificate. After recording the video, I didn’t save it locally. Lucas had built his fortune in IT. He had countless ways to destroy the data on my phone. I quickly logged into my backup email, packaged the video with a detailed explanation, set it to send automatically in ten minutes, with the recipient being my most trusted best friend, Nina Lee. Then I picked up the Polaroid camera on the table, originally meant for taking commemorative photos for guests. I held it close to my daughter’s little face, with the data I’d sent to my friend visible in the background. “Click.” The photo slid out, the image gradually developing. The picture of mother and daughter nestled close together was crystal clear. I looked around, my gaze locking on the gap in the sofa. I folded that Polaroid tightly and forced it deep into the crevice with all my strength. After finishing all this, I tucked the folded birth certificate against my skin inside my bra and took a deep breath. With this ironclad evidence, let’s see how you can cover the sky with one hand today! I held my daughter tight and walked toward the banquet hall. The moment I stepped out of the hallway and my hand touched the banquet hall door handle, a voice I could never forget even in death came from inside. “Stop her! She stole my baby!” **3** I took a deep breath and yanked the door open. The woman named Lena from my previous life was pointing at me, crying out shrilly. Everything was replaying according to my previous life’s script. Lucas almost instantly stepped forward and pulled Lena into his embrace. The moment he turned to look at me, the deep affection from the lounge vanished without a trace. “Security! Lock the doors! Hold her down!” The hundreds of guests in the venue instantly erupted in commotion. The music cut off abruptly, and countless pairs of eyes fixed on me. “I stole a child?” I stood firmly in place, let out a cold laugh, held the baby with one hand, and pulled out my phone with the other. “Lucas, you can eat whatever you want, but you can’t just say whatever you want. Whether or not I’m a child trafficker, the video will prove it!” My fingertip quickly tapped open my gallery, moving toward the high-definition video I had just recorded. But the instant my finger touched the screen, it flashed violently and the video image turned into a blinding snowstorm. File corrupted. My heart sank heavily. Local network interception! I immediately switched to my email backend to check the scheduled email to Nina. Sent box—completely empty. Drafts—completely empty. “Can’t produce evidence now? Child traffickers these days are so brazen they dare show up at a celebration to cause trouble after stealing a baby!” My mother-in-law charged forward like a protective mother tiger, pointing at my nose and cursing. “You shameless crazy woman! My daughter-in-law Lena has been on stage the whole time. The baby you’re holding is clearly my family’s precious grandchild!” I gritted my teeth and looked toward the nanny, Mrs. Zhang, who had been hiding behind my mother-in-law—the woman who had taken care of me for an entire month. “Mrs. Zhang!” I stared directly into her eyes. “You made me different postpartum meals every day. You’re the one who applied medicine to my C-section wound daily! Tell everyone here—am I or am I not this child’s biological mother!” Mrs. Zhang’s whole body shuddered. She didn’t dare meet my eyes at all. Her face deathly pale, she cowered and took a step back, her voice shaking like a sieve. “Miss… I think you’ve got the wrong person… I’ve been taking care of Mrs. Lena Young on stage this whole month.” The hotel’s general manager also immediately stepped forward, presenting a thick contract. “Security, do something! This woman clearly has mental problems. The person who booked the venue, coordinated the process, and paid the final bill has always been Mr. Lucas and Miss Young. We’ve never seen her!” I watched helplessly as the digital evidence I had thought foolproof was erased into thin air, as the people who had spent day and night with me betrayed me in public without hesitation. The surrounding guests had already started whispering, their eyes shifting from watching a spectacle to wariness and contempt. Security guards’ riot forks were already pressed against my shoulders. This suffocating feeling of being isolated by the entire world, of having my identity stripped away, hit even more fiercely than in my previous life. I shielded my daughter, who had started sobbing from fright, bit through the tip of my tongue, letting the metallic taste spread through my mouth to maintain my last shred of clarity. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my voice piercing through the entire hall. “Fine! You’ve all conspired together, is that it? Call the police! Call them right now! Let the police investigate! I don’t believe even the public security system and the hospital’s internal network can help you maintain this lie!” **4** The shrill sound of police sirens soon rang out downstairs at the hotel. Ten minutes later, four police officers sealed off the scene. I looked at the lead officer. “Officer, this is my husband Lucas. This child is the one I carried for ten months and risked my life to deliver! They’re conspiring to kidnap my child and even fabricating evidence!” Before the police could speak, Lucas had already stepped forward in his tailored suit, handing over his business card. “Hello, Officer. I’m Lucas, CEO of StarPath Technology. I don’t know this woman. She suddenly barged into my daughter’s first-month celebration, not only attempting to kidnap the child but also spouting complete nonsense. I suspect she has serious delusional disorder.” The officer frowned. “Miss, since you claim the child is yours, do you have concrete evidence? We can’t go on words alone. We need to verify hospital records immediately.” “Check it!” I didn’t hesitate, my eyes bloodshot as I stared at Lucas. “City Central Maternity Hospital, last month on the 8th at 2 AM, VIP Operating Room 3, C-section! Check the real records in the system!” The officer immediately signaled his colleague to contact headquarters for verification. The wait felt exceptionally long. When the officer who went to verify came back, his eyes held a trace of wariness as he looked at me. “Officer, what did you find?” I asked urgently. The lead officer looked at the file screenshot sent to his phone, his expression completely darkening. “The files from City Maternity Hospital show that the woman who gave birth in VIP Operating Room 3 on the 8th of last month was named Lena Young. The mother on the medical birth certificate is Lena Young, and the family member who signed as birth companion was Lucas.” He pointed at the band on my daughter’s ankle. “Even this anti-swap ankle band number 89757 that you keep emphasizing—when scanned in the system, the corresponding mother is still Lena Young. Miss, how do you explain this?” In my previous life, my mind would have gone completely blank at this point, driven to a complete breakdown. But now, I let out a cold laugh, yanked open my jacket zipper, and pulled out the birth certificate I’d kept close to my body inside my bra. This time, let’s see what they have to say! The officer paused, quickly taking the paper. It clearly stated: Mother: Jade Chen. Just when I thought everything was settled. The next second, the officer let out a surprised “Huh.” “Miss, this birth certificate of yours is fake.” I stood there frozen. How could this be! This birth certificate clearly was… Boom—. An ominous premonition swept through my entire body. I turned to look at Lucas. He smirked and gave me a challenging smile. “No, no, no! I still have evidence!” In my previous life, I called my mother, but she denied everything about me. In this life, I could only count on my best friend Nina. I dialed Nina’s number, but what she said next made my heart turn cold. “Lucas? I’ve never heard of him. Jade has always been single.” “That’s impossible! I sent you all the evidence. Why are you lying!” Seeing my agitation, the police stepped forward, afraid I might hurt someone. The panic made me feel somewhat lost. Why was this happening? Had my memory really become confused? No, that’s not right. I still had one more piece of evidence. “Officer, please, I have one more piece of evidence! Please come with me to see it.” With that, I led the police and guests back to the lounge. Even if the birth certificate had been fake from the start, that Polaroid might give me a sliver of hope. Everyone watched as I frantically searched the sofa crevice, their doubts growing louder. “Still lying. This person is terrifying.” “Oh my God, she’s really crazy…” “Delusional, right? Running to someone else’s celebration to have a breakdown, forging all this evidence—this was clearly premeditated!” “Hurry up and send her to a psychiatric hospital. Don’t let her hurt the baby!” The doubting voices around me made me frantic, but no matter how I searched, I couldn’t find that Polaroid. But I clearly put it right here! Just as I was growing more and more desperate. The police completely lost their patience too. Ambulance 120 personnel arrived. Two male orderlies carrying restraint straps and sedatives walked toward me. The shadow of my previous life—being pinned down as a lunatic, beaten to death by a mob—like a massive black tsunami, instantly shattered my rationality. Was I going to die here again? Be completely erased by them again? Just as my whole body trembled, on the verge of complete collapse, my peripheral vision suddenly caught Lucas raising his hand, lowering his head to adjust his French cuff. In that instant, as if a thunderbolt split open my chaotic mind. I jerked my head up, staring at Lucas. I finally understood why he had painstakingly laid this net over five years, finally knew why he absolutely had to make me give birth to this child.

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On the fifth round of IVF, I was finally pregnant with Marcus’s child. When I ecstatically showed him the positive test results, Marcus suddenly said, “Actually, your student, Melissa, and I… we already have twins.” The world tilted, the color draining from my face. But Marcus looked at me, his expression earnest. “Do you know why your first few IVF attempts failed? Because Melissa didn’t want you to suffer, so she secretly intervened.” “She was willing to carry my children for you. How could I deny her and our sons a family?” “And now you’re pregnant too. So, you can either accept this calmly and give our child a complete family, not to mention a respectable father.” “Or, you can make a scene, become a broke, single mother with no one to rely on.” “The choice is yours.” After he left, I sat in the dark for the entire night. And then, I made a third choice. 1 Marcus left in a hurry. “Melissa heard you’re pregnant. She’s terrified I’m going to abandon her. I need to go check on her,” he said, his voice laced with a false sense of duty. “I know you must be a wreck right now, so I’ll give you some space to think things over.” I sat on the balcony, the cold night wind whipping around me, until dawn. When he returned in the morning, carrying breakfast, I asked him a single question. “Can you treat us both fairly?” Marcus was taken aback for a second, then gave a weary smile. “My thing with Melissa… it started as a drunken mistake. But it turned out we were just… incredibly compatible.” “You and I tried for so long, and nothing. With her, it happened the first time.” “Melissa is a kind soul. She was so worried you’d be heartbroken that she secretly went to get an abortion.” “If I hadn’t stumbled upon the hospital bill, I would never have known that child even existed.” “After the procedure, she was consumed by guilt and fell into a deep depression. Her doctor said the baby was the root of her trauma.” He paused, looking at me cautiously. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “So, to make it up to her, you had twins with her.” “Well, that’s part of it. Mostly, she knew how much the IVF was taking out of you. She didn’t want you to suffer anymore.” “Besides,” he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather, “a child is a child. Whether she gives birth or you do, they carry my blood. It makes no difference.” “With Melissa, I feel a mix of pity and gratitude. But no matter what, she can’t compare to the eight years you’ve spent by my side.” He took my hand, his touch as gentle as the day he proposed, his eyes swimming with feigned devotion. “Anya, I’m not asking you to accept her. Just turn a blind eye to my other family, and I promise, she will never overstep her bounds.” “You will always be Mrs. Blackwell. Of course I can treat you both fairly.” I gently pulled my hand away and produced the agreement I’d prepared. “Just in case. Sign it.” Marcus glanced at it, raising an eyebrow. “One instance of favoritism costs me a hundred thousand dollars?” I pointed to the addendum. “That’s the base price. The final amount for emotional damages will be determined by the severity of your bias. No upper limit.” “Marcus,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Do you dare sign it?” 2 Marcus chuckled softly. “If it gives you peace of mind.” He signed his name with a confident flourish. “Anya, I do love you.” “As long as you don’t cause trouble for Melissa, I’ll try to spend more time with you.” I felt a wave of dizziness. Marcus and I were college sweethearts. I was with him when he went from bankrupt and drowning in debt to staging a stunning comeback. We lived in a cramped basement apartment, scavenged for leftover vegetables at the market. We’d split a single bagel, and I’d always give him the bigger half. I wore the same old clothes for years, saving every penny to buy him decent suits for his business meetings. He used to be so good to me. No matter how exhausted he was, he’d always cook me noodles when I came home from a late shift. No matter how busy, he set aside one day a week just for me. He said I was his motivation, that everything he did was for me. One year, on our anniversary, he was stuck out of town on business. He felt guilty about it for months. But now, spending time with me was a reward to be doled out. The thought was devastating. And after the devastation came a profound, crushing weariness. Marcus didn’t notice a thing. His voice held the arrogant tone of a benefactor. “I’ll stay and have breakfast with you today.” He took a breakfast burrito out of a paper bag and handed me a freshly made cup of oatmeal. “Here. From that cart near campus. Your old favorite.” I sighed and reached for it. Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at me and answered it on speaker. “Daddy! Daddy!” a child’s voice chirped from the other end. A smile bloomed on Marcus’s face. “What’s wrong, buddy? Is Mommy awake yet?” “Mommy’s sick! She’s crying!” The smile vanished from Marcus’s face. “Stay right there. I’m on my way.” He grabbed his car keys and bolted. The cup of oatmeal tipped over, spilling onto my skirt. It scalded my leg, leaving a painful red welt. He never even looked back. As I was treating the burn, he called. “Melissa is such a silly girl. She didn’t want to bother you, so she tried to hide being sick. I can’t leave her alone. I’ll stay here today to take care of her. You can go to your prenatal check-up by yourself, right?” I looked at the blistered skin on my thigh. I wasn’t surprised. And before I even had a chance to feel sad, he hung up. I sat there for a moment. Then I took a picture of my leg and sent it to him. [Your scales weren’t balanced. Compensation for distress plus medical fees, total $180,000.] A long time passed, so long I thought he hadn’t seen the message. Then, the notification sound for a bank transfer chimed. It was followed by a voice message from him. [I sent you an extra twenty thousand. Next time, don’t resort to these immature, attention-seeking games where you hurt yourself.] [I won’t be back for a couple of days. You need to calm down and think things through.] I had to laugh. He actually thought I’d burned myself on purpose to win his affection. In his eyes, I had become a helpless, clinging vine, capable of nothing but manipulation. But I was a graduate of a top university, an honors student. Before I even finished my degree, a major corporation had offered me a position heading their overseas R&D department. It was because I couldn’t bear to leave Marcus that I gave up that opportunity. I chose to stay and work at a small, unknown local research institute instead. My sacrifices hadn’t earned me mutual respect. They had earned me this humiliating, unbearable reality. I wasn’t without pain, or regret. But after the pain and regret, I had to think about the future. I sniffled, my nose stinging slightly. I transferred the full $200,000 into my personal savings account. Then I did two things. First, I contacted an agent to find me a suitable rental in the UK. Second, I scheduled an abortion for the next day. Marcus always believed the fertility problems were my fault. He thought I couldn’t live without him, and that I would never give up the baby in my belly. That’s why he felt so brazenly confident telling me about him and Melissa. But the truth was, he was the one with the low sperm count. There was nothing wrong with me. I could have more children in the future. They just wouldn’t be his. 3 The procedure wasn’t long. