Category: English

For five years, I was Matt Howard’s lover. In name only. What he loved was my face—the same face as my twin brother, Evan. On nights when the longing became unbearable, he would wrap his hands around my throat, his eyes red with torment, and ask, “Daniel, why wasn’t it you who died?” 1 I stopped fighting, letting Matt steal the air from my lungs. His shattered, broken expression warped in my blurring vision. He had so many moments like this over the past five years. One second, he’d kiss me like he wanted to devour me. The next, he’d want my life. An offering to my dead twin, Evan. I let all the disgust and hatred in my heart boil over, choosing the cruelest words I could find, twisting the knife with every sentence. “Don’t pretend you’re so devoted. When Evan was alive, where was all this love? He would have torn his heart out for you! And you? You just used him as a pawn in your games against my father! Go on, kill me! Then the only place you’ll ever see this fucking face again is on a goddamn tombstone!” …Running my mouth always earned me a beating. The worst was two years ago, on the anniversary of Evan’s death. Matt wiped a smear of blood from his lip where I’d bitten him and dragged me to the floor. He grabbed the solid brass stand of the floor lamp and, without hesitation, brought it down on my knee. Twice. I bit my lip to stifle a scream, but involuntary tears streamed down my face. “Now, you’re even more like him,” Matt said, planting his foot on the back of my knee and twisting his heel. I trembled violently, my vision spotting with black. I couldn’t hold back a guttural, agonized cry. Matt knelt, one hand gripping my chin, the other gently brushing the sweat-drenched hair from my forehead. He pulled me into his arms, his voice a choked whisper. “Evan, I miss you so much.” I convulsed in his embrace. Matt, I want you… to die! But tonight, I was tired. Utterly exhausted. I let go of all the resentment and bitterness. If our five years of mutual torture could only end with one of us dead, then fine. Let it be me. I let Matt’s face dissolve into a blur… “Cough! Cough!” He suddenly let go. Air rushed into my lungs. I coughed violently, snot and tears streaming down my face, a pathetic clown once again. Matt pulled away, standing over me as I curled into a ball on the bed. His voice was low and cold. “Evan saved your life. You’re not allowed to die.” Fucking psycho. He was the one who’d just tried to kill me. I finally managed to stop coughing, the agony of suffocation receding. I ignored the state of my clothes, which were barely covering anything, and lay sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My voice was hollow. “Matt, it’s been five years. Aren’t you tired of this game? If Evan knew, he wouldn’t want to see you like this.” It was the first time in five years I’d said anything that even resembled comfort. If he had half a brain, he’d understand I was surrendering, that I didn’t want to fight anymore. But the next moment, Matt was on top of me again, his long, muscular thigh forcing its way between mine. I was bewildered. In all the years he’d kept me, Matt had only ever treated me as a substitute, as the man responsible for his lover’s death. He had always stopped short of the final act. All the kisses, the touches, the bites—they were all expressions of his rage. This new, intimate position… I didn’t understand it. Was this some new form of torture? I tried to squirm away, but he pinned my shoulders to the bed. “Daniel, this game between us… you don’t get a say in when it starts or when it ends.” He crushed his mouth to mine. And his hand went for the waistband of my pants. A jolt of alarm shot through me. I shoved him hard. “What are you doing?” Lust flared in his eyes. A stray thought, completely inappropriate for the moment, crossed my mind: Is that for Evan, or for me? Then I heard the raw violence in Matt’s voice as he pressed his knee against me. “Give it up, Daniel. This is your life now.” 2 I don’t know how much time passed. My body felt hot and limp. In a daze, I thought I saw Evan. He was angry with me, demanding to know why I was sleeping with the man he loved. I wanted to tell him I was a straight man, for fuck’s sake, and I didn’t want this either. But the words wouldn’t come out, and I clawed at the air in frustration. Evan’s crying grew more intense until his face dissolved into a bloody, mangled mess. Just like it had been after the car sent him flying… “Evan!” I cried out, reaching for him, but my hands closed on empty air. I couldn’t catch the brother hit by the car. I couldn’t catch the fading ghost who blamed me. … “Daniel, it’s me.” A calm, low voice, like a gentle but firm wind, blew away the chaotic images in my mind. I opened my eyes and saw Dr. Miles Vance sitting beside me. I was gripping his arm so tightly the sleeve of his pristine white shirt was a wrinkled mess. I quickly let go, my voice hoarse. “Sorry.” He placed a hand on my forehead, his elegant eyes behind his glasses looking away, avoiding my gaze. “The fever’s broken.” “Mmm,” I grunted, glancing at the gloomy sky outside. “How long was I out?” “Thirty-two hours.” He checked the sleek, gray-diamond watch on his wrist. Every part of my body ached when I moved. A searing pain shot through me from a certain… area. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up to lean against the headboard. “Thanks. Every time something happens, I’m always troubling you.” “Matt pays me to do a job,” Miles said without looking up, methodically organizing his medical kit. Then, unexpectedly, his movements became clumsy, instruments clattering together. He shot to his feet and leaned over me, his perfectly handsome face inches from mine, the corners of his eyes tinged with red. “Daniel, trust me. I can help you.” I stared at him and shook my head with a bitter smile. This was the second time I had refused his help. Miles was Matt’s private doctor. He was the one who took care of me when I was sick and a few pills wouldn’t cut it. He was the one Matt called two years ago when my knee was shattered. That was the first time I’d seen the usually cool and composed Miles lose control. He’d scooped me up, his voice a low growl. “He needs to go to the hospital! Otherwise, he’ll lose that leg!” But Matt had just laughed. “That’s the point. Evan broke his leg for me. This substitute of his needs to be a little more dedicated.” I had leaned my head against Miles’s chest, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs. He had looked down at me, his lips trembling. Then, ignoring Matt’s protests, he took me to his hospital. After the anesthesia from the surgery wore off, I was drenched in a cold sweat from the pain. Miles had pushed his glasses up his nose, as if making a decision. “Daniel, your father’s debt… I can find a way to deal with it.” I was surprised. He was Matt’s friend, yet he wanted to pull me from the fire. But this was a fire I had to endure. I had to stay by Matt’s side as Evan’s stand-in, so he would be merciful and not pursue the massive debt my father owed him. Otherwise, my father wouldn’t survive. I pushed the memory away, avoiding Miles’s sincere gaze. “I’m fine now, Doctor. You can go.” I could hear him grinding his teeth. But he didn’t say anything more. He picked up his kit and left. He ran into Matt at the door. It was slightly ajar, and I could hear their conversation clearly. “Is he okay?” Matt’s tone was dismissive. Miles’s composure was back in place. “The fever’s gone. But the tearing down there will need time to heal.” He paused, then added, “Matt, control yourself.” Matt snorted. “That’s what you’re for, isn’t it? He won’t die.” Then he pushed the door open and came in. I looked away. Matt sat on the edge of the bed and placed a takeout bag on the nightstand. “You must be hungry. Eat.” It wasn’t a question; it was an order. I looked at the bag. Spicy rabbit heads. “Isn’t this your favorite? Don’t leave any,” he said, opening the container and handing it to me with a pair of disposable gloves. “I’m not hungry.” Matt didn’t move. His cold, dark eyes were fixed on me. Resigned, I put on the gloves and took the container. One bite, and my mouth was on fire. Matt pulled out his phone and brought up a security feed. It was a video of my conversation with Miles just moments before. “Daniel, I know your every move. Don’t even think about trying anything. It’s useless.” A chill shot up my spine. I glanced around, trying to spot the hidden camera. I lowered my head and continued to gnaw on the rabbit head. It was so spicy. Why else would I be crying? 3 This went on for over a month. By the time Matt dragged me along to the golf course again, I had lost a significant amount of weight. I looked frail, almost delicate. Matt’s friends chatted and laughed amongst themselves, occasionally shooting me looks of open mockery. I stood beside them, holding Matt’s clubs, feeling like one of the golf balls they were hitting around. One of them, a guy named Kai, casually tossed a ball in the air, then pointed at me with a smirk. “Danny-boy, be a dear and go fetch that for me.” The chatter died down. All eyes were on me. A palpable sense of cruel anticipation filled the air. I didn’t move. Looking at their arrogant, youthful faces, I wondered what the old Daniel would have done. He would have charged in, kicking and punching until they begged for mercy. No, back then, no one would have dared to mock me like this. My father and my brother were my shields, protecting me from all of life’s storms. My world was smooth sailing, full of flattery. “Danny-boy” was a name associated with a carefree, glamorous life. Now, that shield was shattered, and the storm had hit. Even the nobodies who couldn’t get near me before could now amuse themselves by humiliating me. “Go on, fetch,” Kai taunted, his eyes roaming over my body before landing on the small white dot in the distance. “Or I’ll tell Matt. I hear he has some… creative ways of dealing with people.” “One moment,” I said, my voice so calm it surprised even me. I placed Matt’s club in the bag and, ignoring the sharp pain in my left knee, walked toward the ball. Matt was in the VIP lounge on an urgent work call. Before he left, he’d made me act as his caddy, fetching his ball a dozen times without my cane. He wanted to torture my bad leg. It was working. My limp was more pronounced than ever. I was only a few steps out and already sweating from the pain. Just as I finally reached the ball and could see Kai’s triumphant smirk, he threw another one. Even farther. “Danny-boy,” he called out in a singsong voice. “If you would be so kind—” I squeezed the ball in my hand, fighting the urge to hurl it at his smug face. I turned to get the second ball. A wave of laughter erupted behind me, a celebration of their victory over me. By the time I returned, I could barely lift my left leg. I was almost at Kai’s feet when I tripped on a tuft of grass and fell to my knees. The ball rolled out of my hand. Matt, who had just returned, stopped it with his foot. Kai suppressed a laugh. “Well, look at that, Matt. It’s not even a holiday and Danny-boy is showing his respect.” Matt ignored him and walked over to me, extending a hand. I looked up at his emotionless face, unsure if I should take it. “You like kneeling?” he asked, his tone sharp. I took his hand. He pulled me up and didn’t let go, leading me forward slowly. “Hand me a club,” he ordered. The moment the club was in his hand, there was a flash of silver. “Ah—!” Kai screamed, clutching his knee as he collapsed, wailing in agony. Matt casually tossed the dented club aside and planted his foot on the writhing Kai. “Matt!” the others started to protest. Matt shot them a look that could kill, and they fell silent. “Even if Daniel is just my plaything, he’s my plaything. Who the hell are you to humiliate him?” “J-Matt, I’m sorry—” Kai blubbered, snot and tears streaming down his face. “Crawl over there and apologize.” Kai scrambled across the grass to my feet. “Danny-boy, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, please forgive me…” The others now looked at me with a mixture of fear and awe. But all I felt was like a dog borrowing its master’s power. It was pathetic. I took a step back. “Don’t be like that. Get up.” SMACK! Matt slapped me across the face, so hard my ears rang. The stinging pain eventually subsided. “He’s apologizing to you,” Matt’s voice was sharp. “That’s me giving you face. You take it.” The flicker of warmth I’d felt when he’d offered me his hand was brutally extinguished by that slap, twisted into a deep, loathing for myself. I was so fucking pathetic, falling in love with a monster like him. 4 Matt was sick. In five years, I’d barely heard him cough. But now he was shivering, curled up on the large bed in the villa’s medical room, all his sharp, cold edges softened, like a fragile, wounded animal. I sat by his bed, studying the feverish flush on his face. On impulse, I reached out and gently traced the line of his eyebrow. The heat from his skin traveled up my fingertips and settled in my heart, a searing brand that made me flinch. A soft cough came from the doorway. I snatched my hand back and turned to see Miles standing there, medical kit in hand, his expression unreadable. “Doctor.” Miles nodded, took a white coat from the closet, disinfected himself, and then began to examine Matt. I moved to an armchair in the corner, out of the way. After a moment, Miles said calmly, “It’s nothing. Just exhaustion.” “He’s always been so healthy, and he’s always so busy. Before…” “Are you worried about him?” Miles interrupted, tilting his head. The question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I just nodded. “I do his regular check-ups; I know his condition well. The human body has its limits. Even someone made of iron needs to rest when they reach their breaking point. The fever is just his body’s cry for help. A good sleep and a few days of rest will do the trick.” “Okay, thank you.” Miles started an IV for Matt. The movement disturbed him, and he tossed and turned restlessly. “Daniel.” The whisper was so faint I wasn’t sure I’d heard my own name. In disbelief, but with a flicker of hope, I leaned in closer. “Daniel, I’m cold.” As if under a spell, I gently tucked the blankets around him. The next second, Miles yanked me away, his calm features contorted with anger. “Daniel, if I weren’t here, were you going to climb in and warm him up yourself?” He’d hit a nerve. I looked away. “Daniel, you’re sick,” Miles said, his voice heavy with pain, as if I were terminally ill. “I think you need to see a psychiatrist. I have a friend who’s an expert in this field. I’ll send you his contact.” Miles took out his phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he swiped across the screen—not the steady hand of a surgeon. “I’m fine, Doctor.” He didn’t seem to hear me. My phone vibrated. It was the psychiatrist’s contact card from Miles. “Stockholm syndrome can be completely cured with timely intervention.” “Doctor, I said I’m fine. I don’t need a psychiatrist.” I turned to leave. Miles followed me out, cornering me on the stair landing. “Daniel, you can’t love Matt.” Hearing it spoken so plainly, I lost all energy to argue or deny it. I slumped against the wall, defeated. “But I do. I’m just that much of a pathetic mess. Matt is handsome, he’s the king of this city, and he’s fucked me more times than I can count. Is it so wrong to love him?” Miles took off his glasses, his expression pained, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just leave me alone, Doctor. Let me rot.” I pushed past him and started down the stairs. “Daniel, have you never been suspicious about your brother’s death?”

