Category: English

I was five months pregnant, suffering from severe hemorrhage, and my husband was with me at the hospital trying to save our baby. The doctor had just asked my husband to pay the hospital deposit when his ex-wife’s ringtone pierced the quiet of the room. “Declan, Harper’s chest hurts really bad. She won’t stop crying and screaming for her daddy… Please, you need to come over right now…” Without a single second of hesitation, he stood up. I grabbed his hand, my voice trembling. “The doctor said the baby is in a very unstable condition. Please don’t leave, okay? I need you.” But he pried my fingers off his hand, one by one. His tone carried a heavy edge of impatience. “I’m not getting back with Chloe, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “It’s just that Harper is still so young. She needs me.” “You have doctors and nurses all around you here. You’ll be fine.” With that, he walked out of the room without looking back once. At that exact moment, the cold truth finally hit me. Between me and his ex-wife and child… He had never chosen me. Not even once. I decided right then that I was going to get a divorce.

After he left, the hospital room became terrifyingly quiet. The nurse kept pushing: “Where is your family member? We need the admission deposit paid before we can administer the medication.” I opened my mouth, my throat feeling incredibly tight. “He… he’ll be back soon.” The nurse sighed, placing the billing slip on the nightstand. “Please hurry. We can’t delay the medication forever.” But deep down, I knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. I called Declan. The first call went unanswered. The second call was declined. On the third attempt, he finally picked up. Through the receiver, I could hear a little girl crying, mixed with the sound of Declan’s gentle, soothing voice. I forced back my tears and spoke. “Declan, the hospital is asking for the deposit.” There was a brief silence on the other end. “I can’t leave right now. Can you just pay it first? I’ll transfer it to you later.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t have any money in my account.” After we got married, he told me that men were better at managing finances and planning for the future. So, my salary card, my bonus card, and even all the savings I had accumulated before our marriage were handed over to him, little by little. He told me that my only job was to enjoy life and let him worry about the bills. But every single time I needed to spend money, I had to beg him for it. When I wanted to buy a maternity dress, he would ask if it was absolutely necessary. When the OB-GYN added an extra ultrasound, he would frown and complain that the hospital was just trying to scam us. Eventually, even asking him for money felt like a humiliation. On the phone, his impatience boiled over: “Are you seriously doing this right now? Can’t you just borrow some from a friend?” In the end, swallowed by shame, I had to call a friend to borrow the money to pay the hospital. He finally showed up the next evening. I sat on the hospital bed, gently stroking my swollen stomach. My body was still incredibly weak, and my voice was raspy. “Declan, in all the years we’ve been married, I have never demanded anything from you. But this time, I want a divorce.” He looked at me in utter disbelief and shook his head. “No, I’m not divorcing you.” I gave a faint laugh. “I put your bank card back in your drawer.” “I know now that you never wanted to spend a single penny on me.” Declan’s face instantly turned incredibly pale. Not long after we married, we had a massive fight. Back then, when he broke up with Chloe, he had walked away with nothing. He had to pay a massive amount of child support every month. Even the expensive gifts I bought him were sold off so he could give the cash to his ex-wife and daughter. He had pleaded with me back then, saying, “Chloe is in the past. I only help her because of Harper.” “You are the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. From now on, all my money goes to you.” He had handed me his salary card and started reporting his location to me every single day. Seeing his effort to change, I had let the past go. Until a few days ago, when I tried to use his card to pay for some medicine and found out there was absolutely nothing left in it. I logged into his mobile banking app to check the transaction history. Every single dollar of his income had been transferred to Chloe. And in his cloud drive, there were albums filled with photos of the three of them—a happy family. During the times he claimed he was working late or going on business trips, he was actually with them. The way Declan looked at Chloe in those photos was still full of deep, lingering affection. I tried to tell myself he was only doing it for his daughter. But that excuse couldn’t hold weight anymore. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, poured a cup of water and handed it to me. “Amber, Declan truly loves you. You’ve been married for three years, and you’re five months pregnant now.” “What he does for Chloe and Harper is just out of responsibility. Just let him apologize, and let’s put this behind us.” I kept my eyes down. “I don’t need his apology.” Declan sighed, still trying to defend himself. “Harper has asthma, Amber. You know that. Chloe can’t handle emergency situations on her own.” “Your fever is down anyway, so stop making a scene over nothing.” Eleanor smacked his shoulder hard. “Apologize to your wife right now! You left your sick, pregnant wife at the hospital—how dare you raise your voice?” Declan frowned deeply. “Amber, I am your husband and the father of your baby, but Harper is also my child.” “If I can just abandon my own daughter, would you even respect me as a man?” I clenched my fists, my voice barely a whisper. “Then what about me? Was it fair when you abandoned me over and over again?” “Did you ever accompany me to a prenatal checkup? Did you ever give me money? Have you cared about me at all lately?” He looked completely annoyed. “Why do you have to keep score of everything?” Right then, his phone rang. A little girl’s voice came through the speaker. “Daddy, I miss you.” His expression instantly softened into pure warmth. “I’m on my way, sweetie.” As he hung up, Eleanor stood in front of the door, blocking his path. “Declan, if you walk out that door to go to them today, I am disowning you.” My heart, however, was already completely numb. During my first trimester, I had such severe morning sickness that I lost twenty pounds in a single month. He only offered a few cheap, verbal comforts and couldn’t even bother to buy me some fresh fruit. I had kept working through the pain, eventually fainting at the office due to low blood sugar. And he had blamed me for it, asking why a woman had to be so ridiculously stubborn about her career. My first marriage had taught me a harsh lesson: a woman must never depend on a man for money; she must remain independent. My first husband had despised me for being a stay-at-home housewife, which was why I fought so hard to build my own career this time. I thought Declan would cherish my strength. But his actions proved that everything I did was just a joke to him. He walked into the guest bedroom and walked out with a stuffed animal and a brand-new designer purse. He had never given me gifts or surprises. Even a gentle word or his presence was a luxury I had to beg for. Declan glanced at me. “It’s Chloe’s birthday today. She’s always been fragile. I’m just going to stay with them for a bit.” I nodded. “Go ahead.” We had known each other for five years and been married for three. He had never once remembered my birthday. Without a shred of hesitation, he pushed past Eleanor and opened the front door. “Think about it rationally, Amber. I know you’re not an unreasonable woman.”

Eleanor burst into tears, apologizing to me repeatedly. But this marriage had already drained every ounce of life out of me. I thought this second marriage would be my saving grace, but it turned out to be just another curse. After Eleanor cooked some food and left, I sat alone on the couch. I recalled how I had to drag myself through the past few days of threatened miscarriage all on my own. The day I started bleeding, I needed to go to the hospital. When Declan found out, he did rush to take me there. In that moment, I still held onto a tiny sliver of hope—that he still cared about me. But then, he walked away without a backward glance. That very night, I saw a post on Chloe’s Instagram. It was a photo of the three of them dining at a high-end steakhouse. Her caption read: “My ex-husband is always just one call away. He is, and always will be, our rock.” He was legally my husband, yet I could never rely on him for anything. Once, I had asked him to take me to a steakhouse. He had dismissed it, saying it was too expensive and we could make the same thing at home. I had thought he was just being financially responsible. But the truth was, he just didn’t care about my happiness. Tears fell uncontrollably. He remembered the exact date he met Chloe, the exact spot of their first picture together. But when it came to me, his excuse was always, “We’re an old married couple now, who keeps track of those details?” He could fulfill every single one of Chloe’s wishes. Yet when I asked for a simple box of chocolates, he would make a dozen excuses. While I was earning my own living, carrying our child, and doing all the housework, all he ever gave me was a lazy, “Thanks for your hard work.” I thought he genuinely appreciated me. It turned out to be nothing but cheap lip service. They had divorced because of “personality clashes and impulsive decisions.” Once the dust settled, Declan started romanticizing their past, forever carrying a sense of guilt toward Chloe and Harper. The next day at noon, Declan suddenly showed up at my office to bring me lunch. “I got this from that restaurant you like. Eat up.” I noticed he had swapped his wedding ring back to the older design he used to wear with Chloe. Declan noticed my gaze, took the ring off, and carefully tucked it into his pocket. “Harper was having a fit last night, so I was just trying to calm her down. Chloe also had a bit too much to drink. They really needed me.” A wave of bitterness washed over me. Did I not need him? I had to handle every single crisis by myself. Was I not allowed to be tired? Last month, I was clipped by a car while crossing the street. I had to handle the police report and the hospital visit all on my own. When he saw my bruises, he asked a couple of careless questions, bought some cheap ointment, and that was it. My scrapes were itching terribly as they healed. I couldn’t help but scratch them until they bled again, but he completely ignored it. “Declan, if you can’t let her go, why did you marry me?” He went quiet for a few seconds. “Chloe is just family to me now. But you… you are strong, Amber. You can handle tough things. They can’t.” My voice rose. “Is that supposed to be an excuse?” He glanced at my coworkers nearby and lowered his voice. “Amber, do we really have to dissect this right here? This is a second marriage for both of us. We have to be more pragmatic.” “You’re five months pregnant. Stop overthinking. I’ll come home early tonight.” I didn’t touch the food he brought. I stood up and walked away. In love, it doesn’t matter how outstanding or independent you are. If someone doesn’t love you, they simply won’t care. Because he didn’t love me, he felt no pain for my suffering. This was a second marriage for both of us. We had met on a blind date. I thought he was a decent, down-to-earth guy with a gentle temper. He used to take me out for drives, talking about his realistic plans for the future. He seemed so reliable. I was the one who initiated our dates, and eventually, I was the one who proposed marriage. He had said, “Thank you for accepting me and my past.” And I had replied, “As long as we build a good life together, that’s all that matters.”

My ex-husband was as good as dead to me. But Declan’s ex-wife was a constant, toxic presence in our lives. I was anxious all afternoon, and a sharp, cramping pain started spreading through my abdomen. I took emergency leave from work and drove myself to the hospital. After the examination, the doctor’s face was grim. “With the threatened miscarriage and your extreme emotional distress, the baby’s heartbeat has become incredibly weak.” Sitting alone in the sterile hallway, clutching my phone, my mind was a chaotic mess. That was when Chloe called. “Amber, Declan won’t be coming home tonight. I’m feeling really exhausted today, so he’s staying to take care of me.” Hearing her smug, provocative tone, I only had one thing to say. “Do whatever you want.” After being disappointed so many times, there was absolutely nothing left for me to hold onto. I scheduled the termination surgery for the next morning. Perhaps this was just my fate. This baby couldn’t be saved anyway. By the time I got home from the hospital, it was late at night. There was a plastic bag sitting by the front door. I opened it and found Declan’s dirty laundry inside. His underwear had obvious, suggestive stains. He had always been cold and distant when it came to intimacy with me. But clearly, he had plenty of passion left for Chloe. Right on cue, she sent me a photo. It was a picture of Declan gently massaging her legs. Even from his profile, you could see the immense patience and tenderness in his eyes. “I bet you’ve never experienced this side of him, Amber.” At first, these kinds of texts would make me scream and lose my mind, demanding answers from Declan. But he would always reply, “Why are you so incredibly petty? If we really wanted to get back together, do you honestly think you could stop us?” He was right. I couldn’t stop them. So, I chose to step aside. The next morning, before I was even fully awake, I heard noises coming from the living room. When I walked out, I saw Chloe standing in my kitchen, cooking breakfast, while my washing machine was already running. She glanced at me with a smirk. “Honestly, Amber, sleeping in until noon? No wonder you don’t know how to take care of Declan.” I let out a cold laugh. “If you were so great at taking care of him, why did the two of you divorce in the first place?” Her temper was notoriously worse than mine. Declan walked out of the bedroom, his face instantly darkening into a scowl. “Chloe came over specifically to help you out around the house. What’s with the attitude, Amber?” Chloe crossed her arms, looking smug. “Exactly. At the end of the day, we’re all family. Besides, this house of yours is in the top-tier school district, right? Declan said we should register Harper’s school address here.” I snapped, “This is my house. I bought it. I don’t consent to this.” Chloe’s smile grew even wider. “Well, that’s not really up to you, is it?” Declan avoided my gaze, keeping his head down, trying to dodge the conflict like he always did. He never actually solved any problems; he just assumed that if he ignored them long enough, they would disappear. “Amber, Harper is starting elementary school soon. Can you please just show some understanding for once?” I grabbed a glass mug from the counter and shattered it right at their feet. My voice went shrill. “I will not be understanding!” “Why should I sacrifice my life for the two of you? Chloe, are you incapable of surviving on your own?” “Declan, do you have any idea what happened to me yesterday—” Before I could finish, he pulled Chloe into his arms, shielding her protectively. “Have you lost your mind?!” he roared. She clung to his chest, whimpering. “Amber, why are you so utterly heartless? When you married Declan, he made it very clear to you.” “Harper is his daughter. He has a duty to look after her.” Declan looked at me, his eyes filled with pure, undisguised disgust. “I never realized you could be this toxic. Chloe is just brutally honest, but she’s not wrong. She came here to do chores and try to keep the peace, and this is how you treat her?” She played her victim card perfectly, backing away slowly. “It’s fine, Declan. It’s my fault. Harper and I should just vanish from your life completely.” Declan panicked instantly. “No, Chloe, this has nothing to do with you.” “You are my ex-wife, and Harper is my daughter. It is my responsibility.” Chloe fake-wiped a tear and ran out the door. Declan bolted right after her, not wasting a single second. The apartment fell into a deafening silence. My next-door neighbor poked her head into the hallway, looking concerned. “Oh my god, Amber, what happened? Did your husband just run off with another woman?”

I forced a smile. “With his ex-wife.” Realizing she had touched a painful nerve, the neighbor mumbled an apology and quickly shut her door. I went to the hospital at my scheduled time. But just as I was about to sign the consent form for the procedure, Eleanor suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Amber! What on earth are you doing?” I gasped in shock. “Mom? How did you know I was here?” Eleanor’s eyes were completely bloodshot. “Every time I asked, you told me Declan was taking you to your prenatal checkups. But I found out today that he hasn’t shown up to a single one.” “I saw you leaving the house this morning, so I followed you.” Over the years, Eleanor had always been genuinely kind to me. Unable to keep up the facade anymore, I broke down and told her the entire truth. Eleanor’s heart broke for me. She hugged me tight, gently rubbing my back. “My poor child… you’ve been carrying all this pain alone.” Just then, Chloe’s voice echoed from down the hallway. “I told you it was just a minor cold, Declan. There was absolutely no need to drag me to the hospital.” “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I don’t even know what to say to you anymore.” Declan replied instantly, “If something happens to you, what will Harper do? What will I do?” Eleanor lost her mind. She marched right over and slapped Chloe across the face twice, hard. “You shameless gold-digger! You claimed you divorced my son because of compatibility, but it was because of your reckless spending!” “You were texting other men online! You are divorced now—why are you still leeching off my son like a parasite?!” Chloe snapped, instantly trying to claw back. “You crazy old lady! I’m going to ruin you!” Declan rushed to separate them, firmly shielding Chloe behind his back. “Mom! What is wrong with you?!” Eleanor glared at him, hands on her hips. “What is wrong with me? You are weak and spineless! Do you still not see what kind of person this woman is?!” Declan didn’t want to yell at his mother, so he turned his icy, furious gaze onto me instead. The sheer hatred in his eyes felt like a physical blow. “Did you stalk me? Did you bring my mother here to make a scene?” “You know Chloe is in fragile health, yet you still have to let your petty jealousy ruin everything?” I said quietly, “I didn’t do anything.” He stepped closer to me, his voice a violent, angry roar. “You didn’t do anything? Your heart is as small as a pinhead, Amber! Using these disgusting, manipulative tricks… aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” “Just to stop me from taking care of them, you’re using my own mother as a weapon?!” Chloe gasped for air, playing up her distress. “Whether legally or emotionally, Declan belonged to me first!” “Harper is so young and has asthma, and I’m constantly sick.” “Do you have any idea how hard it is for a single mother to raise a child?!” Hearing her words, the agonizing pity in Declan’s eyes practically overflowed. “Chloe, I am so, so sorry. I’ve failed you.” I stood there, finding the entire display utterly hysterical. He made sure he was fair to everyone in the world, yet he never once stopped to think if he had been fair to me. Eleanor screamed at him, “This has nothing to do with Amber! Do you even know why we are at the hospital today?!” But Declan was completely deaf to her words. He reached out and shoved me aside, his voice cold as ice. “Are you happy now?” “In all the years we’ve been together, have I ever hit you? Have I ever abused you? Have I cheated, gambled, or left you homeless?” “You know how important they are to me, yet you still pull this pathetic stunt. You are genuinely disgusting and pathetic, Amber!” “If anything happens to Chloe today, I will hate you for the rest of my life.” Listening to his venomous words, I finally realized that I had never truly known this man. He hated me. He wanted to hate me for the rest of his life. Without even giving me a single chance to explain, he chose to stand unconditionally with his ex. Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen. The world began to spin. I looked down and saw bright red blood rapidly staining its way down my pants. Eleanor screamed in horror, swinging her purse violently at Declan’s chest. “You bastard! Amber is here to get a termination because the baby is dying!” Declan’s face drained of color instantly.