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, the little life inside me was gone. Staring at the medical report, I couldn’t stop my eyes from turning red. I forced myself to pull it together and spent two days recovering in the hospital. The day I was discharged, I received an official job offer from a prestigious research center in the UK. I breathed a sigh of relief and headed straight to my old institute to pack up my things. Before I even opened the door, I heard peals of laughter from inside. “Liam is so brilliant! He’s doing advanced math problems already! A true son of Mr. Blackwell and Director Melissa.” “And Toby is a little genius too! Look how fast he builds with those Legos!” “I know, right? And they can already identify different chemical compounds and do experiments!” “It’s what happens when you combine superior genes. Not like Anya. She can’t even get pregnant through IVF. You can just imagine how weak her genes are.” “Haha, it’s a good thing she’s barren. Can you imagine if she had an average kid? What a waste of Mr. Blackwell’s DNA.” I recognized the voices. One was my former assistant, the other a nepotism hire. Director Melissa? When did Melissa become a director? I pushed the door open. The chatter stopped instantly. The smile on Marcus’s face froze. Melissa looked at me timidly. “Professor… Anya, what are you doing here?” Marcus wrapped an arm around her shoulder, rubbing it gently in a silent show of support. Seeing this, the others’ expressions turned smug. “Anya, you were fired. Why are you even here?” one of them sneered. I paused. “Fired? When did that happen?” The nepotism hire laughed. “Stop playing dumb. The notice was posted in the company group chat. Didn’t you see it?” I hadn’t looked at the work chat at all while I was in the hospital. I opened it now and saw that on the very day I’d had the abortion, the institute had terminated my employment for “procedural violations” and promoted Melissa to my position as director. I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Procedural violations? Where’s your proof?” My former assistant lifted her chin. “I saw it with my own eyes. And there’s security footage.” I stared at her coldly. “I have the original, unedited surveillance footage of every single one of my experiments. If you think you can frame me with a doctored video, we can settle this in court.” They froze, clearly not expecting me to have a backup. Melissa shot a panicked look at Marcus. He patted her reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Go play with the boys for a bit.” After Melissa walked away, his gaze lingered on her and the twins for a long moment before he finally turned to me, his eyes dismissive. “Anya, the evidence doesn’t matter. What matters is the attitude of the investor. Me.” “A top-tier research conglomerate has taken an interest in one of our recent projects. They’ve sent an invitation to a major science forum. Melissa is young; she needs a stage like this.” I clenched my fists. “So, for her to have her moment in the spotlight, you’re just going to throw away all my years of hard work?” A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk. “It’s not fair to you, I admit. But it’s her dream to be up on that stage.” “To convince me to help her… that shy, timid girl… she put on cat ears and a tail for me. Her face was bright red, but she spent the whole night meowing like a little kitten. Tell me, how could I possibly say no?” For some reason, at his final question, all the rage inside me just… dissipated. I unclenched my fists, my voice calm. “In that case, a million dollars shouldn’t be too much to ask, right?” Marcus’s expression went blank for a second. After a few beats, he nodded. “Yes. You deserve it.” I held his gaze. “Transfer it now. And make sure the memo says ‘Voluntary Gift.’” Marcus frowned. “Anya, I thought you were the one who never cared about money.” I just smiled. Since I’d already decided to give up on the man, I might as well take as much of his money as I could. 4 I needed to get my personal belongings from my office. Melissa stood in the doorway, wringing the hem of her sleeve, her face a mask of pitiful distress. “Professor, the research results… they weren’t your work alone. I contributed too. If you take all the core data, what are we supposed to do?” I had to laugh. “What did you contribute? The time you mistook sodium nitrite for sugar in my coffee and sent me to the ICU? Or the time you brought flammable materials into my office and burned all my research notes to a crisp?” Melissa’s eyes darted around, her trembling lips betraying her guilt and anxiety. My face hardened. “Move.” She didn’t budge, tears already welling in her eyes. WHAM! A sharp blow struck my lower back. I staggered, pain radiating through me. Before I could recover, something hard slammed into my knee. The blunt force sent me crumpling to the floor. My forehead hit the sharp corner of the wall, and my vision went black for a second. Through a blurry haze, I saw Melissa’s two sons. One was holding a baseball bat, the other was still in a throwing motion. “You mean bitch! Don’t you bully our mommy!” “Mommy was right! You’re just a homewrecker trying to steal our daddy!” Marcus rushed over. His eyes lingered on me for only a second before he opened his arms and pulled the weeping Melissa into a comforting embrace. “It’s okay, baby, don’t cry. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.” Then he turned to me, his voice sharp with anger. “Anya, what are you trying to pull now?” I pushed myself off the floor and hit play on my phone’s voice recorder. “Listen for yourself.” Melissa’s sobs hitched. The two boys exchanged a guilty glance and lowered their heads. Marcus listened, his expression unchanging, until he strode over and stopped the recording. “Anya, they’re just kids. Don’t take it to heart.” He glanced at the blood trickling from my forehead, and his voice softened. “I’ll have my driver take you to the hospital.” Before I could respond, the nepotism hire piped up. “Give it a rest, Anya. Mr. Blackwell has already divorced you. It’s useless to keep clinging to him. You might as well take whatever medical money he’s offering before he gets completely sick of you.” A loud ringing filled my ears. “Divorced?” I looked at Marcus. He pressed his lips together, saying nothing, but his eyes held a clear warning. I lowered my gaze and smiled. “That’s right. He and I… we’re already divorced.” When I looked up again, my expression was ice. “In that case, Mr. Blackwell, how much do you intend to offer for my medical expenses?” Marcus was silent for a moment, then gave a lazy smile. “How much do you want?” I pointed to my still-bleeding forehead. “Five million dollars.” Melissa gasped. “That’s outrageous! It’s just a—” “Done.” Marcus cut her off and immediately initiated the bank transfer. “Anya, I’ll take you to the hospital.” I sneered. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Blackwell. I can get there on my own.” “As for the transportation fee, let’s say… ten thousand.” Marcus paused, then furiously tapped ‘confirm’ on his phone, his tone clipped. “Whatever you want.”

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My phone buzzed relentlessly. It was the elite kindergarten’s parent group chat. Miss Collins, the head teacher, had tagged me with a photo attached. “Blair’s Mom, Blair was involved in a physical altercation in the classroom. You need to come to the school immediately.” My heart dropped into my stomach. I tapped the image. My sweet, tiny daughter was battered. Her face was bruised and swollen, and dried blood stained her pristine uniform collar. My fingers flew across the screen, trembling with rage. “Who did this?” A woman saved in my contacts as “Jax’s Mom” replied almost instantly. Her tone practically dripped with arrogance through the screen. “I told my son to do it.” Before I could even process the audacity of her confession, two more photos popped up in the chat. The first was a professional wedding portrait of her and my husband. The second was a candid family photo of me, my daughter, and my husband. “You filthy homewrecker,” her next message read. “Did you really think you could steal my husband and pop out a bastard child without consequences? You’re lucky I didn’t tell my boy to beat that little rat to death.” The group chat exploded. Notifications poured in like a landslide, every single parent dogpiling on me and my daughter with vicious insults. I grabbed my keys and sprinted to my car. While the engine roared to life, I sent a voice memo straight to my corporate legal team. “Execute the infidelity clause in the prenup. Draft the divorce papers. Chace leaves with absolutely nothing.” I took a sharp breath, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “And someone assaulted my daughter. No settlements. No mediation. I want them destroyed.” A penniless gold-digger who married into my family really thought he could keep a side piece and a secret kid on my dime? When I pulled up to the extravagant wrought-iron gates of the kindergarten, I spotted her immediately. Jax’s mom. Vanessa. She was holding court near the entrance, surrounded by a flock of desperate, social-climbing mothers from Blair’s class. “Vanessa, you kept that so quiet! If this hadn’t happened, we never would have guessed your husband is the CEO of Apex Holdings,” one mother cooed, practically drooling over Vanessa’s designer handbag. “Right? I knew you had an aura of old money the second I met you,” another chimed in. “We came out specifically to support you today. We’re respectable women. We can’t let some trashy mistress walk all over you.” “Exactly! The mistress’s brat deserved it. Jax is truly the young heir to Apex Holdings. Taking out the trash at such a young age, what a brave boy!” Even Miss Collins, the teacher who was supposed to protect my child, was busy kissing up to her. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Kensington,” the teacher simpered. “If I had known you were the CEO’s wife, I never would have scolded Jax. Please rest assured, I will handle this matter to your absolute satisfaction.” Vanessa soaked up the flattery like a sponge, tilting her chin up as if she were royalty. Chace had been a nobody for years. After we married, I handed him the reins to Apex Holdings, our family’s smallest subsidiary, just to give him something to do and pad his resume. I never imagined it would become the very currency this woman used to buy her little army of sycophants. The moment they noticed me walking up, the sickeningly sweet smiles vanished from the parents’ faces. They looked at me like I was a piece of garbage stuck to their designer shoes. Miss Collins marched right up to me, her face hardening into a cold sneer. “Blair’s Mom, the director has instructed me to inform you that as of today, Blair is officially expelled.” I locked eyes with the teacher, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “My daughter gets beaten on your watch, and instead of protecting her, you expel her?” The teacher rolled her eyes dismissively. “This is an exclusive preparatory academy. Every child here comes from power and wealth. Keeping a bastard child born to a mistress will only poison our school’s reputation.” My expression turned glacial. “I highly suggest you do a background check and find out exactly who the mistress is in this situation.” The words barely left my mouth before Vanessa lunged forward. Her palm cracked across my cheek with a blinding force. “You cheap whore,” she spat, her face twisted in ugly triumph. “You think you can strut around in front of the actual wife? You think popping out a little bastard gives you the right to steal my spot?” The sudden violence left my ears ringing. Before I could regain my balance, the other mothers started throwing verbal daggers. “Look at her. Dressed so nice, but she spreads her legs for married men.” “It’s always the quiet ones. They see a billionaire and suddenly they forget how to keep their knees together.” “Mistresses are a disgrace to women. And their spawn are even worse.” The commotion drew a massive crowd of onlookers from the street. People pointed, whispered, and pulled out their phones to record me. Someone actually spit at my feet. I calmly unbuttoned my custom tailored blazer, ruined by the scuffle, and dropped the twenty thousand dollar garment directly into a nearby trash can. Then I turned to face Vanessa. “You are causing a public riot and committing assault,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Are you really not afraid of the police?” Vanessa threw her head back and laughed. “The only one who belongs behind bars is you! I’m serving justice. Why should I be afraid?” She crossed her arms, smirking. “My husband runs Apex Holdings. I could take your miserable lives right now, and he would still make it go away.” The chorus of sycophants nodded in frantic agreement. “If you weren’t sleeping with her husband, she wouldn’t have hit you. You brought this on yourself.” “You should be groveling on your knees, begging for forgiveness. One slap was a mercy.” Vanessa’s eyes suddenly darted past me, landing on my parked car. Her eyes narrowed with pure, unadulterated jealousy. “You leech,” she hissed. “Spending my husband’s hard earned money without a second thought. A Rolls-Royce? A piece of trash like you doesn’t deserve a car like this.” She marched over to my vehicle, pulled a jagged house key from her designer purse, and violently dragged it across the glossy paint. The metal shrieked. She carved a massive, ugly phrase into the driver’s side door. “WHORE.” I glanced at the ruined paintwork and let out a dry, hollow laugh. “You are going to realize very soon just how ironic that word is.” My calmness pushed her over the edge. “Still running your mouth? Still mocking me?” she screamed. “I’ll make you spit out every single dime you drained from my husband!” She grabbed a heavy brick from a nearby landscaping planter and hurled it straight into the windshield. Glass shattered, raining down on the pavement. She didn’t stop. The headlights, the hood, the mirrors. She smashed everything in sight. Seeing her go feral, the other mothers decided they wanted a piece of the action. They grabbed loose stones, umbrellas, whatever they could find, and started bashing my car. One of them actually climbed inside through the broken window to slash the hand stitched leather seats. In a matter of minutes, a half million dollar luxury vehicle was reduced to a pile of scrap metal. I watched the frenzy with eyes as cold as dead winter. “I hope you all feel this enthusiastic when the bill comes due.” Nobody cared. They were too drunk on the thrill of destroying things. Suddenly, one of the women popped the trunk open and let out a loud gasp. “Look at this! She’s got a bunch of fancy stuff stashed back here!” Vanessa strutted over, dragging a large, framed painting out of the trunk. She sneered at the canvas. “A woman who sells her body for cash wants to pretend she appreciates fine art? How pathetic.” I took a step forward, my voice hardening. “The contents of that trunk are worth substantially more than the car. I highly advise you to put that down.” Those items were fresh from an exclusive Sotheby’s auction. I had just secured them when I got the text from the school, rushing over before I even had the chance to transport them to the vault. Vanessa’s face twisted with spite. “Trash like you doesn’t deserve beautiful things.” She slammed the painting over her knee, snapping the antique wooden frame, then ripped the canvas right down the middle. She threw the shredded pieces onto the dirty pavement and stomped on them with her high heels. An older man in the crowd, who looked like an art appraiser, suddenly went pale. “My god,” he stammered. “That… that looked like an authentic Renaissance master sketch. The opening bid on something like that is at least forty million dollars!” Vanessa didn’t even blink. “Forty million? So what? It’s my husband’s money anyway! I can destroy my own property if I want to!” Her sheer stupidity left me speechless. First of all, Chace was a nobody who married into my wealth. Secondly, even with the title of CEO, his gross incompetence had caused Apex Holdings to lose nearly half its market value. If he wasn’t legally tied to me, I would have fired him months ago. Yet these women were treating him like a god of Wall Street. Spurred on by Vanessa’s boldness, the other mothers began ripping boxes out of the trunk, smashing priceless ceramics and tearing up historical documents just for the fun of it. I couldn’t waste another second on these lunatics. My only priority was my daughter. I ignored the chaos and marched toward the kindergarten entrance. Suddenly, Director Pritchard, the head of the school, stepped out to block my path. He looked at me like I was a diseased rat. “Do you honestly think someone of your status is allowed on our prestigious grounds?” “I want my daughter,” I demanded, my tone lethal. The director scoffed. “She’s been expelled. The staff is gathering her belongings. She’ll be out shortly.” Right as he finished speaking, the heavy doors opened. A staff member literally shoved Blair out the door, tossing her backpack right after her. My little girl hit the concrete hard, bursting into terrified sobs. I rushed forward, dropping to my knees to gather her into my arms. I glared up at the director, venom in my veins. “Is this how your academy treats young children?” He looked down his nose at me. “She is the offspring of a homewrecker. We are simply taking out the societal trash. Is there a problem?” The parents clapped and cheered. “Director Pritchard is a man of morals!” “Exactly! We can’t let stray dogs mix with purebreds.” “She doesn’t need school. Just teach her how to seduce rich men, that’s clearly the family business!” Vanessa sauntered over, completely high on power. “See this? This is what happens when you cross the line. You and your little rat will spend the rest of your lives at the bottom of the food chain, exactly where you belong.” Director Pritchard turned to Vanessa, bowing slightly with a greasy smile. “Mrs. Kensington, if you are satisfied with how we handled this, perhaps you could put in a good word for our school with your husband? We are looking to expand, and the land adjacent to us is owned by Apex Holdings.” Vanessa crossed her arms, playing the benevolent queen. “Don’t worry. You did well today. I’ll have him sign the deed over to you.” The director practically glowed. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Kensington!” The other parents swarmed her again, shoving business cards and gifts into her hands. “My husband’s firm would love an exclusive contract with Apex…” “Please take this black card for our family’s luxury department store, completely unlimited…” Vanessa basked in the worship. She looked down at me, her eyes filled with toxic pity. “This is power. You thought spreading your legs would buy you a ticket to the top? I am the true wife. You will never touch this kind of glory.” She leaned in close. “I’ll give you twenty four hours. Pack your bags, take your bastard, and get out of this city. If I ever see you near my husband again, I will bury your kid alive.” Blair whimpered, burying her tear streaked face into my neck. “Mommy, it hurts. I’m scared.” Her voice was raw, trembling with a trauma no child should ever know. I pulled her back slightly to check her injuries. Beneath her torn sweater, her tiny arms were covered in vicious, bloody scratches. They weren’t just scrapes. Someone had dug into her skin with a pair of sharp craft scissors. The sight of her mangled skin broke something inside me. My vision blurred with red hot, agonizing tears. I looked up at Vanessa, a murderous aura radiating from my bones. “Your son did this?” She examined her manicured nails, utterly bored. “Don’t be so dramatic. You should be thanking me he didn’t aim for the throat.” The mob backed her up immediately. “She’s still breathing, isn’t she? Stop crying like a victim.” “You knew the risks when you decided to be a whore.” The director smiled down at a chubby, arrogant looking boy standing next to Vanessa. “Jax is a natural born leader. Rooting out evil! I’ll make sure he gets an award at assembly tomorrow.” The brat puffed out his chest. “I’ll beat her up every time I see her!” I was shaking violently, not from fear, but from a rage so pure it felt like ice in my veins. “Every single one of you,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like a scythe. “You are going to regret this.” The crowd erupted into hysterical laughter. “Is she delusional?” “She’s powerless. Just a barking dog.” “If I were her, I’d throw myself into traffic out of pure embarrassment.” The insults rained down. The crowd mocked me, spat at me, pointed their cameras at my crying child. Vanessa stood tall, the conquering hero, a sickening grin plastered across her face. Then, the low, powerful rumble of engines cut through the chaos.