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1 There was a piece of meat in our freezer, palm-sized, that my wife refused to throw out. For over a year, it sat there, a frozen block of mystery she guarded fiercely. I was curious what could be so precious. One day, I chipped off a tiny piece and sent it to a lab for analysis. The results came back, and the world tilted on its axis. It was a human placenta. My wife, Clara, and I had been DINKs—dual income, no kids—for twelve years. By choice. By a mutual, loving agreement. So how in the hell did this end up in our freezer? When I got home, I found the key to her locked desk. My hands trembled as I opened her diary and found it tucked inside: a birth certificate. The mother’s name was Clara. The father? Leo, the man she called her adoptive brother. The date of birth fell squarely within the two years I was abroad on an overseas engineering project. My wife, who had convinced me to get a vasectomy in the name of our child-free life, had secretly borne a child for another man. It turned out she didn’t want to be child-free. She just didn’t want to have a child with me. … I was sitting in the study when Clara got home. As she always did, she went straight to the kitchen. I heard the familiar hum of the refrigerator door opening, then a sudden, sharp silence. The soft slide of the freezer drawer was followed by a frantic rummaging. Her footsteps hammered down the hall. She burst into the study, her face a mask of pale panic. “Ethan! Have you seen what I had in the freezer?” I looked up at her. The face I once found endlessly gentle now seemed like a grotesque caricature of warmth, a thin veneer over something cold and false. A tidal wave of questions crashed against the inside of my skull. Why did you lie to me about wanting kids? Why did you have another man’s child? Why did you treasure that… that thing… like some kind of holy relic? But the words that came out were flat, devoid of emotion. I closed my book. “Oh, you mean that piece of meat that’s been in there forever? It was taking up space. I tossed it.” “You what?!” Her voice shot up, cracking with disbelief. “Ethan, are you insane?! How could you throw it away? That was mine! You didn’t even ask me!” I watched her meltdown with a cold, detached sense of irony. “It was a rotten piece of meat that’s been frozen for over a year. What’s the big deal? It was an eyesore in my freezer.” “It wasn’t rotten meat!” she shrieked, her composure shattering completely. “It was more than just meat! You don’t understand… you have no idea what it meant to me!” “Oh?” I stared at her, my voice like ice. “Then what was it? What was so important that you’re screaming at me like this?” My question stopped her cold. A flicker of panic crossed her face. “…It’s nothing. Forget it. I’m not feeling well tonight. I’ll sleep in the guest room.” And with that, she practically stumbled out of the room. In twelve years of marriage, it was the first time we’d ever slept apart. I stared at the closed door, a frigid hand squeezing my heart until it was a knot of acid and pain. If she was willing to build a family with him, why drag me through this twelve-year charade of a loving, child-free marriage? Clara had always been my rock—independent, resolute, my soulmate. I loved her more than anything. I remembered when her best friend had a traumatic birth, hemorrhaging badly. Clara was terrified, suffering from nightmares for weeks. My heart ached for her, and I promised I would happily live a child-free life with her. But even that wasn’t enough to soothe her fears. She gently persuaded me to get a vasectomy. Afterward, she would curl up in my arms, her eyes shining, and whisper how perfect our life was. Just the two of us, free from the ties of children. And this woman, this champion of freedom who claimed to despise the chains of motherhood, had gone behind my back while I was working my ass off in another country to build our future and had a baby with someone else. Leo, her so-called adoptive brother. He was the son of her parents’ late best friends, a guy they’d practically raised alongside her. Clara always treated him like blood, fussing over him constantly. Leo was frail, with a brooding, melancholy nature, and she was always there, scheduling his doctor’s appointments, making sure he took his medication. I’d once gently mentioned that her devotion seemed a little… excessive. She’d chided me for being petty, insisting Leo was family. Her family. I chose to trust her. But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way Leo looked at her. It wasn’t how a brother looks at a sister. It was thick with a heavy, repressed hunger. Before I left for my overseas post, I took Leo aside. I told him, man to man, that Clara was my wife, and I expected him to respect that boundary. He stared at the ground for a long moment before murmuring, his voice hoarse, “Don’t worry, I know… As long as Clara’s happy.” He sounded so sincere, so resigned to his fate. I believed him. I never imagined that while I was pouring my heart and soul into our future, she was giving him a child. The first hint of dawn was breaking when a phone rang in the guest room. I heard Clara’s voice, hushed but sharp with anxiety. “A fever? Okay, I’m on my way. Don’t worry.” The front door clicked shut. I bolted to the window. Below, her silhouette slipped into her car, the engine roared to life, and the vehicle shot away from the curb. My heart hammered against my ribs as a terrible suspicion took hold. I threw on clothes and got in my car, tailing her. For the first time in our marriage, I was following my wife like a spy. She drove toward the outskirts of the city, finally pulling into the parking lot of a private children’s medical center. I pulled on a mask and a baseball cap, keeping my distance as I followed her inside. She moved with a practiced ease, swiping a key card and heading toward the exclusive VIP wing. The moment she pushed open a door, a small boy, maybe three or four years old, launched himself into her arms. “Mommy! You’re finally here!” The word “Mommy” was a shard of ice driven straight into my skull. I watched, paralyzed, as Clara knelt, her face melting into a look of pure, unadulterated love as she hugged the boy. And what crushed the air from my lungs was the man standing beside the child—Leo. The same man who, three years ago, claimed he was moving to the next state to care for a sick aunt, was now standing there, draping a familiar arm around my wife. “Andy’s been waiting for you all morning,” Leo said, his voice soft. “He was just saying he wanted to draw a family portrait.” My mind flashed back to when I first returned from my assignment. Clara was always “working late,” and she’d come home with the faint, sweet scent of baby powder clinging to her. I’d teased her about moonlighting as a nanny. She’d blushed and said a colleague brought their baby to the office. It was all a lie. I crept silently to the door of the room. The window was slightly ajar, and I could see them clearly. Leo wrapped his arms around Clara’s waist from behind, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Well, look at you two,” a nurse said, entering with a tray and a cheerful smile. She winked at the little boy. “Andy, your mommy and daddy are just the cutest.” Andy giggled, tightening his arms around Clara’s neck. “Mommy loves Daddy the most, and Daddy loves Mommy the most!” A faint blush colored Clara’s cheeks. She leaned down and kissed Andy’s forehead. “And Mommy and Daddy love our Andy the most. We just need our boy to get all better soon.” Leo stood behind them, stroking the child’s hair, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made my stomach churn. I leaned against the cold wall outside, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Twelve years. I was nothing but a fool, a supporting actor in their twisted little play. The nurse left, and the boy, Andy, soon drifted off to sleep. The mood in the room instantly grew heavy. Leo’s voice was low and urgent. “The doctor said we can’t wait any longer. Andy needs the bone marrow transplant now.” Clara was silent, her fingertips trembling. “The tests came back,” Leo said, his voice rising with an edge of frustration. “Ethan’s a perfect match, isn’t he? What are you still hesitating for?” My heart stopped. A match? They were talking about… me? Last year, during a company health drive, Clara had suggested I register for the bone marrow registry, saying a local clinic was looking for volunteers. “You might save a life,” she’d said with a smile. All this time, they had been planning to use me. “I…” Clara’s voice was hesitant. “I haven’t figured out how to tell him.” “What is there to figure out?” Leo grabbed her wrist, his tone accusatory. “Are you getting soft on him? Clara, Andy is our son! Are you really going to watch him just…?” “No!” she cut him off, her voice thick with tears. “Of course you and our son are more important to me! He doesn’t even compare! I’ll find a way. I swear, I’ll convince him to donate. Just trust me!” I slumped against the cold wall, every ounce of strength draining from my body. So this was the woman I had loved with everything I had for twelve years. Not only had she betrayed me and had another man’s child, but now she was plotting to manipulate me into giving up my bone marrow to save the evidence of her affair. I looked at the silhouette of their perfect little family through the glass. A laugh, harsh and broken, escaped my lips, echoing down the empty hospital corridor. My entire life was a joke. I left the medical center and went straight to the nearest bar. I poured whiskey down my throat, one glass after another. The alcohol burned a path to my stomach, but it couldn’t melt the glacier that had formed around my heart. Twelve years of my life had been nothing but an elaborate, calculated lie. I was an idiot, completely snowed, thinking I’d married the best woman in the world. Stumbling out of the bar, I started the walk back to my apartment complex. Just as I reached the entrance, I saw them. Two familiar figures locked in the shadows. Clara had her back to me, and Leo had her pressed against the wall, his hands slipping under her shirt as they kissed, deep and desperate. She wasn’t resisting; she was on her toes, pulling him closer. “Son of a bitch!” A white-hot rage exploded behind my eyes, the alcohol fanning the flames of my sanity. I lunged forward and slammed my fist into Leo’s face. He staggered back, caught completely off guard, and fell, his head cracking against the edge of a concrete planter. Blood instantly welled from the gash. Clara spun around. Her eyes widened in panic when she saw me, but the moment she saw Leo on the ground, that panic morphed into pure fury. “Ethan! What the hell are you doing?” She scrambled to help Leo. “What gives you the right to hit him?” “What gives me the right?” I was shaking with rage. “You two are all over each other out here, Clara. What am I, dead?” She smelled the alcohol on my breath, and her expression soured. “Are you drunk? Leo was just walking me home! You’re seeing things!” “Seeing things?” I sneered. “His hands were halfway up your shirt. You think I’m blind?” “You’re drunk and you’re delusional!” she insisted, gently helping Leo to his feet. “He’s my brother! We hugged goodbye! Is that such a crime you have to assault him?” I laughed, a raw, ugly sound, and moved to hit Leo again. But Clara threw herself in front of him and slapped me hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the silent night. I cupped my cheek, staring at her in shock. In twelve years, she had never laid a hand on me. “You hit me?” My voice trembled. “When are you going to stop this, Ethan?” Her eyes were chips of ice. “You have a few drinks and you turn into a raving lunatic!” She carefully supported Leo and started to walk away. As she passed me, she shoved me hard. I lost my footing and tumbled backward with a splash into the decorative pond next to the walkway. The late autumn water was shockingly cold, a brutal, icy shock to my system. “Clara… he fell in,” I heard Leo say, a hint of hesitation in his voice. Clara didn’t even turn around. Her face was a blank mask. “Leave him. He knows how to swim. Let the cold water sober him up.” Then she was gone, helping Leo away without a backward glance. I struggled toward the edge, but a cramp seized my leg, pulling me down. Icy water filled my mouth, and the desperate need for air burned in my lungs. As I watched their retreating figures, the last flicker of warmth in my heart died out. In her eyes, I was truly nothing. When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The complex’s security guard had found me on his rounds and pulled me out. I was in the hospital for a day and a night. Not a single call from Clara. Finally, on the second evening, my phone rang. “Where are you? Why aren’t you home? Are you out drinking again?” Her voice was laced with impatience, completely devoid of concern. I said nothing. “Look at the mess you’ve made. You split Leo’s head open. He needed stitches.” Her voice hardened. “Tomorrow, you’re going to go and apologize to him, and we’ll put this behind us.” My heart felt like a block of ice. She only cared about Leo’s injury. The fact that I almost drowned meant nothing. When I remained silent, her tone softened slightly, becoming deceptively gentle. “Ethan, you were drunk. You really didn’t see what you thought you saw. Leo and I are just… he’s my brother. It was just a goodbye hug.” She paused, then her voice shifted again, turning practical. “But… you don’t have to apologize if you don’t want to. There’s another way.” “A relative of Leo’s has a child with leukemia,” she continued, her voice smooth as silk. “They desperately need a bone marrow transplant. And it just so happens, you’re a perfect match. Think of it as doing a good deed. Just go and donate.