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The lights went out right in the middle of our engagement party. In the sudden pitch-black, I stepped backward, right onto the jagged edge of a shattered champagne flute. A sharp, hot pain sliced through my ankle, and I felt the wet warmth of blood pooling instantly against my shoe. Amid the chorus of startled gasps echoing through the ballroom, my first instinct was to call out his name. “Wayne!” He heard me. I saw the silhouette of his shoulders stiffen in the dimness, but instead of turning toward me, he swept right past, pushing through the crowd toward Sadie Wells, who was standing near the stage. When the dim amber glow of the emergency lights flickered on, the first thing I saw was Wayne holding Sadie tightly against his chest, shielding her from the room. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice thick with a panic he had never shown for me. “Did it scare you?” The master of ceremonies stood frozen on the stage, holding his microphone. He cleared his throat, leaning down to whisper, “Mr. Reynolds, Ms. Aldridge is bleeding over there.” Only then did Wayne look back. He saw the dark stain spreading around my foot. His brow furrowed, but only for a fraction of a second. “Sadie has severe claustrophobia, Mona,” he said, his tone flat and defensive. “Do you really have to pick right now to compete for attention?” At that moment, the entire ballroom fell dead silent. Wayne Reynolds was famous in our industry for being cold and unapproachable. He was a man of steel and silence—except when it came to Sadie. They had grown up together, and if she so much as mentioned being afraid of the dark, he would walk out of a multi-million-dollar board meeting to fly to her side. Meanwhile, I had been engaged to him for three years. I had spent those years managing his mother’s grueling post-stroke physical therapy, and I had even turned down a prestigious design fellowship in Copenhagen just to stay by his side and support his firm. He always told me, “You’re strong, Mona. You’re the stable one. You don’t need hand-holding like Sadie does.” It wasn’t until tonight that the truth finally clicked. “Stable” was just his shorthand for someone who could take a hit and didn’t need to be comforted afterward. “Fiancée” was just the title he gave to the person he felt safest sacrificing. … Sadie sobbed, gently pushing at his chest. “Wayne, go. Go check on Mona.” Instead of moving, Wayne kept his eyes locked on me, his expression tightening with impatience. “Don’t start with the attitude, Mona. There are too many eyes on us today. Just play nice.” I looked down at my white satin heels, now ruined and stained with dark, heavy red. Slowly, I reached down and slid the engagement ring off my finger. “Wayne,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “For once, I’m not going to play nice.” When the diamond hit the polished floor with a sharp, metallic clink, Wayne’s face turned absolutely rigid. “Mona Aldridge,” he hissed. “Have you had your little tantrum yet?” I didn’t answer. I bent down, unbuckled my shoes, and picked them up in one hand. The blood from my ankle was tracing a slow path down my calf, cutting a vivid line across the pristine white hem of my dress. Behind him, Sadie’s shoulders shook as she wept. “Mona, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Wayne instantly pulled her closer, his hand resting supportively on her back. “You have nothing to apologize for.” When he looked back at me, his eyes held nothing but a cold, warning glare. “We have family and major clients sitting in this room. Are you seriously going to humiliate everyone over this?” A quiet, humorless laugh escaped my throat. So, my injury was just an inconvenience. My pain was an embarrassment, a sign that I lacked grace and discretion. At the main table, my parents looked sick. My mother made a move to get up, her face pale with worry, but my father gently held her arm, keeping her back. I caught my father’s eye and shook my head, silently pleading with him to stay where he was. Then, I turned to the coordinator. “The engagement party is over. Cancel it.” A collective gasp swept through the room. Wayne’s mother scrambled to her feet, her voice tight with panic. “Mona, sweetheart, let’s talk about this. Don’t do anything rash!” I didn’t look at her. Holding my shoes, I began the long, limping walk toward the exit. Behind me, Wayne’s voice cut through the murmurs, low and dangerous. “Walk out that door, Mona, and there’s no turning back.” I paused for a second, but I didn’t turn around. “I won’t be the one turning back.” But the person who chased me out into the cool night air wasn’t Wayne. It was Sadie. She ran after me, holding up the skirt of her delicate dress, panting as she caught up to me on the sidewalk. “Mona, please! You’re completely misunderstanding. When the lights went out, I got so terrified. I didn’t mean to grab onto Wayne.” I stopped and looked at her. “You didn’t mean to grab him. And I suppose the sudden change in the hotel’s lighting schedule was someone else’s idea too?” Sadie’s face went entirely white. I had only been bluffing, trying to see if she had any hand in the abrupt blackout, but the sudden panic in her eyes confirmed my worst fears. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. She quickly cast her eyes downward, her voice dropping into a soft, fragile whisper. “I only wanted to give you a surprise. The hotel staff told me they could set up a romantic, dimmed light show before the toasts. I had no idea the system would short-circuit.” Before I could reply, the glass doors of the venue swung open, and Wayne stepped out. Without a word, he slipped his charcoal suit jacket off and draped it over Sadie’s bare shoulders. “It’s freezing out here. Go back inside.” Sadie clutched the lapels of his jacket, looking up at me with wide, fearful eyes. “Wayne… does Mona hate me now?” Wayne didn’t look at me as he spoke. “She’s not in her right mind right now.” Hearing those words, the throbbing pain in my ankle suddenly didn’t seem so bad. It was entirely numb. I hailed a cab and drove straight to my design studio. My business partner, Gwen Kelly, was still at her desk, working late. When she saw me push the door open, she jumped, nearly spilling her lukewarm coffee all over her keyboard. “Mona? What the hell happened? Weren’t you supposed to be getting engaged tonight?” I tossed my clutch onto the desk. “It’s off.” Gwen rushed over, dropping to her knees to inspect my leg, and let out a string of curses. Without letting me argue, she dragged me straight to the nearest 24-hour clinic. The doctor spent twenty minutes picking a tiny shard of glass out of my flesh, put in two neat stitches, and warned me to keep it dry for at least a week. By the time we got back to the office, my phone finally lit up. It was a text from Wayne: Sadie is still severely shaken up. I’m driving her home. Go get your ankle looked at. Gwen read over my shoulder and let out a harsh, angry laugh. “Who the hell was he supposed to be marrying tonight?” I didn’t reply. When the nurse had pressed the alcohol swab to my open wound earlier, the pain had been so sharp I’d nearly bitten through my lip. But looking at the screen, I felt absolutely nothing. Half an hour later, Wayne walked into the studio. He pushed the door open, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, looking for all the world like I was the one who had spent the night making his life difficult. He walked over to my desk and reached out, his hand automatically moving toward my hair in a gesture that used to feel comforting. “Does it still hurt?” I tilted my head, deliberately evading his touch. His hand hovered in the empty air for a second before he slowly let it drop. “Mona. Stop being childish.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Did you look into it?” “Look into what?” “The power outage.” Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was just faulty hotel wiring. I’ll have someone from the operations team follow up with them tomorrow.” I stared at him. “Sadie told me she personally authorized a change in the lighting schedule.” He went quiet for a beat. “She wanted to give you a surprise.” I let out a soft laugh. “So her ‘surprise’ turns into a disaster, I end up with stitches, and she gets to play the innocent victim.” “Do you always have to target Sadie?” Wayne’s voice took on a sharp, defensive edge. “She already feels sick to her stomach about what happened.” A heavy weight settled deep in my chest. After a long silence, I spoke. “Wayne, the engagement is off. We’re done.” He looked at me as if I were a difficult child throwing a tantrum. “Just because I ran to her first tonight?” “No,” I said, making sure he heard every single syllable. “Because you choose her first. Every single time.” The room fell quiet. Then, my phone rang. It was my dad. I pressed the receiver to my ear. His voice sounded thick, gravelly with unshed emotion. “Sweetheart, come home. Mom made some soup.” Hot tears finally stung the backs of my eyes. “Dad.” “Yeah, baby?” “Wayne doesn’t need to come over anymore.” There was a brief pause on the line. Then my father spoke, his voice firm and steady: “Good. He isn’t welcome in our home anyway.” When I got to my parents’ house, my mother sat on the edge of the sofa, carefully re-wrapping my bandage. Her hands were shaking so much she dropped the medical tape twice. “How did it cut you this deep?” she whispered. “Just a broken glass,” I murmured. She didn’t pry. She just leaned down and gently blew on the stitches to soothe the sting. At the kitchen table, my dad kept piling food onto my plate, while my mom sat opposite me, her eyes rimmed with red. I laid my fork down. “Dad, Mom… I’m not getting married.” My mother’s tears finally spilled over. My father looked at me, his expression grave. “Are you sure about this, Mona?” “I am.” He slid the bowl of warm soup closer to me. “Then we don’t do it.” I blinked, momentarily speechless. His voice softened, though it remained incredibly heavy. “We didn’t raise you for twenty-seven years just to watch you learn how to suffer in silence in someone else’s house.” A tear slipped from my cheek, landing directly in my bowl. In reality, I should have seen this coming a long time ago. Three years ago, when Wayne’s firm was on the brink of bankruptcy, I was the one who walked through muddy, half-constructed job sites with him, shaking hands with contractors. When his mother suffered a stroke, I was the one who spent every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon guiding her through her rehabilitation exercises. The day I received my acceptance letter for the Copenhagen fellowship, Wayne had held me tight at the airport gate, whispering, “Wait for me, Mona. Just until the firm is stable, and then I’ll pack your bags and take you to Europe myself.” But once the firm stabilized, Sadie returned from her years abroad. She decided she wanted to be an interior design influencer. Wayne immediately handed over our newly finished model homes for her photo shoots, redirected our prime business inquiries to her inbox, and even had me stay up past midnight to edit her scripts. I had asked him once, “Don’t you think Sadie is getting a little too involved in our personal and professional space?” He hadn’t even looked up from his tablet. “Grow up, Mona. She just got back to the States. She doesn’t have anyone else to rely on.” So, I grew up. I became mature, stable, and accommodating—so accommodating that I forgot that I was allowed to bleed too. The next morning, I walked into the office and printed two formal documents. The first was a withdrawal from our personal residential design project—the house that was supposed to be our home. The second was a formal resignation from the South Side Hotel development team. Gwen saw the papers on my desk and placed a fresh coffee next to them. “Are you really walking away?” “Yes.” “Can you actually let it go?” I picked up my pen and signed my name at the bottom of the sheets. “Even if it hurts, it’s time to give myself back to myself.” At noon, the cafeteria was packed. I had barely sat down with my lunch when Sadie slid into the seat opposite me. Her eyes were puffy, and her skin looked dull, as if she had spent the entire night crying. “Mona, how is your ankle?” I didn’t look up from my salad. She pushed a small carton of Greek yogurt toward me. “Wayne told me you love this brand.” I stared at the plastic container. For years, I had fooled myself into thinking Wayne kept track of my preferences. But the stark reality was that while he knew Sadie’s precise dairy-free milk order by heart, he constantly forgot that I was severely lactose intolerant. Sadie bit her lower lip nervously. “Last night… Wayne only stayed at my place because we had to pull an all-nighter restructuring the South Side proposal.” I looked up, my eyes narrowing. “At your place?” She caught herself, her hands fluttering in frantic explanation. “Oh, no! It’s not what you think. I was just too terrified to be alone after the blackout, so Wayne stayed out in the living room to keep me company.” She paused, adding in a tiny, fragile voice, “He was actually incredibly worried about you.” Heavy footsteps echoed behind us, and Wayne dropped a small box of pills onto my table. “Antibiotics. Make sure you take them with food.” Sadie looked up at him, her expression instantly softening. “See? I told you Mona wouldn’t stay mad at us.” Wayne glanced down at me, his jaw set. “She’s just being stubborn.” Sadie let out a delicate, airy laugh. “I actually bet Wayne last night that you would be crying by this morning.” Wayne shrugged. “You lost.” He looked directly at me, his voice dry. “Mona’s grown quite a backbone lately. She’s even brave enough to throw a scene at her own engagement party.” Listening to them exchange their casual banter, a wave of profound nausea washed over me. My injury, my humiliation, the ring I had publicly stripped from my finger—to them, it was all just a harmless joke to be laughed off over lunch. I set my fork down. “Wayne.” He looked at me, expecting my usual quiet compliance. “We’re done,” I said, my voice cutting through the ambient noise of the cafeteria. “It’s over.” The surrounding tables went dead quiet. Sadie’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Mona… is this because of me?” “Don’t bother explaining to her,” Wayne snapped, cutting her off. He glared at me, his face darkening with anger. “Mona, have you had your little tantrum yet?” I picked up my tray. “I have. Which is why we’re finished.” By mid-afternoon, the entire office was buzzing with the news that the engagement was off. Gwen slipped into my cubicle, leaning over the partition. “Sadie was just doing a livestream from the model home, and a client’s wife completely lost her temper and called her a homewrecker right on camera.” My hand froze over my drawing tablet. “And?” “Sadie ended up tripping over a tripod as she scrambled to turn off the feed. Wayne practically carried her out of the building to take her to the emergency room.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “You would have thought she broke both her legs the way he was hovering.” I stared at the screen, silent. “Did she hurt her hands?” Gwen stared at me. “Mona, are you seriously still worried about her after everything?” I didn’t say anything. Sadie’s livelihood depended on her social media channels; if she had injured her hands, it would seriously impact her design work. Despite everything, I found myself walking into the clinic near the office. The door to her private room was slightly ajar. Sadie was sitting up on the gurney, a small patch of gauze taped over her knee. Wayne was leaning over her bedside table, twisting open a fresh bottle of water for her. He froze when he saw me standing in the doorway. Sadie spoke first, her voice weak. “Mona… you came.” I walked in. “How bad is it?” She shook her head. “Just a scraped knee, really.” Before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, Wayne’s voice sliced through the room. “Are you satisfied now?” I blinked. “What?” He set the water bottle down with a sharp click. “If you hadn’t insisted on making a massive scene about canceling the engagement, Sadie wouldn’t have been so distracted during her livestream today.” “And if she hadn’t been distracted, she wouldn’t have tripped and fallen. Do you see the chain reaction you caused?” It took me several seconds to fully process the words coming out of his mouth. “Wayne… you actually think this is my fault?” “Whose else would it be?” he said coldly. “You knew how fragile she is, and yet you had to broadcast our personal issues so the entire company was gossiping about it.” Sadie reached out, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. “Wayne, stop. Please don’t do this.” He ignored her, keeping his furious gaze locked on me. “I used to respect you, Mona, because you actually understood boundaries. You were mature.” “And now?” “Now, you’re so consumed by petty jealousy that you’re willing to humiliate everyone around you just to make a point.” A cold, tingling sensation spread through my limbs. “So, she gets called out by a client’s wife, and I’m to blame. She trips over her own equipment, and that’s my fault too?” Wayne’s brow furrowed. “Do you have to be so incredibly sarcastic?” “I’m just helping you finish your thought.” Sadie’s tears began to stream down her face. “Mona, I’m so sorry. I swear I never wanted to come between you two.” It was always the same routine. The second she started to cry, Wayne acted as though the entire world needed to stop spinning to accommodate her. Myself included. I took a slow step backward, toward the door. “Wayne, I’m going to say this one last time.” “Our engagement is off. Our professional partnership is officially terminated.” “From this moment on, whoever you choose to protect is none of my business.” His expression turned icy. “Mona, don’t force me to make things ugly for you in public.” I smiled, though it felt hollow. “Don’t worry. I’m never giving you the chance again.” As I turned to walk down the corridor, Sadie’s soft, trembling voice drifted out of the room. “Wayne… do you think Mona is never going to speak to me again?” And Wayne’s reply, quiet but confident: “She’s just throwing a fit. Give her a couple of days to cool off, and she’ll come around.” I kept walking, my footsteps even. Of course I would cool off. Once a heart goes completely cold, it never burns for you again. Over the next two weeks, Wayne didn’t call or text me once. But the office grapevine was relentless. Every day brought a new detail about him and Sadie. People said he was personally chauffeuring her to all her video shoots. They whispered that he had personally selected Sadie to be the face of the promotional campaign for the South Side Hotel project. Some even claimed that Sadie’s media consultancy fees had tripled overnight. Gwen practically slammed her coffee mug onto my desk. “She literally tripped her way right into the most prestigious contract of the year!” I kept my head down, refining my layout drawings. “Let her have it.” “Doesn’t it kill you?” My pen paused on the paper. “It hurts,” I admitted quietly. “But I’m not going back.” Later that afternoon, Sadie walked into the design department. She was wearing a flowing white linen dress, her eyes artistically rimmed with pink. “Mona,” she murmured. I didn’t look up from my screen. “Ms. Wells. Is there something you need?” She flinched. “You… you’ve never called me that before.” “My judgment used to be poor.” Around us, the clicking of keyboards slowed down. My colleagues were pretending to work, but every ear in the room was strained to listen. Sadie bit her lip. “Wayne’s stomach ulcer has been acting up terribly because of the stress. Can you please stop being so stubborn and just talk to him?” I finally looked up, meeting her gaze dead-on. “If his ulcer is acting up, you should drive him to a clinic. You shouldn’t be coming to me.” Her tears flowed right on cue. “I’m only trying to build a bridge for you two. Mona, you’ve been together for so many years. Is it really worth throwing all of that away over me?” I leaned back in my chair, staring at her. “Sadie, stop acting like you’re some innocent bystander.” “You knew exactly who he would choose, which is why your tears always seem to fall at the perfect moment.” Her face went entirely pale. “That’s not true…” “Sadie. Let’s go.” Wayne’s voice cut through the room. He walked over, his eyes fixed on me like twin chips of ice. “Don’t disrupt her work.” Sadie bowed her head meekly and fell in lockstep behind him as he turned away. Looking at them, a sudden wave of dark amusement washed over me. I was the one who had been wounded, both physically and emotionally. But in Wayne’s eyes, Sadie was the only one who ever suffered. That evening was the final presentation for the South Side Hotel development. As the lead architect and designer, I was responsible for presenting the entire blueprint package. But ten minutes before the board meeting started, Wayne pulled me aside in the hallway. “Sadie is going to deliver the opening presentation,” he said. My brow furrowed. “She doesn’t know the structural data.” “She’s the face of the marketing partnership. She needs the exposure.” “Wayne, this is a final board approval meeting, not one of her social media streams.” His expression darkened. “Mona, do not bring your personal vendettas into our professional obligations.” I almost laughed out loud. The meeting commenced, and Sadie took the podium. Her voice was noticeably tight, trembling slightly as she went through the slides. She managed to get through the first half of the deck without incident. But then, the lead client representative leaned forward, interrupting her. “Regarding the family-friendly wing, which class of fire-rated paneling did you specify for the walls?” Sadie panicked, shuffling through her notes frantically. “We… we specified standard wood veneer finish.” My heart stopped. That area required Class A fire-resistant gypsum and fire-retardant treated wood. It was a non-negotiable safety code for child-centric spaces. I immediately stood up. “My apologies, I’d like to clarify that point—” “Sit down, Mona,” Wayne commanded, his voice cold and sharp. I froze in place. The client representative’s face turned incredibly grim. “Standard wood veneer?” “Is Reynolds Development seriously treating child safety as a joke?” After the disastrous presentation concluded, the boardroom cleared out, leaving only the three of us. Wayne shut the heavy double doors, turned to me, and spoke his first words: “Mona, how did you let a mistake like that slip into the design package?” I looked at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Sadie read the wrong specifications.” “You were responsible for compiling the briefing documents.” “I gave her the correct, verified package. She chose to read from her old notes.” Sadie’s tears began to fall again. “Wayne, I’m so sorry. I got so incredibly nervous up there…” Wayne didn’t even glance at her. His eyes remained fixed on me. “You knew this was her first time presenting to a board of this scale. Why didn’t you run through the deck with her beforehand?” A cold sensation settled deep in my bones. “So… you want me to take the blame for this?” He slid a typed document across the conference table. “Sign it.” I looked at the header: Internal Incident Report: Lead Designer Mona Aldridge oversight in document preparation, resulting in incorrect project specifications delivered during presentation. I looked up. “Why?” Wayne’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “Sadie’s marketing contract went live today. If she takes the fall for a major safety compliance error now, her brand is ruined.” “And what about my career?