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The stage scaffolding collapsed. Nate completely lost his mind, rushing straight to Vivian’s side without a fraction of a second of hesitation. Trapped beneath the heavy, iron ruins of the stage, I watched him from the dark. He was panicked, entirely stripped of his usual composure, desperately performing CPR on her. Vivian looked up at him, her voice fragile and trembling: “Nate… do you still love me?” Nate didn’t say a word, but his eyes violently flushed red with tears. He was a man who was always so stoic, yet in that moment, his hands shook with pure, unadulterated terror. I closed my eyes as a single tear slipped down my cheek. Earlier today, I had sent him a text, asking if he could come to my piano performance tonight. He told me he was stuck in an emergency surgery and couldn’t make it. Nate Sterling. We’re done. 01 When I was finally wheeled out of the operating room, the attending physician glanced down at my heavily bandaged leg and asked: “Do you play the piano, or do you dance?” I replied softly: “Piano.” The tense, frantic expression on his face instantly relaxed. “Good. Your leg is going to need a significant amount of physical therapy to recover, but at least your hands are fine.” I lowered my eyes, looking at my completely intact hands. Then I tried to move my leg, only to find that my right leg had lost all sensation. While the nurse was changing my IV drip, I accidentally overheard the staff gossiping right outside my curtain: “Sigh, Dr. Sterling and that ballerina in the next private wing look exactly like star-crossed lovers.” “Oh my god, you should have seen his face when he carried Vivian into the ER. He’s usually so icy to everyone, but yesterday he was completely frantic with panic.” “A bunch of paparazzi blocked the corridor, and he literally roared at them to get the hell out of his way.” Nate was naturally cold and aloof. He treated everything in life with absolute, clinical indifference. I rarely saw him smile, and I had never seen him lose his temper. The nurse administered my medication, her movements incredibly gentle and precise. She thoughtfully tucked a warm gel pack under my arm. She offered a warm, comforting smile: “The IV fluid is cold, and running it too fast can cause a sharp pain. This warm pack will make it feel much better.” “If you notice any redness or swelling, just page me.” I nodded, forcing a polite smile back at her. Right before she stepped out, she couldn’t help but let out another sigh: “This is the first time Dr. Sterling has ever taken a formal leave of absence. All just to stay in the hospital and care for Vivian.” Left completely alone in the silent room, I pulled out my phone and dialed Nate’s number. The line rang for a very long time before he finally answered. Before I could even open my mouth, his flat, indifferent voice cut through the speaker: “Wynne, I won’t be home for lunch today.” “I have an emergency surgery to perform.” This was the first time in our entire three-year marriage that Nate had ever proactively called me to report his schedule. But he was only doing it to feed me a lie. In the past, I was always the clingy, annoying wife. I would spam his phone with hundreds of text messages, constantly babbling in his ear about my day. The nurse said he took a month of leave. Married for three years, he practically lived at the hospital, working around the clock. Unlike other doctors, his overtime was entirely voluntary. Every Thanksgiving holiday, he would voluntarily cancel his leave and reschedule his time off for Christmas. His colleagues were always ecstatic to swap shifts with him. We never had a real wedding ceremony, let alone a romantic honeymoon. The internet was currently flooded with viral rumors and paparazzi articles about Vivian and Nate. Staring at Vivian’s flawless face on my phone screen, everything suddenly clicked. I finally understood why Nate had run to her without a single second of hesitation. I spent half a month in that private room. For those fifteen days, Nate called me at the exact same time every single day, his voice flat and detached: “Working overtime tonight. Not coming home.” And I replied every single time: “Okay. Got it.” According to the nurses, Nate had taken a full month of leave, spending every single waking second guarding Vivian’s bed. I listened to their gossip from my hospital bed day after day. My leg was broken, leaving me completely trapped. Aside from the occasional private caregiver helping me wash up, I spent my entire existence on that mattress. So, I actually found the nurses’ gossip quite entertaining. If the tragic male lead of this grand romance wasn’t the exact husband listed on my marriage certificate, I probably would have ordered an iced boba tea and some popcorn, enjoying the drama like a juicy piece of reality TV. But in this heartbreaking tale of star-crossed lovers, Nate was my husband, and I was merely the bitter, villainess wife standing in the way of true love. I couldn’t bring myself to smile. 02 Vivian posted a selfie on Instagram wearing her hospital gown. The photo subtly, intentionally captured a man’s tall silhouette in the background, focusing on his long, elegant fingers. On his wrist was a Rolex Submariner with a slightly faded, worn strap. The caption read: [Don’t worry. He’s taking excellent care of me.] The comment section, instantly sniffing out the celebrity drama, exploded with thousands of fans: [Vivian, is that your boyfriend?!] [A literal feast for hand-lovers! Those hands are gorgeous, perfect for holding.] Vivian immediately replied to a fan’s comment, publicly claiming her sovereignty over Nate: [Already holding hands.] She attached another photo, still wearing her gown, their long fingers tightly, beautifully entwined. It turned out that holding hands was so incredibly effortless for them. I remember when Nate and I were together in college. Our relationship felt like an underground espionage operation. He never allowed a single trace of affection or intimacy in public. Until the day we graduated, my roommate, Leila, had absolutely no idea we were even a couple. When we got our marriage license after graduation and I finally told her, she stared at me in absolute, paralyzed horror: “Have you gone completely insane from unrequited love?” If the marriage certificate weren’t an ironclad fact, she would have assumed I was just another delusional fan hallucinating a relationship. During my stay, Leila came to visit me. She asked cautiously: “Are you and Nate divorced yet?” I froze for a second, answering flatly: “Soon.” Leila didn’t press for details. Before leaving, she clapped her chest and gave a bright, booming laugh: “My door is always open for you. Come stay with me whenever you’re ready.” I smiled back at her, feeling a genuine warmth. Right before I fell asleep that night, Nate called again. His voice was perfectly neutral, devoid of any emotional rippling: “The hospital is slammed right now. I won’t be home for the next two weeks.” And I replied exactly as before: “Got it.” He had no idea that through the clear glass window of my room, I had just watched his silhouette standing right out in the hallway. After that call, he stopped calling entirely. He probably figured daily updates were far too tedious and decided to bundle his excuses all at once. Occasionally, Leila would visit and push my wheelchair around the hospital garden. One afternoon, we ran into Nate. He didn’t see me. His tall, powerful frame was bent over, pushing a woman in a hospital gown. Her skin was flawless, her features delicate and incredibly gentle. Vivian pouted, demanding ice cream. Nate crouched directly in front of her wheelchair: “It’s too cold. You can’t have it.” She grabbed his hand, whining cutely, and he gave in immediately, walking over to buy her a cone. When some ice cream smudged her lip, Nate reached out to wipe it away, but he froze mid-air, hesitated, and shoved his hand back into his coat pocket. I saw the quiet, fiercely restrained love burning in his dark eyes. Vivian smiled brilliantly: “Nate, wipe it for me.” Across the crowd, her brilliant smile landed right on me. Nate’s back was turned to me. In that exact moment, I finally realized that a massive mountain, a raging ocean, stood between me and Nate. Nate would never refuse to buy me ice cream in the winter because he simply didn’t care if I caught a cold. And he would never bend down to wipe my mouth. He would say: “Wynne, wipe it yourself. It’s unhygienic.” 03 My attending physician checked my leg and went over the discharge instructions. “You can leave next week.” I nodded, thanking him. Leila was traveling for work next week, so I would need to hire a private caregiver to help me move. Before leaving, the doctor added: “Make sure to wheel yourself outside for some fresh air.” I manually spun the wheels and rolled myself down to the courtyard alone. While eating lunch back in my room, I saw a post trending on Twitter. It was a side-by-side photo comparison of Nate and Vivian, charting their relationship from the age of sixteen to twenty-six. Nate’s broad back shielding Vivian from the paparazzi, her face looking straight into the camera. Zooming in closely, the twenty-six-year-old photo was taken right here in this hospital. And blurred out in the background… was me, struggling alone to push my wheelchair. #AloofSurgeonVSBeautifulBallerina #ForbiddenStepSiblingRomanceInRealLife My heart dropped into a bottomless abyss. The caption read: [Forbidden romances are the absolute best. So what if they’re step-siblings? They still have to sit at the same table for Thanksgiving dinner every year.] Reading those words, the fog in my brain instantly cleared. The old, faded photo Nate kept hidden in his wallet for years… was his stepmother’s daughter. Married for three years, I knew he had a sister, but he had never allowed me to meet her. Every single time I brought her up, he shut the conversation down completely. The mystery finally made perfect sense. My quiet, secret love for Nate—he had noticed it a long time ago. Once, when he was drunk, I secretly followed him out of a campus bar. I gathered my courage to approach him, but he suddenly turned around. I frantically whipped my head away, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. His deep, cold voice echoed behind me: “Wynne Vance. If you brought that water for me, just hand it over.” After that day, our paths crossed, and we drifted into a relationship. He confessed, we dated, we married. The entire process took less than six months, running smoothly like a dream. The happiness I thought was a sweet dream turned out to be a cage he built for me. He married me because he loved Vivian. His rigid morality told him he couldn’t cross the line with his own step-sister. When their parents forced them apart, Vivian went abroad, and he stayed for grad school. He desperately needed someone to make his parents think he had moved on. And I was the willing fool who volunteered for the job. I figured it all out just by reading between the lines of Vivian’s social media. It was the end of the year, and because of the holidays, no one wanted to take a caregiver job at a hospital. I offered triple pay, but no one applied. I had no choice but to stay in the hospital for a few more days until Leila returned. The hospital beds were scarce, and a new patient was moved into my shared room. An energetic elderly lady. She smiled warmly at me: “All alone, sweetie?” I nodded: “Yeah.” Because I had been delaying my discharge, the doctor and nurses had prodded me multiple times. I looked incredibly embarrassed, apologizing profusely: “I’ll leave soon, my friend is on her way.” The nurse, who was about my age, looked at me sitting alone and sighed heavily: “It’s fine. Don’t worry. You can stay one more day. I’ll get the doctor to sign off on it.” Seeing the panic and embarrassment on my face, she winked at me and mouthed the words silently: [Don’t worry, stay as long as you need.] 04 The next morning, Leila got stuck at JFK due to severe flight delays. And a new patient was brought to our floor. I heard a familiar male voice growling outside the door: “Why the hell are you still lingering in this hospital?” “Are you treating it like your own personal home?” I felt a wave of crushing humiliation. I frantically started gathering my things from the wheelchair, piling my bags near the door. The sweet elderly lady in my room helped me move them. I pushed the door open, and a cold, dark face loomed right in front of me. His nose was sharp, his brow furrowed tightly. He looked utterly impatient. He glared at me: “Do you have any idea how scarce the beds are right now?” “You’ve delayed your discharge for a week. Do you think you own this hospital?” Staring at his face, I froze completely. It was Nate. He was holding a leather suitcase in his right hand. Standing right beside him was Vivian, her arm tightly looped through his. I was wearing a medical mask, my face completely burning with embarrassment. I lowered my head and whispered: “Got it.” I awkwardly pushed my wheelchair out into the corridor, my bags piled messily around me. Until the sweet young nurse called out my name: “Wynne, let me help you. My shift just ended.” She started grabbing my bags. “Wynne?” Nate violently grabbed the metal frame of my wheelchair, his long legs stepping right in front of me. Our eyes met, and he finally recognized me. He completely froze. I forced a faint smile beneath my mask. The nurse looked at him, confused. “Wynne, where’s your husband? Your intake file explicitly says you’re married.” I lifted my eyes to look at Nate. Married for three years, and not a single colleague of his even knew he had a wife. I smiled and said: “I’m not married. I filled out the form wrong.” Nate tried to step forward, but Vivian aggressively pulled his arm back. I pushed my wheels, steering myself straight into the elevator. As the doors began to slide shut, I see a sudden flash of panic in his eyes. He frantically charges forward, screaming my name: “Wynne Vance! Wait!” He shoves his hand into the closing elevator doors to stop them, catching his fingers between the metal. He lets out a sharp grunt of pain and wrenches his hand back as the doors snap shut. Through the final crack, his expression is filled with confusion and absolute disbelief. Inside the taxi, I powered on my phone. Looking at the iMessage logs, it was a massive wall of green text messages—me, endlessly, mindlessly sharing my daily life with him up until a month ago. He used to tell me to be quiet. From now on, I will never annoy him again. I finally recognized my exact place in his heart. Nate sent a text: [Wait for me. Don’t go anywhere.] I didn’t reply. Back at my apartment, I practice standing up, holding onto the furniture. My leg was starting to regain feeling. The doctor said I had to permanently give up heavy sports, but walking and light jogging were fine. During my month in the hospital, I had already fully accepted that my leg would never dance or climb mountains again. And I fully accepted that Nate never loved me. I was right on the verge of falling asleep when the front door handle rattled. Nate walked in. His coat was covered in fine flakes of white. The first snow of the year had started falling outside. I lay in bed. He was holding a bag of takeout, his face slightly flushed, his breathing heavy. He ran up the stairs. He stared at me, his lips parting slightly, wanting to say something but remaining silent. After a long silence, he spoke: “Why didn’t you tell me you were hospitalized?” “When did it happen?” I squinted against the harsh light he just turned on, my eyes blurry. “A month ago.” His body stiffens. He seems to be calculating exactly how long a month ago was. His eyes sweep over me, his pupils contracting sharply. His voice is laced with disbelief: “A month ago?” “The night of your show?” I nod, pulling the covers up, completely exhausted. “Turn off the light. I want to sleep.” Nate suddenly asks: “Why didn’t you leave a light on for me tonight?” Hearing his question, a cold, mocking laugh bubbled up in my chest. Right. Why should I leave a light on for him? For three straight years, whenever he worked late, I kept a warm plate of food and left the hallway light on for him. It was all just my own pathetic, one-sided emotional desperation. After three years, I couldn’t even warm a block of ice. I don’t want to warm it anymore. “I’m tired. Turn it off.” The atmosphere freezes. After a long pause, he clicks the light off.