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I’m not feeling well. I can’t donate.” “Ethan! How can you be so cold-hearted?” Her voice instantly sharpened into a shriek. “This is a child’s life we’re talking about! Have you no compassion? I completely misjudged you!” She launched into a tirade, throwing every nasty word she could think of at me before slamming the phone down. I held the phone in my hand, feeling utterly exhausted, as if every drop of life had been drained from me. The day I was discharged, I told my office I was going on a business trip and checked into a hotel near work. Two weeks later, I received the divorce papers drawn up by my lawyer. Twelve years of marriage, ending in such a pathetic, humiliating way. I opened my email and resubmitted the application for the African development project I had put on hold three years ago. The moment the confirmation message popped up, my mother-in-law called. Her voice was as venomous as ever. “Ethan, don’t forget your father-in-law’s birthday party. Saturday at noon.” “And make sure you bring a decent gift this time,” she spat. “Don’t embarrass us with a bottle of discount wine like last year. It’s a disgrace to the family. Clara was so unlucky to end up with you. Can’t even give her a child.” That last line was the needle that burst the last bubble of my composure. Twelve years ago, Clara had clung to me, crying about her friend’s traumatic birth, swearing she never wanted to experience that. I loved her so much that I went and got a vasectomy, then took all the blame from her parents, letting them call me a “useless failure” just to protect her. All my sacrifices, my compromises… it was all just a joke.

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The baby I gave birth to was wrong. My husband, Adams, held the swaddled bundle up to me, his face glowing with a fervent joy. “Look, Clara. She’s perfect. Our daughter is just perfect.” But I took one glance and shoved her away. Her eyes were brown. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice as cold as the sterile room. “I don’t want a child with brown eyes.” … Both Adams and I have blue eyes. Our daughter’s were a flat, muddy brown. I couldn’t stand it. “I want a divorce,” I repeated. “I’m not raising this child. If you want her, you can raise her yourself.” Adams stared at me, his smile collapsing into disbelief. “Clara, what are you talking about? This is our daughter! The baby you carried for nine months!” I slapped his hand away, my gaze fixed on the clock ticking on the wall. “Her eyes are brown. I hate brown eyes.” His face froze. The other new mothers in the ward, drawn by the commotion, stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Honey, you can’t be serious, can you?” one of them said gently. “I heard the nurses talking. Your labor was brutal. They all thought you’d need a C-section, but you gritted your teeth and pushed her out yourself.” “How can you just throw away a child you fought so hard for?” Another woman chimed in, her voice coaxing. “That’s right, Clara. We all saw you, every day, playing classical music for your belly, talking to her. What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” But no matter what they said, I just shook my head, my expression a mask of indifference. Seeing their words had no effect, they turned on Adams. “Mr. Miller, could this be postpartum depression? How have you been taking care of your wife?” “You need to pay attention to her! You’re so wrapped up in the baby, you’ve forgotten the real hero here!” The words hit Adams like a physical blow. He slapped his own forehead. “Clara, honey, I’m so sorry. I’ve been neglecting you.” “Do you want something to eat… Oh, God, what an idiot I am, you can’t eat yet. I’ll get you some broth from the nurses! Honey, can you hold the baby for a second? I’ll be right back…” “Get that thing away from me.” My voice was flat, but the disgust in my eyes was unmistakable. Adams froze mid-motion. “Clara, what is wrong with you? Please, you’re scaring me.” His voice trembled. “Are you just exhausted from the birth? Maybe… maybe I should get a psychiatrist to talk to you? We can figure this out, okay?” He knelt by my bedside, his eyes wide with panic. The other women in the room murmured among themselves about what a good, caring husband I had. “Clara’s so lucky.” “I know, right? He’s barely left her side since she was admitted.” “That baby was born into a good home.” My brow furrowed. “I’m not depressed. Get this child out of my sight. I don’t like brown eyes. You’re ruining my mood.” The room fell silent. “Waaah!” As if sensing the suffocating tension, the baby began to wail. Adams immediately started bouncing her, a clumsy, frantic dance. “Clara, what’s wrong with her? What do I do?” The woman in the next bed, a second-time mom, offered some advice. “She’s hungry. She needs to nurse. Let her mother feed her!” Adams looked at me, his face a mask of desperation. “Clara, whatever you’re upset about, can we please talk about it later? Our daughter needs to eat. She’s crying from hunger.” The other mothers couldn’t bear it. “Honey, the baby is innocent. Whatever’s wrong, you can’t let the baby starve.” “Just feed her first. You can sort everything else out later, okay?” But I just kept staring at the clock, my heart pounding. *No. The time isn’t right.* In a sudden movement, I snatched the baby from his arms. “Clara, you’re finally willing to…” Before he could finish, I bolted from the bed and ran to the window. “Divorce me right now, or I’ll throw her out!” The baby in my arms, as if sensing the danger, began to scream. The color drained from Adams’s face. “Clara, don’t! Calm down, please, put the baby down…” “Call your parents. Tell them to bring our marriage certificate and birth certificates. And a divorce agreement. If you haven’t signed it in half an hour, I’m dropping her.” My voice was unnervingly calm. “Clara! Okay! I’ll do anything you want, just put the baby down!” Adams cried, his hands outstretched but his feet rooted to the spot, terrified to move closer. The ward erupted into chaos. “Ma’am, please, calm down! It’s normal to have mood swings after giving birth. We can help you!” a nurse said, inching toward me. “Is she insane?! Call security! Call the police!” “Clara, don’t do it! We can talk this through! The baby can’t take this!” I watched the nurse’s slow approach, my eyes narrowing. I shifted the baby further out the open window. “Stop!” Adams screamed. “Clara, I promise! I’ll do it! I’m calling my parents right now!” He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking violently as he dialed. Not only did his parents come, but mine did as well. The moment my mother-in-law saw the baby dangling halfway out the window, her legs gave out and she collapsed. “Clara, what are you doing? That’s your own daughter!” My own mother was sobbing. “Sweetheart, all the fertility treatments you went through, all the pain… you finally have her. Why are you doing this?” My father’s face was beet red. “Honey, don’t do something you’ll regret. You want a divorce, you want anything, Dad supports you! But don’t be rash! Even if you don’t want the child, think about yourself! If that baby dies, your life is over!” I saw the documents in my in-laws’ hands and pulled the baby back an inch. But then my gaze hardened, and I pushed her out again. “Sign it. Or I drop her.” “But why?” my mother-in-law wailed, clutching her chest. “We were all so happy! Why do you suddenly want a divorce?” My father-in-law helped her up, then shot Adams a venomous glare. “Clara, you tell me. Did Adams do something to wrong you? I’ll teach him a lesson right now!” I just shook my head, repeating the same line like a broken record. “Her eyes are brown. I don’t like them. I don’t want to raise her. You can have her. I want a divorce.” Seeing me like this, my mother broke down completely. Just then, doctors and more nurses burst into the room. They looked at me with alarm, then turned to Adams. “From the looks of it, your wife is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis. Has anything happened recently that might have triggered this? We need to know so we can calm her down.” Adams stomped his foot in frustration. “Clara and I have been so happy, I can’t think of anything… wait. Could it be…?” He looked at the baby, then back at me, his expression pleading. “Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said I was hoping for a boy. Is that it? Please, put the baby down. We’ll only have this one daughter, I swear. No more kids, ever!” My mother latched onto this. “Clara, is it that you don’t want to raise a baby? I’ll do it! I’ll raise her for you, I’ll put it in writing right now!” My dad added, his face flushed, “I was wrong to pressure you to settle down! I’ll never mention it again!” My mother-in-law was practically hysterical. “Clara, it’s my fault! I shouldn’t have argued with you about breastfeeding versus formula! It’s just a few cans of formula, we can afford it!” Everyone stared at me, their faces a mixture of fear and pity. “Young lady, look at how much your family loves you,” a doctor said softly. “For your own sake, please, just put the baby down.” “That’s right, you won’t even have to raise her. You can just be a mom without any of the work. It’ll be so easy.” I glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. “You still don’t get it. It has nothing to do with any of that. I just hate brown eyes. I told you, sign the divorce papers, and I’ll give you the baby.” I took another step toward the window. The air in the room seemed to vanish. “Okay! I’ll sign! I’ll sign!” Adams shouted, snatching the papers. He scribbled his name and held the agreement up for me to see. I looked at the black ink on the white paper, my expression flickering for a moment. The nurses took another cautious step toward me. “Read the terms out loud!” I snapped, clutching the baby defensively. They froze. Adams, his voice cracking, began to read. The agreement was fair. All assets were to be divided equally. When he finished, he stared at me, his eyes begging. “Honey, I’m an idiot. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’ve signed the papers. I did what you wanted. Can you please put the baby down now? She’s innocent!” Everyone was moved by the raw desperation in his voice. But I was still watching the clock. *Not enough. It’s still not enough.* “This is just a piece of paper! You could still back out on the day!” I shouted. “Get someone from the courthouse here. I want the divorce finalized on the spot. Or you can forget about ever seeing this baby again!” Adams’s face fell. Now everyone was certain. I was completely insane. “Ma’am, please calm down!” The door was thrown open and several police officers rushed in. “You called the police?” My voice turned to ice. The lead officer held up his hands placatingly. “Ma’am, stay calm! You said you wanted someone from the courthouse, right? We’re contacting them for you right now!” I stared at them, my grip on the baby unwavering. “Hurry up. Or I’m jumping down with her.” The officer nodded quickly, pulling out his phone. He showed me the number he was dialing and put the call on speaker so I could hear. My attention was completely fixed on him, terrified he would rush me and grab the baby. Then, I saw him make a subtle hand gesture behind his back. *A hand gesture?* I knew something was wrong. I whirled around, but it was too late. I was tackled from behind. The lead officer lunged forward and snatched the baby— They had officers waiting on the scaffolding outside the building. He was just a distraction. “Let me go! Let me go!” I thrashed with all my might, but it was useless. The baby was safe. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. My eyes were locked on the clock. With a surge of adrenaline, I broke free from the officer holding me down and lunged for the one holding the baby. “Give her back to me!” My mother-in-law shrieked and grabbed a handful of my hair. “What else are you trying to do to my granddaughter—” “Adams, hold her down! Don’t let her go crazy again!” While his mother pulled my hair, my father-in-law pinned my arms, and Adams threw his weight on top of me, forcing me to the floor. “You tried to kill my granddaughter! You monster!” my mother-in-law screamed, yanking my hair and slapping me, tears of relief streaming down her face. My own parents rushed to stop her, but in the end, they held my legs down. “Honey, why are you doing this to yourself?” But I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at the clock. What time was it? 2:59 PM. *Almost there. It’s almost time.* Five… four… three… two… one… *“Bing-bong. The time is now three P.M.”* The hospital’s automated announcement echoed through the halls. My body went completely limp. *Thank God. It’s time.*