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “You’re different.” “How am I different, Wayne?” “You’re my fiancée.” I stared at him, and the very last spark of warmth I held for him went completely dark. I finally understood. A fiancée wasn’t someone to be protected. She was just the most convenient shield.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “502701”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Ever since my mother lost my baby brother to a late-term miscarriage, and my father chose to spend his nights comforting his former classmate in her quiet suburban townhouse, I had been cutting him out of our family photos. The school called my mother one afternoon. My teacher had overheard me telling my desk mate that my father was gone, that I wanted his father instead. My mother froze over the receiver. When she finally spoke, her voice was a hollow whisper. “Yes,” she told the teacher. “He passed away early.” During the school’s father-daughter field day, my mother watched from the sidelines as I handed a crumpled ten-dollar bill to Mr. Higgins, the school security guard, asking him to play my dad for just one afternoon. She didn’t scold me. Instead, she quietly slipped a two-hundred-dollar bill into his palm so he would stay and walk me through the parent-teacher conference afterward. Whenever a father’s presence was required, my mother simply let me buy one. Then, my father suddenly realized he hadn’t heard from us in a long time. He canceled all his meetings and showed up to pick me up from school, only to be turned away by a frowning teacher who didn’t recognize him. Confused, he came home. The moment he stepped through the door, he heard me speaking to Mr. Henderson, our building superintendent. “My dad died,” I was saying. “Do you want to be my new dad?” 1 The living room wall was covered in framed photographs of my childhood victories, but the man standing beside my mother and me in every single one was a stranger. “Nydia, who the hell is this man standing next to you?” My father’s voice was so cold it felt like ice against my skin. His eyes were burning holes into the frame. I didn’t understand why he was so angry. I stood there, shifting on my feet, desperately trying to think of an explanation. Mr. Henderson wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Kiddo, what are you talking about? Your dad is standing right here!” He offered a tense, awkward smile and hurried out of the apartment. My father’s mouth twitched with rage. He was holding a bakery box, completely unaware that the cake inside had slipped and smashed against the hardwood floor. “I’ve only been gone for two months, and you’ve already told everyone I’m dead?” His chest heaved. “Is this how you raise our daughter, Nydia?” Terrified, I rushed forward to shield my mother. “No one taught me! Don’t blame Mommy. I said it myself!” His face went entirely dark. He reached up to tear the frames off the wall, ready to smash them, but his hand froze when he read the gold lettering on the certificates. His grip slackened, and he looked at me with a complicated, unreadable expression. I held my breath, waiting for the storm. He didn’t know that two months ago, when he “died” to us in Cassandra’s townhouse, my mother had already paid several men to stand in his place for my competitions. Hearing the noise, my mother emerged from the bedroom. In just two months, she had withered away. Her eyes were hollow, her steps unsteady, her clothes hanging off a frame that looked like nothing but fragile glass. But she didn’t scream. She didn’t cry or threaten him with a knife, demanding he choose between her and his mentor’s daughter. She just stared at him with an icy, absolute indifference. The anger in my father’s eyes sputtered out, replaced by a sudden, guilty swallow. He reached into his leather bag and pulled out a sleek, expensive camera, holding it out to her like a peace offering. “Nydia, look. It’s the new model you’ve wanted forever. And I know you want to get back into your photography, so I went ahead and submitted your old portfolio to the international gallery showcase.” My mother looked at the box. Her face remained a perfect, flat slate. There was no joy, no rush of relief. I recognized that camera. It was the one she had kept in her online shopping cart for two years. To save money for our household expenses, she had never bought it. When she finally brought herself to ask him for it, he had brushed her off, time and time again. He didn’t know that his gift was already outdated. She had saved up and bought the latest release herself. Sensing her coldness, my father’s brow furrowed. He sighed, gently taking her hand and placing the camera in her palm, his voice softening into that old, patronizing warmth. “Alright, sweetheart. It’s my fault. I know you’ve been fragile since the miscarriage, and I shouldn’t have raised my voice. But I promise you, Cassandra’s situation is almost sorted out. Just give me a little more time…” Time. I clenched my small fists, my heart aching for my mother. For two months, he had been a liar. He had made that exact promise fifty-two times, and not once had he kept it. My mother had waited for him until she lost the baby, until her clinical depression spiraled into self-harm. She had waited until she was covered in scars, and still, he had not come home. Instead, he had always snapped at her: “Nydia, I told you, she’s my late mentor’s daughter. We’re practically family. Why do you have to make everything a scene?” Suddenly, his phone blared. He answered it quickly, and the speakerphone carried the shrill, terrified wail of a little girl. “Daddy! Come back quick! Mommy’s head is so hot, and she’s lying on the floor and won’t get up!” Then came Cassandra’s weak, breathless voice in the background: “Why did you call him, Zoe? We can’t keep bothering him…” My blood boiled. I wanted to scream. He isn’t your daddy! He’s my daddy! But my father’s eyes instantly welled with tears. His voice trembled. “Cassie, what are you saying? I want you to bother me for the rest of my life.” He tossed the camera carelessly onto the bed. “Nydia, Cassie’s exhausted. I have to go check on them. I’ll come back and explain later.” He ran out the door, his keys jangling in his frantic grip. My mother and I stood in the silence, staring at the empty doorway. We both knew he wouldn’t be back tonight. My mother picked up the camera. She turned it on and scrolled through the internal storage. There, saved on the memory card, were dozens of photos of my father, Cassandra, and Zoe. I saw the dates. On the day my mother was in the hospital losing my baby brother, my father was riding the Ferris wheel with them. On the night my mother’s depression peaked and she was admitted for severe hemorrhaging, my father was holding Zoe up to watch the New Year’s Eve fireworks. A sharp pain pierced my chest. I began to cry. My father had plenty of time. He just chose never to give it to us. My mother was shaking violently. She pulled me into her arms, her voice raspy but entirely resolute. “Maisie, your father is dead. Right?” I nodded quickly, clutching her shirt. Something shifted in her eyes. She picked up the expensive camera and hurled it against the brick wall with all her might. It shattered into a hundred plastic teeth. I knew then that whatever was left of her heart had shattered right along with it. That night, before I fell asleep, I heard her on the phone with a man. “I’ll take the transfer to the London studio,” she said. “I’ll be there in a week.” In my half-asleep haze, I remembered that before she married my father, my mother had been a globally renowned photographer. Collectors and celebrities used to bid fortunes just to secure a print of her work. But she had surrendered her legacy for him, hiding away in New York, working a miserable, low-paying job where she was constantly mistreated. I smiled into my pillow. In seven days, the brilliant, shining version of my mother would finally be back. Five days before our departure. I came home from school to a chaotic mess. My father, who hadn’t stepped foot in the apartment for two days, was busy throwing my trophies and certificates into a large cardboard shipping box. Even the princess dresses my mother had saved up to buy me, along with my limited-edition dolls, were being ruthlessly shoved inside. My mind went blank. I looked at my mother, terror rising in my chest. Her face was pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe. “Alex, are you even human?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You haven’t checked on Maisie in two days, and the moment you walk through the door, you start stealing her things for those two?” My father didn’t even look up. He picked up one of my spelling bee trophies, examining it casually. “Nydia, I didn’t want to do this, but you posted that photo on social media. It triggered Cassandra and Zoe. Zoe’s been depressed ever since. Maisie has so much. What’s wrong with letting a fatherless child have some of her things?” My mother let out a dry, bitter laugh, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Only a filthy mind sees filth everywhere. I never bragged. Maisie and I earned those trophies. When you’re busy being a savior to another man’s wife and daughter, do you ever stop to think about your own?” My father scoffed. My mother took a deep breath, as if she had finally seen through him completely. She took out her phone and sent a message to the journalist who had been begging to interview us. “Hi, Susan. I accept the ‘Champion Mothers’ feature. Tomorrow night at seven. 302 Bayside Lane.” “Nydia! What do you think you’re doing?” My father lunged forward, snatching the phone from her hand. My mother looked down at him, her eyes dead. “If they want the trophies, they have to earn them. If they can survive a live press interview, they can keep them.” My father’s jaw clenched. “Do you have to make everything so ugly? What happened to the woman I married? You used to be so elegant, so understanding.” He ordered the movers to take the final box. Before he stepped out, he looked at her with deep disappointment. “They’re just toys, Nydia. I’ll bring them back when Zoe is done with them. Delete that interview request.” My chest felt heavy as I stared at my shoes. My mother stepped forward. “Don’t you dare walk out that door with—” “Mommy,” I interrupted quietly. I looked at my father and shook my head. “It’s okay. I don’t want them anymore. Let her have them.” A flash of relief washed over my father’s face. He smiled and reached down to pat my head. “That’s my good girl. Always so sensible.” After he left, I looked around the empty room. I went to my piggy bank, fished out a ten-dollar bill, and walked down the hall to the apartment of the college student who lived upstairs. “Sam,” I said when he opened the door, holding out the bill. “Can you be my dad for tonight? It’s my mommy’s birthday.” Sam’s voice cracked. “Did Alex…” “He’s dead,” my mother and I said in unison. Understanding softened his face, and he quietly followed us back to our apartment. We blew out the candles on the small cake, and as I started to sing happy birthday, my mother’s phone buzzed. Her hand shook as she opened the notification. I peeked over her shoulder. My blood ran cold. Cassandra had posted a new photo. The caption read: “I love breaking things. He never gets angry; he just smiles and hands me another.” Underneath was a picture of my hard-won trophies, smashed into pieces on her living room floor. Beside them, my beloved dolls had been defaced with black marker, painted to look like ugly clowns. Ding. A notification from the bank app popped up. My father had sent my mother a transfer of five thousand dollars. Then, a voice note: “Nydia, there was an accident with the trophies. Just take the cash and buy Maisie some new ones.” Tears hot and heavy blurred my vision. But Daddy, money can’t buy back the love we had for you. My mother squeezed her eyes shut. She took a screenshot of the post, of the bank transfer, and sent a voice note to our family lawyer. “Mr. Fletcher, I’m sending over the financial records and the evidence of Alex’s infidelity. Let’s get the divorce filed immediately.” My mother never replied to my father’s transfer. Instead, his calls came flooding in, one after another. “Nydia, it’s your birthday. I’m sorry I forgot.” “Why aren’t you accepting the money? Why do you have to be so difficult?” “Are you happy now? The reporters showed up at Cassandra’s place and made a scene. Is this what you wanted?” My mother read the texts silently. For the first time, she didn’t cry. She simply tapped his profile and hit block. Goodbye, Alex. You will never hear from her again. Three days before our departure. There was a community father-daughter sports day at the local park. My father had promised me over and over that he would show up. I sat on the wooden bench, clutching my mother’s hand, waiting. Five minutes passed. Then thirty. My mother’s phone rang. It was him. “There’s an emergency at the firm. I have to go in. I’ll make it up to Maisie next time.” Before he could finish, my mother hung up and blocked the temporary number he was calling from. I tried to force a smile to comfort her, but then, a familiar laughter echoed from the other side of the field. “You’re the best, Daddy Alex! We’re going to win!” My mind went entirely blank. I turned around. There was my father, lifting Zoe into the air, his face glowing with a bright, proud smile. I looked at my mother, lost. “I thought Daddy had to go to work.” My mother stood up, her face tight with rage, ready to confront him. I grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “Mommy, no. The race is starting.” We returned to our lane. It was a relay race. If I could run the first two hundred meters and hand the baton to my mother, we could win. The grand prize was a family vacation package—something we had dreamed of. Hope flared in my chest. At the sound of the starting gun, I ran with everything I had. Fifty meters… one hundred… one hundred and ninety… Sweat stung my eyes, but I reached out, desperate to hand the baton to my mother. Suddenly, a violent force shoved me from behind. I crashed onto the gravel path, my knees scraping raw. Blood seeped through my leggings. I gasped, tears springing to my eyes. Beside me, Zoe let out a piercing scream. “Why did you push me! Daddy, it hurts!” She lay on the ground, wailing at the top of her lungs. My mother flew toward me, wrapping her arms around me to protect me. But my father and Cassandra were already there, their faces twisted with anger. “Maisie! Why did you push Zoe?” my father roared. “I didn’t!” I screamed through my tears. Zoe pointed a trembling finger at me. “She did! She did it on purpose, Daddy!” My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. My mother stood up, her voice like a blade. “Check the cameras. If you don’t believe my daughter, let the footage speak for itself.” But my father didn’t care. He swept Zoe into his arms, glaring at us. “Cameras? You’ve raised her to be so manipulative, Nydia. Watching the tape will only humiliate her.” They rushed off toward the first-aid station. My face went pale, and I reached up to touch my mother’s cheek. “Mommy, it doesn’t hurt…” And then, everything went black. When I woke up in the medical tent, the speakers outside were blaring. “Congratulations to Zoe for winning the relay!” I stared at the ceiling, tears silent against my skin. I had been so much faster. Why did she win? Did my father pull strings for her again? My mother, her face set in a dark mask, stood up and marched straight toward Cassandra. “Oh, Nydia,” Cassandra purred, a cruel little smile playing on her lips. “You didn’t have to come over to congratulate us.” She leaned in, whispering so only my mother could hear. “Honestly, thank you. If it weren’t for Alex helping us, we’d be nothing. Technically, you guys were faster, but Alex just has such a soft heart… he can’t stand to see us cry.” Slap. My mother’s hand connected with Cassandra’s face, hard. She grabbed Cassandra by the hair, dragging her backward. “I told you to stay the hell away from my daughter!” Cassandra’s shrieks brought my father running. “Nydia! Have you lost your mind? Just because you lost a race, you’re attacking her?” My mother’s eyes were bloodshot. “Yes! I want you both to burn in hell!” My father slammed into her, shoving her away. My mother hit the ground, her hands flying to her throat as she gasped for air. Her panic attack. Her clinical depression was clawing its way out. Terrified, I scrambled to my feet, limping heavily as I reached into my pocket for her rescue medication. “Mommy!” But before I could reach her, someone’s foot tripped me. I went flying, the pills scattering across the dirt. Zoe stood over them, a malicious grin on her face, and brought her sneaker down hard, crushing the tablets into dust. “No!” The scream tore from my throat, raw and agonizing. Those pills were her lifeline. Without them, she could suffocate in minutes. As I crawled to save the remaining powder, Cassandra screamed. “Maisie, don’t push Zoe!” My father didn’t even hesitate. He shoved me back. Behind me was the deep, stone-lined ornamental lake. Before I could fall, my mother lunged forward, throwing her body in front of mine. Splash. The cold water swallowed her. She couldn’t swim. She thrashed, her face turning blue. I threw myself at my father’s legs, sobbing hysterically. “Daddy! Mommy can’t swim! She has depression! Please save her!” My father’s eyes widened. He took a step toward the water. But Cassandra wailed, “Alex! Zoe’s fainted! Help her!” My father froze. His heels pivoted. He picked up Zoe and ran, shouting over his shoulder to his assistant to pull Nydia out. I watched him run away, my heart tearing in two. Daddy, did you really just abandon us? At the hospital, after my mother was stabilized, I pulled another ten-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to the orderly. “Sir, can you play my dad for today? Just to look after my mommy?” The man looked at me, heartbroken. “Sweetheart, where is your dad?” My voice was quiet, dead. “My dad is dead.” He died the moment he walked away from my drowning mother. One day before our departure. My mother packed our suitcases and finalized our visas. My father came to the hospital every day. Whenever he saw the orderly helping us, his brow would knit into an angry scowl. “Maisie has a father, Nydia. Are you that desperate for a man’s attention?” Neither of us answered him. The orderly eventually kicked him out. He brought jewelry, designer clothes, and expensive toys. We quietly donated every single item to the pediatric oncology ward next door. He had no idea. Five hours before our flight. My mother took me to the amusement park. It was the one place I had begged to go, but her illness had always kept us home. “I’m so sorry I kept putting this off, sweetie,” she whispered, kissing my temple. I grinned, showing all my teeth. Suddenly, my smart watch buzzed. It was a text from my father. “Maisie, tell Mommy I’ve sent Cassandra and Zoe out of the country. I’m taking you both out tonight to make up for your birthdays.” My chest tightened. But then I looked across the plaza. There was my father, holding shopping bags, laughing as Cassandra clung to his arm. I didn’t tell my mother. I tapped the screen and blocked his number. Another lie. As we queued for the Ferris wheel, sirens suddenly began to wail across the park. A chaotic scream ripped through the crowd. Four massive, rabid guard dogs had broken loose and were charging toward the visitors. My mother grabbed my hand, trying to pull me toward the exit, but the stampede of panicked people tore us apart. “Maisie!” Fear anchored my feet to the ground. My legs felt like lead. Suddenly, my father’s voice boomed over the noise. “Maisie! Come here! Run to Daddy!” My eyes welled with tears. I started to run toward him. But Cassandra’s voice shrieked, “Alex! Zoe is trapped over there! Save her!” My father looked at me, then at Zoe in the distance. My mother’s voice was hoarse from screaming. “Alex! Save Maisie! Someone else is going for Zoe!” My father’s eyes darted back and forth. Finally, he looked at me. “Maisie, just wait there!” Wait. Always wait. He turned his back on me and sprinted toward Zoe, scooping her up as he fled. The four snarling dogs closed the circle around me. The last spark of love I had for him died in that moment. As they lunged, my mother charged through the crowd like a wild animal, brandishing a heavy wooden stake. She threw herself over me. The dogs tore into her legs. Blood soaked my clothes, but she looked down at me, smiling through the agony. “Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy’s here.” I sobbed, shaking uncontrollably. Just as the dogs lunged again, a team of security guards rushed in with tranquilizer rifles and subdued them. At the hospital, after the rabies shots were administered and her wounds were bound, my mother gripped her passport with bloodless knuckles. “Maisie, let’s go. I can’t breathe in this city for another second.” As the plane lifted off into the clouds, I had only one thought. Goodbye, Alex. You will never find us again.