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1 The night I caught my husband hooking up with my best friend, I had just gotten back from picking up my son and grabbing groceries on a battered bicycle. Clothes were violently scattered across the living room floor. Dripping wet in my cheap raincoat, I walked right into them cuddling on the leather sofa in the afterglow. The smell of the discount store spaghetti and meatballs in my hands couldn’t mask the heavy scent of sex filling the room. My son rushed forward. He practically jumped up and down, screaming his lungs out to welcome his new mommy. I lost my mind. I hurled the bags of meatballs right at their naked bodies. But no matter how hysterical I got, Chuck remained deadpan. He forced me out of the house with absolutely nothing to my name. His excuse was simple. They already had a baby on the way. Seven years later, I finally returned to Bayview. Walking out of the luxury mall restroom, I bumped right into a ghost from the past. “Maureen? Is that really you?” Chuck’s face lit up like he had struck gold. He stepped right into my personal space. “Where on earth have you been all these years?” I froze. Of all the places in this massive city, the universe just had to throw this sick joke at me. Seeing my silence, Chuck didn’t even have the decency to feel awkward. He just kept talking. “You vanished into thin air after the divorce. I looked everywhere for you.” “Someone finally told me you left Bayview entirely.” He paused, softening his gaze into something sickeningly gentle. “You look stunning. How have you been treating yourself?” “Look, I blame myself. I was young, arrogant. I shouldn’t have made you leave with nothing.” Hearing him gloss over that absolute nightmare made my stomach churn. “Mr. CEO, I’ve been doing just fine. You really don’t need to lose sleep over me.” He blinked, then let out a forced, bitter chuckle. “Maureen, I know you hate my guts.” “What happened back then… I just couldn’t control my feelings for her. My hands were tied.” “But honestly, all these years, I never forgot everything you did for our home.” He reached into a bright orange shopping bag and pulled out a jacket he had just bought, holding it out to me. “I’ve always felt guilty, but I never knew how to make it right.” “Take this. It’s freezing out there.” I stared at the hideous, clearance rack jacket and my lips twitched. “I’m good, Chuck. Really.” His eyes swept up and down my body. He stubbornly shoved the fabric against my chest. “Just take it. Sienna has a closet full of these anyway.” “It’s not a designer piece or anything, but I bet it still costs more than your rent.” I paused and looked down at my outfit. I wasn’t wearing a custom tailored suit with a massive luxury logo. I had on a slightly frayed gray knit sweater. I also smelled heavily of expensive bourbon from a brutal networking dinner I had just left. I suppose I did look like a pathetic corporate slave grinding away for pennies. Seeing that I wasn’t putting it on, he sighed heavily. “You haven’t been back once. Noah misses you, you know.” Hearing my son’s name made me scoff. I finally gave him a real reaction. “Isn’t he living the dream with his brand new mommy?” Chuck let out a soft laugh. “See? I knew you still cared about him.” A wave of absolute disgust washed over me. Before I could tell him off, Chuck kept rambling. “He was just a kid back then. Kids say stupid things when they’re mad. But you’re his biological mother. He talks about you all the time.” “He just thinks you abandoned him because you never reached out.” He took a breath. “Come over to the house when you have time. See Noah. We can put the past behind us and catch up like adults.” I laughed out loud. “Wouldn’t your wife have a problem with that?” Right on cue, a sickly sweet voice echoed behind me. “Why would I? You’re my absolute best friend.” “It’s been so long, babe. I missed you to death.” 2 I turned around. Sienna was strutting toward me, dripping in designer logos and carrying a dozen shopping bags. Her pregnant belly was obvious. She threw an arm over my shoulder with fake intimacy and rested her head against me. “Oh, Maureen. You just up and left after the divorce. You didn’t even look back to check on your oldest friends.” She let go of me and locked her arm around Chuck’s elbow instead. “Since we ran into each other, you have to come over.” “Plus, I’m pregnant with my second baby! I’m due soon. We should totally have dinner to celebrate.” I subtly wiped the cheap foundation she left on my shoulder. “I’ll pass. I have places to be.” “Oh, stop being so shy! It’s just dinner.” Sienna blocked my path. “Honestly, I always felt super bad about what happened.” “But Chuck and I are soulmates. True love wins, you know? I’m sorry you had to be the collateral damage.” “We can definitely afford to treat you to a nice meal. Looks like you could use some real food anyway.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Chuck on the cheek. “Right, honey?” Chuck went rigid, but he awkwardly patted her head and turned to convince me. “She’s right, Maureen. We hired a new private chef. Let’s just have one meal together.” I thought for a second. The real reason I returned to Bayview flashed in my mind. I decided to play along. “Sure. Let’s go.” Sienna’s smile cracked. A flash of dark annoyance crossed her face, but she forced her plastic grin back into place. Chuck, on the other hand, looked thrilled. He eagerly led the way out. A sleek Range Rover was parked by the entrance. Chuck hopped into the driver’s seat. Sienna slid into the passenger side, throwing me a smug, victorious look through the window. I got into the back seat, finding the whole thing completely hilarious. She really didn’t need to flex so hard. Back when Chuck and I were actually married, he never let me sit in the passenger seat either. My only mode of transportation used to be that rusty little bicycle. Rain, shine, sleet, or snow. Whether I was buying groceries or picking up our son, that bicycle was all I had. I used to beg Chuck to buy me a cheap used car. Anything with four doors and a heater. We had the money. A decent used sedan would have cost a few grand and saved me from freezing to death on the winter roads. But Chuck always said it was a waste of cash. He claimed I was a terrible driver and that traffic was too bad anyway. He gaslit me into thinking the bicycle was a privilege. But I had a pristine driving record. I even used to race on amateur tracks before we got married. He just didn’t want to spend a dime on me. Then, I watched him buy Sienna a hundred thousand dollar sports car. When she totaled it rear ending someone, he dropped everything, ran to the scene, and bought her a brand new one the next day. That was the day I realized he didn’t think a car was a waste of money. He just thought I wasn’t worth it. Memories flooded my mind until the SUV pulled up to the house I used to call home. Chuck knocked on the door. It swung open, revealing a face pale with shock. “Mom?” 3 I locked eyes with Noah. Seven years had passed. The little toddler who hadn’t even started kindergarten was now a lanky teenager drowning in a private school uniform. “Come on in.” Chuck eagerly placed a pair of guest slippers at my feet. As I stepped inside, Noah nervously backed away. I ignored him. I sat on the sofa and looked around. The interior was mostly the same, but the vibe was entirely corrupted. Expensive women’s coats overflowed on the coat rack. Bright plastic toys littered the hardwood floors. The room I had originally painted and prepped for Noah now had a baby gate across the door. A little boy, maybe five or six, came crashing through it holding a plastic sword. He sprinted straight at Chuck. “Daddy! Look at my castle!” He bulldozed through the living room, knocking over decorative vases and kicking toys out of his way. Noah silently crouched on the floor, picking up the mess. As his sleeve rode up, I noticed faint, fresh scratches on his forearm. I knew exactly what the situation was. This kid was the baby Sienna was carrying when she blew up my marriage. The baby that made Chuck force me out onto the streets. Sienna’s overly sweet voice drifted from the hallway. “Toby just worships his dad.” She rubbed her pregnant belly, looking at the father and son with pure adoration. Meanwhile, Noah, the boy who used to scream for his new mommy, was left kneeling in the dust. My face remained blank. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. The chef brought out the food. Chuck pried Toby off his leg and gestured for me to sit. The silver lids were lifted, revealing thick clouds of steam. Toby immediately started screaming. He wanted the Wagyu beef. He wanted the king crab. He hoarded half the massive pot onto his tiny plate before anyone else could even pick up a fork. Chuck shot me a nervous look, his ego taking a hit. “Toby, finish what you have first. Where are your manners?” Sienna just laughed and piled more meat onto Chuck’s plate. “Oh, relax. He’s just a growing boy. It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed Chuck’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “I bet the little guy in here is going to be just as wild as his big brother.” Chuck’s scowl instantly melted away. Amidst their picture perfect family moment, Noah finally reached out with his chopsticks to grab a single crab leg from the pot. The second he did, a heavy serving spoon slammed down on his wrist, knocking the crab onto the floor. Toby stood on his chair, screaming at the top of his lungs. “That’s my house’s food! You’re a beggar! You don’t get to eat!” Noah’s hand trembled violently. A bright red welt swelled on his skin. Chuck’s face went dark. “Toby! Do not treat your brother like that!” Toby shrieked back. “He’s not my brother! My mom didn’t make him! He’s the son of that ugly bitch!” Dead silence fell over the dining room. I slowly turned my head and stared dead into Chuck’s eyes. His face turned the color of bruised plum. He raised his hand, ready to strike the kid. “You little brat! Is that how you speak in front of me?” Before the slap could connect, Sienna caught his wrist. She giggled softly. “Oh, Chuck, stop. Boys will be boys. They just play rough.” She threw a sideways glance at me. “Maureen is a big girl. She’s not going to get offended by a toddler, right?” Noah looked at me with pure terror in his eyes. Chuck was sweating, watching my expression. I didn’t say a word. I just calmly picked up my crystal glass and took a sip of water. Seeing my absolute indifference, Noah finally broke. His voice cracked with a suppressed sob. “Mom…” Sienna cut him off immediately. “Alright, Noah, that’s enough whining. Get on your knees and clean up the food you dropped.” Noah slowly crouched down. His skinny frame shook as he picked up the dirty crab leg from the floor. “Yes, Aunt Sienna.” Behind him, Toby stuck his tongue out and danced around victoriously. Sienna chuckled again, dropping an overcooked piece of beef into my bowl. “Kids are just so chaotic. Don’t be shy, Maureen. Eat up.” “Chuck is so unoriginal. He just buys me the most expensive ingredients to keep me healthy. We eat this luxury stuff every single day. Honestly, I’m getting sick of it.” I pushed the bowl away. “I’m full. My business partners forced me to eat lobster and caviar earlier, and the bourbon hasn’t settled yet.” Sienna’s smug smile froze. Her face twisted into something ugly. It took her a long time to put her fork down. She forced out a dry laugh. “Right. You must be working so hard. Hustling everyday, begging clients for pennies.” “Not like me. Chuck spoils me rotten. I don’t even have to leave the house. If I point at something, he buys it.” Her eyes drifted down to my frayed sweater, and she actually let out a snort. “Your boss is terrible, though. Letting you work yourself to the bone and paying you peanuts. Walking into a client meeting looking like a homeless person? No wonder you have to drink so much to close a deal.” She stood up, walked into her bedroom, and came back with a stack of outdated, gaudy neon dresses. “Here. Take these. They’re old season, but they are a million times better than the rags you’re wearing.” She forcefully shoved the pile into my lap. “Take them. We’ve known each other for over a decade. Consider it charity.” I didn’t even blink. I shoved the pile right back off my lap, brushed the lint off my sweater, and smiled. “No thanks. My family knitted this for me. It keeps me warm.” Chuck’s face drained of all color. “Maureen… what are you talking about? Your parents died the same year we got divorced.” 4 The temperature in the room dropped below freezing. I clenched my fists under the table. The one memory I wanted to bury forever started playing on an endless loop in my mind. It was raining outside. Just like it was seven years ago. I was wearing that suffocating plastic raincoat. Massive raindrops felt like stones hitting my shoulders. Bags of cheap groceries dangled precariously from the handlebars. Noah was hiding behind my back. The plastic visor of my helmet was blurred by the storm. I wobbled through the aggressive city traffic on that dying bicycle. A massive truck blew past us, spraying a tidal wave of filthy street water directly into my face. I swerved, lost control, and slammed right into the metal guardrail. Mud soaked through my clothes. The groceries flew into the dirty puddle. I panicked, scrambling to check on Noah. Thank God my maternal instincts kicked in and I had shielded him with my body before we hit the ground. Cars behind us blared their horns. Blocks of tofu were crushed into white mush on the asphalt. I was on my hands and knees, desperately trying to salvage whatever food wasn’t ruined. Noah stood on the sidewalk under an awning. He didn’t come to help. He just stared at me like I was a diseased rat. When I finally scraped everything together, only one sealed bag of cheap veggie meatballs had survived. I dragged the heavy bicycle upright, shoved the meatballs into my pocket, and waved for Noah to get back on. He reluctantly crawled under the back of my raincoat, muttering loud enough for me to hear over the rain. “Why do you always pick me up? Why can’t Dad and Aunt Sienna do it? They have cool cars.” He shifted uncomfortably against my wet back. “You ride this piece of junk and carry stinky groceries. Everyone at school is laughing at me. I’m so embarrassed.” Every single word pierced straight through my heart. My soaking wet clothes clung to my freezing skin. The rain slashed against my face, and I blinked hard to keep the tears from falling. I didn’t yell. I didn’t defend myself. I just gripped the handlebars and focused on getting him home alive. I thought to myself, Once we get home, it’ll be fine. Once we get home, I can take a hot shower. I can cook a warm meal for my family. But when I dragged my exhausted body through the front door, there was no warmth waiting for me. There was only the heavy stench of sex and clothes littered everywhere. The shock paralyzed me. I stumbled blindly into the living room. On the expensive leather sofa I had saved up to buy, Chuck was buried deep in Sienna. They were completely naked, except for Sienna wearing my silk nightgown wrapped around her neck. It was a scene straight out of a nightmare. A guttural, shattered scream ripped out of my throat. But even then, my very first instinct was to turn around and cover Noah’s eyes. I didn’t want my baby to see this trauma. Instead, he violently shoved me away. He sprinted toward the two naked adults, clapping his hands in pure joy. “Daddy! You finally brought Aunt Sienna home! Does this mean she’s my new mommy now?” I stopped breathing. The floor vanished beneath me. Chuck didn’t even have the shame to cover up. He laughed, reached out, and ruffled Noah’s hair. “That’s right, buddy. You always wanted a pretty, nice mom, right? Aunt Sienna is your new mom now.” He grabbed Noah’s little hand and placed it on Sienna’s flat stomach. “Look. Your new mommy already has your baby brother in here. We’re going to be a real family.” Noah jumped up and down, absolutely ecstatic. “Yes! Yes! I’m getting a brother and a new mom!” He turned around and pointed his little finger right at my face. “I don’t want this broken mom anymore. She’s ugly, she’s old, and she makes me look like a loser!” And Sienna. The girl who had been my best friend since high school. The girl who stood next to me at my wedding. Twelve years of sisterhood. She laughed, pinched his cheek, and looked right into my eyes. “That’s right, baby. I’m your mommy now.” Something inside my brain just snapped. I pulled the bag of veggie meatballs out of my pocket and hurled it at their faces with everything I had. They scattered across the expensive rug. I threw myself at them like a rabid dog. I swung my fists wildly, but I was so weak from the cold that my punches felt like nothing. The next second, Chuck grabbed my shoulders and violently threw me backward. My spine slammed directly into the sharp edge of the glass coffee table.