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Mona walked out on our wedding. She did it to run to her ex-boyfriend—the same man who had abandoned her five years ago when she was on the verge of being permanently paralyzed. A collective gasp rippled through the chapel, the whispers rising like dry leaves. I gripped her wrist, fighting to keep my expression from crumbling in front of our guests. “Please,” I whispered, my voice thick with a desperation I hated. “Not now. Don’t leave.” Her eyes flickered with a brief, agonizing conflict. Then, finger by finger, she pried my hand off her wrist. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Wright. I have to go. I need to know why he left so ruthlessly back then.” Without a backward glance, Mona walked down the aisle, leaving behind a chorus of stunned whispers. Behind me, my mother—who had a severe, fragile heart condition—began to tremble violently. Before I could even process the humiliation of being left at the altar, she collapsed onto the floor. “Mom!” The world splintered around me. Somehow, through the panic and the blinding tears, I managed to get her into the ambulance. Sitting outside the emergency room, my phone buzzed in my trembling hands. Two notifications lit up the screen. The first was from Jerry: “I told you. The moment I came back, Mona would never choose you. You lose again.” The second was from Mona: “Give me thirty days. Let’s take a break for just thirty days, and then I promise I will love only you with all my heart.” I stared at the screen, my eyes as dead as a winter sea. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped my throat. This time, I wasn’t going to let myself lose. … The red light of the emergency room stayed lit for three hours. My mother had undergone bypass surgery two years ago. She had warned me, softly but firmly, that Mona was not the kind of woman who could ever truly belong to me. But I had been stubborn. I had clung to the belief that Mona loved me with the same quiet, desperate devotion I had for her. Now, every single one of those sweet, deluded assumptions felt like a violent slap to my face. I could barely breathe. My father paced beside me, frantic and hollow-eyed. “Wright, what if she doesn’t make it? What if…” “She will,” I interrupted him, though the words were meant more to comfort myself than him. “Mom is strong. She’ll make it.” But my voice cracked. I had never been this terrified in my entire life. Then, my phone vibrated again. Another text from Jerry—this time, a video. It was filmed inside a dim hotel suite. Mona was there, still flushed and disheveled from running out on our wedding, standing in front of him. “Why did you come back?” she demanded. Jerry didn’t answer. He just watched her. She was the one who lost control first, her eyes brimming with angry tears. “You walked away without a single word, and now you think you can just breeze back in and ruin my life? Who gave you the right to be this selfish, Jerry?” I walked down to the empty stairwell, seeking a quiet corner to watch the rest. The woman on the screen—this unraveled, raw version of Mona—felt like an absolute stranger. My friends had warned me more than once that Mona was too cold, too detached with me. But I had always brushed it off. “She’s a high-powered CEO,” I’d say, defending her. “She’s built to keep her emotions under lock and key. That’s just who she is.” But sitting in that cold stairwell, the illusion shattered. She was capable of losing her mind. She could cry, she could shake, she could beg. It was just that none of those raw, primal feelings were meant for me. They were reserved entirely for Jerry. I closed my eyes, forcing down the physical ache in my chest, and pressed play again. In the video, Jerry didn’t offer an explanation. He just stood there, letting her vent, knowing he held all the cards. Mona’s anger lasted only a moment before dissolving into a bitter, helpless laugh. All her resentment crumbled in an instant. She stepped forward and threw her arms around him. “As long as you’re back…” she whispered. Jerry wrapped his arms around her waist, his eyes locking with the camera lens. He smirked—a look of pure, triumphant malice. The video cut to black. I let out a soft, hollow laugh. Outside, a sudden roll of thunder shook the hospital windows as rain began to pour. So that’s what she looked like when she loved someone. Five years together, and I had never once seen that expression on her face. I wiped my face and walked back to the waiting room just as the heavy double doors swung open. I rushed to the surgeon, my throat tight. “Doctor, my mother… how is she?” “She’s stable. The worst is over,” the doctor said, removing his mask. “But you must keep her calm. Her heart cannot handle any more severe shocks.” I nodded, every muscle in my body coiled tight. “It won’t happen again. Thank you, Doctor.” My father collapsed into a chair, weeping with relief, as my mother was wheeled out. Looking at her pale, thin face, I wanted to strike myself. Why had it taken me this long to finally wake up? Shortly after we moved my mother into a private room, a specialist knocked on the door. “Mr. Simon? I’m the hypertension specialist sent by Ms. Kingsley. How is the patient doing?” At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. A text from Mona: “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize your mother would react so strongly. I’ve sent a top hypertension specialist to the hospital. She’ll be fine.” My hand shook so hard the phone nearly slipped from my fingers. It was laughable. Five years. We had been together for five years, and she didn’t even know what kind of heart disease my mother had. I took a deep, steadying breath, keeping my voice level. “We don’t need your services. Please leave.” After settling my parents, I walked down to the ground floor to pick up some of my mother’s routine prescriptions. Passing the gastroenterology clinic, I stopped dead. Through the crack in the door, I saw Mona and Jerry. She was holding his hand, her face etched with deep, frantic worry. The doctor was taking notes. “Describe his symptoms.” Before Jerry could even open his mouth, Mona blurted out the answers. “His stomach has always been sensitive. He never eats warm food when he should, and his immune system is incredibly weak. We’ve tried holistic remedies, but nothing seems to stick.” My feet felt like they were encased in concrete. Every word she spoke—detailing Jerry’s health with clinical, intimate precision—was a needle driving straight into my chest. She couldn’t remember my mother’s cardiac history, but she had memorized the digestive quirks of an ex-boyfriend she hadn’t seen in half a decade. I pulled out my phone, dialed my lawyer’s number, and kept my voice whisper-quiet. “Draft a divorce agreement. Send it to my email.” Then, I walked into an adjacent examination room. “I need to schedule an urgent endoscopy,” I told the physician on duty. “My stomach pain has been unbearable.” The doctor looked up, her brow furrowing as she recognized me. “Wait, I remember you. We caught your early-stage gastric ulcer last month. Why hasn’t there been any follow-up? It’s gotten incredibly severe.” A dull ache flared in my chest. A month ago, while Mona was away on a business trip, I had started experiencing sharp abdominal pains. The biopsy came back showing an early-stage ulcer. I hadn’t told her because I wanted to wait until after the wedding—I thought I’d tell her when we were finally in a quiet, happy place. I never could have guessed that Jerry would return, or that she would leave me standing at the altar like a fool. I was still wearing my tuxedo trousers, wrinkling under the hospital lights, looking thoroughly pathetic. “I just neglected it,” I said quietly. “Please, just schedule the test.” The doctor sighed, typing into her computer. “Fine. Tomorrow morning at nine, Exam Room One. Just check in at the front desk.” I thanked her and walked back to my mother’s room. I pulled out my phone. Our mutual friend group chat was buzzing with activity. Mona had just added Jerry back into the group. “Welcome back, Jerry! I knew you two would find your way back to each other,” one friend wrote. “Exactly. You two always belonged together anyway,” another chimed in. “Uh… guys? Wright is still in this chat, remember?” There was a sudden, heavy silence. I smiled bitterly. These people had only tolerated me because of Mona; they had never actually respected me. A second later, a system notification flashed across the screen: “You have been removed from the group by Mona Kingsley.” My lips went dry and pale. A direct message from Mona popped up immediately: “I’ll add you back in thirty days. Be good.” I stared at those words for a long moment, then closed the app without replying. Once my medical tests were done tomorrow, there would be nothing left to bind us. Two days later, my mother woke up, and my tests were completed. I returned to Kingsley Enterprises to submit my resignation. I had barely sat down at my desk in the executive suite when the elevator doors slid open. Mona and Jerry walked out together. She stopped in front of my desk, adjusting her blazer. “Is your mother’s blood pressure under control?” I clenched my fists beneath the desk, keeping my voice dripping with cold sarcasm. “She’s doing perfectly, Ms. Kingsley. Thanks to your expert recommendation.” Mona’s brows knit together. She hated this sharp, cynical version of me. She was used to a Wright who hung on her every word, eager to please. Shifting her gaze away in annoyance, she turned to Jerry. Her expression softened instantly into something almost worshipful. “You’ll start as my chief personal assistant here in the executive suite,” she told him. “Once you’re familiar with our operations, I’ll move you to project management.” Jerry glanced at me, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Sounds great. I’m still a bit rusty, Mona. Maybe Wright can show me the ropes?” I looked up, the anger burning in my throat. “I decline.” Jerry didn’t flinch. He just quietly waited for Mona to handle it. Sure enough, her cold, authoritative voice cut through the room. “You don’t have a choice, Wright. This is a business, not a playground. Your personal preferences don’t dictate my decisions.” She didn’t wait for my response. She grabbed Jerry’s hand and led him into her private office. My hands and feet grew cold. Outside, the morning sun vanished behind a sudden flurry of snow, and a draft from the window made me shiver. I sank back into my chair, hyper-aware of the quiet snickers from the other assistants. By afternoon, I had finished drafting my formal resignation letter. Before I could print it, Mona called me into her office. Her face was dark with fury as she threw a thick folder at my feet. “Wright, is this job a joke to you? You put down three hundred million for a thirty-million-dollar bid! The entire legal team is scrambling to clean up your mess!” I knelt to pick up the papers, my heart hammering. I scanned the numbers. “This is impossible,” I said, my voice rising. “I audited this draft five times. The numbers were perfect.” Then, my eyes drifted to Jerry, who was standing by the window. The subtle, pleased curve of his mouth made my blood run cold. “It was you,” I whispered. It made perfect sense. His sudden eagerness to learn this morning, sitting right next to me for hours—finding out my computer password would have been child’s play for him. “Wright!” Mona snapped, her voice shaking the glass walls. “Are you seriously trying to shift the blame?” I closed my eyes and took a slow breath to steady myself. “Let’s check the security feed. Jerry probably didn’t realize that the little decorative clock on my desk has a built-in camera.” Jerry’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. I caught it. Mona remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her hesitation was like a physical blow to my chest. Without waiting for her permission, I grabbed Jerry by the sleeve and dragged him out into the main bullpen, where dozens of employees were already whispering. “Wright, stop—” Mona called out behind us, but I ignored her. I pulled up the camera feed on the main presentation screen for everyone to see. The footage was clear. At 12:23 PM, while the rest of the floor was out for lunch, Jerry had sat at my desk. Every keystroke, every deliberate modification to the bid contract was recorded in high definition. Mona’s face drained of color. Whispers broke out among the staff. “It was Jerry? Why would he do that?” “Are you blind? He’s her ex. It’s a classic power move to get rid of the fiancé. Let’s see who Mona protects.” “My money is on Jerry. You rookies don’t know how crazy she was about him back in the day.” I kept my back straight, refusing to show how much their words stung, or how much Mona’s heavy, agonizing silence was tearing me apart. Jerry looked at me, a cold, mocking smile returning to his face. He turned to Mona, completely devoid of remorse. “It was me,” he said casually. “I changed the files to frame Wright. You can fire me if you want.” He stepped closer to her, holding her gaze. “Are you going to fire me, Mona?” My chest tightened. “She has to,” I thought. The proof was undeniable, and he had admitted to corporate sabotage. There was no way she could justify keeping him. I held my breath, waiting. After a long, agonizing pause, Mona looked away from Jerry and addressed the crowd. “The matter is closed. I will personally cover any financial losses incurred by this mistake.” Jerry’s smirk widened as he cast a pitying glance my way. A collective murmur of disbelief swept through the office. It felt like a physical strike to my face. “On what grounds?” My voice shook, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking. Mona looked at me, her expression incredibly defensive. “Jerry is my boyfriend now. He made a lapse in judgment, and as his partner, I am taking responsibility for his mistakes.” A hollow laugh escaped me. “Your boyfriend? Mona, did you forget we have a signed marriage license? He’s a homewrecker—” “Wright!” she snapped, her eyes freezing me in place. “He is not.” I looked down at the polished floor, the last of my hopes crumbling away. Jerry’s confidence hadn’t come from his own cleverness; it had come from Mona’s unconditional protection. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Fine,” I whispered. “He isn’t.” She ordered everyone back to work, then ushered me into her office and closed the door. She reached out, wrapping her arms around me, her tone softening. “I’m sorry, Wright. I didn’t mean to snap. But I told you—just give me thirty days. After that, I am entirely yours.” My fingernails dug into my palms, the pain grounding me. I forced a faint smile. “Okay. I believe you. By the way, I have a few routine documents that need your signature.” I slipped my resignation letter and the divorce papers into a stack of standard corporate contracts and handed them to her. The abrupt shift in topic caught her off guard, but seeing my calm demeanor, she let out a sigh of relief. Without reading a single page, she signed her name at the bottom of each sheet. Back at my desk, I scanned and sent the signed divorce agreement to my lawyer, then walked down to HR to hand in my resignation. I sat through the remaining hours of the day in silence. When dusk fell, I took one last look at the office where I had spent five years of my life, left my ID badge on the desk, and walked out. In the parking garage, Jerry was leaning against my car. I tried to walk past him, but he stepped in my way. “See? I told you,” he sneered. “The moment I come back, you’re out. If you have any self-respect left, Wright, sign the papers and walk away. Why cling to a woman who doesn’t love you?” I stopped, looking at him with quiet contempt. “Is that so? Too bad that until the legalities are finalized, you’re nothing but a cheap affair.” “Why you—” He lost his temper and swung, his fist connecting heavily with my jaw. “You bastard!” “Jerry!” Mona’s voice echoed through the concrete structure. She hurried over, her eyes lingering on my swelling cheek for a brief moment. I waited for her to scream at him, to demand why he had just assaulted her fiancé. Instead, she turned to me. “I’m sorry, Wright. I apologize on Jerry’s behalf. To make it up to you, I’ll make sure our wedding in thirty days is the grandest event this city has ever seen.” Jerry smiled, casually draping an arm around her shoulder. My whole body went numb. My eyes burned with unshed tears. Before I could say a word, she led him away toward her car. The garage fell silent. I stood there alone, my jaw throbbing. Finally, the truth settled in. Mona didn’t care about Jerry’s flaws, his manipulation, or how he had abandoned her in the past. She knew exactly what he was doing, and she chose to protect him anyway. Because she loved him. Jerry was right. I had lost completely. My first defeat had been three years ago. Jerry had texted me out of the blue, claiming that Mona kept a photo of him in her wallet that she let no one touch. I hadn’t believed him until I checked her wallet late one night. When I threw the photo away, Mona screamed at me—the first time she had ever raised her voice in our relationship. The second defeat was a year ago. Jerry had messaged me saying that every May sixth, the anniversary of his mother’s passing, Mona would spend the day with his family in his place. That day had also been my father’s sixtieth birthday. I had begged her, practically on my knees, to cut ties with Jerry’s family and come home with me. But Mona had simply brushed my hand away and walked out the door without a second glance. The third defeat was at our wedding, when she abandoned me without a backward glance. And now, this was the fourth. I got into my car and was about to start the engine when my father’s name flashed on the dashboard screen. When I answered, his ragged, hysterical crying filled the car. “Wright… your mother… she’s…” The world seemed to stop spinning. Panic seized my throat, and my hands shook violently as I sped back to the hospital. But when I reached the room, all I found was a bed draped in a white sheet. My knees gave out. I stumbled forward, sinking to the floor, my hands reaching out to touch her cold forehead. “Mom?” My voice cracked, tears blinding me. “Mom! What happened? She was fine yesterday! Why?” My father was collapsed in a chair nearby, weeping uncontrollably. “Some man sent her a text… he sent her a video showing you being humiliated at the office. He told her you were completely abandoned and that she should convince you to let go…” I closed my eyes, a name burning in my mind. “Jerry.” Mona appeared in the doorway of the hospital room, looking deeply uncomfortable. She tried to wrap her arms around my trembling, grief-stricken body. “I’m so sorry, Wright. Jerry didn’t mean to… he was just so scared of losing me that he acted rashly…” I shoved her away with everything I had left. I looked at her, my throat tight with disgust and despair. “Mona… how did I ever love someone as rotten as you?” I pointed at the door. “Get out. Get the hell out!” Her face went pale, and she let out a long, weary sigh. “I will make this up to you, Wright. The wedding preparations are still under way. In thirty days, I’ll send Jerry away and we can start fresh. Just take this time to calm down.” She turned and left. When I opened my eyes, the sorrow was gone, replaced by a cold, quiet hatred. The next morning, my father and I quietly buried my mother. Then, we booked one-way tickets to Los Angeles. But before I boarded the plane, I made one phone call. I reached out to the coordinator at the luxury estate where Mona was planning our rescheduled wedding. I transferred fifteen thousand dollars to his account, requesting that he deliver three specific wedding gifts to Mona on our supposed big day. Three surprises she would remember for the rest of her life.

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The preschool dressing room was absolute chaos, a frantic blur of pint-sized performers running around in bright, stiff costumes. “Todd, take your suit off. Let Sammy wear it.” My mother’s voice was clipped, her fingers already reaching behind my back to tug at the Velcro strap. I instinctively clutched my chest. The miniature blue cadet uniform was special. My dad had taken me to a local tailor shop to get it custom-fitted, measuring my shoulders and inseam with a yellow tape measure. I had waited two long weeks for it to be finished. “Dad bought this for me,” I said, taking a step back, my heel hitting a pile of plastic props. “Sammy doesn’t have a mom, Todd. His dad can’t afford a costume like this. He’s the lead soloist today, and you need to be the bigger person.” Without waiting for me to answer, she lunged forward and grabbed my shoulder. “Rrrrrip.” The Velcro gave way with a sharp, ugly tear. The uniform slid down my arms, leaving me in just my undershirt. The draft from the air conditioning hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps. Nearby, three other kids stopped playing to stare at me. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my chest from heaving. I looked up at her, my vision blurring slightly, and said, “Mom, I don’t want the suit anymore. Why don’t you go be someone else’s mom?” 1 My mother’s hand froze in midair. She looked at the crisp blue cadet suit in her hands, then down at me. “Todd, that is incredibly rude.” She turned away, sliding the uniform onto Sammy’s shoulders. She pulled his sleeves down, adjusted his collar, and placed the matching pilot cap on his head, gently patting the brim. “Mr. Sullivan has a hard enough time raising Sammy on his own,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “We’re fortunate. We should help where we can.” Sammy spun around in front of the vanity mirror, admiring himself. He was a little chubbier than me, and the waist of the trousers looked tight, the fabric straining. My mother knelt down, loosening the adjustable tabs at his hips. “Look at you,” she said, her voice softening into a warm, adoring tone I hadn’t heard in weeks. “You look like the handsomest little pilot in the world.” “Thank you, Ms. Davis,” Sammy chirped, his voice sweet and clear. Gary Sullivan walked over, his eyes shining with gratitude as he looked at my mother. “Rebecca, I honestly don’t know how to thank you. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what Sammy would have done today.” My mother stood up, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, Gary, don’t worry about it. We’re neighbors. Todd can wear anything on stage. He doesn’t mind.” The coordinator’s voice boomed over the intercom, calling the kids to the wings. My mother scanned the clothing racks quickly, pulled down an oversized white backup t-shirt from the choir surplus, and tossed it to me. “Put this on. Quickly. You’re going to be late.” The shirt was massive. The neckline slid halfway down my collarbone, and the sleeves completely swallowed my hands. I slowly worked my fingers out of the cuffs and tucked the massive hem into my waistband, trying to make it look intentional. When the lights went up, I was standing in the back row of the choir, tucked away in the far corner. Every other child around me wore tailored little blazers or matching dresses. Sammy was front and center. The stage lights caught him perfectly, making the thirty-six polished brass buttons on my cadet uniform gleam like tiny stars. I looked out into the darkened auditorium and found my mother. She was standing near the stage, holding her DSLR camera, her finger constantly clicking the shutter, capturing every angle of Sammy’s solo. During the second song, we were supposed to sway side to side. The boy next to me took a step and accidentally trod on the hem of my oversized shirt, which had escaped my waistband. I lost my balance and tumbled sideways, scraping my palm hard against the splintered stage floor. It stung—a sharp, hot burn as a patch of skin peeled away. But I forced myself not to cry. I scrambled back up, tucked my shirt in again, and kept singing. My mother never saw it. She was too busy recording a video of Sammy’s high note. When the show ended, we all went back to the classroom to wait for our parents. My dad finally arrived, running through the door, his face flushed. He’d had a crucial board meeting but had promised to meet me the second the curtain fell. He knelt in front of me, his eyes instantly locking onto the ridiculous white shirt. “Todd, where’s your cadet suit?” Then he saw my hand—the raw, red scrape on my palm. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening. I pointed toward the far side of the classroom. My mother was sitting at a desk, pouring water from a thermos for Sammy. Gary was standing right next to her, holding her trench coat over his arm. Sammy was still wearing my blue uniform. “Sammy has it,” I said quietly. “Mom took it off me.” The warmth drained from my dad’s face. He stood up, took my uninjured hand, and walked straight toward them. “Rebecca, what the hell is this?” Several nearby parents paused their conversations, turning to look. The smile on my mother’s face stiffened. She snatched her coat back from Gary and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “David, don’t start a scene here. Sammy was the soloist. He needed to look presentable.” “So you stripped your own son to dress someone else’s kid?” My dad stepped closer, lifting my scraped hand so she could see it. “Todd was tripping over a shirt three sizes too big because of you. He fell on stage and tore up his hand. Did you even notice?” My mother glanced at my palm, her expression barely wavering. “Kids fall down, David. It’s a scratch. If Sammy had gone on stage in his old clothes, the other kids would have made fun of him. Todd is mature. He understands.” “I don’t understand,” I said. My mother blinked, momentarily speechless. “I don’t understand,” I repeated, looking her in the eye. “You ripped the Velcro off my back. It hurt, and it made me sad.” Gary stepped forward, looking intensely uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck. “David, please don’t blame Rebecca. It’s my fault. I’m a screw-up who couldn’t even get his kid a decent outfit. Sammy, take it off right now. Give it back to Todd.” Gary reached for Sammy’s zipper, but Sammy immediately wrapped his arms around my mother’s leg, hiding his face. “Ms. Davis, I don’t want to. I love this suit.” My mother instinctively shielded Sammy behind her. “It’s just a piece of fabric, David. Are you really going to hold a grudge against a motherless child? I’ll buy Todd an identical one tomorrow.” “You can’t,” I said. “The tailor said those brass buttons were the last ones he had.” My dad let go of my hand and took a slow, deep breath. “Rebecca, you rob your own son just to play the saint for an audience. You make me sick.” Without waiting for her reply, he turned and led me out of the school. “David!” she called after us, her voice echoing down the hallway. “When are you going to grow up? You don’t have a single drop of empathy in you!” My dad didn’t look back. In the passenger seat of his car, I pulled the seatbelt across my chest. My dad pulled a sanitizing wipe from the glove box and gently dabbed at the dirt in my scraped palm. “Does it hurt, buddy?” “No,” I lied, shaking my head. I looked out the window. My mother was walking out of the school gates, flanked by Gary and Sammy. She unlocked her car, and Gary and Sammy climbed into the passenger seats as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This wasn’t the first time she had given my things away. Last month, my dad had waited in line with me for two hours to get a limited-edition dinosaur balloon at the street fair. We had barely walked a block when we ran into my mother and Sammy. Sammy pointed at the balloon, and my mother simply took the string out of my hand and handed it to him, telling me I was a month older and needed to be a good big brother. But I didn’t have a brother. The week before that, she had promised to take me to the adventure park to ride the giant rainbow slide. But at the entrance, Gary called to say Sammy had a fever and was crying for her. My mother left me in the park’s sandbox, telling me to play by myself. I sat in that sand for three hours. Eventually, a park security guard had to call my dad. By the time my dad left work and rushed over to get me, I had fallen asleep in the corner of the sandbox, my hair full of dirt. “Dad,” I said, turning to him. “Yeah, buddy?” “I don’t want anything Mom buys me anymore. I only want the things you get me.” My dad’s hand stopped moving. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. “Okay, Todd. From now on, whatever you want, Dad will get it for you.” Three days later, my mother brought home a massive cardboard box. Inside was a limited-edition Lego castle set. I was sitting on the living room rug, working on a puzzle, and didn’t look up when she walked in. She knelt beside me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Todd, are you still mad at Mommy?” I slotted a blue puzzle piece into place, keeping my mouth shut. “I didn’t think things through last time. Tell you what—tomorrow is the weekend. Just the three of us. No one else. We’ll go to the Westside Adventure Park and ride those double go-karts you’ve been begging to try. How does that sound?” The double go-karts required an adult to drive with a kid. My dad had been working late on a massive project and couldn’t take me, and I had begged my mother for weeks, but she had always claimed she was too busy with work. I stopped touching the puzzle and looked at her. “Just the three of us?” “Mommy promises.” She held up three fingers. “Tomorrow morning at nine. Just you, me, and Dad. We’ll drive out to the park.” I glanced at my dad, who was standing by the kitchen door, holding a glass of water. His face was expressionless, his eyes cool. He didn’t say a word. “Okay,” I agreed softly. My mother smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “That’s my good boy.” The next morning, I was up by eight, fully dressed in my sneakers and athletic gear. My dad had cleared his morning schedule and put on a casual pullover to join us. But when we walked down to the parking garage, my mother’s SUV was already running, and the front passenger seat wasn’t empty. Gary Sullivan rolled down his window, looking slightly embarrassed as he nodded at my dad. The back window slid down, and Sammy leaned out, clutching a giant rainbow lollipop. “Hi, Todd! Good morning!” I stood frozen beside the car door. My dad’s hand lingered on the door handle. He slowly turned his head to look at my mother through the driver’s side window. She offered a bright, easy smile. “David, Gary’s water main burst this morning, and the landlord has plumbers working in their apartment all day. Sammy was going stir-crazy with all the noise, so I thought it’d be nice to bring them along.” She pushed her door open, stepped out, and opened the back door for me. “Todd, sweetie, get in. You and Sammy can sit together in the back and share some snacks.” I stared into her eyes. “You said yesterday it would only be the three of us.” She knelt down to meet my gaze, her voice perfectly patient. “Todd, plans change. Sammy’s apartment is a total mess right now, and he was really scared by the plumbers. I know you’re a sweet, generous boy. Having a friend along will make it more fun, won’t it?” She always did this. She used this incredibly gentle, reasonable voice to hand my happiness over to someone else. “The go-karts only have two seats,” I pointed out. “Mommy can buy two tickets,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll take Sammy for a spin first, and then I’ll take you right after. Deal?” “No.” I pulled my shoulder away from her touch, taking a step back. “I don’t want to go anymore. Let’s go home.” Her smile faltered, but she kept her voice level. “Todd, it’s a beautiful day. Don’t throw a tantrum. I kept my promise, didn’t I? I’m taking you to the park.” “You didn’t keep it,” I said, shaking my head. “You said just us. There are other people in the car. You lied.” I grabbed my dad’s hand. “Dad, let’s go home.” My dad squeezed my fingers tightly. He gave my mother a cold, hard look. “Go ahead without us, Rebecca. Todd and I are staying behind.” My mother stood up, her brow knitting into a sharp line. “David, don’t encourage his bad behavior. Gary and Sammy are already in the car. If you refuse to go now, do you know how uncomfortable you’re making them feel?” Gary quickly opened his door and stepped out. “Rebecca, maybe we should just head back. We don’t want to ruin your family day.” “Don’t be silly, Gary. Your place is completely unlivable right now.” My mother put a hand on Gary’s arm, pushing him gently back toward the car, before turning her sharp eyes back to me. “Todd, stop being difficult. Get in the car.” I looked down at the gravel beneath my sneakers. “Mom, just take Sammy. He doesn’t have a mom, so you can just be his. I don’t want the go-karts anymore. And I don’t want you.” My dad didn’t take me home that morning. Instead, he walked me out of the neighborhood, hailed a cab, and took me to a pottery studio downtown. “Todd, you can mold whatever you want today. Dad’s right here with you.” I sunk my hands into the cool, wet clay, shaping a clumsy little cat and then a lopsided car. I didn’t cry or throw a fit, but when we went to get lunch, I could only manage a few bites of my food. By three in the afternoon, my neck started to itch. I scratched at it, feeling a cluster of raised, bumpy welts under my collar. My dad noticed me scratching, pulled my collar down to look, and his face turned pale. I’ve had a severe seafood allergy since I was a baby—the kind that triggers intense, sudden hives. Something in the broth at the restaurant must have been cross-contaminated. Within minutes, the red, swollen hives spread down my arms and onto my face. I was shaking from the intense itching. My dad scooped me up and ran out of the mall. “Don’t scratch, Todd. Dad’s getting you to the hospital.” The pediatric ER was a nightmare of weekend crowds. When my dad rushed me to the triage desk, the screen showed over forty people ahead of us. He pulled out his phone and dialed my mother. The first call went straight to voicemail. The second rang for a long time before she finally answered. “Rebecca, Todd is having a severe allergic reaction and the ER is packed. You know the chief of pediatrics here, don’t you? Call Dr. Henderson and see if he can fit us in immediately! We’re on our way up to the clinic.” The background on her end was noisy—the loud, mechanical roar of the amusement park rides. “Hives? Is it really that bad?” her voice sounded distant, competing with the noise. “He’s covered from head to toe, Rebecca! He’s clawing at his skin! Call Henderson now!” “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll text him. Take Todd straight to Room 3 on the second floor. I’ll meet you there.” My dad carried me up the stairs to the outpatient wing. Outside Room 3, about a dozen anxious parents were waiting. My dad gave the nurse our name, and she checked her tablet. “Yes, Mrs. Davis called ahead. Dr. Henderson said you can go in as soon as the current patient leaves.” My dad let out a ragged sigh of relief, sitting down on a vinyl bench and holding me close. I was miserable, my fingernails digged into my arms, leaving angry red tracks. My dad gently pinned my hands down, blowing cool air onto my skin to soothe the burn. The heavy wooden door of Room 3 clicked open, and a family walked out. But before my dad could stand up, a small group came rushing down the hallway. It was my mother. She was leading the way, with Gary close behind, holding Sammy in his arms. My mother marched straight to the clinic door. My dad stepped forward. “Rebecca, thank god. Get Todd in there, he’s miserable.” My mother looked at me, then put a hand on my dad’s chest, blocking him. “David, wait a second.” She turned, ushering Gary and Sammy forward. “Dr. Henderson, could you take a look at Sammy first?” she called into the room. “He had some ice cream at the park and he’s been vomiting and having diarrhea. He’s running a fever, and I’m terrified it’s acute gastroenteritis.” My dad stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Rebecca, are you out of your mind? Todd is covered in hives and can barely breathe from the itching, and you’re letting Sammy go first?” My mother turned around, her voice remaining smooth, measured, and entirely reasonable. “David, keep your head. Hives are just an itchy skin irritation; it’s not life-threatening. Sammy is different. He’s throwing up and feverish. Small children dehydrate so quickly. If we wait, he could end up on an IV.” She pushed Gary into the examination room. “Dr. Henderson, please, look at him first.” Gary glanced back at us over his shoulder, his face a mask of awkward apology. “David, I’m so sorry, Sammy’s really in bad shape…” The door clicked shut in our faces. I sat back down on the bench, staring at the sterile white door. Strangely, the itching on my neck didn’t seem as bad anymore. A cold, heavy weight was settling deep in my chest, pushing everything else out. Beside me, my dad was trembling with a quiet, terrifying rage. Finally, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Rae,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “Where are you right now?” Five minutes later, a tall figure in a cream-colored trench coat came rushing down the hallway.

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With our wedding just around the corner, I found a digital trail of highway toll receipts on my fiancée’s phone. Every trip had started in the dead of night. A twelve-hour drive, straight. To keep me from noticing, she would turn right around and make the grueling journey back the very next day. Looking at that exhausting, relentless schedule, my friends tried to reassure me. “It’s normal, man. Cold feet. Some women just panic before the big day. She’ll snap out of it soon.” But I didn’t buy it. So, I followed her through the night, all the way to San Francisco. And there, in the passenger seat of her car, I saw him. I watched them get out, laughing, and walk together into a boutique hotel. Panic flared in my chest. Blinded by a sudden, desperate anger, I lunged across the street to catch her, but I never made it. A passing car clipped me, sending me crashing hard onto the wet asphalt. As my vision blurred and the pain set in, my fingers trembled over my screen, typing frantically. “Please pick up. I’ve been in an accident.” On the hotel steps, Vera paused. She unlocked her phone, her eyes scanning the screen. My breath hitched in my throat, waiting, praying for her to call. But she didn’t. She slipped the phone back into her pocket, turned, and followed the boy inside. I blacked out. It wasn’t until seven that evening that I finally dragged myself back to our apartment, my leg set in a heavy plaster cast, throbbing with a dull, sickening ache. Only then did Vera’s name light up my screen, her voice dripping with artificial worry. “Liam! What do you mean you were in an accident? Are you okay? Which hospital are you at? I’m coming to get you.” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice entirely flat. There was no need to pick me up. And there was no need for a wedding anymore. … Perhaps it was the heavy silence on my end that tipped her off. Vera began to explain, her voice soft and defensive. “My phone died this afternoon. It was just such a crazy busy day, and I didn’t have my charger.” That had been her go-to excuse for the last three months. If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes, I’d probably still believe it. “Okay.” “How is your leg? Is it bad?” She sounded genuinely concerned. I glanced up at the wall clock. 7:40 PM. Exactly eight hours since I had sent her that text. I snapped a photo of my heavy white cast and sent it over. A comminuted fracture. Vera looked at it, but she didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she sent back a few photos of pink cherry blossoms. “They’re in full bloom here. It’s like a pink sea. The photos don’t even do it justice.” I stared at the images for a long moment before replying. “Is San Francisco really that beautiful?” Beautiful enough to drive twelve hours for, four times in a single month? She had sent me virtually the same photo four times now. Same angle, same composition. She couldn’t even be bothered to change up her lies. There was a pause. She clearly hadn’t expected the question. “Yeah. It’s nice.” After a brief hesitation, she added, half-shielding the truth, “Actually, I’m only half-vacationing. I’m mostly here helping a friend out.” I didn’t ask who the friend was. She wouldn’t tell me anyway, and I already knew. It was Bradley, her ex. Bradley had just updated his Instagram. He was wearing a perfectly tailored linen shirt, posing under a canopy of cherry blossoms. The photographer clearly loved him; every shot captured the perfect golden hour light. It was a stark contrast to the photos Vera took of me—blurry, out of focus, nine times out of ten my face was obscured. Whenever I teased her about it, she’d just laugh it off. “I’m just bad at photography, Liam. Cut me some slack.” But looking at Bradley’s feed, the truth clicked. It wasn’t a lack of skill. It was a lack of interest. Taking my silence as exhaustion, she said, “Get some rest, okay? I’ll head back early tomorrow morning.” I said okay and hung up. I clicked on Bradley’s post again, reading his caption. “Grad school is finally over! Four back-and-forth trips this month, but luckily, I had my favorite person helping me through it all. So grateful.” Four trips for him. Four twelve-hour drives for Vera. She hadn’t missed a single one. Meanwhile, our wedding venue, the caterers, the tuxedo fittings—she hadn’t spared a single second for any of it. My head throbbed, and my cast felt suffocatingly tight. After spending an hour online canceling our wedding venue bookings, I stared at the ceiling. It was nearly 2:00 AM before I finally drifted into a restless sleep. When I woke up, Vera was already back. The rich, savory scent of homemade chicken soup drifted from the kitchen. Seeing me stir, she walked over and gently brushed a hand against my cheek. “How did the accident even happen?” I stared at her for a moment. “I was out, and I thought I saw someone I knew. I tried to catch up to them, but I wasn’t fast enough.” She let out a soft, dismissive murmur. “Well, be more careful next time.” She didn’t ask where I’d been, or who I’d seen. Because she didn’t care. My flight itinerary to San Francisco was sitting right there on the entryway console, in plain sight. She didn’t even glance at it. My eyes stung. I gripped my crutches and swung myself out of bed. After a quick wash, I hobbled over to the dining table and reached for the ladle to pour myself a bowl of soup. “Don’t touch that!” Vera lunged forward, her voice sharp and panicked. I froze, the empty bowl trembling slightly in my hands. “It’s not for me?” She softened slightly, looking sheepish. “No… a friend of mine caught a really bad flu. I promised I’d whip up some soup for them.” She hesitated, then added, “But I mean, if you really want some, go ahead.” She forced a smile, but the underlying reluctance in her voice was impossible to miss. I didn’t say anything. I just looked down at my broken leg, set the bowl back down on the table, and let go. Relieved, Vera immediately sealed the thermos and packed a few side dishes into a paper bag. Once she was done, she finally looked at me. “What do you want for lunch? I can make you some grilled cheese?” “Who is this friend?” Our voices collided in the quiet room. “Just someone from school. You don’t know them,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced. I nodded. “A guy or a girl?” The faint smile slid off Vera’s face. She sighed, a trace of irritation bleeding through. “Liam, what is with you lately? They’re just a friend. That’s it.” “Are you just stressed out because of the wedding planning?” I didn’t push. She turned toward the kitchen to start lunch, but then her phone buzzed on the counter. Vera snatched it up, her eyes darting over the screen. Within seconds, she was untying her apron, grabbing the thermos, and hurrying toward the door. “Something came up. I have to run out for a bit. Make sure you eat something, okay?” Before I could even open my mouth, the door clicked shut behind her. She was in a frantic rush to tend to her ex’s minor cold, completely blind to her fiancé sitting there with a fractured leg. My phone vibrated. A notification popped up: “Your wedding dress rental cancellation has been processed successfully.” I tapped confirm, then opened a food delivery app and ordered a sandwich. After eating, I took an Uber to the clinic to pick up my pain medication. But as I walked through the lobby, I ran straight into Vera. She was carrying Bradley’s leather backpack in one hand and the empty soup thermos in the other. The moment she saw me, her laughter froze mid-air. But she recovered quickly, smoothing over her expression. “Oh! We just ran into each other outside.” Right. A coincidence. Just happened to be at the same clinic, and he just happened to have finished every last drop of her soup. Bradley didn’t offer an explanation. Instead, he flashed me a polite, easy smile. “Hey, Liam. Why don’t you grab your meds first? We’ll wait for you outside.” He sounded so comfortable, so welcoming. Like he was the host, and I was the guest. Vera nodded in agreement as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I said nothing. When we got to her car, I instinctively reached for the passenger door. Bradley looked at my hand, a polite but pointed smile on his lips. “Sorry, I’m so used to riding shotgun. Do you want me to move?” His tone was pleasant, but his body didn’t budge an inch. I looked past him. The seat’s height and the angle of the headrest were adjusted perfectly for him. Before I could say a word, Vera opened the rear door for me. “Liam, you should probably sit in the back. It’ll be easier with your leg anyway.” The entire drive back, they chatted and laughed, while I sat in the backseat behind an invisible wall, watching their world from the outside. Suddenly, she pulled over by a fresh produce stand. Without a word, she jumped out of the car and ran toward it. I rolled down my window, watching her go. Bradley spoke up from the front seat. “Don’t worry. She’s just grabbing some fresh figs.” I froze. Before I could process that, Vera was already jogging back, her eyes bright with excitement. “Bradley, look! I found them!” As she climbed back in, she suddenly remembered I was in the back. “Oh, Liam. Is there anything you wanted? I can go back and—” Before she could finish, Bradley split open a ripe fig and popped it right into her mouth. “Aren’t they amazing?” He didn’t pull his hand away immediately, his fingertips lingering on her lower lip for a beat too long. Vera’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. She shot a panicked glance at the rearview mirror, quickly adjusted her seat, and cleared her throat. “Right. Let’s get going.” Bradley sat back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. In the mirror, my expression remained entirely blank. When my eyes met Vera’s tense, searching gaze, I actually let out a soft laugh. The car suddenly lurched forward as she hit the gas. The second we dropped Bradley off at his apartment, Vera turned around to face me. “Please don’t overthink that, Liam. He’s always been a tease. It was just a joke.” “Do you even remember that you’re getting married?” The question was sharp, cutting through the thick air. Vera’s expression soured, and she fell silent. I turned my head toward the window, the passing streetlights blurring together. Vera and Bradley had always been the golden couple. Back in college, everyone knew them as the brilliant, perfect match. They ran debate prep together, won regional titles side-by-side, traveled the country. But they were both too stubborn, too competitive. They fought constantly, broke up, made up, and fought again. By graduation, reality caught up to them, and they ended it for good. Vera had cried like her entire world was ending. I’d never seen her look so fragile. I remember stepping off the campus shuttle, seeing her huddled on a bench, and gently placing my baseball cap over her head to hide her tears. I walked away before she could even look up. It was over a year before our paths crossed again. When they did, things progressed naturally. We exchanged numbers, started dating, and eventually built a life together. Our relationship was quiet, warm, and comfortable. There were no dramatic screaming matches, no devastating breakups. And that, I realized, was why she found it boring. “Stop reading into things. Nothing happened between us,” she said, her tone hardening. I looked up and locked eyes with her in the mirror. “He’s the friend from San Francisco, isn’t he?” “Yes,” she admitted, her voice flatly defiant. “He was sick, and I went to look after him. That’s all it was.” She looked back at the road, raising a massive wall between us. A wall meant to protect someone else, leaving me on the outside. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the ride. When we got to our building’s garage, my leg was throbbing from all the walking. I waited by the trunk, hoping she’d offer a hand. Vera walked over, turned her back to me, and crouched down. “Get on. I’ll carry you.” I was too exhausted to argue. I leaned onto her back, closing my eyes against her shoulder. As the elevator rose, her phone chimed. She hesitated, looking down at the screen, before murmuring my name. “Liam?” I didn’t answer, pretending to be asleep. Assuming I was out cold, she opened the text. It was a photo from Bradley—him shirtless, posing by a pool. “How does this look? Thinking of posting it on Instagram.” Vera’s breathing hitched, turning shallow and rapid. She typed furiously: “Don’t you dare post that.” “Why not?” Vera’s grip on my thighs tightened. “Because I’m your woman.” “Glad you finally admit it. Too bad you’re still marrying someone else.” This time, Vera didn’t reply. The elevator doors slid open. She carried me into our apartment with delicate, quiet movements, laying me gently down on the sofa. Then, she immediately hurried into the office, eager to check if Bradley had actually posted the photo. She didn’t see the damp patch on the back of her shirt where my tears had soaked through. It was more than two hours later when she finally stepped out of the office, looking entirely relieved. Seeing me awake, she ran a hand through my hair. “Hungry? What do you want for lunch?” “Just some fried rice,” I said, shifting my body slightly and brushing her arm away. Vera blinked, her eyes tracking my movement and landing on my bare hand. “Where is your ring?” I had taken it off the second I woke up in the hospital. “It gets in the way when I wash up.” “Did you put it somewhere safe? You can’t just lose your wedding band, Liam.” “Does the ring really matter?” Vera’s brows knitted together. “What kind of question is that? Of course it matters. It’s the symbol of our commitment.” Yet just minutes ago, she was wearing hers while flirting with her ex. When I stayed silent, she took a slow, deep breath, kneeling to take my hands in hers. “Liam, you need to have some faith in us. At the end of the day, you’re the one I’m marrying.” But that didn’t stop her from keeping her ex on a leash. I stared at her, genuinely wondering if she ever got tired of the juggling act. How did she find the energy to love two people at once? After lunch, I went into the bedroom under the guise of resting, and quietly packed a bag. When I hobbled back out, Vera was putting on her coat. “Going somewhere?” “An alumni dinner.” As if to preempt my suspicions, she added quickly, “Do you want to come?” “Yes.” I looked up and smiled at her stunned expression. “I’ll come with you.” It was the first time I had ever insisted on joining her friends. The look on Vera’s face was far from thrilled. Bradley was waiting outside the restaurant lobby when we pulled up. When he saw me limping beside her, his face stiffened for a fraction of a second. But he recovered instantly, plastering on a warm smile. “Hey, Liam. Glad you could make it.” “Thanks,” I said. My eyes fell on his shirt—a soft, powder-blue linen. Then I looked at Vera, who was wearing a powder-blue knit dress. Even their watches were matching. Walking behind them, I felt like a third wheel on a date. The moment we entered the private dining room, someone stood up with a loud grin. “Vera! We heard you’re getting married! When did you and Bradley finally get back together? You kept that quiet! After all these years, I knew you two would end up together!” Beside me, Vera froze, her entire posture stiffening. Bradley, however, didn’t look bothered at all. In fact, he turned his head slightly to look at me, scanning my face to see if I’d break. Someone who actually knew the truth cleared their throat, nudging the speaker. “Dude, you’ve had too much to drink. This is Liam, Vera’s fiancé.” The room went dead quiet. The guy’s face turned bright red, and he immediately apologized. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. My bad.” I offered a polite, easy smile. “Don’t worry about it.” Bradley let out a soft laugh. It was sharp, sudden, and dripping with condescension. A quiet mockery of my tolerance. This time, I didn’t let it slide. I turned to look at him directly. “What’s funny, Bradley?” He clearly hadn’t expected me to call him out in front of everyone. His smug smile faltered. “Nothing. I didn’t laugh, Liam. You’re being a little sensitive, don’t you think?” “Am I?” I said softly. “So when you texted my fiancée a shirtless photo of yourself in swimming trunks yesterday, was I just being sensitive about that, too?” The room went instantly, suffocatingly quiet. You could have heard a pin drop. Bradley’s face drained of color. He looked down, thoroughly humiliated, his jaw tight. Vera’s expression turned utterly venomous. She grabbed my wrist with an iron grip and pulled me toward the door. “Liam, that is enough! Stop making a scene!” My broken leg clipped the corner of the wall as she dragged me out, and a sharp, white-hot flash of pain shot up my spine. Once the pain subsided, I actually felt like laughing. I had just exposed her betrayal, and she was the one reprimanding me. “What are you so defensive about?” I asked. “I’m not defensive,” she snapped, her jaw clenched. “It was just a beach photo. Don’t be so provincial.” I nodded slowly. “Right. So if I texted my ex a photo of me in my underwear, you’d be totally fine with it? It’s just a photo, after all.” Vera rubbed her temples, looking incredibly weary. Behind the closed door, we could hear the awkward hum of her friends whispering. She didn’t want to do this here. “Just go home, Liam. We’ll talk about this at the apartment.” What was left to talk about? In a room full of people, when the lines were drawn, I was the one she cast aside. Her friends stared at me with varying degrees of pity as I gathered my coat. Behind them, Bradley stood leaning against the wall, crossing his arms with a smug, victorious little wave. I turned around and walked out. But I didn’t go back to our apartment. I took a cab to my parents’ place, where they were already waiting for me. We packed the last of my things into the trunk of their car. My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with a quiet, unconditional warmth. “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” she asked. I nodded. “I am.” By then, they had already sent out the notices to our relatives: “The wedding has been canceled.” On the drive to my parents’ house, my phone buzzed. Bradley had posted again. “Perfect reunion with the old crew! Let’s do this again next year!” In the group photo, Vera was pressed flush against him, her arm looped playfully through his. But I didn’t feel the sting anymore. I had already walked off the battlefield. At 8:00 PM, Vera finally unlocked the door to our apartment. But she wasn’t greeted by the smell of dinner or the sound of the TV. The flat was dead silent. A cold knot of dread tightened in her chest.

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My coworkers always told me I had the perfect girlfriend. No matter the weather, rain or shine, Lauren would call me without fail, offering sweet, gentle reminders to stay dry and keep warm. But my best friend, Wyatt, didn’t buy the act. “If you both work in the exact same building, why doesn’t she just walk out with you and ride home together?” he asked one afternoon, his voice laced with casual skepticism. I smiled, shaking my head, and offered the same excuse I always did: her department got off ten minutes earlier than mine. But in truth, every time I walked into the subway station, collapsing my wet umbrella while cold rain dripped down the back of my neck, a heavy, quiet ache would settle in my chest. That was until a coworker of mine ended up transferring to the firm where Wyatt worked. He was the one who sent me the photo. It was taken right outside their office building. The image was clear: Wyatt was holding a large umbrella, tilting it carefully over Lauren, shielding her body with his own as he guided her toward the passenger side of her car. Lauren hadn’t caught a single drop of rain. A follow-up text from my coworker popped up: “This has been going on for a month. I’ve been debating whether or not I should tell you.” I stared at the screen for a very long time, my mind completely blank, until a single tear slipped down my cheek and smeared the glass. She didn’t want to wait ten minutes for me. Because she was driving all the way across town, taking the long route, just to pick him up and drive home together. The car she was driving was one I had bought for her. I looked up at the window. Outside, the sky was black, releasing a furious, unforgiving downpour. 1 Right on cue, Lauren’s daily text message lit up my phone. It was the same predictable routine. “It’s pouring out. How are you getting home?” “Make sure you stay safe.” I stared at her words, but all I could see was the tilted angle of the umbrella in that photo. After a long pause, I typed out a brief reply. “I’m not coming home tonight.” I stayed at my desk until nine o’clock. Lauren sent message after message, but I didn’t reply to a single one. I simply didn’t know how to look her in the eye. At ten, she showed up at the office lobby. The moment she spotted me sitting alone in the dim reception area, she rushed over, shaking out a dry coat she carried on her arm and draping it over my shoulders. “Why haven’t you come home?” Before I could answer, she took my wrist and pulled me toward the exit, her voice a soft, scolding murmur. “Silly. You’re a grown man, Jesse. You’d think you’d know enough to go home when it’s raining.” Outside, the storm had quieted into a steady drizzle. She opened her umbrella and held it over us, but as we walked, she subtly tilted the canopy toward her own shoulder. The cold mist drifted onto my bare neck. That familiar, suffocating wave of helplessness washed over me again. As soon as we got into the car, I unlocked my phone and held the photo directly in front of her face. “Can you explain this?” Lauren froze. A flicker of sheer panic crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it. “We… we just happened to be heading the same way. Where did you even get this picture, Jesse?” I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re the one who needs to explain.” Lauren let out a dry, dismissive cough. “Wyatt is your best friend. He only looks out for me because of you. It’s just a favor.” I didn’t argue. I just kept my eyes locked on hers, searching for any trace of the woman I thought I knew. The silence inside the car became heavy and suffocating. Finally, Lauren let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It’s absolutely nothing, Jesse. We’ve been together for eight years. Do you seriously trust some random gossip over me? You’re just overthinking things.” At that exact second, her phone began to ring. I glanced at the illuminated dashboard screen. The caller ID was a single red heart emoji. She answered, and Wyatt’s voice filled the quiet car. “Hey, the rain is brutal today. You’re definitely going to catch a cold when you get home. Make sure you brew some hot tea, okay?” He paused, then continued in a casual, familiar tone. “Oh, by the way, those bagels you bought for Jesse last month were amazing. Bring me some when you pick me up tomorrow morning, will you?” “Hello? Lauren? Can you hear me?” When had their conversations started sounding so comfortable? So much like an old married couple? For a terrifying second, I felt like a stranger intruding on someone else’s life. The car was dead silent. Lauren finally spoke, her voice tight. “Jesse knows.” Wyatt hung up almost instantly. A moment later, my own phone began to buzz with calls and a barrage of texts. All of them from Wyatt. “Jesse, buddy, you know how you get. Lauren and I are completely platonic, swear. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” Was I really just overthinking? I clicked the power button, turning my screen dark. My head was spinning, my vision blurring behind a hot screen of tears. “When did it start?” “Jesse, please don’t—” “I asked you when it started!” I pushed her hand away, lunging forward to grab the dashcam’s memory card reader. Lauren immediately tried to block me, scrambling to grab my wrists. But she was too late. I pulled up the footage on my phone. Today. Yesterday. The day before that. Every single day. The moment she clocked out, she drove straight to Wyatt’s office to pick him up. Every single day, rain or shine. And all the while, she had kept me at arm’s length with lies about mismatched schedules while I trudged through the rain to catch the subway. The loop only stored three months of data. By the time I finished scrolling through the dates, I was weeping openly, my chest heaving. “Why?” I sobbed, the sound raw and ugly. “Why would you do this to me? Why the two of you? Why?” Outside, a sudden crack of thunder shook the sky, a perfect, mocking soundtrack to my unraveling. Lauren reached out and tried to pull me into her arms. “Jesse, stop, please. It breaks my heart to see you like this…” I wrenched myself out of her embrace. I blinked away the burning tears, my throat raw. “We’re done,” I said. “It’s over.” The moment we got back to the apartment, I began packing my things. I remembered a joke I had made to Wyatt years ago when we first moved in. “I shouldn’t buy too much stuff,” I’d laughed. “If Lauren and I ever break up, packing will be humiliating.” How cruel, to have predicted my own ruin. It didn’t take long. Eight years of my life fit neatly into just two suitcases. Lauren sat on the edge of the sofa, watching me in icy silence. She didn’t offer a single word until I rolled my suitcases toward the front door. “I’m giving you one chance to regret this,” she said quietly. “We’re supposed to get married soon, Jesse. This little tantrum is getting ridiculous.” I responded by shutting the door behind me. Walking down the dark, wet street with my suitcases dragging behind me, my mind slipped back to our college graduation. “Lauren, I promise you, I will never let you suffer like this. We will always have a roof over our heads.” When we first arrived in New York City, we were young, broke, and squeezed into a miserable little apartment. One night, our landlord abruptly kicked us out at midnight because someone else offered double the rent. Our meager belongings had been thrown out into the hallway, our cheap suitcases tumbling down the stairs. I had picked up those broken bags, looked into her tear-streaked face, and made that promise. I had smiled then, full of foolish, naive hope. But I wasn’t smiling now. Now, I was the one walking the streets alone in the dark. Lauren, you absolute liar. Rainwater and sweat mixed on my face. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Wyatt’s name on the screen. “Jesse, stop being dramatic,” Wyatt said the moment I answered. “Go back home. Don’t make Lauren worry about you.” Worry about me. What a joke. Three years ago, Lauren had been overwhelmed by the pressure of working in New York and wanted to relocate to Charleston. I didn’t hesitate; I quit my promising management track job and followed her south. But Charleston’s job market wasn’t kind to me. The sudden stress, combined with a severe stomach ulcer, landed me in a hospital bed. Wyatt had flown down the moment he heard. I remembered him standing by my hospital bed, his eyes red with tears. He and Lauren took turns caring for me for two straight months until I recovered and finally landed a local desk job. I had felt so incredibly loved back then. But now, a sickening thought crept in. “When did they really start getting close? Was it during those long hours by my sickbed?” The more I thought, the more I loathed my own stupidity. The rain kept falling, and the thunder made me shiver to my bones. “Don’t worry about it,” I told Wyatt, my voice shaking. “I’m never going back. I hope I never see either of you again for the rest of my life. I can’t wish you well. Goodbye.” I hung up, dragged my bags into a nearby budget hotel, and checked in. Staring up at the sterile ceiling of my room, my mind replayed every detail of the evening. Sleep was impossible. I was used to Lauren’s weight beside me, her voice soothing me to sleep. I would never have that again. Tears slipped silently down into my hair, but I didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away. Suddenly, I thought I heard Lauren and Wyatt’s voices in the hallway. I must be losing my mind, I thought. But when I opened the door, they were actually standing there. When I demanded to know how they had found me, they both stumbled over their words, but the pieces fell into place quickly enough. To keep their little secret safe from me, Lauren had secretly installed a tracking app on my phone. No wonder she always knew where I was. Lauren tried to grab my hand. “Jesse, don’t look at me like that. It was only for your safety.” Wyatt wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “See? He’s perfectly fine. You worried over nothing.” He looked at me, his lip curling in disgust. “I honestly thought you’d gone off to get a room with some random girl. If Lauren hadn’t been hysterical, I wouldn’t have wasted my night coming here.” Lauren nudged him, frowning. “Wyatt, shut up.” But Wyatt kept going. “You and Lauren are getting married. Stop acting like a child. I can explain the rides. Lauren is delicate. She can’t walk in the rain—it triggers her migraines.” The excuse sounded horribly familiar. Three years ago, Lauren had suddenly insisted on buying a car. I had been thrilled, thinking she was finally planning for our future. I paid for the vehicle in full, in cash, and registered it under her name as a gesture of my devotion. But once the keys were in her hand, she never brought up marriage again. Instead, she claimed Wyatt needed to borrow it for his commute. That “temporary” loan had lasted three whole years. Now, the memory of the night before we bought that car flashed in my mind. Wyatt had caught a fever after getting drenched in a storm. Lauren and I had gone to his apartment to bring him medicine. I remembered him sighing on his couch. “I wish I never had to walk in the rain again.” “How long?” I asked, my voice flat. “How long has it been?” Wyatt answered without a shred of hesitation. “Three years.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Three years. The car had been bought for him from the very beginning. I had been nothing but a bank account and a fool. “Get out,” I said, slamming the door in their faces. I called the front desk and had security escort them out of the building. I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, I bought a new phone, threw my old one in a trash can, and walked into my office to hand in my resignation. During our three years in Charleston, Lauren had used her family connections to climb into a comfortable management role. Meanwhile, despite my degree from a top-tier university, I had settled for a low-level administrative clerk job just to keep her happy. My work was so simple that it didn’t even require a transition period. No one tried to convince me to stay. As I walked out of the HR department, I ran right into Lauren. She blocked my path, her eyes darting between me and the director’s office. “Are you going to complain to management?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Are you trying to tell them I’m immoral? You’ve really grown a spine, haven’t you, Jesse?” “I didn’t—” “Let me tell you something,” she interrupted, stepping closer. “My word carries a lot more weight in this company than yours ever will.” I remembered our life in New York. I had earned five times her salary back then. She used to knock politely before entering my office. But in Charleston, the power dynamic had completely shifted. She reached back, curling her arm through Wyatt’s as he stepped up behind her. “If I hear a single whisper of you trying to ruin Wyatt’s reputation here, Jesse, I will make your life a living hell.” I had no energy left to explain myself. I brushed past her outstretched arm. “I just resigned,” I said quietly. “Let me through.” Lauren froze, then lunged forward to grab my sleeve. “What do you mean, you resigned? Explain yourself!” I tried to pull away from her grip. In the clumsy scuffle, she let out a sharp gasp, clutching her abdomen as she fell to her knees on the polished floor. I instinctively reached down to help her up. Before I could touch her, a shadow crossed my face. “Smack.” A stinging slap landed squarely across my cheek, sending a dull ring through my ears. Wyatt’s eyes were practically burning with rage as he scooped Lauren into his arms. “She’s two months pregnant!” he roared. “How dare you lay a hand on her!” Two months? My mind spun. Two months ago was exactly when we were supposed to get married. But she had suddenly called off the entire ceremony, canceling the venue and the dress at a massive financial loss. She had claimed the date was “unlucky.” Now I understood. She just couldn’t bear the thought of Wyatt’s child being born a bastard. My head throbbed, the world tilting on its axis. Wyatt sneered, his voice a cruel whisper. “Want to know when it happened? If you’d watched that dashcam footage for just one more second, you would have seen us doing it in the parking lot of your apartment building. Every single day, right before she went upstairs to you.” “Don’t blame us, Jesse. Lauren was bored of you years ago.” He smirked. “What’s with the blank stare? Want me to copy the files for you? You can listen to it on repeat.”