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My wife and I were reborn at our own wedding, ten years in the past. Without a word of explanation, we both defied our families and friends, both demanding the ceremony be called off. After we went our separate ways, she wasted no time getting with another guy who’d been chasing her, and they moved overseas together. I kept my head down, grinding away as a simple programmer. Ten years later. Her new boyfriend had become a rising star in the international business world, a celebrated mogul with a future brighter than the sun. And I, in everyone else’s eyes, was still just a programmer at the same old company. She leaned into her man’s arms, a vision of sultry success, and looked down her nose at me. “Ten years, Finn, and you’re still the same dead-end programmer. Thank God I had the sense to cut my losses when I did.” I couldn’t be bothered with her smug, triumphant act. Not until my wife, a world champion, gently looped her arm through mine. That’s when Lydia shattered the wine glass in her hand. “Finn! I’m your wife! How could you let another woman touch you?” 1 We met again at the funeral of our old university professor, a decade after our rebirth. Lydia’s husband now was Grayson, the hotshot business mogul who’d just returned to the country. A crowd of fawning admirers buzzed around him, making him the undisputed center of attention. The service was about to start, but the funeral home’s A/V equipment was on the fritz. To keep things from falling behind schedule, I was crouched by the stage, troubleshooting the system. That’s when Lydia and Grayson made their grand entrance. A flock of our old classmates practically tripped over themselves to greet them, completely ignoring the somber setting. “Grayson, you’re a legend! Building an empire at such a young age.” “Heard you’re back to expand into the domestic market, Grayson. Don’t forget about us old friends, huh?” “Totally! I always knew you were different back in school. A cut above the rest.” “And Lydia, you haven’t aged a day! You look like you just stepped off campus. What a power couple.” Lydia couldn’t hide the smile blooming on her face. “Oh, you guys are too kind.” Seeing how much she lapped up the praise, the crowd doubled down, each person trying to outdo the other in their flattery. I rose from behind the console of equipment. “Could you show some respect? This is a funeral. Your racket is completely out of line.” Lydia’s brow furrowed the moment she saw me. “What is he doing here?” Most of the people here were old classmates. They knew that Lydia and I had been reborn at our wedding and had promptly, wordlessly, cancelled the whole thing. They knew our history. “Isn’t that Finn? What’s he doing behind the tech booth? Still a programmer after all these years?” “Man, to think you and Lydia were almost married. Look at you two now. Worlds apart.” A flicker of discomfort crossed Lydia’s face. She shot a nervous glance at Grayson. “That’s all in the past. Let’s not talk about it.” At her cue, everyone shut up and quickly changed the subject. I gave the equipment a final check, and seeing everything was working, I stepped back into the crowd. As I approached, Grayson let out a cold snort. “Still slinging code at that same little company, huh?” His words were a signal, and the pack pounced. “Yeah, Finn. Ten years and you’re still stuck in the same place?” “No wonder you never show up to the reunions. If my life were that pathetic, I’d hide too.” “Exactly. Lydia and Grayson missed them because they were overseas building an empire. You missed them because you’re a nobody.” I looked up. Lydia was dressed in a designer gown, a limited edition piece that probably cost more than a car. Her hair was swept up loosely, with a few tendrils framing her face, their tips brushing against a pair of diamond earrings. Every move she made oozed a calculated sensuality. Grayson stood beside her in a bespoke black suit, a watch on his wrist that screamed wealth. Together, they looked like they’d stepped right out of a luxury magazine. A perfect, untouchable pair. The barbed comments kept coming, and I shot them all an irritated look. “This is a funeral. Try to have a shred of decency for the man we’re here to honor. If you want to kiss their asses, wait until the service is over.” My words were blunt, and Lydia’s face tightened, ready to snap back. But Grayson held up a hand, stopping her. “Finn’s right. Let’s honor the professor.” He then turned his attention to me. “Look, the Dean mentioned we’re all getting dinner tonight. You should come.” “My new hotel is having its grand opening, so we’ll go there. It’s on me. It’s been too long since we all got together.” I was about to refuse, but then I remembered the Dean had called me last night. He’d specifically mentioned this dinner, telling me several senior faculty members wanted to meet me and that I absolutely had to be there. While I hesitated, Grayson’s voice cut in again, laced with a challenge. “What’s the matter? Too good for my invitation? Or are you afraid to show up?” I raised an eyebrow. Afraid? “In that case, I’d be honored. Thanks for footing the bill, Grayson.” My acceptance seemed to satisfy them, and the murmuring finally died down, allowing the funeral to proceed. As Lydia and Grayson walked past me to lay flowers, Lydia paused, her gaze dripping with condescension. “Look at you, Finn. Just look at the pathetic mess you’ve become.” Her voice was a low, venomous whisper. “If you had just listened to me, you wouldn’t be stuck as a dead-end programmer for the rest of your life, scraping by on a few thousand a month, struggling just to get by.” “We’re on different paths now, Finn. We have been for a long time.” Watching them walk away, I got lost in thought. Different paths? She had no idea. In our first life, Lydia and I met in college. We were each other’s first love. After graduation, we got married, just as everyone expected, and started our life together. But that simple, happy life didn’t last. Everything changed when Grayson returned from overseas. He had pursued Lydia relentlessly in college, but she’d chosen me. So, after we got married, he left the country. Just like in this life, he returned a decade later, a self-made tycoon, dripping with success. At the reunion party thrown to welcome him back, the way Lydia looked at him had changed. I tried to tell myself I was imagining things, that Lydia wasn’t the type of woman to betray our vows. But after that party, she quit her job. The collection of designer bags and clothes in our closet started to grow exponentially. On the day we were reborn, she hadn’t come home all night. When she finally did, her neck was covered in the faint, unmistakable marks of passion. That’s when we had our final, explosive fight. She threw her new Hermès bag right at my head. “I must have been blind to choose you, Finn!” she screamed, her face twisted with rage. “So what if I cheated? Look at this bag! Your entire pathetic salary for a year couldn’t even buy this! I’m sick of this miserable life!” Staring at her distorted face, all I felt was a deep, chilling sorrow. The truth was, our life wasn’t miserable. We owned our own home in a decent city, had a reliable car. My salary was more than comfortable, and with no kids, we lived well. But Grayson’s return had shown her a bigger, shinier world, and she’d gotten a taste of wealth and status. I could understand wanting a better life, but I could never accept her betrayal. After her tirade, she stormed out. She was so agitated, I was afraid she’d do something reckless, so I ran out after her. Maybe it was the guilt of being caught, but she couldn’t calm down. We were arguing on the street when an out-of-control truck came barreling towards us. The next thing I knew, we were both waking up, ten years in the past, at our own wedding. Even with everyone watching, we acted in perfect, unspoken agreement, cancelling the ceremony on the spot. After we split, she seamlessly transitioned into a relationship with Grayson, and they left for Europe together. And I went back to being a programmer, continuing down my path of software development. The only difference between this life and the last was that I was no longer just a “simple programmer.” I had a ten-year head start on the rest of the world. A decade of foresight. After the rebirth, I saw the coming storm of short-form video. I developed what is now the world’s most popular social media app, and my first move was to acquire the very company I used to work for. Once the money started pouring in, I began donating to my old university—new equipment, entire buildings, and a scholarship fund for underprivileged students. It was where my dream began; giving back felt natural. But I was always buried in work and hated the spotlight, so I never attended any of the university’s ceremonies or thank-you events. Besides the Dean and a few top administrators, no one knew who I really was. Today was the professor’s funeral. The Dean had called me last night, and after turning him down so many times, I finally agreed to his dinner invitation. Running into Lydia and Grayson was not part of the plan. But since it happened… I wasn’t the one who did something wrong. I wasn’t the one who should be hiding. After the funeral, the group headed for the hotel. Grayson and Lydia walked out, surrounded by their sycophants. A sleek, low-slung sports car was parked right at the entrance, and they headed straight for it. Gasps of awe rippled through the crowd. “What a machine. Only the best for Grayson.” “Isn’t that a limited edition? Of course he’s already got one.” “If I could own a car like that, I could die happy.” I tuned out their pathetic bootlicking and walked over to a row of shareable e-scooters. The World Championships had just ended, and today was the day my champion wife was flying home. After my driver dropped me at the funeral home, I’d sent him to the airport to pick her up. The hotel wasn’t far. A scooter was faster and would let me zip through traffic. Just as I reached the scooter bank, Grayson’s smug voice sounded behind me. “Seriously, Finn? All these years and you still can’t afford a car?” “A guy your age, riding a public scooter? I’m almost embarrassed for you.” “You know what, why don’t you ride with me? I’ll give you a lift.” He paused dramatically. “On second thought, never mind. Don’t want to get my seats dirty.” I unlocked a scooter and glided over to him, giving him a lazy, sidelong glance. “A car’s a tool, man. No matter how fancy yours is, we’re ending up at the same place. So stop barking. It’s annoying.” Without waiting for a response, I sped off. Halfway down the block, a thought occurred to me. I stopped, turned back, and grinned at Grayson’s thunderous expression. “Oh, and by the way, since your car is so precious, you probably shouldn’t drive it. You should carry it to the hotel, Grayson. Wouldn’t want it to get dirty.” …

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “444424”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

One day during my pregnancy, my best friend suddenly sent me a link to a Reddit thread. The title was: [Final year of grad school. Engaged to my long-term girlfriend, but I’ve been sleeping with an undergrad.] I clicked on it, only to find the entire history of my husband’s infidelity documented right there on the screen. 1 When my best friend, Sarah, forwarded me the link, I was in the middle of editing a video for my channel. Immediately, her texts started popping up, one after another: [I think you need to see this.] [Maybe I’m just overthinking it…] [But you should probably double-check.] [Whether it’s him or not, please don’t freak out.] [Ugh, never mind. Don’t read it. I’m unsending it.] […Crap, too late to unsend.] Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the link. The main title read: [Final year of grad school. Engaged to my long-term girlfriend, but I’ve been sleeping with an undergrad.] I couldn’t see the whole post on my mobile browser; it prompted me to download the Reddit app. It felt like a hassle, and Sarah had just told me not to look. I thought about closing the tab, but my subconscious had already hit “Download.” I installed it, made a throwaway account, and logged in. The Original Poster (OP) went by the username ED_Throwaway. My heart skipped a beat. Ethan Davies. I quickly told myself that those initials were incredibly common. It had to be a coincidence. I scrolled down. At the very top of the post was a picture of a man and a woman holding hands, their fingers intertwined. The man’s hand looked awfully familiar. The first comment was OP’s own backstory: [I’m finishing up my Ph.D. at Columbia. Lately, I’ve been feeling lost. I just got engaged to my girlfriend of seven years, so she’s officially my fiancée now, but I recently started sleeping with an undergrad from my department.] [I feel terrible for my fiancée, but I just can’t bring myself to let the undergrad go.] [My fiancée is very traditional and safe. The undergrad is wild and open-minded. She actually loves climbing all over me while I’m on the phone with my fiancée. I don’t know if you guys can understand that kind of thrilling rush.] [We basically sleep in the same bed every night now. Explored a lot of new things together.] [She’s a sweet girl. I told her I was engaged, and she was devastated, but we agreed to break up as soon as I graduate.] The replies beneath it were ruthless: [Holy shit, dude, you’ve got a death wish.] [Having your cake and eating it too, huh?] [OP is absolute trash. I feel so bad for the fiancée.] [That undergrad is no angel either. She knows he’s taken and still plays the homewrecker.] [Aren’t you terrified your fiancée will see this?] [OP, we need updates!] … After a dozen or so comments, OP replied: [Long time no see, guys. My fiancée doesn’t use Reddit. She’ll never see this.] [I read the comments. A lot of you are tearing me apart, and I know what I’m doing is messed up. Some of you told me to just let my fiancée go. But you don’t understand our seven-year history. You can’t just throw that away.] [I remember when I was studying for my grad school entrance exams, living in a crappy off-campus apartment. She was there every day. She cooked for me. When I wanted to puke from staring at calculus equations all night, she’d warm up a mug of milk for me and organize my messy desk. That was the moment I swore I’d marry her.] [And please don’t bash the undergrad. She really is amazing. If my fiancée is a calming harbor, this girl is a wildfire. She’s brilliant, has that Ivy League glow, and her charm is intoxicating. She gives me an intense romantic experience my fiancée just can’t provide.] [I just got a hand-knitted scarf from my fiancée in the mail. It’s warm and looks great. Here’s a picture. Honestly, my guilt is eating me alive.] The comments multiplied. I skimmed them. Almost all of them were insults. [Cheating scumbag. Go to hell.] [You are such a hypocrite.] [God, I hope his fiancée finds out!] [Can some hacker dox this guy? Pure trash!] But there were also people cheering him on: [Legend. Teach me your ways, bro.] [W.] [Lol, who has the better body though, the fiancée or the college girl?] 2 The photo of the scarf was sandwiched between the comments. People were actually complimenting the knitting pattern. I tapped the photo to enlarge it. Staring at the familiar gray yarn, my ears started ringing with a high-pitched whine. When I decided to knit him a scarf, I spent hours on YouTube looking up patterns before choosing this thick, durable cable-knit style. I didn’t have time during the day, so I stayed up late after work every night for nearly ten days to finish it. I dug my nails into my palms and kept scrolling. OP wrote: [A lot of you are defending my fiancée. I admit, if she knew, it would destroy her. But she wouldn’t be able to let go of our seven years together either. We’re childhood sweethearts, and she’s been obsessed with me forever. She has this thick journal filled with drawings and writings just about me. Her love is incredibly pure, which is why she moves me so much.] [Besides, she can’t leave me. She’s getting older, she only went to an average state school, and her salary is pretty low. If we broke up, she’d have to rely on dating apps, and let’s be real, her prospects wouldn’t be great.] [I can give her a very comfortable life. Our families love each other. You guys don’t know the whole picture, so stop playing God and judging other people’s relationships.] … [The semester is almost over. Before winter break, I took the undergrad out to the mountains, drove down to the beach, and watched the sunrise.] [On our last night, we went absolutely crazy until dawn. I think I’ll be looking back on the taste of that night when I’m an old man.] … [I’m back in Boston now. The undergrad and I are officially broken up. Before I left, I bought her a designer bag, paid for a year’s lease on an apartment near her campus, and set up a grocery delivery subscription for her. I just want her to be okay and find a good guy someday.] … [Probably won’t update anymore. Not much left to say. I’ll graduate, start my career, get married, and have kids.] My hands were shaking as I swiped down. OP hadn’t updated for a long time. The comments were full of people begging for an update, wanting to know what happened. I did the math. During the two or three years he stopped posting, we had gotten married. And just this year, we successfully started trying for a baby. I was currently three months pregnant. But then, a month ago, the updates resumed. [Three years later, I’m back. I see some of the old commenters are still here. Even though you’re just here to roast me, it feels strangely comforting. I’m facing a massive dilemma right now and need some advice.] [I married my fiancée two years ago. My career is taking off, my home life is perfect, and I’m going to be a dad soon.] [But I never expected the undergrad to reach out to me again. She’s been in the workforce for a year, and recently, she got transferred to Boston. She lives just thirty minutes from my office. Since she didn’t know anyone in the city, I helped her find an apartment and move her stuff. I really only meant to be friends. But we had drinks at her new place to celebrate, got drunk, and slept together again.] [She hugged me and said she’s still in love with me. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. Honestly? Being confessed to like that… of course my heart skipped a beat. But I’m not a college kid anymore. I can’t just recklessly chase romance.] … [I thought about it all week. I’ve decided to keep seeing her. I really just can’t let her go. And she doesn’t even care that I have a wife and a kid on the way. How could any guy resist a girl like that?] [Even though I’m seeing her, I won’t neglect my wife. I’ll just treat her even better.] [I’ve spent the last few nights at her place. I feel that intense, heart-pounding passion all over again.] [Late at night, the guilt hits me. I lied to my wife, told her I had to travel for business. Not only did she buy it, but she even texted to make sure I was eating well and getting enough sleep on the road.] [Pregnancy is hard on my wife. I’ll spend some quality time with her when I get back. I’ll hold off on seeing my girl for a bit.] … [Stop trying to dox me. Even if you find my wife and tell her the truth, she’ll just cry for a while. She can’t leave me. She quit her job to be a stay-at-home mom, and she’s carrying my child. How is she supposed to survive without me?] [If you guys actually pity my wife, back off. She’s had terrible morning sickness for three months, and she’s finally keeping food down. Do not harass her with this.] 3 Having read the whole thing, my mind was entirely blank. I had no idea how to react. I just sat there, staring blankly at my phone. This morning, Ethan had told me he was working late and not to wait up. He was a project manager now, so overtime was a daily routine. I had never once suspected a thing. But now… I hit the FaceTime button on his contact. It rang for a full minute. He didn’t answer. A few seconds later, he called me back on a regular voice call. “Hey babe, why aren’t you asleep yet?” Ethan’s voice was low and gravelly. Usually, I would assume he was just exhausted from work. Suddenly, Ethan let out a muffled groan. The words of concern died on my lips. I remembered the line from the Reddit post: The undergrad loves climbing all over me while I’m on the phone with my fiancée. I gripped my phone tightly, forcing my voice to sound perfectly calm. “Honey, is there someone else there with you?” “…What? No, of course not. I’m just swamped with work.” “When are you coming home?” “I’m not sure. You should get some sleep. It’s good for the baby. Night, babe.” Ethan hastily hung up. I stared at the call duration. Less than a minute. I felt completely numb. Suddenly, my stomach violently churned. An overwhelming wave of nausea climbed up my throat. I sprinted to the bathroom, hugging the toilet, and threw up until I was dry-heaving. After rinsing my mouth, I curled up on my side in bed. Tears slipped out of the corners of my eyes, dropping onto the back of my hand. I rested my hand on my slightly rounded stomach, feeling more lost than I ever had in my entire life. “Baby, what is Mommy supposed to do?” … A little while later, Sarah called. “Chloe, are you okay?” Hearing her voice broke whatever dam I had left. I started sobbing. “Sarah…” “Chloe, is the thread real?” I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “I don’t know for sure, but there are way too many details that line up perfectly.” Sarah gritted her teeth through the phone. “That piece of shit! Ethan is definitely guilty! Do you want me to come over and stay with you tonight?” I sniffled. “No, you have work in the morning. Let me just be alone and think.” “Okay, but you have to hold it together. We are figuring this out. You cannot let him keep you in the dark,” Sarah said, her voice burning with righteous anger. “I know.” 4 For the sake of the baby in my belly, I forced myself to suppress the spiraling negative emotions and eventually drifted off to sleep. I didn’t even hear Ethan come home. When I opened my eyes the next morning, I looked at the man sleeping soundly next to me. My chest physically ached. Ethan’s eyelashes fluttered, and he woke up groggily. I pretended I had just woken up too. He pulled me into a hug, burying his face in the crook of my neck, mumbling, “Let’s sleep a little longer.” “What time did you get in last night?” I asked casually. His voice was muffled against my skin. “I don’t remember. Why?” I tested the waters. “Are you hiding anything from me?” A long silence passed. Finally, he replied, “No.” I didn’t say anything else. A few minutes later, Ethan was fully awake. He looked at me intently. “Babe, what could I possibly be hiding from you? Are your pregnancy hormones making you sensitive? Why are you being so paranoid?” He studied my face, looking genuinely concerned. “You look pale. Is the baby giving you a hard time again?” “No, I’m fine. Probably just didn’t sleep well,” I answered quietly, looking down. But there was a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. Ethan didn’t press the issue. He got up to shower. When he came out, he said, “Pregnant women need their rest. Go back to sleep. I ordered you some breakfast on UberEats, it’ll be here soon. I’m going to grab something near the office.” As he reached the front door, I called out, “Do you have time this weekend? To come with me to my ultrasound appointment?” Ethan paused, looking torn. “Babe, you know that new project is at a critical stage. I can’t guarantee I’ll be free this weekend, but I’ll try my absolute best to leave early and go with you.” When the weekend arrived, Ethan still couldn’t “make time,” so I had to ask Sarah to go with me. Seeing my pale face, Sarah cut right to the chase. “Where are we at with the situation? What did Ethan say?” I felt a flash of embarrassment. “I haven’t figured out how to confront him yet.” Sarah looked exasperated. “What’s there to figure out? You throw the Reddit thread in his face and ask him if it’s him! Or demand to see his phone!” “If you can’t do it, I’ll do it for you. I’m coming over to your place tonight and sitting him down!” My mind was a chaotic mess. “No! I’ll handle it,” I quickly shot down her idea. Sarah sighed heavily. “Chloe, please, whatever you do, do not go soft on him. Do not let him manipulate you.” After that, by unspoken agreement, neither of us brought it up again. Following the ultrasound, we had plenty of time to kill, so Sarah and I went to the shopping mall next to the clinic. The mall was full of designer boutiques. On the second floor was Sarah’s favorite clothing brand, so we headed straight there. While Sarah was in the fitting room, I went to use the restroom. As soon as I walked in, I saw a very young, pretty girl touching up her makeup while on the phone. She was talking to who I assumed was her boyfriend, her voice sickly sweet and whining. “What time do you get off for lunch?” “It’s my birthday today! You belong to me for the whole afternoon and evening!” Whoever was on the other end said something, and her eyes crinkled into a delighted smile. I caught a quick glimpse of her in the mirror from the corner of my eye. The mirror reflected a face as fresh and vibrant as a blooming flower. 5 After leaving the boutique, Sarah was thrilled with her haul. But before we even made it out the mall doors, her boss called, demanding she revise a proposal immediately. Sarah groaned, cursing her boss under her breath. She looked at me apologetically. “Chloe, I have to rush back to the office. I can’t do lunch. Will you be okay by yourself?” I nodded. “Of course. Go.” Once Sarah left, I completely lost the mood to shop. I bought some groceries on the lower level and decided to head home. I hailed a cab outside the mall. Just as I settled into the back seat, I saw her. The young girl from the restroom was sprinting toward a specific direction. My eyes followed her path, and I was completely blindsided when I saw Ethan. The girl threw herself into his arms, looping her arms around his neck, completely ignoring the people walking by, and kissed him deeply and passionately. In that instant, it felt like I had been plunged into an ice bath. Every last shred of hope I had been clinging to vanished. Ethan quickly ushered her into his car, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. I just sat there, staring blankly. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, miss?” I snapped back to reality. “Follow that car.” For the rest of the afternoon, my brain shut down. I acted like a stalker, following them to a high-end restaurant, watching them share a birthday cake, trailing them to a movie theater, and finally, watching them check into a hotel. I don’t even know how I got home. I curled up on the sofa, completely numb. Ethan and I had grown up together. Our parents were close friends who spent a lot of time together. He was my first crush when I was just a kid, and it had always been him ever since. With our parents’ eager encouragement, we officially started dating right after high school. We went to different colleges, but we stayed in the same city. For four years, our relationship was rock solid. We rarely fought, except for one incident during our junior year, when he started wavering over a girl in his class. I knew him too well. It was obvious he treated that girl differently. He talked about her constantly, and suddenly there were cute stickers on his phone case that I had never seen before. We had our first explosive argument. Our first cold war. I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t throw away years of love, so I was the first to apologize and back down. He eventually cut ties with the girl. Later, when he was studying for grad school, he complained about the distractions on campus. I immediately used the money from my internship to rent him an apartment off-campus, working during the day and taking care of him at night. When he finally got his acceptance letter to Columbia, he held me and sobbed, saying he could never have made it without me. Ethan moved to New York for his Ph.D., and I stayed working in Boston. We became long-distance. I was the one making the commute most of the time. Partly because I missed him, and partly because I was terrified his eyes would wander again. Thankfully, my fears never materialized. Looking back now, it wasn’t that they didn’t materialize. He just got better at hiding it. We got engaged during his final year, and a year after he graduated and secured a solid job, we got married. This year, he got a huge promotion. We had built up a nice savings account, so we decided it was time to start a family. When he asked me to quit my job and focus entirely on the home and the baby, I barely hesitated before saying yes. I gave him my complete, unconditional trust, only to be rewarded with the most blatant betrayal. 6 The living room was pitch black and terrifyingly quiet. I stared blankly at the rug. Hours later, I heard footsteps at the door. The next second, the living room lights flicked on. The brightness stung my eyes. Ethan frowned for a second, then his face softened. “Babe, why aren’t you sleeping in bed?” I just stared at him. He dropped his briefcase, walked over with long strides, and scooped me up in his arms. My arm brushed against the hair at the back of his neck. It was damp. He had showered. “What’s wrong? Why are your eyes so red?” “Did everything go okay at the doctor today?” He fired off a string of questions. I didn’t answer a single one. He looked at me in confusion, then suddenly looked like he understood. “Are you mad I couldn’t make the appointment?” Before I could speak, he kept going. “I told you, this project is make-or-break for me. If I crush this, I’m next in line for Director. You want me to get that promotion, right?” Looking at this man—a man whose mouth was currently overflowing with lies—I just felt an bone-deep exhaustion. “I saw you. With her,” I took a deep breath and punctured his illusion. Ethan froze. His eyes darted around the room as he desperately tried to maintain the lie. “Babe, what are you talking about?” “Do I need to spell it out? I followed you. The kissing. The birthday cake. The hotel!” I lost control, screaming at him and pounding my fists against his chest. All the color drained from Ethan’s face. He grabbed my wrists, panic in his voice. “Just listen to me, I can explain—” He stopped. He couldn’t find a single excuse. Tears were streaming down my face, but I laughed, goading him. “Go ahead! Explain! Let’s hear it!” He slumped forward, hanging his head. A moment later, he looked up, his eyes pleading. “Chloe, I messed up. I’ll cut her off right now. Please, just give me one more chance. Please?” I shook my head violently. “No. I don’t believe a word you say anymore. I want a divorce.” Ethan’s eyes rimmed with red. He gripped my hands tighter, his voice choking up. “Chloe, I don’t want a divorce. We have a baby on the way. Do you really want our child to grow up without a dad? Let’s just calm down, okay?” His eyes were filled with such profound, agonizing regret. It looked so genuine it was almost impossible to reject. After a long time, my expression softened just a fraction. Ethan saw the opening and doubled down. He pulled out his phone, and right there in front of me, he blocked the college girl on every single app and platform. He was putting on a masterclass in repentance. I didn’t bring up divorce again that night, but I couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. I packed a bag and went to my parents’ house. Ethan texted me constantly, asking how I was, asking about the baby, begging to know when I was coming home. But he never actually came to visit me. While I was at my parents’, Sarah called. She spent twenty minutes cursing Ethan and his entire bloodline. Her stance was uncompromising: Divorce him. No hesitation. But I was still trapped in a fog of indecision. Sarah was furious with my hesitation. A few days later, she texted me the Reddit link again with just two words: “He updated.” I clicked the link. Sure enough, there was a new post. I hadn’t told Ethan that I knew about his Reddit diary. And now, this thread had become the ultimate lie detector. It burned away the last of his fake remorse, and along with it, the very last drop of love and trust I had for him. Ethan wrote: [My wife found out about the undergrad. It’s a mess. She had a hysterical breakdown crying, and honestly, it broke my heart to see her like that.] [I promised my wife I’d cut ties with the girl. I blocked all her numbers and socials right in front of my wife.] [I haven’t contacted the undergrad in days. I wonder if she’s freaking out because she can’t reach me.] Someone commented: [The scumbag finally got caught. Your wife is definitely divorcing you, right?] Ethan replied to him: [She was screaming for a divorce at first. But like I said before, she relies on me financially and emotionally. I’ve already smoothed things over. She absolutely will not bring up divorce again.] His arrogant, chauvinistic response triggered another wave of internet outrage. Ethan didn’t care about the insults. In his mind, netizens were just venting. Their words couldn’t touch him in the real world. Over the next few weeks, I spent my days drawing, updating my social media accounts, and checking Ethan’s Reddit thread. Thanks to his little diary, I finally saw the real Ethan. The one he kept hidden from me. Arrogant. Two-faced. Disgusting. One night, right after Ethan sent his daily text checking on me and the baby, he updated the thread. [It’s been almost half a month without talking to the undergrad. I was too worried about her, so I finally went to see her. She’s so understanding. I iced her out for two weeks, and she didn’t throw a tantrum or cry. It just makes me care about her even more.] [And guys… she’s pregnant! I’m thrilled! I really want her to keep it. But it feels unfair to her. The kid would technically be illegitimate.] [I took her to a private clinic for a full check-up today. Everything looks perfect. Illegitimate or not, whatever. I’ll make sure she and the kid are taken care of financially. They won’t suffer.]