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An accident gave me a gift—or perhaps, a curse. I could hear a chime in my head whenever the person I loved lied to me. On our eighth anniversary, I stared at the pregnancy test in my wife’s hand, my heart hammering against my ribs at the sight of the two pink lines. “Charlotte, you’re pregnant?” She gave me a warm, tender smile. “Yes, James. I’m carrying our baby.” “Ding.” The sound reverberated inside my skull, sharp and metallic. My smile froze. Suddenly, Charlotte’s phone lit up on the counter. She glanced at the screen, her expression instantly shifting to one of polite regret. “James, there’s an emergency at the office. I have to go.” “Ding.” “I wanted to spend our anniversary with you so badly.” “Ding.” As she turned to leave, I stood up and followed her, the plastic edges of the pregnancy test digging painfully into my palm. “Charlotte,” I called out, my voice tight. “Would you ever lie to me?” She paused, turning back to cup my cheek with a soft, dismissive laugh. “What a silly thing to say. Of course not.” “I love you more than anyone. I’ll be back the second I’m done.” “Ding.” The front door clicked shut. The pregnancy test slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. “If the baby isn’t mine, then you aren’t either.” … Midnight came and went. The anniversary had bled into the next day, and she still wasn’t home. My phone buzzed. It was a message from the private investigator. “Mr. Davis, Charlotte has known this man for a year.” “She keeps him well-hidden. I only managed to snap a few photos.” The images loaded slowly. The man in the photos was the owner of the boutique bakery downtown—the very place she bought those artisanal almond croissants I supposedly loved. Tonight, my wife was celebrating his birthday. In one photo, white frosting was smeared playfully across her cheek. Knowing her severe dairy allergy, my first instinct was to reach out and wipe it away. But when I caught my reflection in the dark screen of my phone, all I saw was a man with bloodshot, hollow eyes. The next morning, Charlotte returned, carrying a paper bag from that same bakery. Seeing me sitting on the sofa, her eyes softened with worry. “Why are you up so early, sweetheart? Didn’t you sleep well?” She had changed her clothes, but the angry red rash of an allergic reaction on her jawline was unmistakable. I looked down. “No, I went to sleep early last night.” She let out a relieved sigh, sitting beside me and resting her head on my chest. A strange, unfamiliar body wash enveloped me. “I missed you, James.” “We closed a massive deal yesterday, and the team got a little wild. They threw cake everywhere—that’s why my skin is acting up.” “But look on the bright side. There was no line at the bakery this morning, so I got your favorite almond croissants.” A year ago, my heart would have swelled with gratitude and concern. But now, the chime rang in my ears like a persistent nightmare. “Lies. All of it.” No wonder her late nights at the office had grown more frequent. No wonder she always came home carrying those pastries, apologizing for the detour. She wasn’t taking a detour. Her heart lived there. “I’ll get your allergy medication,” I said, standing up abruptly to escape the torturous sound of her voice. She caught my hand. “You’re so sweet, but it’s fine. Just a little rash.” I stared down at her fingers gripping mine. “Where is your wedding ring?” She blinked, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second before recovering. “I dropped it off to be cleaned. It’s the symbol of our love, James. You know I’d never just stop wearing it.” The sharp chime shattered my last thread of hope. “Really?” I locked eyes with her. “Which jeweler? I should take mine in, too.” She hesitated, shaking her head. “Oh, it’s way uptown. I don’t want you making the trip.” “I’ll just drop it off on my way to work tomorrow.” A dull, heavy ache blossomed in my chest. She was so thoughtful. So seamless. And she was keeping another man just as seamlessly hidden. She pulled my hand, leaning into me with a pout. “Sweetheart, will you make that slow-simmered chicken soup you made last time? The one with the fresh herbs?” I looked up, my voice hoarse. “Last time? I’ve never made chicken soup.” She froze, then laughed it off. “Ah, I must have read about it in a pregnancy recipe book. I just pictured you making it, and it sounded so comforting.” I reached for the heavy ceramic pot in silence, my hands shaking uncontrollably. Amid the ringing in my ears, I remembered how I had stayed up late the night she told me she was pregnant, bookmarking nutritional recipes. The very first dish for expectant mothers was a nutrient-dense chicken broth. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number appeared: “Mr. Davis, did you enjoy the croissants?” “Oh, and make sure you simmer that soup for Charlotte.” On the counter, the croissants sat inches from me. The sweet scent of butter and almonds made me physically sick. I leaned over the sink, gagging. “James, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” She rushed to my side, rubbing my back, her voice thick with genuine concern. She had always been this attentive. When my parents died and I wanted to end my life, she was the one who pulled me back from the edge. She gave me a home. When we married, she loved me fiercely. She knew my moods before I did. She adjusted the thermostat to my liking; she placed my favorite things where I could easily reach them. I had prayed for a child with her. But even if we couldn’t have one, I was content. She was my family. I closed my eyes and pulled her into a tight, desperate embrace. “Charlotte, I’m tired of those croissants.” “The bakery is too far out of your way. Just come home early and spend time with me, okay?” “Now that you’re pregnant, let me take care of you.” She let out a soft laugh, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Okay. If they make my James sick, I won’t go back there.” “I’ll cut back on the late nights. I’ll come straight home to you.” As the chime reverberated through my skull, my blood ran ice-cold. Her sweet words were laced with poison, and it was slowly killing me. I wanted to scream at her. I want to tear the truth out of her and ask why she stopped loving me. But what was the point? Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her grip loosening immediately. She didn’t even bother with a gentle excuse before rushing out the door. The lock clicked. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. It was time to let go. It was time to pay back my debt. The sterile, white lights of the hospital ward made my eyes burn. Before the anesthesiologist administered the sedative, the surgeon smiled warmly. “Mr. Davis, you and your wife must have an incredible bond.” “When Mrs. Davis finds out you donated a kidney to her father, she’s going to be deeply moved.” “Yeah,” I whispered, staring at the ceiling. The pain in my chest eclipsed any physical ache. Charlotte had saved my life once. Her parents treated me like their own son after mine passed. When her father fell ill, I kept the compatibility tests a secret because I didn’t want them to worry. Now, it felt fitting. A life for a life. Once this debt was paid, we could end this. When I discharged myself, I was pale and hollowed out. I walked aimlessly through the hospital plaza, only to freeze. Two familiar figures were walking toward the maternity wing. Simon was holding Charlotte’s elbow, his movements incredibly gentle. “Careful,” he murmured. “Remember, you’re carrying our baby.” Charlotte sighed, her voice tender. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about money. I can support us both.” Simon took her hand. “Charlotte, you’ve already given me so much. I’m not with you for your money.” “I loved you from the moment you walked into my bakery.” Charlotte’s eyes softened. Then, she looked up and saw me. Her face went completely bloodless. “James? What are you doing here?” I looked at their intertwined fingers. On Simon’s hand was a platinum band. It was my wedding ring. I raised my own hand, looking at the identical band on my finger. A cold, bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Congratulations.” Panic flashed in Charlotte’s eyes. She dropped Simon’s hand and took a step toward me. “James, let me explain—” Simon stepped in front of her, his jaw set. “Mr. Davis, the doctors said if Charlotte terminates this pregnancy, she might never have another chance to be a mother.” “I was greedy. I know my place, and I won’t break up your marriage.” “But please, don’t hurt her.” He gave Charlotte a lingering, desperate look, then turned and limped away. Charlotte’s hand hovers in the air, trembling. She wanted to go after him, but she forced herself to stay. I looked at her distracted, agonized expression. She was always so observant, yet she hadn’t asked why I was at the hospital. She didn’t see how pale I was. She didn’t notice that I could barely stand. Because her heart was running after someone else. “Charlotte, if you ever hurt James again, I will disown you myself!” Charlotte’s mother, Helen, was furious. I sat numbly on the sofa while Charlotte offered apology after apology. “James, I am so sorry.” “My health isn’t good. The doctors said a miscarriage could cause severe hemorrhaging.” Helen took my hand, her eyes pleading. “James, you and Charlotte grew up together. After your parents passed, I raised you as my own son.” “Her health is fragile. If she terminates this baby, it could kill her. I am begging you, just this once, can you…” Looking at the guilt in Helen’s eyes, I felt a profound sadness. When my parents died, Charlotte took me in. During my darkest hours, her family gave me warmth. But I never imagined our bond would become a chain of obligation. “Okay,” I said. My voice was dry, my soul a barren wasteland. Charlotte’s eyes lit up. She threw her arms around me, her tears warm against my neck. “Thank you, James. Thank you.” “I swear, I will cut all ties with him. It’s over.” The chime rang in my head instantly. I felt a strange, dull peace. When you’ve been cut enough times, you finally stop feeling the blade. Charlotte tried to play the doting wife again. She came home early, cooked, and spent her evenings with me. She planted white spirea bushes in the garden below our balcony. “When they bloom in April, it’ll look like snow from our terrace. I know how much you love that.” “I’m allergic to pollen,” I said quietly. She froze, looking at the sapling in her muddy hands. “I’m so sorry. I’ll have the gardeners replace them.” “Don’t bother.” I turned and walked back inside. It didn’t matter. I won’t be here to see them anyway. She followed me, desperate to explain, but her phone began to ring. She declined it. It rang again. She declined it again, her face growing increasingly pale. I walked over and pressed the speaker button. “Charlotte! Help me!” Simon’s voice screamed through the receiver. “They’re wrecking the shop! Get them off me!” Charlotte’s breath hitched. She looked at me, tears welling in her eyes. “James, this is the last time. He’s carrying my child… if anything happens to him…” “Go,” I said. My voice was flat. She didn’t think twice. She bolted out of the house. I pulled my lips into a grim smile. “Love makes people stupid.” She was usually so meticulous, yet she didn’t think to call the police. Pregnant and vulnerable, she ran straight into danger for him. She never ran that fast for me. I didn’t expect her to bring Simon to our home. Our home—the place she swore would only ever belong to us. She supported his bruised body, her touch agonizingly gentle. When she saw me, her face hardens with disappointment. “James, Simon has already given up so much. Why can’t you just leave him alone?” “You had his shop destroyed. How is he supposed to survive?” My lips parted, dry and cold. “I didn’t do it.” We had known each other for twenty years. She knew me better than anyone. But now, her heart had tilted, and truth no longer mattered to her. Simon gripped her sleeve, looking miserable. “Charlotte, it’s my fault.” He looked at me, then slowly, deliberately sank to his knees on our living room floor. “Mr. Davis, I know you hired a private investigator. I know you wanted to teach me a lesson.” “But I beg you, have mercy. If Charlotte loses this baby, she might never have another. Let her carry it to term.” “I will take the child and disappear. I’ll never come back.” Looking at his pathetic theater, the resentment I’ve kept locked away finally burst. “Mr. Simon, surely you know the number for the police?” “You really are a—” “Slap.” The force of her hand sent my head spinning. My cheek burned. Simon looked smug for a split second, though his voice remained frantic. “I have no family here. Charlotte is all I have. I’m sorry.” Charlotte’s chest heaved. “James, you don’t have parents. How could you possibly understand what it means to protect a child?” The words pierced my chest like a white-hot blade. I looked up at her. The sheer despair in my eyes made her flinch. “Charlotte, you don’t believe me?” “No.” Her voice was steady, hard. “You can hate me, but I will protect Simon.” The silence in the room was deafening. It was the final dirge for our twenty years together. Charlotte sent Simon away. She discovered the truth later—it had nothing to do with me. Just some local thugs who got food poisoning at his bakery. She came back to me, dripping with guilt. “James, I’m sorry. I was too emotional.” I looked at her as if she were a stranger on the subway. Twenty years of devotion erased by a stranger’s cheap performance. “James, I have my reasons. Just give me a little more time, please?” She clasped my hand, her grip desperate. I looked down and asked her, “Charlotte, will you ever lie to me again?” She shook her head vigorously. “Never. I swear, never again.” The chime rang. My heart remained dead and cold. Even now, she was lying. This cheap, sickening love had kept me trapped for so long, stripping away everything I was. That night, the investigator’s reports kept coming. Photos of them walking along the beach, picking up seashells. They did everything we used to do, only they looked happier. I typed a quick reply: “Stop sending them. I’m done.” I had enough. Enough to file for divorce. Enough to wake up. As I packed my things, I found my post-transplant medication. In the beginning, I took them willingly. I hid them because I didn’t want Charlotte to find out and cry. Now, I realized she wouldn’t waste a single tear on me. “Bam!” The front door was kicked open. Charlotte’s security guards bargained into the room. Before I could speak, I was dragged out of the house and forced into a car heading to the hospital. My medication rolled under the bed, forgotten. Charlotte was waiting outside the operating theater, her face a mask of panic. “James, Simon’s baby has a congenital liver defect.” “The genetic registry says you’re the only perfect match for the transplant.” “So?” My voice was a raspy whisper. “You want me to save your lover’s child? You want my life?” Charlotte grabbed my wrist, her grip painful. “It’s just a small lobe of your liver. There are some side effects, but you’ll survive.” “The baby is innocent, James. Please don’t be so heartless.” “Heartless.” The word carved a hollow void in my chest. I laughed. I laughed at the sheer absurdity of my life. Her baby was innocent. What about me? I loved her with everything I had. I gave her father my kidney. My fingers clenched until my knuckles turned white. “No.” “James Davis!” she screamed my name, her eyes flashing with a desperate resolve. “I saved your life when you wanted to end it. Now, I am asking you to save his.” I felt the final thread of my sanity snap. “What did you say?” She closed her eyes. “This is the last time.” The last time. She had said those words a thousand times. The phantom chime rang in my head, a relentless, haunting scream that had kept me awake for weeks. I smiled, a cold, empty thing. “Fine. But after the surgery, you must promise me one thing.” She blinked, relief flooding her features. “Anything, James. Whatever you want.” This time, the chime didn’t ring. But I didn’t care anymore. She didn’t let go of my hand until they wheel me into the operating room. “James, trust me, okay? I’ll explain everything when you wake up.” I looked at her calmly. “Okay.” “Don’t forget what you promised.” It was my first, and last, lie to her. Once the surgery was over, I was leaving. We would be strangers in this life and the next. Charlotte stood in the hallway, letting out a long breath of relief. But in her head, a sudden sound rang out. “Ding.”

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After Grace died in the climbing accident, I lost thirty pounds in a single month. I fed decades of our chat history into an AI, desperate to create a virtual version of her to keep me company for the rest of my days. But after thirty seconds of deep processing, the AI spat out a cold truth: She never loved you. Later, they finally recovered Grace’s body. During the avalanche, she had used her own body to shield Kyle. When they died, there was no fear on their faces—only a quiet, mutual peace. After burying my wife and my best friend, my body gave out. I collapsed in the cemetery, coughing up a mouthful of dark blood. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the morning of the SATs. At the entrance of the testing center, the two of them were frantic, sweating in the heat because Grace’s grandfather had suffered heatstroke. I took one look at them, turned around, and walked away. This time, I wanted nothing to do with either of them. I just wanted to live for myself. …… 1 I walked through the crowd, keeping my head down. Just as I was about to step through the gates, a frantic male voice called out from behind me. “Liam! Come over here and help! Grace’s granddad passed out from the heat.” I paused, but I didn’t turn around. The icy wind of the cemetery still seemed to whisper in my ears, and the faint, copper taste of blood lingered in my mouth. Suddenly, a warm, soft hand grabbed my wrist. “Liam, please. You’re the only one who can help me.” Eighteen-year-old Grace was wearing a faded school hoodie. Her eyes were as clear as mountain lakes—the kind of eyes you could easily drown in. But I wasn’t that eighteen-year-old boy anymore. In my past life, terrified that this would ruin Grace’s exams, I had offered to take her grandfather to the ER myself. By the time I rushed back to the testing center, I was thirteen minutes late. I couldn’t finish the essay section. That single mistake derailed my scores, forcing me into a mediocre local state college. Meanwhile, she and Kyle went off to Columbia together. Years later, on our wedding day, Grace told me that if it hadn’t been for eighteen-year-old me, she would never have achieved everything she did. At the time, her expression had been complicated. It took me a lifetime to realize that her look wasn’t just gratitude; it was the suffocating weight of obligation. I shook my head. “I can’t help you, Grace.” “Taking him to the hospital means missing the start of the test.” Disbelief flickered across Grace’s face. “That’s exactly why we’re asking you,” Kyle snapped from beside her. “Grace is the top of our class. The whole district is counting on her to get into the Ivy League. You can’t let her ruin her future over this.” Kyle’s voice grew increasingly frantic. I took a deep breath. “I know. That’s why I’m not going.” “Liam!” Kyle’s voice shot up an octave. “Your future at some state school doesn’t compare to Grace’s. How can you be so selfish?” I froze, staring directly at Kyle. With my actual academic level, a normal performance would easily land me in a solid university. But here he was, already writing me off as state-school material. “Grace is your girlfriend. How can you stand there and do nothing?” Grace pulled him back. She let out a soft sigh. “Stop, Kyle. This is my family’s problem. He has every right to say no.” “But if you miss the chance at being valedictorian, it’s a tragedy,” Kyle said, his eyes rimmed with red. I looked at Kyle, my voice dead calm. “If you’re that worried, you take him.” Kyle choked on his words. “It’s fine, Kyle. Don’t worry,” Grace said, her tone softening as she turned to soothe him. “I’ll take Granddad to the ER and run right back. Just focus on your test, okay?” She patted Kyle’s shoulder reassuringly. Suddenly, Kyle threw his arms around her. “Just hurry back!” Grace’s hands hovered in the air for a few seconds. Those hands. I knew them better than my own. They had cooked for me, adjusted my ties, and once worn a wedding band I placed on her ring finger. Slowly, her hands descended, gently patting Kyle’s back. “I will. Focus on the exam.” Grace turned to look at me, but I had already averted my gaze. I turned and walked away. When the proctor began reading the exam instructions, my mind was still in a haze. But I forced myself to calm down. It didn’t matter who Grace truly loved anymore. What mattered was the thirteen minutes I had just bought back for myself. It wasn’t until the final exam of the week ended that I saw Grace again, waiting by the gates. Kyle tapped her shoulder. The moment she turned around, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Grace froze, but she didn’t pull away. It took her a few seconds to gently push him back. “What if Liam sees us?” Kyle pouted. “So what if he does? Were you planning on hiding it from him forever?” Passing students turned to look. Once they recognized the top two students in our class, their faces softened into knowing, supportive smiles. I walked past them. Their hands were still reluctantly parting. “How’s your grandfather?” I asked. Grace pulled her hand back completely, her voice turning cold. “He’s in the hospital. He’s going to be fine.” “Good.” I turned to leave, but Grace caught my arm. “Let me drive you home.” I pulled my arm out of her grasp. “No need. You should take Kyle instead.” Grace’s eyes darkened. In my past life, our friendship had spanned fifty years. Like Grace, my parents worked out of state, and I had been raised by my grandparents. When I was eleven and got my first wet dream, I had been terrified and confused. It was Kyle who had knocked on my door with a clean pair of boxers, laughing as he comforted me: “Don’t sweat it, man. It just means you’re growing up.” It was Grace who had let me ride on the back of her bike, telling me, “From now on, you’ll be the one taking care of me.” Later, they went to the same elite university, started a tech company together after graduation, and eventually made the Forbes 30 Under 30 list. And I was the husband, the best friend, the cheerleader standing in the shadows, applauding their brilliant achievements. Until they went to climb Everest and never came back. It was only after their deaths that I discovered our fifty years of marriage had left behind a chat history of barely a hundred megabytes on her phone. But her chat history with Kyle spanned dozens of gigabytes. The will she kept in her safe stated her wish to be buried beside Kyle. All she left for me was a single, scribbled sentence: I’m sorry. But what use was an apology for a wasted life? The morning after the exams, I was heading out the door with my backpack. My grandfather poked his head out of the kitchen. “Starting your part-time job already, kiddo?” I paused for a second, then shook my head. “No, Granddad. I’m going to the library.” He smiled warmly. “I don’t mind you working, Liam. I just worry you’re pushing yourself too hard.” “I know.” Grace’s family had always struggled financially, and after her grandfather’s hospitalization, her tuition and living expenses became a massive burden. In my previous life, to help save up for her college expenses, I had started working the very day after high school ended. For two months of summer, I worked three different part-time jobs, never taking a single day off. Every night when I finished my shift, she and Kyle would drive over from the library to pick me up. They had already started self-studying college-level courses, discussing advanced calculus in the front seats. I would sit in the back, fighting off exhaustion, unable to join their conversations. Sure enough, when I sat down at the library, I ran into Grace and Kyle. Kyle looked genuinely surprised to see me. “Liam? Aren’t you supposed to be working at the boba shop?” He glanced at the thick copy of A Pattern Language on my desk. “Does a state school really require this kind of reading? I thought you guys just cruised through graduation.” He leaned in. “Instead of wasting time on useless books, you should be paying more attention to Grace. You’ve got a world-class girlfriend here. If you don’t step up, there’s a line of guys waiting to take your place. You won’t even make the waiting list.” I understood the underlying bite in his words. I just offered a faint smile. “Grace is indeed incredible. You should cherish her.” Grace remained silent for a long moment. “Liam… when did we become so distant?” I smiled, offering no explanation. When did we change? Probably when I first heard the news of her death, unable to eat or sleep, watching my hair fall out in clumps. Or perhaps when I exported her chat logs, whispering to an AI model, “Sweetheart, I miss you so much.” Or when the AI finished analyzing every single message they had ever sent, displaying its cold, mechanical diagnosis: [Analysis: The user’s interactions with his wife show she initiated conversations only 1.2% of the time. Average response length: 4.1 words. High-frequency words: ‘Sure,’ ‘Okay,’ ‘Got it.’ This relationship exhibits severe emotional asymmetry.] Grace didn’t know that I hadn’t slept at all that night. At dawn, I had sent one last message to the virtual Grace. “Let’s get a divorce.” The AI had replied, “If that’s what you want.” From that day on, I knew I had to let her go. Because I hadn’t been late for my exam this time, my scores were fifty points higher than in my previous life. It was more than enough to get into a top-tier university. Grace didn’t secure the title of district valedictorian, nor did she make it into Columbia. But her foundation was solid enough to get her into a prestigious state flagship in Seattle. The day after scores were released, Grace was waiting for me downstairs. “I’m planning to go to Seattle,” she said. “Tell me your scores. I can help you look at colleges in the area that might fit.” I didn’t take the bait. “I’ve already picked a school in Boston. No need to worry about it.” Grace’s brows knitted together. “Long distance is hard,” she said, pausing before adding, “Since I didn’t get the top scholarship, money is going to be tight. If we aren’t in the same city, it’s going to be really hard to see each other.” In my past life, those words would have made my heart ache. I would have thought she was fighting to keep us together. But now, I understood. She was just calculating the cost. Is seeing me worth the train ticket? Is it worth the investment? In my past life, Grace’s career soared after graduation. We got married, and I naturally became the one who managed the homefront. But during our third year of marriage, she and Kyle went to London to set up a European branch. The cost of flights was pocket change to her by then, yet she didn’t come home once that entire year. During the holidays, I finally called to ask when she was coming back. She had brushed me off. “Things are crazy with the expansion, Liam. Non-essential things have to take a backseat.” I smiled slightly at the memory. “Don’t worry about the distance,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “Our priority of seeing each other was never that high anyway.” Grace’s face went completely blank. “Liam…” “What are you guys talking about?” Kyle interrupted, stepping up and patting my shoulder with mock warmth. “I’ve decided to go to Seattle with you guys. Pretty great, right?” “Even though turning down Columbia is a bit of a bummer, I couldn’t bear to leave you two.” I was mildly surprised that Kyle had actually given up an Ivy League offer for Grace. “Grace told me your scores are good enough for a decent state school,” Kyle continued. “Even if you can’t get into a top major, a degree is a degree.” I gently slid my shoulder out of his reach. “I’ve already submitted my choice. I’m going to Boston.” “Boston?” Surprise flashed in Kyle’s eyes, quickly replaced by a wave of relief. “Well, look at our Liam, making his own decisions. Boston is great. Beautiful city.” He nudged Grace with his shoulder. “Right?” Grace didn’t answer. Her voice was low and tense as she looked at me. “The portal is still open. You can still change your application.” I shook my head. “I’ve made up my mind.” Grace stood frozen for several seconds, her hands slowly clenching into fists at her sides. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” In my past life, while Grace was overseas, I had taught myself video editing and digital marketing while taking care of our child. When Grace and Kyle returned, a top media agency based in Boston had reached out to me with an offer. Kyle had bought me a brand-new Rolex. “To our incredibly capable Liam! Your channel is really taking off.” “But,” he had added smoothly, “if you move to Boston, who’s going to take care of Grace and her parents?” Grace had reached out, pressing her hand down on the contract I was reading, her voice laced with disapproval. “Liam, why do you always lose sight of what actually matters?” “The money I make is enough to support us for a lifetime. Why do you need to be some internet influencer? Taking care of this family is your real job.” After weighing everything, I had turned down Boston. I spent decades cooking, cleaning, caring for the elderly, and running myself ragged. And what did I get in return? The strap of my backpack was digging into my shoulder. I shifted it to the other arm and walked past them without another word. The library’s AC was blasting cold air. I spent the afternoon taking pages of notes on architectural design. By the time I walked out, night had fallen. Passing by a familiar storefront, I recalled working at this very boba shop in my previous life. As I neared the entrance, two familiar voices drifted out. “Standing for eight hours straight is literally killing me.” “Grace, my back hurts so bad. Give me a massage.” Looking through the window, I saw Kyle leaning against Grace, whining. Grace looked startled and took a half-step back. “Why are you flinching? Liam’s not even here.” “Seriously, when are you going to break up with him?” Grace didn’t say anything. Kyle gave her a gentle shove. “I could have gone to Columbia, and instead I’m shaking boba cups here every day for you. My wrists are practically broken, and you still won’t give me a proper title!” Grace sighed, saying something completely out of context. “That summer… Liam worked three jobs a day. It couldn’t have been easy for him.” I stood by the entrance, unmoving. I remembered that hot summer, walking tiredly behind them after my shifts. Once, my shoelaces had come undone. I knelt to tie them, and when I looked up, they had already disappeared down the alley. Back then, I thought she was just walking fast because she was in a hurry. Only later did I realize she simply never thought to look back for me. I averted my eyes and walked away. Back home, right after my shower, my phone buzzed. “Liam, I’m downstairs.” I pulled back the curtains. Grace was standing beneath the old sycamore tree outside my window, looking up at me. “What is it?” The amber streetlamp stretched her shadow long and thin. She just stared at me, silent. Just as I was about to hang up, she spoke. “I changed my application.” “Five minutes before the system locked.” I let out a soft “Okay.” “Aren’t you going to ask me where I changed it to?” I repeated dryly, “Where did you change it to?” I heard her take a shaky breath. “I’m coming to Boston with you.” She looked up at me with an expectation and a tenderness I had never seen on her face before. I looked away, staring into the dark. “What time does the boba shop close? You should go pick up Kyle.” “Liam… please don’t be like this.” She paused, as if gathering her courage. “I don’t know why you refused to come to Seattle with me, but since this is what you chose, I’m coming to you.” I said quietly, “There is absolutely no need.” The night wind stirred the leaves of the sycamore. I remembered the last time we saw each other at the airport before they left for Everest. They had walked through security, laughing and talking. She hadn’t looked back once. “Grace,” I said softly. “Let’s break up.” “What?” Her breath hitched. Under the dim light, she clenched her fists and tilted her chin up stubbornly. “Liam, why?” I looked at her and said quietly, “After the avalanche, it took me a long time to unlock your phone.” “Do you still remember what the passcode was?” Her shoulders began to tremble. Silence. “I know. It was 0924. Kyle’s birthday.” I continued, “The night before the climb, you sent him one last message.” “You wrote: ‘If there is a next life, I choose you.’” Under the streetlamp, she stared up at me. After what felt like an eternity, she whispered, “Liam, what are you talking about?” She looked completely bewildered, but her hand was gripping her phone so hard her knuckles turned white. My hand remained on the curtain.

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The day I was officially brought back to the Harrington estate as their long-lost biological daughter, Daphne—the girl who had lived my life for twenty years—stepped forward with tear-brimmed eyes and offered to give me back her engagement. I rested my hand against my flat stomach, where a newly confirmed pregnancy was quietly beginning to take shape, and gave a soft, dismissive shake of my head. “There’s no need,” I said, my voice barely a murmur. “I already love someone else.” The moment the words left my mouth, strange, semi-translucent words drifted across my vision like a floating chat feed. [Lmfao, this villainess thinks she’s so slick rejecting him now. Just wait till she sees the male lead; she’ll regret it instantly.] [Too bad the male lead only has eyes for our precious female lead, Daphne. The villainess is just going to use her pregnancy to cling to him like a leech.] [Ultimately, she drives Daphne to slit her wrists, gets disowned by the family, despised by the male lead, and dies on the operating table during childbirth—both her and the baby.] I lowered my gaze, finding the floating words utterly absurd. Me? Obsessing over a wealthy stranger to the point of self-destruction? Just then, footsteps sounded from the entryway. Daphne wiped her tears and rushed toward the newcomer. “Adrian, this is Beatrice… my sister. The engagement was always meant to be hers.” I turned around, and my eyes locked with a pair of painfully familiar ones. It was Adrian Kingsley. The man who had kept me as his private secret for five years. The father of the child growing inside me. 1. When Adrian saw me, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. But it was gone in an instant. He masked it, slipping into a cold, polite, and distant demeanor. “Miss Harrington,” he said, his voice smooth and empty. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He patted Daphne’s hand comfortingly, his tone gentle but absolute. “Don’t say such things, Daphne. Our engagement was settled years ago. It isn’t going to change.” The text in my vision flared up instantly. [Here we go! The bitter second-choice sister is about to throw a tantrum, expose their secret affair, and force a wedding!] [I bet she uses the pregnancy as a weapon to snatch the engagement right now!] I took a slow, deep breath, pulling my gaze away from him. “Mr. Kingsley,” I said, keeping my voice entirely steady. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” The floating text hesitated. [Wait… that’s it? Why isn’t she making a scene?] [She’s playing hard to get. Just watch.] [Ah, the classic ‘retreat to advance’ strategy. High-level manipulation.] Adrian hadn’t expected this reaction. He cast a sharp, warning, and deeply searching look at me. My biological mother, Catherine, immediately pressed, “Beatrice, you just said you love someone else? How far did things go with him?” Everyone’s eyes locked onto me. I looked at Adrian. He maintained a perfectly calm facade, but I saw the slight tremor in his clenched fist. I smiled faintly. “Far enough… that he had to go back home to marry someone of his own social standing. So, I got dumped.” Silence fell over the room. Catherine looked like she had swallowed a fly. Richard, my father, coughed awkwardly, shifting his gaze. Adrian’s face darkened, visibly and violently. Daphne chimed in, “So, Beatrice… you really don’t want the engagement?” “I don’t,” I said, clean and absolute. “Since you two are so deeply in love, the engagement is yours.” The text drifted by: [Fake! So fake! She’s definitely going to corner him in private and cry to him later!] My biological parents looked visibly relieved. Catherine stood up. “Beatrice, let me show you to your room. Daphne’s health isn’t great, and she shouldn’t sit up too long.” My room was at the very end of the hall. It was small, cold, north-facing, and lacked any natural light. Catherine gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll stay here for now. Daphne has lived in her room for twenty years; it wouldn’t be fair to make her move. You’re the older sister, Bea. Be understanding.” Richard stood by the door, adding, “Daphne has always been fragile and sensitive. Try to let her have her way. We need peace in this family.” I looked around the room, which was smaller than Daphne’s walk-in closet, and nodded. “Alright.” After they left, there was a knock. It was Adrian. He stepped inside and hissed, “Beatrice, keep your mouth shut. The last five years were nothing but an act of charity on my part. A transaction.” “Daphne is the one I am marrying. You’d better remember your place.” I touched my stomach, feeling the weight of the positive pregnancy test in my pocket. I had thought returning to my biological family would bridge the social gap between us. I thought I could finally stand by him openly. It turned out it was all in my head. I choked down the bitterness. “Adrian, we’re done.” He froze. I shut the door in his face. 2. Adrian was clearly infuriated by my indifference. He blocked the door, but before he could speak, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Daphne appeared, carrying a fruit platter. Seeing us alone, her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Beatrice… do you still blame me for keeping the engagement?” She whimpered. “I really didn’t mean to… If you love Adrian, I… I can step aside…” Catherine rushed over, her brow furrowing deeply. “Beatrice! You just got back, and you’re already tearing this house apart? Daphne’s heart can’t take this stress!” “How can you be so shameless, trying to seduce your sister’s fiancé on your very first night?” The text erupted: [Aha! Caught red-handed! The villainess is definitely going to drop the pregnancy bomb now!] [Classic white lotus victim act. The sister is about to lose her mind and start screaming!] “I didn’t do anything,” I said, my voice dead. “If that’s all, I’d like to sleep.” Without waiting for a response, I shut the door. Outside, I heard Catherine soothing Daphne. The text: [Wait, shouldn’t she be screaming? This is weird.] [She’s playing the long game! Her acting is getting way too good.] I ignored the floating words. My phone buzzed. It was a massive wire transfer from Adrian. Then a message: “Keep quiet about the past. Do it out of respect for what I did for you.” I let out a bitter laugh. Yes, he had saved me. Five years ago, when my adoptive grandmother was dying, I had just finished high school. My college acceptance letter had arrived, but I was working at a sleazy high-end club to pay her medical bills. That night, a group of men cornered me in a private VIP room. They threw drinks on me, tore at my collar. I screamed, but no one heard. Adrian had kicked the door open, knocked them down, and wrapped his jacket around my shoulders. He didn’t ask questions. Just said, “Do you need money?” I nodded, tears streaming down my face. He gave me a card. “Take it. Go to college. Don’t come back to places like this.” He saved me, saved my grandmother’s life, and gave me a future. He funded my education, visited me, and eventually, on a rainy night in my small apartment, we became lovers. Before she died, Grandma Ruth held his hand and said, “Take care of Beatrice.” He had promised he would. I believed him. For five years, from age eighteen to twenty-three, I gave him my youth. I learned his habits, prepared his meals, studied finance and business to understand his world. He told me his family wanted an equal match, and asked me to wait. To wait until he had enough power to marry me. Yesterday, I found out I was pregnant. Before I could tell him, the Harringtons found me. I thought we were finally equals. But he chose Daphne—who wasn’t even a Harrington by blood anymore. My eyes blurred. I opened my email and clicked on a message from three days ago: an unconditional offer for a Master’s degree at the Royal College of Art in London. I clicked “Accept”. Adrian, the baby, the five years—I was leaving them all behind. The text: [Wait, what is she looking at? An English website?] [Who cares, she’s probably plotting her next move to trap Adrian.] I turned off the screen, staring into the dark. 3. The next morning, Daphne brought a hot bowl of lobster bisque to the table. “Beatrice, you have to try this. It’s delicious.” “No, thank you,” I said politely. She insisted, stepping closer, and suddenly slipped. The scalding bisque spilled all over my thighs, the porcelain bowl shattering on the floor. My skin turned angry red, and I gasped at the burning pain. Daphne burst into tears. “Beatrice, I’m so sorry! It was an accident!” Catherine spoke first, blaming me: “Why didn’t you catch it?” Richard frowned. “So clumsy and slow.” The text: [Here it is! She’s going to use this to make a scene!] [She definitely dodged it on purpose. So manipulative!] [Serves her right for trying to steal Adrian!] Adrian arrived just then. Daphne threw herself into his arms, sobbing. Adrian held her, glaring at me. “Daphne was just trying to be nice. Why do you have to be so hostile?” I looked at my biological parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, did I throw the bowl?” They fell silent, but Richard waved his hand. “Your sister is shaken. That’s what matters.” To comfort Daphne, Richard announced, “The small boutique agency we were going to let Beatrice manage—we’ll give it to Daphne instead.” Adrian added, “I’ll throw in some prime advertising accounts as an engagement gift for her.” “Fine by me,” I said quietly. The text: [Why isn’t she fighting back? Something is off…] Back in my room, another transfer from Adrian arrived: “Stop targeting Daphne.” I accepted the money. Then, I slowly typed a message and sent it: “Adrian, do you even remember I’m severely allergic to shellfish?” Silence. Minutes later, another massive wire transfer appeared. I smiled and took it all. Consider it my severance pay. Outside, I heard Adrian’s car engine and Daphne’s giggles. He was taking her shopping. By evening, they returned. Shortly after, Daphne ran into my room, crying. “Beatrice! My pink diamond necklace is gone! Adrian’s engagement gift…” She showed me a photo. My chest tightened. I knew that necklace. A year ago, Adrian took me to an auction and let me pick anything from the catalog. I chose that pink diamond. He bid aggressively and won it. I waited for him to give it to me, but he never did. When I finally asked, he said he had given it to his cousin. It had been for Daphne all along. The text: [Look at her face! She definitely stole it!] [Search her room!] Adrian stared at me coldly. “Beatrice, you were the only one home today. Give it back.” “I didn’t take it.” Catherine hurried in. “We aren’t accusing you, Beatrice, we’re just asking if you saw it.” “Yes, Bea,” Daphne sniffled. “It’s incredibly expensive…” It was a blatant accusation. Adrian looked at me with deep disappointment. That look stung, but only for a second. I was too exhausted to care. “I’ve been in my room all day. If you don’t believe me, check the security cameras in the hallway and parlor.” Adrian’s expression shifted. Daphne froze. “Oh, let’s not get security involved. It ruins the family harmony,” Catherine muttered. Just then, a maid ran in. “Miss Daphne! The necklace was slipped behind your nightstand! I found it and put it away!” The room went dead silent. The text: [Wait, it was a mistake?] [She really didn’t steal it? This is getting weird…] Adrian looked stiff. He sent another wire transfer: “Sorry for the misunderstanding.” I accepted it. In my room, I opened my browser and scheduled an appointment at a clinic to terminate the pregnancy. The text: [What is she doing? I can’t see the screen…] [Whatever, she’s definitely planning something devious.] I locked my phone and closed my eyes. 4. Daphne’s birthday party was a grand affair. Catherine forced me to attend. “If you don’t show up, what will people think of us? That our real daughter is too embarrassing to show in public?” At the gala, Daphne gave a tearful speech thanking the Harringtons for raising her. Guests cooed, “What a sweet girl. More of a daughter than the biological one.” People looked at me in my quiet corner. “Is she the real one? She looks like a statue.” “Raised in the sticks. No class.” Adrian stayed by Daphne’s side all night, wiping her tears, completely devoted. I sat in the corner, my wine untouched. The noise felt like suffocating waves. I slipped away early and went back to my room. When I opened the door, I froze. My desk had been ransacked. Drawers were pulled open. I rushed to the nightstand. Grandma Ruth’s vintage jade bracelet was gone. I ran back to the ballroom. In the middle of the crowd, Daphne was holding the green jade bracelet up to the light, laughing. “Beatrice lent it to me. Isn’t it pretty?” “Give it back,” I said, my voice shaking. Daphne gasped, startled, and dropped it. “Crack.” The bracelet shattered into pieces on the marble floor. The room fell silent. Daphne immediately started crying. “Beatrice… I’m so sorry, it was an accident…” Guests whispered, looking at me like I was a madwoman. Adrian walked over, glancing at the pieces. “It’s just a bracelet, Beatrice. Is all this drama necessary?” I knelt on the floor, picking up the broken jade. The sharp edges sliced into my fingers, blood dripping onto the stones, but I felt nothing. “My grandmother left this to me,” I whispered. “The last thing she told me before she died was to keep it safe.” Adrian’s face paled. He knew exactly what Grandma Ruth meant to me. He had been there. But Daphne wailed louder, burying her face in his chest. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t cry. I’ll get you a much better one.” Catherine stepped forward. “Beatrice, your sister didn’t mean to. Don’t be so petty.” Richard frowned. “Enough. It’s just a bracelet. We’ll buy you a similar one later.” I stood up, clutching the broken jade in my bleeding hand. I walked up to Daphne. And I slapped her, hard, across the face. The crowd gasped. The next second, Adrian lunged forward, grabbed my wrist, and his other hand came down— “Slap.” He hit me back. My cheek burned, and I tasted copper. Adrian’s eyes were icy. “Beatrice, you went too far.” The text: [Oh my god… that was her grandmother’s only keepsake.] [Adrian is a monster! He knew how much she loved her grandma!] [I kind of get Beatrice now. Who wouldn’t lose their mind?] I wiped the blood from my lip. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I wrapped the broken jade in a handkerchief and slipped it into my pocket. “The debt I owed you for saving me… is paid in full.” I looked at Richard and Catherine. “This family… I don’t want it.” I turned and walked out of the ballroom. Catherine yelled after me, “Let her go! If you walk out that door, don’t you dare come back!” My phone vibrated repeatedly. Adrian sent a wire transfer: “Stop being angry.” My parents both sent wire transfers labeled “Compensation”. I accepted every single one. The next morning, I went to the clinic alone. I signed the consent forms, changed into a hospital gown, and lay on the operating table. “Do you have anyone with you?” the nurse asked. “No.” The procedure was quick. When it was over, I walked out of the clinic, pale and hollow, holding two pieces of paper. An ultrasound showing a fetus at eight weeks. And the surgical termination receipt. I returned to the empty Harrington house, grabbed my pre-packed suitcase, and left. At the airport gate, I opened my chat with Adrian. I typed out a message: “Adrian, I paid back your kindness with five years of my youth and a life. From now on, we are even.” I attached photos of the ultrasound and the medical receipt. I hit send. Then I blocked him, deleted his contact, turned off my phone, took out the SIM card, and threw it into a trash can. “Final boarding call for Flight 108 to London…” I stood up and walked toward the gate without looking back.

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