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1 With gold prices on the rise, I bought a kilogram brick on a business trip and mailed it home. But when the courier arrived for the cash-on-delivery payment, he told me the package was ten kilograms and the shipping fee was ten times the original quote. I hefted the box. I had him test it, too. It was nowhere near ten kilos. His only reply was, “My estimate isn’t accurate.” I pointed to the digital scale right beside the door. He waved it off impatiently. “I only go by what the system says.” Fine. I paid the fee, signed for it, and closed the door. Then, I took out my phone and started recording. “Hello, I insured a shipment of 10 kilograms of gold but only received 1 kilogram. How do I file a claim?” … “The shipping fee is fifty dollars. Please scan to pay.” The courier dangled the QR code in front of my face. I didn’t rush to pay. “Sir, I had this weighed when I shipped it. It was only one kilogram.” “The system says ten.” He couldn’t be bothered to argue, just tapped his screen to show me the number. I smiled and pulled up a video on my own phone. “You see? This is the recording from when I packed it. The scale shows 1.02 kilograms. The timestamp matches, too.” He glanced at it, his expression unchanged. “That’s your scale. Our system says ten.” “Don’t you find a tenfold difference a little suspicious?” “I just deliver. I don’t investigate.” He shoved a stylus at me, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Are you signing or not? If not, I’m taking it back. I have a hundred other stops to make; I don’t have time for this.” I sized him up. He was in his thirties, with the tanned, weathered skin of someone who spent their days on the road. “I purchased full insurance.” At those words, he paused for a fraction of a second. “Insurance is insurance. Shipping is shipping. Two different things.” “Then I’m only willing to pay the fee for the actual weight, which should be five dollars.” “Not happening.” “Why not?” “Because that’s what the system says.” I took a deep breath and, with him watching, dialed the customer service number. He finally looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Call whoever you want.” I sat through three rounds of automated menus before finally reaching a human. I explained the situation. After a few seconds of silence, the agent replied. “Ma’am, our system data is entered at the point of pickup. If you have a dispute about the weight, you can file a claim within 48 hours of signing for the package.” “So you’re saying I have to pay the fifty dollars first?” “Yes.” I looked at the courier. He pushed the stylus toward me again. “Sign. Don’t waste my time.” Standing in my doorway, holding that stylus, the whole situation felt absurd. A package that was obviously one kilogram, and he was insisting it was ten. “Fine.” I started a new video recording on my phone. I took the package, signed my name, scanned the code, and paid the fifty dollars. The courier let out a dismissive snort, then pocketed his device and the receipt and left without a backward glance. The moment the elevator doors closed, I locked my door. I carried the package to the coffee table, carefully filming every angle, zooming in on the label where “10.0kg” was printed in bold. Then, I opened my laptop and pulled up my order details. Insured item: Gold Bar. Declared value: $150,000. Insurance coverage: $450,000. Taking a deep breath, I turned the camera on myself. “My name is Nina Lin, sender and recipient. I purchased full insurance for this package. The contents are gold, and the system weight is recorded as 10 kilograms. The package has now arrived.” I picked up a pair of scissors and slowly sliced through the packing tape. Keeping the box in the frame the entire time, I pulled out the bubble-wrapped contents and placed them on my digital scale. 1.02 kilograms. “The waybill shows 10 kilograms, but the actual weight received is 1 kilogram. I am submitting this unboxing video as evidence to file an insurance claim.” I stopped the recording, saved two copies—one to the cloud, one to my hard drive—and opened the customer service chat. I uploaded the video and all my documentation. Then I typed one final message: “I shipped 10 kilograms of gold and received only 1 kilogram. I am filing a claim for the insured value.” After sending it, I sank onto the sofa and started scrolling through videos on my phone. Less than fifteen minutes later, a system notification popped up. “Hello, your complaint has been logged. We will respond within 48 hours. Please be patient.” I smiled at the message. I had plenty of patience. After all, besides the inflated shipping fee, I hadn’t lost anything. But a 9-kilogram shortfall on an insured gold shipment? That was their problem. 2 I didn’t expect them to drag it out for two full days. When the message finally came, it was a masterclass in corporate deflection. “Dear Valued Customer, upon review, our company has confirmed that your package weight is consistent with the data recorded in our pickup system. The data is accurate. If you have further questions, we advise you to contact the sender for verification. Thank you for your understanding.” I read the message three times. I was the sender. I was also the recipient. They were telling me to contact myself. Taking a deep breath, I called the customer service line again. “Hello, you’ve reached agent 4317. How can I help you?” “Hi, my phone number is associated with a complaint filed two days ago regarding a weight dispute and an insurance claim.” “One moment, let me look that up for you.” The sound of clacking keys went on for a while. “Ma’am, I see here that your complaint has been resolved.” “Resolved? What about my claim?” “The system shows the weight was correct, therefore the claim is invalid.” “The system shows 10 kilograms, and I received 1 kilogram. How is that correct?” “Ma’am, please don’t get upset. Our system data wouldn’t…” “I know all about your system data! I have a video of the weigh-in from when I packed it. I have screenshots of the insurance purchase. The time, location, and weight all line up perfectly!” The line went quiet for a few seconds. “Ma’am, my authority here is limited. Would you like me to transfer you to a regional customer manager?” “Yes.” I knew it wasn’t her fault; I didn’t want to waste any more time with a script-reader. “Hello, Ms. Lin? This is Mr. Leighton from the East Coast Customer Management department.” His voice was older, polished, the sound of someone who had handled countless calls like this. “Mr. Leighton, you should have my case file.” “I do, I do. It was sent right up.” “Alright, Ms. Lin, let me explain. To process an insurance claim, you need to provide proof of loss. You say you shipped 10 kilograms of gold. Do you have a receipt for that purchase?” I didn’t answer. It was faint, but I heard a soft chuckle on his end. “Ms. Lin, I’ve been in this business for seven years. I’ve seen situations like yours more times than I can count. People ship something worth a few bucks, buy a massive insurance policy, and then claim something went missing.” “I’m not saying this is you, of course. But that sort of thing constitutes fraud.” My fingers tightened around the phone. “Are you accusing me of fraud?” “I didn’t say that. I’m simply stating a fact. Without proof of purchase for the gold, your claim will not be approved.” “Then what about your system changing a 1-kilogram package to 10 kilograms and overcharging me for shipping?” “What ‘change’? The system entry is 10 kilograms. Maybe you added something to the box after you packed it? What does your little video prove? For all we know, you could have tossed a couple of bricks in there after you stopped filming.” A hot spike of anger shot through my temples. “Mr. Leighton, I have evidence for every single step of this process. I suggest you handle this matter with care.” His tone shifted, becoming slick with condescension. “Ms. Lin, I’ve been around this block more times than you’ve had hot dinners. If you really think you have a case, feel free to take us to court. Or complain to whoever you want. Is that all?” Click. He hung up. I was gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles were white. Thankfully, I had the call recorder running. Before I could even put the phone down, it buzzed again with an unknown number. “Is this Nina Lin?” The voice was familiar. It was the courier. “Did you file a complaint against me?” I didn’t answer. “Listen to me carefully. You’d better withdraw that complaint, and fast. If you don’t, every package you ever get is going to be held up. You can come down to the depot and pick them up yourself.” “Is that a threat?” “I’m giving you some friendly advice. A woman living all by herself… I know what time you leave, what time you get back. Don’t make trouble for yourself.” The call was still recording. “Are you finished?” “Withdraw the complaint.” I hung up. Fury, cold and sharp, washed over me. My hand holding the phone wouldn’t stop shaking. I sat on the sofa, exported the two audio files from today, and organized them into a folder with all my other evidence. Then I picked up my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, I’d like to report a crime.” 3 The officer who took my report, Officer Davis, asked for my address and the basic details, then told me to bring my evidence to the local precinct to make a statement. I tossed the flash drive and my phone into my bag and headed out. I had just pulled out of my parking spot when a group of men blocked my car. The one in the lead was wearing the dark blue uniform of the courier company. I recognized the courier, Rick, instantly. “What do you think you’re doing?” His expression flickered, then hardened into a scowl. “Are you going to withdraw the complaint or not?” I ignored him and started to steer around them. He darted in front of my car again, blocking my path. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m asking you a simple question. Are you withdrawing the complaint!?” As I turned the wheel again, a short, stocky man with a crew cut stepped up and rapped on my driver-side window. “Easy there, sister. Rick just wants to have a little chat.” I clutched my phone, the video camera already recording. “Move!” Rick let out a derisive laugh. “A woman like you, was it really worth it? You got me fined five hundred bucks and cost me my bonus. Are you happy now?” “Why should I have to pay over a hundred dollars extra?” “It was your package, you should pay for it!” The men around him snickered. I stopped talking and just hit the gas, trying to get away. This time, they swarmed the car, completely surrounding it. The man with the crew cut squatted down, took a picture of my license plate, and sent it to someone. Rick lit a cigarette, then casually raised a tire iron. BANG. He brought it down hard on the hood of my car. I jumped, shrinking back in my seat and frantically checking that the doors were locked. CRUNCH! SMASH! Rick stepped back to finish his cigarette while the other men took turns beating on my car. I fumbled with my phone and dialed 911 again, quickly giving them the address and telling them I was being attacked. The response was faster than I expected; two officers were already patrolling nearby. “Police! Don’t move!” Rick’s cigarette dropped from his mouth. He spun around, and his face went sheet-white when he saw the uniforms. Another man, who had been wielding a steel pipe, was so startled he dropped it on his own foot with a yelp. “It wasn’t me!” Rick stammered. “I was just standing here having a smoke.” “All of you, up against the wall. IDs out.” As the four men were being detained, I looked at my car. It was a wreck. Officer Davis looked from the mangled vehicle to the video on my phone, his expression grim. “Ms. Lin, let’s go inside so you can make a full statement.” The deposition took nearly two hours. I laid out everything, from the 10-kilogram package to the attack in the parking lot, in chronological order. And for every point, I had a corresponding photo, audio recording, or document. “We’ve confirmed the vandalism,” Officer Davis said. “We caught them in the act, and the exit of your parking garage has a security camera. They’re not getting away with this.” “The courier said he didn’t do anything, but he was the one who started it!” “Don’t you worry about that, Ms. Lin. The camera doesn’t lie.” It was dark by the time I left the precinct. My car had been towed to a repair shop. Late that night, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered. “Ms. Lin. This is Mr. Leighton.” “I heard about what happened today. Perhaps we could talk?” 4 The doorbell rang at two o’clock the next afternoon. Two men stood outside my door. Mr. Leighton was shorter than I’d imagined. Beside him was a man in glasses holding a briefcase. “Ms. Lin, this is our legal counsel, Mr. Cole.” I opened the door a little wider but didn’t invite them in. Leighton didn’t seem to mind. He smiled and stepped aside. “We can talk here. I’ll be direct. What Rick and his friends did yesterday was out of line. The company is deeply sorry.” Mr. Cole pulled a document from his briefcase and handed it to me. “Ms. Lin, this is the settlement agreement the company has prepared. Please take a look.” I took the single sheet of paper. The terms were neatly typed. 1. Compensation for all vehicle repair costs, based on receipts. 2. Refund of the overcharged shipping fee of $45. 3. $750 for emotional distress. 4. Nina Lin will sign a non-disclosure agreement and withdraw all police reports and customer service complaints. 5. Both parties will waive any further claims against each other. I handed the paper back. “$750?” “With the car repairs, the total amount is quite substantial,” Leighton said, his voice smooth and gentle. “And Rick?” “He’s received an internal reprimand and will be transferred to a suburban depot next month.” “Not fired?” “Ms. Lin, we’re all adults here. Rick’s not having an easy time. His wife just had a baby. Try to have some sympathy. We’re all just ordinary people trying to get by.” He folded his hands in front of him, bowing slightly. “Honestly, Ms. Lin, while Rick was certainly at fault yesterday, your attitude was, how should I put it, a little… confrontational. You provoked him. If everyone takes a step back, we can all move on.” “My attitude was confrontational, so he smashed my car.” “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Leighton said, waving his hands dismissively. “I’m just saying, let’s meet in the middle. For a young woman like you, dragging this through the courts is time-consuming. And if the media gets hold of it, it could be damaging to your reputation.” I didn’t like his choice of words. “Let me get this straight, Mr. Leighton. Your system changes 1 kilogram to 10 and overcharges me nearly nine times the fee. I complain, and your customer service says the system is correct. I call you, and you accuse me of insurance fraud. I call the police, and your courier and his friends vandalize my car right outside the precinct. And now you’re offering me $750 to sign an NDA?” “Plus the vehicle repairs,” Mr. Cole added. “The car repairs are something you owe me regardless. That’s not compensation.” Leighton’s smile finally tightened. “Ms. Lin, I can fire Rick. Give you that satisfaction.” “I think that’s not enough.” “Then what do you want?” “If you had refunded my shipping fee at the beginning, this would be over. But now my personal safety has been threatened.” The hallway was silent for a moment. Leighton straightened up, the last shred of politeness vanishing from his face. “Think this through, Ms. Lin. If this goes to court, it might not end well for you. That insurance claim of yours will never be approved, no matter what. And filing a false claim has consequences.” He took the settlement agreement, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket before turning to leave with the lawyer. “Don’t be rash, kid.” The elevator doors closed. At eleven that night, my best friend, Sophie, sent me a text. “Nina, you need to see this.” It was a heavily edited video. The caption read: “Woman Ships 1kg of Fakes, Tries to Claim 10kg of Gold in Insurance Scam.” The comments were already in the thousands. “Classic grifter.” “Do you know how hard delivery guys work? People like her are disgusting.” “Another one trying to get rich off insurance fraud.” “Hope the company reports her to the police.” The account that posted it was called “A Day in the Life of a Courier,” with a cartoon delivery guy as the profile picture. It had been posted two hours ago and already had over a million views. My phone started vibrating. An unknown number. Then another. And another. A text came through: “Nina Lin, you live at [My Address], right? You scamming bitch.” Sophie called me, her voice frantic. “Nina, are you okay? I’m coming over. We can record a video to clear your name. I was there when you packed and weighed it. I can be your witness.” I sat on the sofa, my phone buzzing incessantly in my hand. “Don’t.” “What?” Sophie’s voice rose. “You’re not going to fight back? Do you see what they’re saying in the comments?!” “I see it.” “Then why…?” “Let them. The bigger the spectacle, the better.” Sophie was quiet for a few seconds. “What are you planning, Nina?” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I scrolled through my contacts to a number I had saved years ago but never once called. My thumb hovered over it for a moment, then I pressed down. “…Nina?” The voice on the other end was calm, but with a clear note of surprise. I took a deep breath. “Aaron. I need your help.”

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I was on leave at home when my neighbor’s kitchen caught fire. I rushed in right away and pulled him and his wife out. The next day, he called the police and accused me of damaging his fifteen-thousand-dollar imported kitchen cabinet while putting out the fire, demanding I pay for it in full. I didn’t argue and silently cooperated with the investigation. He went around the neighborhood spreading rumors, “Aren’t firefighters supposed to be so rough? Rescuing people is so clumsy!” A month later, his father had a sudden heart attack on the 28th floor. The elevator was out of power, and he couldn’t carry his father. He knelt down and begged me for help. I looked calmly at the stairs and said, “I’m too rough. What if I bump or jostle your dad? I couldn’t afford to pay for that.” 1 I was off duty, doing a set of pushups in my living room, when the smoke detector down the hall started screaming. Pure instinct took over. I bolted to the balcony. Thick, oily black smoke was billowing out of the kitchen window of Unit 1702, diagonally across from mine. “Fire!” someone shrieked from the courtyard below. I didn’t waste a single second thinking. I grabbed the emergency fire axe and extinguisher I kept by my front door and sprinted into the hallway. The neighbor’s door was unlocked. I kicked it wide open. A wall of blistering heat and toxic black smoke slammed into my face, instantly drawing tears to my eyes. “Hello? Is anyone in here!” I shouted over the crackle of flames, dropping low to the ground to avoid the worst of the smoke. “Help… help us…” A weak, raspy voice drifted from the living room. I crawled forward through the smog and spotted two figures collapsed near the sofa. It was my neighbors, Derek and his wife Sarah. They had inhaled a massive amount of smoke. Both were drifting in and out of consciousness, coughing violently against the floorboards. The kitchen fire was completely out of control now. The flames were already licking the expensive cabinetry and inching dangerously close to the main gas line. There was zero time to hesitate. I grabbed them by the collars of their shirts, one in each hand, and used every ounce of strength I had to drag their dead weight toward the front door. “Hold on, I am a firefighter. You are going to be safe.” Combined, they weighed well over three hundred pounds. Dragging them across the hardwood floor felt like pulling concrete blocks. Above us, the heavy chandelier groaned. The intense heat was melting its fixtures, and the glass was beginning to shatter and rain down. I had no choice. I had to use the most brutal, direct method possible to carve a path out of this inferno. As we reached the entryway, a massive chunk of the ceiling gave way. To avoid being crushed, I jerked them hard to the side, throwing my own body weight heavily against the hallway storage cabinets. With a deafening crunch, the imported wooden panels splintered into pieces under my shoulder. I ignored the pain shooting down my arm, gritted my teeth, and hauled them out into the safe, breathable air of the stairwell. Minutes later, my crew from the local firehouse arrived on the scene and quickly suffocated the blaze. I handed a hacking, half-conscious Derek and Sarah over to the paramedics, then slumped against the cold hallway wall, gasping for oxygen. My off-duty clothes were soaked in sweat and coated in toxic soot. Several deep cuts bled down my forearm. Derek finally caught his breath through an oxygen mask. He looked up at me, his eyes full of complex emotions. “Gavin… thank you for this.” I waved a soot-stained hand, my throat burning. “Don’t mention it. Just doing my job.” The very next morning, I was scrubbing the stubborn ash out of my clothes when the doorbell rang. Two uniformed police officers were standing on my welcome mat. “Are you Gavin?” “Yes.” “We received a formal complaint. You are suspected of a property damage offense. We need you to come down to the precinct to answer a few questions.” My brain short-circuited. “Property damage? What are you talking about?” The officer pointed across the hall. “The homeowner, Derek, filed a police report. He claims that during yesterday’s rescue, you intentionally destroyed his custom fifteen-thousand-dollar German cabinetry. He is demanding full compensation.” I stood frozen in my doorway, my blood running completely cold. The man I had literally dragged out of a burning inferno yesterday. The man who had looked me in the eye and thanked me. He had turned around and stabbed me in the back without a single thought. 2 I was escorted to the precinct. Derek and Sarah were sitting right across the interrogation table. Derek looked entirely unapologetic, clutching a printed invoice in his hand. “Officers, that is the guy. He busted into my house yesterday claiming it was a rescue, but he was wrecking the place like a damn demolition crew!” “Look at this. These are the cabinets I just had imported from Germany last year. With shipping and installation, it comes out to exactly fifteen thousand, four hundred dollars.” “He completely smashed them to pieces with his shoulder. He needs to pay for every single cent of this!” Sarah sat next to him, covering her face and forcing out dramatic sobs. “Our home was burning down, and instead of trying to put out the fire, he just roughly dragged us across the floor! Look at the bruises on my arms!” “And those cabinets… that was my anniversary present from my husband. Now it is all ruined…” She peered at me through her fingers, her eyes dripping with accusatory venom. I stared at this twisted couple, feeling a profound sickness settling in the pit of my stomach. The officer taking the statement frowned. “Gavin, can you explain what happened on the scene?” “The kitchen fire had already reached flashpoint. The smoke was banking down fast, filling the entire apartment. Both of them were unconscious on the floor.” “My only priority was getting them out alive. In a life-or-death scenario, avoiding property damage is completely secondary.” I forced my voice to remain steady and professional. “Secondary?” Derek instantly raised his voice, pointing a finger at me. “You call yourself a professional firefighter? Is this how professionals operate?” “You were totally reckless! If you ask me, you are completely unfit for the badge!” “If you don’t pay up today, I am taking this all the way to court!” He slammed the invoice onto the table, looking like an absolute thug. I didn’t bother arguing. There was no point arguing with a parasite. I quietly cooperated with the police, gave my official statement, and signed the paperwork. By the time I walked out of the precinct, the sun had already set. The news spread through my firehouse like wildfire. The Captain called me into his office the next morning. His face was grim. “Gavin, what the hell is going on? You save a life and walk out with a lawsuit?” “Captain, I…” “Hold on.” The Captain waved his hand and let out a heavy sigh. “The homeowner is biting hard on this. He is screaming police brutality and massive property damage.” “The public is extremely sensitive to our conduct right now. This kind of PR is a nightmare for the department.” “According to protocol, until internal affairs clears you, I have to suspend you. You are off the trucks, off the training floor. Desk duty only, starting today.” Suspension. The word felt like a physical blow to the chest, knocking the wind out of me. I walked out of the Captain’s office, feeling the weight of every single stare in the hallway. Some guys looked sympathetic. Some looked confused. But plenty of others had that quiet, mocking smirk that said, ‘Look who finally screwed up.’ “I always knew he was a hothead. Now he’s dragging the whole house down.” “Fifteen grand for cabinets? That neighbor has some serious balls trying to extort him.” “Hey, you never know. Maybe Gavin did go a little crazy in there. He broke it, he should probably buy it.” I went home and collapsed onto my couch. My phone was vibrating off the table. It was the building’s HOA WhatsApp group. Derek and Sarah were putting on a masterclass. They had directly tagged me in front of five hundred residents. Derek posted a high-res photo of the shattered wood panels covering his floor. [Derek @Unit 1701 Gavin: Some people wear the uniform but act like absolute thugs. Breaking people’s property and then refusing to take responsibility?] Sarah immediately followed up with a tearful voice memo. [Sarah: I still have nightmares about yesterday. Not just the fire, but the absolute terror of being violently dragged across the floor like a sack of garbage… We just want a little justice. Is that really too much to ask?] Brenda, the building’s notorious busybody and HOA board member, instantly jumped into the fray. [HOA Board – Brenda: @Unit 1701 Gavin, what exactly is going on here? Helping put out a fire is great, but why did you vandalize their home? And now the police are involved?] The chat exploded. “Oh my god, fifteen thousand dollars for cabinets? Are they made of solid gold?” “Wait, is it a crime to save someone’s life now? These people are insane.” “To be fair, saving a life doesn’t give you a free pass to wreck someone’s house. You break it, you buy it.” “Exactly. If firefighters are just going to trash our homes, who is going to ever let them inside?” To them, my silence was proof of my guilt. Derek and Sarah ramped up their performance. [Derek: BREAKING NEWS! That thug Gavin just got suspended by the fire department! See? Karma always catches up to the wicked!] [Sarah: Thank you Brenda, and thank you to all our wonderful neighbors for supporting us! It is so hard for normal citizens to fight back against the system!] [HOA Board – Brenda: Firefighters with zero professional ethics need to be thoroughly investigated! A suspension is just a slap on the wrist!] I stared at the screen, my hands shaking with pure, unadulterated rage. I started typing out a massive paragraph, ready to expose every single lie they were spinning. But after the first few words, my thumbs stopped. I realized it was completely useless. They didn’t want the truth. They just wanted a witch hunt, and I was the chosen target. I deleted the text and muted the group chat. I walked into my bedroom, took my soot-stained uniform and my fire axe, and locked them in the deepest corner of my closet. 3 The days on suspension were absolute torture. I couldn’t put on my gear, I couldn’t run drills, I couldn’t ride the trucks. A firefighter stripped of his right to fight fires was like a hawk with broken wings. I replayed every single second of that rescue in my head. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that smashing those cabinets was the only tactical choice to keep us alive. I contacted the crew who responded that day and got a copy of the backup footage from my body cam. The video was chaotic. A literal wall of fire, blinding smoke, the horrifying crack of the ceiling giving way. The extreme danger was undeniable. The moment I slammed into the cabinets was a textbook evasive maneuver to dodge the collapsing ceiling structure. I did it to protect my life and theirs. With that concrete evidence in my hands, I finally felt a sliver of hope. I waited quietly for the department’s internal investigation to clear my name. Meanwhile, Derek and Sarah’s circus act was escalating. They weren’t just whining in the group chat anymore. They actually did an interview with a local clickbait news channel on YouTube. In the video, Derek stared right into the camera, looking like a righteous victim. “It was pure jealousy! He saw how nice our apartment was, how we could afford the best things, and he lost his mind!” “He smashed those cabinets on purpose! It wasn’t an accident, it was malicious destruction of property!” Sarah had done her makeup perfectly to look pale and exhausted. She squeezed out a few tears for the lens. “We can’t even sleep in our own home right now. We are stuck renting a cheap motel. The emotional and financial toll is ruining our lives.” “We aren’t asking for him to go to jail. We just want him to pay for the damages he caused and give us a public apology. Is that really so unfair?” The news channel edited the video with dramatic music and a highly inflammatory clickbait title: Hero or Hooligan? Firefighter Wrecks $15K Kitchen During Rescue—Who Foots the Bill? The video went viral locally. The comment section was a cesspool of hatred aimed directly at me. “Are all firefighters this brain-dead now?” “Does saving a life give you a free pass to act like a vandal?” “Suspended? He needs to be fired and stripped of his pension!” I became the epicenter of a massive cyberbullying campaign. Walking through my own building, I could feel the hostile glares tracking my every move. Disgust. Alienation. Whispers behind my back. Once, I ran into Brenda in the elevator. She was holding her little poodle. The second she saw me, she practically pressed herself into the corner like I was carrying the plague. She muttered just loud enough for me to hear. “Some people look like big tough heroes, but they have the morals of a street rat. So disgusting.” My chest felt like it was trapped in a vise. I was the one who ran into the flames. I was the one who pulled them from the jaws of death. So why was I the one standing trial in the court of public opinion? The pressure on the firehouse was reaching a boiling point. The Captain called me into his office again. He looked completely exhausted. “Gavin, the optics on this are getting worse by the hour. The brass is demanding we make this go away.” “Listen… why don’t you just try to settle with him? The house can pass a hat around. We can scrape the money together for you.” “We can’t let this one incident drag the entire department’s reputation through the mud.” He wanted me to buy my own innocence? He wanted me to bow my head and apologize to a greedy, extortionist scumbag? I looked at my Captain, my voice coming out as a harsh rasp. “Captain, if I didn’t break that cabinet, all three of us would have been crushed by a burning ceiling. Are you telling me my life is worth less than some imported wood?” The Captain went silent. After a long, agonizing minute, he reached out and patted my shoulder. “I know you are right. But… damn it.” He didn’t finish the sentence. But I understood. When faced with public outrage and PR nightmares, the integrity of a single rank-and-file firefighter meant absolutely nothing. I sat in the dark that night, staring at the wall until the sun came up. Just as I felt I was completely drowning, a lifeline appeared. Internal Affairs officially took over the case. They reviewed my body cam footage and brought in an expert panel from the State Fire Marshal’s office to analyze the incident. The conclusion was swift and absolute. The expert panel ruled unanimously: Given the extreme flashover conditions, the evasive maneuvers I took were professional, decisive, and entirely justified. Smashing the cabinets fell strictly under emergency hazard avoidance. It was done to preserve the lives of the victims and the rescuer. It was a textbook, lawful operation. As for Derek’s precious fifteen-thousand-dollar cabinets, the investigators pulled the original invoice from the contractor who installed them. The total cost of the cabinets, including labor, was less than three thousand dollars. The invoice Derek had slammed on the police table was a complete forgery. The truth was finally out. I thought this nightmare was over. I thought I could finally put my gear back on and get back to my life. But I severely underestimated Derek’s absolute lack of shame. When he found out about the official ruling, he didn’t back down. He actually doubled down and went completely rabid. He flooded the HOA group chat with insane conspiracy theories. [Derek: Unbelievable! The system is totally corrupt! You think a bunch of government fire experts are going to side with a normal citizen?] [Derek: So what if I bumped the invoice up? That covers the depreciation value! And emotional distress! You idiots know nothing about the law!] [Sarah: My husband is just too honest. That is why these bureaucrats feel like they can crush us! We are victims!] They actually rallied a bunch of their relatives, marched down to my firehouse, and staged a protest. They unfurled a massive white banner with bold black letters: Violent Rescue, Demand Justice! They sat right in front of the bay doors, wailing and screaming, attracting a massive crowd of pedestrians with their phones out. It escalated from a simple dispute into a full-blown hostage situation against the department’s public image. The brass was in a total panic. The official statement clearing my name, which had already been drafted and approved, was quietly shelved. The Captain pulled me aside, his face grim. “Gavin, these people are absolute lunatics. They won’t listen to reason.” “He told the brass that unless we cut him a massive check, he is going to protest here every single day and take this to the state governor.” “The chiefs had a meeting. We are going to transfer you to the logistics warehouse for now. Just until the heat dies down. We will figure it out later.” Logistics. That was the graveyard of a firefighter’s career. Desk duty. Counting inventory. It meant I would never hold a hose again. I would never step foot in the arena again. I stared at the Captain, pronouncing every word with agonizing clarity. “The official investigation completely cleared me. Didn’t it?” The Captain nodded slowly. “Yes. It did.” “Then why am I the one getting exiled?” “Gavin, I am begging you. Take one for the team. Take the hit so the department can breathe.” My heart plummeted to the floor. So this was it. Justice and truth were completely irrelevant when faced with a loud enough liar. I didn’t argue. I just nodded and accepted the orders. Later that afternoon, I packed my locker into a duffel bag, getting ready to head over to the logistics warehouse. Just as I walked out of the barracks, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I picked it up. A voice on the other end was screaming in absolute, unfiltered panic. It was Derek. “Gavin! Get over here! You have to come right now!” “My dad… my dad is dying!” Before I could even process what he was saying, his voice broke into a hysterical sob. “He is having a massive heart attack! We are on the 28th floor! The building’s power just went out, the elevators are dead! I can’t carry him down!” “Please! Gavin! You have to help us! You are the only one who can carry him down the stairs!” The sheer terror and desperation in his voice was a jarring contrast to the arrogant thug who had tried to ruin my life just yesterday. I stood perfectly still on the pavement, my grip tightening on my phone. Through the receiver, I could hear Sarah screaming in the background, and the muffled voice of a 911 dispatcher telling them they needed to get him downstairs immediately. “Gavin! Are you there?! I will get on my knees right now! I will beg you!” “I was wrong! I was completely out of my mind! I don’t want your money! I don’t care about the cabinets! Just forget all of it!” “Please save my dad! Please!” I looked up at the towering high-rises dominating the city skyline in the distance. Twenty-eight floors. No elevators. Carrying a dying man down twenty-eight flights of stairs wasn’t just about brute strength. It required professional technique, perfect pacing, and an iron will. One wrong step, one jerky movement, could trigger a fatal cardiac event. And out of everyone in that entire apartment complex, I was the absolute only person physically and professionally capable of doing it. I took a slow, deep breath, suppressing the storm of emotions raging inside me. Then, speaking into the receiver with a terrifying, ice-cold calmness, I said: “I am way too rough.” “What if I accidentally bump him against a wall? I definitely can’t afford to pay you for the damages.”

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