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Isabelle Vance, the woman Julian Godin had loved for nine years, was back in the country. And she’d brought a three-year-old daughter with her. The fragile warmth that had just begun to thaw my marriage to him froze solid overnight. At our anniversary dinner, a grand affair filled with the city’s elite, Julian decided to prove to her that our marriage was nothing more than a business contract. In front of everyone, he had a doctor brought in to examine me. The doctor’s clinical pronouncement echoed in the sudden silence: “Mrs. Godin, married for three years, is still a virgin.” I lay on the medical cot, my dress pushed aside, my eyes hollow as I stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of a hundred mocking gazes. Afterward, he tossed the Southbridge project proposal onto the table in front of me, his eyes glacial. “Ava,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt, “to endure a humiliation like that just to remain Mrs. Godin… you really are pathetic.” A faint, almost silent laugh escaped my lips. He had no idea. The woman who signed that marriage certificate three years ago was my twin sister. The title of Mrs. Godin—and Julian himself—were things I had never once wanted. 1 I photographed the project proposal and sent it to my mother. A moment later, a notification lit up my phone. A deposit of forty thousand dollars. It came with a text: Stop dragging your sister’s name through the mud with your pathetic stunts. I stared at the screen, my thumb unconsciously tracing the frayed red cord on my wrist. Finally, I typed back a calm reply. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I had just gotten home and collapsed onto my bed when my phone buzzed again. It was Julian. “Get to the hospital. Now.” His voice was as cold and sharp as splintered ice. A shiver shot through me. I scrambled out of bed and into a cab, my heart pounding against my ribs. I sprinted through the automatic doors of the emergency room, but before I could even process what was happening, one of Julian’s men slammed me against the wall, a hand tight around my throat. Julian sat on a bench nearby, idly flicking a silver lighter open and shut. “Isabelle says you’re the one who hired someone to run them off the road.” My face flushed, and I struggled to force out the words. “I… didn’t…” He finally looked at me, his eyes void of warmth. “Proof?” I had none. I’d only just heard about it myself. How could I have proof? Julian’s brow tightened. His man immediately shoved me, and I stumbled, falling hard to the cold tile floor. I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my mouth and tried to explain, but a sharp kick sent me sprawling again. He rose and walked over, looming above me. “If you don’t want a divorce, you’ll stay on your knees right there. When her surgery is over, you can get up.” I met his gaze and understood instantly. He’d already decided I was guilty. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I lowered my head and knelt silently outside the operating room, my fingers finding the familiar comfort of the red cord on my wrist. I couldn’t get a divorce. Not yet. I don’t know how many hours I knelt there. The feeling in my legs, from my knees to my ankles, had long since vanished. My body finally gave out, and the world dissolved into blackness. When I came to, the light above the operating room door was off. I was still on the floor, and a dull ache radiated through my entire body. It took several tries just to push myself up. “Ava.” Julian’s voice came from above. I lifted my head, my neck stiff with pain. I wondered why he wasn’t with Isabelle. “It’s been three years,” he said, crouching down, his long fingers closing around my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. “Did you really start to think I had feelings for you?” My eyelashes fluttered, but I said nothing. “As long as you stay away from her and her daughter, you can keep your title. I can give you anything you want, Ava. Anything but love. Do you understand?” The stark light of the hospital corridor haloed him. I suddenly remembered the small, tasseled lamp he’d brought back for me from a business trip to the Middle East last year. He had placed it gently on my bedside table, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You don’t have to be afraid of the dark anymore,” he’d said. “This will keep the darkness away.” I never knew how he found out about my fear, but the rare tenderness in his eyes that night… it had allowed me to believe, just for a moment, that something real might be growing in the barren soil of our fake marriage. “I know,” I whispered, my voice steadier than I expected. “I never thought that.” Julian’s eyes narrowed, searching my face for a lie. Our gazes locked for a long moment before he suddenly grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. A searing pain shot through my knees, and I nearly collapsed, but his other hand shot out, steadying me at the waist. “Remember what you said,” he warned, his voice a low growl. I watched him walk away and managed a bleak, twisted smile. My phone began to vibrate violently. I answered, and my mother’s impatient voice burst through the speaker. “Your sister is coming back in two months. Get ready to switch.” My breath hitched. My hand tightened around the phone. “The money…” My mother clicked her tongue in disgust. “I don’t know where you get your obsession with money. It’s so common. You’ll get your payment. Twenty million to buy your silence. Is that enough?” A genuine smile finally touched my lips. “Yes. Thank you, Ma’am.” The formal address only seemed to irritate her more. She hung up without another word. Some of the tension I’d been holding for years began to ease. I stared at the red cord on my wrist and whispered to the empty air. “Once you’re better, we’ll go see the northern lights.” 2 I was never the one meant to marry Julian Godin. Ten years ago, my twin sister Scarlett’s congenital heart condition flared up. The sight of me would send her into fits of tears. She’d cry about how unfair it was that I was healthy, that I had stolen her share of nutrients in the womb. Her sobs broke our parents’ hearts, and in a fit of misplaced justice, they sent me away to live in a rural town. A child ignored by her parents is a child ignored by everyone. The housekeeper never sent the living expenses my parents had promised. At my hungriest, I fought with stray dogs for scraps of food. That was when Leo found me and took me in. The villagers all laughed at him. “Look at the simpleton, picking up a beggar for a wife.” But I knew he wasn’t born that way. He had a brain tumor. Three years ago, when his illness was at its worst, the Sterling family came for me. They brought me back from the countryside and ordered me to marry into the Godin family in my sister’s place. Scarlett refused to be tied down. She wanted to chase “true love.” On the eve of her wedding, she ran off with another man. Terrified of offending the Godins, my parents suddenly remembered they had a spare daughter. I agreed to the substitution on one condition: forty thousand dollars a month, deposited directly into my account. Leo’s life was sustained by a series of experimental injections. He needed one every three months, at a cost of one hundred and twenty thousand dollars each. My compliance was the price of his life. Julian spent a full month at the hospital with Isabelle and her daughter, Kate. When he finally came home, a dark cloud hung around him. I knew that look. He’d been forced to see his father. I tried to slip away unnoticed, but he saw me. “Ava.” His voice was heavy, his expression unreadable. “I need an heir.” I spun around, my eyes locking with his cold, hard gaze. He stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a humorless laugh. “What, you’re not willing?” My throat felt like it was closing up. I couldn’t speak. “The Godin family needs an heir,” he stated, his tone quiet but absolute. I clenched my fists, forcing a smile. “Of course. I’m willing.” He loosened his tie with a careless tug and took a step closer. His warm breath ghosted across my cheek. I went rigid, fighting the urge to flinch. As I closed my eyes in resignation, he let out a soft, mocking scoff. “So eager to have me in your bed?” He stepped past me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Too bad. It’ll be IVF.” The study door slammed shut behind him. It was only then that I realized my legs had given out. I slid down the wall and collapsed onto the floor. 3 The IVF process was more agonizing than I could have imagined. The hormone shots used a needle that was long and thick, and the moment it pierced my skin, my vision would swim with black spots. “You must really love your husband,” the nurse remarked one day as she administered the injection, “to go through all this for him.” My mind was a fog of pain. I mumbled a vague agreement. When I looked up, I saw Julian standing in the doorway. He wasn’t supposed to be here. His eyes were dark, fixed on me. After the nurse left, advising me to rest, I lay on the bed, weak and drenched in a cold sweat. Julian took a few steps into the room, looking like he was about to say something, but his phone rang. It was the custom ringtone he’d set for Isabelle. “Julian, Kate says she misses you…” A little girl’s cheerful voice calling for her “Daddy” drifted through the phone. For a fleeting moment, Julian’s expression softened. He hung up and stood there, frowning at me, hesitating. I didn’t understand what he was waiting for, but I knew my role. As the understanding wife, I offered a weak smile. “Go ahead. I’m fine.” His frown only deepened. He studied my face, as if searching for something he couldn’t find. Finally, he just said, “My assistant, Mr. Hughes, will take care of you.” I was surprised. Hughes was his personal right-hand man, dedicated solely to him. To have him assigned to me over a simple medical procedure felt like an absurdly grand gesture. The moment Julian was gone, I reached into my purse and pulled out the birth control pills I’d been carrying. I swallowed them dry. I couldn’t get pregnant. I was leaving soon, and I wanted no deeper ties to Julian Godin. When Mr. Hughes drove me back to the Godin estate, Isabelle’s daughter, Kate, was in the living room playing with blocks. After the incident, Julian had moved them both into the house. I’d heard of Isabelle long before I married Julian. She was his first love, the symbol of his youthful rebellion against his powerful family. The moment Kate saw me, she shrieked and charged, throwing a wooden block that hit me squarely in the stomach. “Bad woman! Get out! Don’t steal my daddy!” The force of her push sent me staggering backward. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of a coffee table, and I gasped, a sharp pain radiating through me. “Kate!” Isabelle cried, rushing to scoop up the child. Her eyes immediately reddened. “I’m so sorry, Ava. She’s just a child, she doesn’t understand…” She trailed off, her own tears starting to fall as if she were the one who had been wronged. “Ava, what are you doing?” Julian’s sharp voice cut through the air as he strode down the stairs. He instinctively moved to shield Isabelle and Kate behind him. I opened my mouth to speak, but Isabelle’s sobs grew louder. “Julian, Kate has been having nightmares. She dreams that Ava is going to throw her out… She’s too young to understand adult problems.” She dabbed at her eyes, then gave Kate a subtle pat on the back. The little girl immediately launched herself at Julian. “Daddy, I don’t want a stepmom! She’ll throw me and Mommy out on the street!” Julian’s face darkened. He lifted Kate into his arms, his glare fixed on me. “What did you say to her?” I lost all desire to even try to explain. I just stood there in silence. Isabelle continued her performance, her voice thick with manufactured grief. “It’s all my fault. It’s because of my humble background that she has to live with the stigma of being an illegitimate child. Now that Miss Sterling is the real Mrs. Godin, we…” Julian cut her off, his voice turning to ice as he addressed me. “Get this straight, Ava. The thing in your womb is nothing more than a tool to appease my family. The moment that child is born, I’m sending it abroad.” He took a menacing step toward me. From the safety of his arms, Kate stuck her tongue out at me. “Now,” he commanded, “apologize to Kate.” I looked at their perfect family tableau. I was so close to being free. I didn’t want any more trouble. “I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head, the words coming out numb and automatic. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” My compliance didn’t seem to satisfy him. His brow remained tightly furrowed. Isabelle, however, was pleased, graciously accepting my apology. To “make it up” to them, Julian cleared his schedule and took them on a lavish vacation. They went on cruises, he bought her jewelry at a Sotheby’s auction, they even flew to see the northern lights. Isabelle took great pleasure in sending me photos every single day. I would reply with the same robotic blessing. Hope you have a wonderful time. Who Julian was with, or what he did, meant nothing to me. In my heart, I was just counting down the days until I could be myself again. 4 As the exchange date drew closer, I started packing a little bit each day. The quiet hope for a future that was my own began to kindle inside me. Tonight, I had just zipped up the last suitcase when a call came from the hospital. The nurse’s voice was urgent. “Miss Sterling? The patient in room 703, his condition has taken a sudden turn for the worse. He might not… he might not make it through the night.” My hands froze. I didn’t even grab a coat. I flew down the stairs, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble. I reached the grand foyer just as the front door swung open. Julian and Isabelle were back from their trip, loaded down with shopping bags. “Well, well, Miss Sterling. Where are you off to so late at night?” Isabelle blocked my path, a fake smile plastered on her face. I had no time for her. I tried to move around her, but she grabbed my arm, her expression shifting to one of mock concern. “You look terribly pale, Ava. Is something wrong?” I tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron. A cruel, playful glint flashed in her eyes. She could see my desperation and was enjoying it. Thinking of the nurse’s words, a surge of adrenaline hit me. I tore my arm from her grasp. “Get out of my way,” I snarled. “Who do you think you are to stop me?” “Daddy!” Kate shrieked, startled by my outburst, and buried her face in Julian’s chest. “Auntie Ava is scary… she’s like a wicked witch…” Isabelle flinched, then immediately dissolved into tears, looking helplessly at Julian. “I… I was just worried about her… The doctor said she needs to rest during the treatment.” Julian’s expression was thunderous. His gaze flickered down to my bare feet and back up to my face. “Go back to your room. I’ll have the family doctor come and see you.” “No,” I said, shaking my head frantically. “I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor. I have to go out. Right now.” My defiance made his eyes harden. “I said, go back to your room.” Every second we stood there felt like an eternity of torture. I clenched my jaw. “I have to leave. It’s important. I have to—” “You’re not going anywhere until the doctor has checked on you,” Isabelle interrupted, her voice dripping with false concern. “Nothing is more important than the baby, Ava. You should go upstairs.” Julian gave a subtle nod, and two housekeepers moved to grab my arms. Panic exploded in my chest. “I have to go out!” I screamed. “Don’t touch me!” They froze, looking uncertainly at Julian. He didn’t even glance at me, turning instead to comfort the sobbing Kate. “Take the madam back to her room.” His voice was flat and final. “Do not let her leave without my permission.”

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I’m dying. A ghost in life, a stray spirit in death. But I’ve always been considerate. The thought of my body being left undiscovered in my apartment for too long is… unsettling. The smell, the decay, the rot, the maggots. I don’t mind messing up my own place, but to haunt the building’s property values and ruin my neighbors’ appetites? That’s a sin I’m not willing to commit. So I called my ex-boyfriend, the one I hadn’t spoken to in seven years. “When I die, could you do me a favor and collect my body?” Silence stretched for a long, heavy moment on the other end. Then, his voice, cold as ice. “Sure. My dogs are hungry.” 1 I lowered the phone, a hollow ache of disappointment settling in my chest. In this age of instant gratification, you can get food delivered, errands run, even a designated driver at 3 a.m., but you can’t find a service for posthumous body collection. I’m dying. The kind of dying there’s no coming back from. After the initial shock, the terror, the rage, and the complete breakdown, I’ve found a strange sort of peace with it. I have no family, no one to lean on. Death is just… a change of address for my loneliness. But the logistics are a nightmare. I’m terrified of dying at home and no one finding me for weeks. My body, left to the slow, merciless work of decomposition. The putrid smell, the liquefying flesh, the swarming maggots… an unholy stench creeping through the vents. My corpse would probably only be discovered when the entire floor of the apartment building was under a full-scale biohazard assault. That would be too late. Call it vanity, but I don’t want my last public appearance to be a grotesque spectacle for a crowd of gawking strangers. And call it civic duty, but I refuse to turn my home into a house of horrors, a stain on the neighborhood that tanks property values and makes people lose their lunch. The housing market is already a disaster; the last thing the mortgage-slaves in this building need is more bad news from me. I could, of course, check into a hospital and pass away peacefully under the sterile, fluorescent lights. But I can’t stand the smell of antiseptic. So, I needed someone. Someone to make sure that, after my last breath, I was turned to ash as quickly as possible. Clean, efficient, and sanitary. After turning it over and over in my mind, only one name surfaced from the wreckage of my past: my ex-boyfriend. I fished his number out of my blocked list and dialed, praying he hadn’t changed it. It connected. I could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing, but he said nothing. “Leo… Leo?” “It’s… It’s Hazel…” I wasn’t sure if he still had my number, so I had to introduce myself. Click. He hung up. Yep, that was definitely Leo. Anyone else would have at least muttered a “wrong number.” Swallowing my pride, I dialed again. This time, it rang a dozen times before he picked up. Fearing he’d hang up again, I rushed out the words in a single, desperate breath, like a speed-reader rattling off a list. “Don’t hang up! I know you hate me, but I’m dying! For real! Can you just pick up my body? Think about it, watching me die right in front of you… it’d be satisfying, wouldn’t it?” The words tumbled out, and this time, he didn’t hang up. After seven long years, a voice that was both achingly familiar and chillingly strange came through the line. “You’re only dying now?” he scoffed. “You’ve been dead to me for years.” The words were meant to sting, but I was a woman who no longer feared death. What power could mockery possibly hold? “Your wishing me dead was just that—a wish. This time, it’s real. I’ve got three months, tops. You should treasure this opportunity to see me off yourself. You’ll never get another chance like this, no matter how much money you throw around.” I pleaded my case like a seasoned salesman pushing a once-in-a-lifetime deal. “Hahahaha!” A sudden, harsh laugh erupted from him. “Hazel, you really will stop at nothing to get my attention, won’t you?” His voice was dripping with schadenfreude. “You might have dropped off the face of the earth for me, but I’ve kept tabs on you. I know things went south. Your family went bankrupt, your father took a nosedive off a skyscraper, your mother ran off with her boy toy, and you got divorced. Thrown out by Julian Shaw. All alone now, aren’t you? No one in your corner. It must be pathetic.” He paused, letting the venom sink in. “I’m starting to think you’re a black widow. Everyone who gets close to you ends up miserable. But the ones who leave you? They thrive. Look at me. Successful, respected, on top of the world.” Even through the phone, I could picture the sneer twisting his features, the bitter triumph in his eyes. “So now you’ve hit rock bottom and you come crawling back to me? Playing the dying swan to get my sympathy? You think I still have a soft spot for a two-faced, manipulative woman like you? Think again. Your sob story doesn’t work on me. Because if you actually dropped dead in front of me, the only thing I’d do is chop you up and feed you to my dogs.” I gave it a moment of serious thought. Being dog food was grim, but… it was still better than rotting into a puddle of maggot-infested goo, right? Besides, I’ve always liked dogs. “Could you make it a Border Collie? I’m not really a fan of Huskies,” I suggested earnestly. “You…” He was speechless. He must have thought I was mocking him, because he hung up again. I didn’t call a third time. There’s a limit to even my reserves of humiliation. I started searching for crematoriums on my phone, wondering if they took adPitt bookings. But then, he was at my door. Leo. He actually knew where I lived now. “The world turns, and the pauper can become a prince.” That was something Leo had told me back in college. He was always quoting those epic fantasy novels, telling me I was a “Level 10 beauty.” Reality had turned out to be stranger than any fantasy. It didn’t take thirty years, just seven. In seven years, Leo’s life and mine had completely inverted. Seven years ago, he was a poor college kid, scraping by on student loans. I was the wealthy heiress, born with a silver spoon. He had loved me with a desperate, all-consuming passion, loyal and humble as a knight serving his queen. And I had crushed him. Kicked him, played him, and thrown him away. “Leo, we’re not right for each other. We’re from different worlds.” “This was just a game to me, and honestly, I’m bored now.” “You didn’t actually think I’d marry you, did you?” “Hahaha! I couldn’t stand the embarrassment!” “Get out. Poverty doesn’t get to have an opinion on love.” I watched him break in front of me, saw the tears stream down his face as the fire in his eyes slowly flickered and died. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I had personally murdered the innocence and love within him. Seven years later, he was a self-made tech mogul. At an age when most rich kids were still living off their parents, he had built his own empire and landed on the Forbes list. He was mature, confident, powerful. And I was a ghost. The shine of the heiress was long gone, and now I lived in a cramped, 500-square-foot apartment in an old, rundown building. Jobless, friendless, family-less. And, most importantly, dying. I was asking him to collect my corpse. The story of us felt like a sick joke written by the devil himself. “You don’t look so good,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, one hand casually tucked in his pocket. “Tired.” He’d always been handsome, but now money had chiseled his features into something sharper, more magnetic. The Armani suit and the Vacheron Constantin on his wrist radiated a quiet, lethal success. A world away from the faded, washed-out clothes he’d worn through his sophomore year, the ones I’d tried to replace but he always insisted were too expensive. “Is it because the family money dried up? Having a tough time adjusting to being poor?” He was smiling that cruel, triumphant smile again, his eyes scanning my tiny, shabby apartment. “It’s small, but clean. I have to admit, I was kind of hoping you’d be living on the street.” I looked around the small space with a pang of affection. One room, a small living area. It was the third home I’d had in my twenty-five years. The smallest, the oldest, the most pathetic. Nothing like the mansion I grew up in, and certainly nothing like Julian’s sprawling estate. But it was the only place I’d ever felt safe. Truly warm. It was mine, bought with the last of my savings, money I had earned myself. I was content to die here. Which was exactly why I didn’t want my death to defile it. “Thank you for coming,” I said, opening a drawer and pulling out the deed to the apartment and a handwritten agreement. “I don’t have much left. This place is all I own.” “After I’m gone, please sell it for me. The money should be enough to cover a burial plot and the funeral expenses. Whatever’s left over… maybe a hundred grand or so… just donate it to a charity. I don’t have any family to leave it to, and I know it’s pocket change to you.” I laid out my final wishes calmly, but Leo’s face darkened with rage. He lunged forward, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me back against the wall. His face was inches from mine, his eyes blazing, his breath hot on my skin. “I don’t know whether to applaud your acting or condemn your shamelessness,” he snarled, his voice a low, vicious growl. “A venomous woman like you doesn’t just die. And even if you did, you, donating to charity? You, who got off on trampling on the dignity of the poor?” A muscle twitched in his jaw, his expression a mask of vengeful glee. “And then you became one of them. That’s karma, Hazel. That’s justice.” He leaned in closer. “I was actually afraid you would die. That would be too easy, an escape. You deserve to live a long, miserable life. To suffer for what you did.” His grip was bruising. I tried to explain it wasn’t an act, that I was really sick, even holding up my medical file. He dismissed it as a prop I’d faked from some online template. Finally, my patience wore thin. It was my life, my death. Why did I have to prove it to him? I suddenly remembered old Mr. Hemlock, the kind, simple-minded junk collector who came by the complex. Maybe I could ask him. I could leave him everything in the apartment, and in return, he could just… recycle me along with the rest of it. “You’re hurting me,” I gasped, struggling to push him away. “If you don’t want to do it, fine. Just forget I asked. You can go.” But he wouldn’t leave. He stared at me like a predator toying with its prey, a cold light glinting in his eyes. “You love playing games, don’t you? Fine. I’ll play.” A cruel smile spread across his lips. “I’ll collect your body. I guarantee it.” He leaned in, his voice a menacing whisper. “You said three months, right?” His gaze was sharp, pinning me in place. “What happens if, at the end of three months, you’re not dead?” “I can’t wait to see you then. The pathetic little liar with nowhere left to run.” “If you have a single shred of shame left, you’ll kill yourself to make it true.” He laughed then, a low, triumphant sound, as if he’d already won. But I smiled back. It was him against me. And I had Death on my team. Poor Leo. He never stood a chance. My plan was simple: Leo would just need to show up and collect my body after I died. We agreed to check in every three days to confirm I was still alive. If he didn’t hear from me, it meant the time had come. He already had a key; he’d come over and handle the arrangements. With the summer heat, time was of the essence. But Leo found this arrangement far too boring. The very next day, he was back at my apartment. “Get dressed. We’re going out.” “Where?” “Cemetery shopping,” he said with a strange, unnerving grin. “Told you I’d feed you to the dogs, but that was just talk. Dogs are man’s best friend; they shouldn’t eat garbage.” “So, I figured I should at least get your opinion on where we’re going to plant you.” I knew what he was doing. He was convinced this was all an elaborate performance, a desperate plea for his sympathy. He was using the morbid task of buying a burial plot to mock me, to call my bluff. Fine by me. I didn’t find it morbid at all. When you’re dead, you’re dead. A patch of dirt is a patch of dirt. But I wasn’t about to spoil his fun, so I got into his Porsche and we toured every major cemetery on the outskirts of the city. At each one, Leo would announce loudly to the salesperson, “We’re here to buy a plot. For her.” I would simply smile politely and say, “So sorry for the trouble.” It made the salespeople incredibly awkward. One moment they’d be waxing poetic about the pristine landscaping and excellent feng shui, the next they’d be stammering, thrown off by the presence of the future occupant. “It’s alright, please continue,” I’d have to reassure them. “It sounds lovely.” After we’d chosen a plot, on the drive back down the hill, Leo couldn’t hide his frustration at my composure. “Doesn’t this bother you at all?” “You’ve been very thorough,” I said, gazing at the lush, green surroundings of my future resting place. “I bet I won’t have any trouble sleeping there.” He was trying to get under my skin, but my nonchalance was clearly getting under his. He slammed his foot on the brake. “Fine! You don’t care about that?” he snapped. “We’re not done! We’ve got the plot, but what about a casket? An urn? Have you even taken a funeral portrait?” “Don’t worry,” he sneered. “I’ll arrange everything.” “Oh, and we need to book the entertainment. A funeral band. Got to give you a proper send-off.” Leo was a man of his word. He dragged me to arrange every last detail. He bought seven different burial outfits, one for every season. The urn was carved from pure jade, intricately detailed with dragons and phoenixes. The funeral portrait session was a minor disaster. The photographer initially thought we were there for an engagement shoot. When he heard it was for a funeral, his face soured. “Sorry, I don’t do that kind of work. You’ll have to leave—” Leo held up three fingers. “Thirty grand. Yes or no?” “Right this way!” the photographer chirped, suddenly accommodating. “What kind of mood are we going for? Stoic acceptance? Lingering regret? We can do it all!” “I want her to look like she got what she deserved,” Leo said coldly.

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When Joshua married me, everyone congratulated him. He had finally married the girl of his dreams. Only I knew the truth. This wasn’t a dream fulfilled. It was revenge. Three years ago, on the day Joshua proposed, his father met with me. An hour later, he jumped from the roof of a skyscraper. In an instant, Joshua’s adoration for me curdled into a bottomless hatred. After we were married, he used every method imaginable to torture the truth out of me, but I kept my silence. It wasn’t until he personally destroyed the child growing inside me that my heart finally broke. Only then did I tell him everything. When he learned the truth, regret shattered him. He fell to his knees, crying, begging me for forgiveness. But a dead heart, and a dead child… they can’t be brought back to life. 1. I had two hours left. Two hours before the kidnappers’ deadline expired. By the time I reached Joshua’s office, it was the dead of night. Only his executive assistant was there, tidying his desk. I threw open the door, all pretense of politeness gone. “Where is he?” She paused, glanced up at me, then went back to arranging papers. “This is Mr. Green’s personal time. I’m not at liberty to disclose his location.” I stalked forward and slammed my hand down on the files, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. “Where. Is. Joshua?” The assistant, Dina, slid her hand out from under mine and smiled sweetly. “If you really want to know, why don’t you get on your knees and beg me?” “Fine.” I dropped to my knees without a second thought. “I’m begging you. Please, tell me where he is.” Her smile widened, triumphant. “Mrs. Green, if you don’t know where your husband is, how would I?” The dam of my control finally broke. I bit back a sob, wiping furiously at my eyes as I grabbed her hands. “Please, I’m begging you, there’s no time! My son has been kidnapped! Please, just tell me where Joshua is, please!” She wrenched her hands away. “Leo isn’t Joshua’s son. What does his life or death have to do with Mr. Green?” Her tone shifted, becoming sharp and calculating. “Unless… you agree to divorce him. After all, that position was never meant for you.” “Yes, okay, anything. I’ll sign whatever you want, just tell me where he is.” Her eyes lit up. “Really?” The address she gave me was for a private club. It was one in the morning by the time I arrived. One hour left. I burst through the door and found Joshua, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up, startled to see me. “Leo’s been taken,” I gasped, grabbing his arm. “They want two hundred thousand dollars. There’s less than an hour. Please, Joshua, you have to help me.” He glanced down at my hand on his arm, then let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Are you confused, Thea? That little bastard isn’t my son. What does he have to do with me? Why should I help you?” My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor. “I know you hate me. You can do whatever you want to me, but please… please, save Leo.” Joshua’s body tensed. He gestured casually to a bottle of red wine on the table. “Down that in one go. Maybe then I’ll be feeling merciful.” I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the bottle and tilted it back, chugging the entire thing as the men around him cheered and catcalled. “Damn, Green, you’ve really got her trained.” Their crude jokes were a dull buzz in my ears. All I could think about was Leo. When the bottle was empty, a fiery heat bloomed in my cheeks. I looked up at him. “Is that enough?” Before he could answer, my phone rang. My hand trembled as I answered. “You fucking called the cops?!” a gravelly voice roared. “You’ll never see your son again!” The line went dead. I tried to call back, but the phone was off. My body started to shake uncontrollably, my mind a terrifying blank. Leo, my baby, please be okay. But it was just a desperate wish. My phone rang again. I was too weak, too numb, to even answer it. Joshua took it from my shaking hand. “Is this Leo Sterling’s mother?” a grim voice said on the other end. “We’re very sorry. By the time we arrived, the suspect was cornered. He threw the child from the roof. You need to get to the hospital.” The rest of the words blurred into a meaningless drone. The world tilted, spinning violently. Joshua reached out to steady me. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Are you happy now, Joshua?!” I screamed, my voice raw with agony. “Is this what you wanted?” “What are you talking about, Thea? I didn’t call the police. Why are you blaming me for this?” “Ninety-eight,” I choked out, a hysterical laugh bubbling in my throat. “I called you ninety-eight times. With every single call, I prayed you would pick up. But I forgot… how could I forget?” “You’re Joshua Green. The man who hates my guts.” 2. At the hospital, they told me Leo had survived. The relief was so profound it felt like I was the one who had been pulled back from the brink of death. He had been thrown from the roof of an unfinished building. On the way down, his fall was broken by a construction safety net. He was just a child, his small body light enough that the net had held. Any heavier, and it would have been a different story. Still, even with the net, the impact had been brutal. His leg, arm, and neck were fractured. But he was alive. He lay in the hospital bed, his small body encased in plaster casts, looking up at me with wide, worried eyes. “Mommy, why are your eyes so red?” “You scared me, sweetie. I thought I was going to lose you.” “Never, Mommy. I’ll always be with you.” His little brow furrowed. “Did Uncle Joshua hurt you again? Is that why you’re crying?” I shook my head, but the tears came anyway. He reached up with his good hand and awkwardly tried to wipe them away. “Uncle Joshua is mean. We don’t need him. I want a daddy who makes you smile. If no one can make you smile, then I just want you, Mommy. Just us.” “How touching. A real testament to motherly love.” Joshua’s voice, dripping with sarcasm, cut through the quiet room. He stood in the doorway, his eyes cold. Leo’s small body went rigid, his eyes immediately wary. I wiped my tears and stood, pulling Joshua out into the hallway. Once I saw through the window that Leo had settled back down, I lowered my voice. “What do you want?” He held up a crumpled piece of paper—the divorce agreement I’d had Dina draw up. “Did I or did I not tell you that you don’t have the right to divorce me?” He ripped it into pieces and threw them on the floor. “You were the one who begged me to marry you. Now you’re the one who wants a divorce. Thea, do you really think you’re in any position to make demands?” I stared at the shredded paper. When Leo needed a kidney transplant, I had just returned to the country with no money and no connections. That’s when Joshua had appeared. He’d told me that if I married him, he would find the best specialists, get Leo to the top of the donor list, and cover every penny of the astronomical medical bills. I was desperate. I knew it could be a trap, but for Leo, I would have walked into anything. The years of our marriage were a blur of his calculated cruelty. I told myself it was a debt I was repaying. People whispered that I was his pet, that I came running whenever he crooked his finger. For years, I had let him trample all over my dignity. But I was so, so tired. “I don’t owe you anything, Joshua.” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He grabbed the front of my shirt. “How dare you say that? Have you forgotten that if my father hadn’t taken you and your sister in, you’d be rotting in some orphanage? You ungrateful viper. He never should have brought you into our home.” My hand trembled as I shoved him away, my own control fraying. “Don’t you talk about my sister! You have no right!” My voice was a raw whisper, but my eyes met his without flinching. “I don’t owe your family anything. And I don’t owe you.” Joshua’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. He reached up and patted my cheek, his touch a mockery of affection. “Don’t owe us? My father’s death is on your hands. Do you think just because the police couldn’t find any evidence, you’re innocent? You’re wrong. This marriage is your prison, Thea. A chain that will hold you until the truth comes out. You are never leaving.” His hatred was a physical force in the sterile hospital corridor, a hand that reached out and dragged me back into the past. 3. Three years ago, on the day of our college graduation, Joshua had planned a surprise proposal. He had spent weeks meticulously planning every detail, his heart full of hope and excitement. That same day, his father, Marcus, jumped from the tallest building in Ashton City. I was there. The security footage showed me standing more than thirty feet away from him. The audio was useless, but the video was clear. Marcus Green had closed his eyes and stepped off the ledge. The ruling was suicide. Overnight, the Green empire crumbled. Business partners vanished. Creditors came knocking, splashing red paint on the doors and windows of the family mansion. Joshua found me in my room, my suitcase packed. “Aren’t you going to say anything to me?” he asked, his voice hollow. I looked at the chaos around us. “What do you want to hear?” “Why did he jump?” My grip on my suitcase tightened. “The police already told you.” “What did you say to him?!” He lunged forward, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “Thea, tell me. Please, I’m begging you.” I looked up into his eyes, swimming with a despair so deep it threatened to drown us both. “Joshua,” I whispered, my own voice shaking. “Let’s break up.” He staggered back as if I’d struck him. “Why? Thea, what happened? Why did my dad kill himself? Why are you leaving me? Why now?” I pried his fingers from my shoulders, one by one, forcing a cold mask onto my face. “I don’t love you anymore.” “No. No, that’s not true. Tell me what’s really going on. I’ll believe you, whatever it is. Just… please, don’t leave me now. I don’t know what to do. Don’t abandon me…” Outside, the wind howled. “Your father is dead,” I said, my voice as brittle as glass. “Look at this house. It’s a garbage dump. What is there for me to stay for? Did you expect me to stick around and be poor with you?” “That’s not you, Thea. You’re not like that.” “People change, Joshua.” I turned and walked toward the door. He threw a small, red box. It hit me squarely in the back, the sharp corner digging into my spine. The pain was so intense it felt like my heart was seizing. A tiny, metallic clink sounded on the floor. A diamond ring rolled to a stop at my feet. “Thea! I’m giving you one last chance. What did my father say to you that day? Just tell me the truth. I’ll believe you.” I stopped, my eyes fixed on the glittering diamond. Then I looked away. “Your father killed himself,” I said, each word a separate stone. “It had nothing to do with me. And as for us…” “I just got bored.” The wind was screaming that day. I walked for a long, long time, my legs aching, my heart shattered. The sand kicked up by the wind stung my eyes. For years after, I was trapped in a recurring nightmare. In the dream, Joshua would be on the rooftop, watching his father fall, and then he would turn to me and ask, “Why?” And Marcus, covered in blood, would ask, “Are you happy now?” I would always wake up drenched in a cold sweat. 4. Over the years, Joshua never stopped investigating. He watched the surveillance footage hundreds of times. He even hired a lip-reading expert. The expert determined that the last words Marcus Green ever said were: I promise you. Because my back was to the camera, no one knew what I had said. No one knew what Marcus had promised me just moments before his death. The fact that I broke up with Joshua on the same day was, in his mind, irrefutable proof of my guilt. I thought I would never see him again. But then Leo got sick, and our lives became entangled once more. I knew this marriage was his revenge. It was my penance. But even the deepest debts are eventually paid. I handed him a newly printed divorce agreement. He just laughed. “How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t get to leave. Unless… you tell me the truth about that day. Then, consider this my wedding gift to you.” “You already know the truth,” I said. He lunged, his hands closing around my neck. The world went dark at the edges as the pressure mounted. “Thea, I never realized just how cruel you are. You disgust me.” He released me. I collapsed, coughing, gasping for air. “You’re never getting away,” he snarled. “You will stay by my side and pay for what you did to my family for the rest of your life.” He ripped at my clothes, his touch brutal, suffocating. Our intimacy was never about love. It was always just a release for his rage. I closed my eyes, tears leaking from the corners. “Joshua, please,” I begged. “Let me go.” His teeth sank into my shoulder. “This is what you owe me,” he hissed against my skin. “Unless you tell me why my father died.” I squeezed my eyes shut. The truth… the truth would only bring more pain.

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I stumbled upon an old forum post from ten years ago. The title read: What should I do if my daughter keeps calling my husband ‘Daddy’? I chuckled. It was so absurd, so clueless. The comment section was mostly filled with people mocking the original poster. But then she got defensive. “She’s only eight years old. I never taught her to call him that.” “This child is so manipulative. She’s always clinging to my husband.” “She already knows how to seduce men at such a young age. I knew I should have had a son.” Reading closer, something felt wrong. The poster’s avatar was a picture of my cat. And ten years ago, I was exactly eight years old. 1 The phone felt hot in my palm. The post was like a rope, tying a past I had deliberately ignored to the present. A few days ago, my mom killed the cat I’d had for ten years. It happened the day before my dad was due back from a business trip. There was no violence, no struggle. Just an overdose of sleeping pills mixed into his cat food. Afterward, she clutched his cold, stiff body and cried harder than I did. To every neighbor who came to offer condolences, she’d say: “It’s all my fault I didn’t take better care of Mochi. You know how much Richard adored that cat…” No one suspected a thing. My mother looked utterly heartbroken, as if she’d lost a child. Only I knew. She was lying. Mochi wasn’t my dad’s favorite cat. He was mine. The last time Dad was home, he sat on the sofa with Mochi in his lap. “Our Lynn has always had good taste, even as a little girl,” he’d said. “Even the cat she picked is such a cuddle bug.” And for that sentence, Mochi had to die. Yes, it was that bizarre. Just like the dress Dad gave me for my 16th birthday. The next day, it was “accidentally” ruined in the wash with bleach. Just like the camera Dad bought me for my 18th birthday. Less than a week later, it “accidentally” fell from the balcony. Everything my father gave me, anything that carried a trace of his love for me, never lasted long. I used to think they were accidents. Until I found that post. Until Mochi died. Then, I finally understood. None of it was an accident. It was my mother’s long, silent war against me. The day Dad came home, the atmosphere in the house was heavy. He looked at the empty cat bed, and his eyes grew red. My mother immediately nestled into his arms. “Richard, I’m so sorry. I didn’t take good care of him…” He patted her back, comforting her. “It’s not your fault. He was getting old. Don’t be sad, look at you, your eyes are all swollen from crying.” I stood to the side, feeling like a complete outsider. At the dinner table, trying to cheer my mom up, Dad announced some good news. “My birthday is next month, and the company gave me a week off. I booked us tickets to the Florida Keys. The three of us are going to have a real vacation!” My mother’s eyes lit up. “Really? Oh, Richard, you’re the best!” She planted an excited kiss on his cheek. He smiled back, then turned to me. “Lynn, are you happy? Haven’t you always wanted to see the ocean?” Before I could answer, my mother cut in, her tone cloying but natural. “Oh, honey, Lynn needs to be focused on her studies. A trip like this will just distract her.” She paused, then added in a voice full of false wisdom, “Be a good girl, Lynn. Let Mom go with Dad this time, okay? Think of it as your birthday gift to him.” See? There she was again. Speaking the cruelest words in the gentlest voice. The air in the room froze. Dad shot me an awkward glance. I put down my chopsticks. “Mom’s right,” I said softly. “I won’t go. You two have fun.” With that, I fled to my room. The moment I closed the door, I heard my mother’s voice turn syrupy and sweet again. “See? Our Lynn is so understanding. Honey, we’re going to have such a wonderful time. We can even pretend it’s… a second honeymoon.” I leaned against the door, a chill seeping into my bones. This was the last straw. 2 After graduation, I applied to a university far from home. The farther, the better. The day my acceptance letter arrived, my dad was ecstatic. He called all our relatives and friends to plan a huge graduation party for me. The day of the party, the house was buzzing with excitement. I wore a new dress and accepted everyone’s congratulations. Dad, having had a little to drink, was beaming. “This is my daughter!” he announced to the room. “The greatest pride of my life!” In that moment, I almost forgot all the unpleasantness of the past. But my mother would never miss an opportunity to wound me. Halfway through the party, she suddenly picked up the microphone. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate our daughter.” Her gaze drifted around the room, finally settling on my father. “But the thing that makes me happiest today isn’t that my daughter got into a good college.” “It’s that I finally get to have my husband back. All to myself.” Her voice carried clearly to every corner of the room. A hush fell over the living room. Everyone stared at her, stunned. She paid them no mind, continuing to gaze lovingly at my dad. “Richard, you always said she was your little ray of sunshine. But what about me? Don’t I need some of that warmth?” Her eyes welled with tears, her voice thick with emotion. “Now she’s all grown up and ready to fly away. Isn’t it time… you finally looked back at me?” Dad stood frozen, completely at a loss. The relatives’ eyes darted between the three of us. Pity. Sympathy. Morbid curiosity. Standing in the center of the crowd in my brand-new dress, I felt naked, stripped bare in front of everyone. My mother had won again. With just a few sentences, she had turned my graduation party into her public trial. In her eyes, I wasn’t the daughter of the house. I was the biggest obstacle on her path to my father’s undivided affection. 3 The party ended in a cloud of awkwardness. I locked myself in my room. Through the door, I could hear the relatives’ hasty goodbyes and my mother’s pathetic sobs. She was crying again. Any time my dad showed the slightest preference for me, she would cry. Her tears were a weapon, expertly wielded to make him feel guilty and to paint me as the ungrateful villain. Sure enough, a knock came at my door. “Lynn, open up. Let’s talk.” His voice was weary. I didn’t move. “Your mother… she just loves me so much, she’s insecure. Don’t take it to heart.” There it was again. That same excuse. For as long as I could remember, it had been the catch-all justification for all of her twisted behavior. She’d lock me out of the house because she loved my dad so much and I was interrupting their time together. She’d rip up my award certificates because they had a picture of me with a male teacher, and she loved my dad so much she was afraid I’d learn bad habits and break his heart. Her actions were suffocating. “Dad,” I said through the door. “Do you really think that’s love?” Silence. After a long moment, I heard him sigh. His footsteps faded down the hall. He had chosen to run away from it again. That night, I thought about a lot of things. When I had a high fever as a child, he carried me to three different hospitals. When we got back, my mother didn’t say a word of concern. She just stared at his sweat-soaked shirt and said coldly, “You carried her all that way, and you don’t even think to hug me first when you get home.” When I got my first period in middle school, I was scared and confused. He awkwardly boiled me some hot tea with ginger. My mother saw and scoffed, “Such a big fuss over a little girl’s business. What’s she going to be like when she’s older?” I realized I remembered it all. I just hadn’t wanted to think about it, hadn’t dared to look too closely, hadn’t wanted to believe it. 4 On the day I left for college, Dad insisted on driving me. Mom came along too. At the entrance to the dorm, I took the suitcase from him. “You should head back.” He looked at me, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say more. In the end, he just patted my shoulder. “Take care of yourself. If you need money, just call me.” I nodded and turned to leave without a backward glance. But I could feel it—a piercing, triumphant gaze on my back. It was from my mother. College was like a shield, temporarily protecting me from the oppressive atmosphere at home. I threw myself into my studies, joined clubs, and earned scholarships, filling every waking moment. I rarely called home. Dad was always the one to call, asking how I was. In the background, I could always hear my mother’s voice, just loud enough to be heard. “What’s there to talk about? A daughter’s not yours to keep. She’ll belong to someone else soon enough.” “Tell her not to waste money. That cashmere sweater I wanted you to buy me, I still haven’t gotten it.” Dad would awkwardly cut her off and hang up. I’d hold the phone, feeling nothing. Distance brings clarity. Using the university’s library resources, I devoured books on psychology. Paranoid, histrionic, borderline personality disorders… I was like a detective, searching for a key to unlock the mystery of my mother in those cold, academic terms. Then, one day, I found it. The entries for pathological possessiveness and erotomania. The text described individuals who were incapable of processing platonic relationships, especially familial ones. They view any same-sex family member or friend as a potential rival for their partner’s affection. A jolt went through me. Every word was a perfect description of my mother. It wasn’t that she didn’t love me. She was simply incapable of loving me as a mother. In her eyes, I was another woman competing for her man. The realization sent a wave of physical revulsion through me. I decided I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit back and let her destroy my life, and what little was left of my love for my family. 5 I won first place in the university photography competition. The prize was five thousand dollars. Without telling a soul, I used the money to buy my dad a watch he’d been talking about for ages. I mailed it home, along with a copy of my award certificate. On the package, I wrote only my father’s name. It was my first test. It worked. Three days after the package arrived, my mother called. Her voice was sharp, dripping with an acidity she couldn’t contain. “Well, Lynn, look at you. So successful now you can just buy your father’s affection?” “Mom, that was my scholarship money.” “Scholarship money?” she sneered. “Who knows where that money really came from! A girl on her own… you’d better not be learning any bad habits out there!” Her words were vicious and cruel. The old me would have been in tears or screaming back at her. But now, I just replied calmly, “Mom, I also sent a copy of the photo to Mrs. Peterson. She was one of the judges. She said she’d love to visit soon and see this ‘talented and dutiful daughter’ for herself.” The other end of the line went silent. Mrs. Peterson was my dad’s oldest and closest friend. And she was the person my mother was most wary of. My mother couldn’t cover this up. She couldn’t destroy the watch or claim I’d gotten it through illicit means. “You…” she sputtered, speechless with rage. “Lynn, you’ve really grown up, haven’t you? You’ve learned how to plot against your own mother!” “I just wanted to make my dad happy.” That evening, Dad called me. His voice was filled with a joy and pride he couldn’t hide. “Lynn, I got the watch! It’s beautiful! This is the first gift you’ve ever bought me with your own money!” “I’m glad you like it, Dad.” “Like it? I love it!” He rambled on for a bit, then asked cautiously, “Did… did you talk to your mom?” “Yes, I did.” “She… she didn’t say anything, did she?” I could picture his conflicted expression. My heart sank a little. “Dad,” I began carefully. “If one day, you found out Mom had done some things that were very hard for you to accept, what would you do?” There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

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We brought on a new batch of interns at Apex Innovations. In a gesture of corporate goodwill, I had my assistant, Claire, order them all Starbucks. I was even planning on leading their orientation session myself. But after the delivery notification came through, the intern who’d aced her interview, a girl named Scarlett, tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, coffee’s here. Go get it. You’re security, shouldn’t you have some initiative?” I was taken aback. It had been a long time since anyone had ordered me around like that. Before I could clarify my position, she gave me a hard shove. “Are you deaf? I said go get the coffee.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “God, I hate dealing with you blue-collar types. Can’t even handle a simple task.” Then came the kicker. “I’m just letting you know, my aunt is the CEO of this company. Piss me off, and I’ll have you fired before you can blink.” I narrowed my eyes. This was interesting. I have a 100% controlling stake in this company. I had no idea I’d been replaced. 1 “Did you hear me? Stop wasting my time and get downstairs. Now.” The intern, Scarlett Monroe, was practically yelling, her finger pointed directly at my chest. I had to admire her audacity. Not since I’d wrestled control of the company from my older siblings seven years ago had anyone dared to speak to me this way. It was the new intern orientation, so it was perfectly understandable that they wouldn’t recognize me. But recognition, or lack thereof, doesn’t excuse basic human decency. I glanced around. A few of the other interns were already watching us, whispering amongst themselves. “Did you hear that? Scarlett’s aunt is the CEO! We’re working with corporate royalty!” “And this security guard is just ignoring her? What an idiot.” One of them even offered Scarlett a sycophantic smile. “Don’t waste your breath on him, Scarlett. He’ll work his entire life and still won’t be able to afford one of your handbags.” Watching these bright, highly-educated young people fall in line behind her, I was reminded that a diploma has absolutely no correlation with character. Buoyed by the attention, Scarlett’s smirk widened. She gave me the middle finger. “You hear that, security? If you want to hold onto your pathetic little job, you’ll go get the coffee.” “And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice calm. She clearly hadn’t expected a lowly “guard” to defy her in public. Her face flushed a deep, blotchy red. “Then I’m announcing that you’re fired! Now get the hell out of my sight!” The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. A young man with glasses spoke up, his voice timid. “Scarlett… M-Ms. Monroe… maybe don’t make things difficult for him. He probably has his own duties… Look, I can go downstairs and get the coffee for everyone. You don’t have to fire him.” It was a perfectly good off-ramp, but Scarlett just snorted. “What, is this loser your cousin or something? Why are you so eager to help him?” Her gaze, cold and hard, settled back on me. “Let me say this one more time so it gets through your thick skull. My aunt is the CEO. This internship is just a formality for me; I’ll be a department head in a few weeks. I am an elite, someone a low-life like you will never even get the chance to speak to.” She leaned in, her voice a low hiss. “If you know what’s good for you, you will be downstairs in three seconds to bring me my coffee. Otherwise, I will have you blacklisted from this entire industry.” I wasn’t intimidated. In fact, I almost smiled. “Scarlett, why don’t you go ask around? Find out if the CEO of this company is your aunt, or if it’s me. Adrian Sterling.” I expected my name to make her pause, maybe even do a quick search on her phone. Instead, she shoved me again. “Who the hell do you think you are, impersonating the CEO?” A nasty realization seemed to dawn on her. “Oh, I get it. You heard my aunt is the CEO and now you want to get in her pants. Let me save you the trouble. The Monroes are a powerful family. We don’t associate with trash like you.” The amusement I’d been feeling turned to ice. The last person who spread those kinds of rumors about me is currently serving a five-to-ten-year sentence. This girl had a real talent for dancing on landmines. Just then, the conference room door opened. The young man with glasses struggled in, juggling a cardboard tray with a dozen cups of coffee. He offered a nervous smile. “Ms. Monroe, please don’t be angry. I brought the coffee up.” He glanced at me and winked. “Hey man, she’s in a bad mood. Maybe you should step out for a bit.” A flicker of warmth cut through my anger. At least one of these interns was worth keeping. I reached out to take a cup from him, but Scarlett slapped my hand away. “Whoa there, security. I know you’ve probably never had coffee this expensive, but that doesn’t give you the right to steal it.” She turned to the group. “My aunt bought this coffee for us, as a favor to me. A security guard isn’t entitled to it. Go drink your instant coffee garbage.” 2 Since I founded this company, I’ve fostered a culture of respect. We have job titles, yes, but at our core, we believe everyone is equal. In Scarlett Monroe’s world, there were elites, and there were peasants. And I was a peasant. I seriously needed to have a talk with my head of HR. When I didn’t respond, Scarlett began distributing the coffees herself. When she was done, there was one cup left over. She walked over to a large potted plant in the corner and poured the entire latte into the soil. “You see that, security?” she announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I would rather pour this Starbucks down the drain than let a low-life like you drink it.” She then tossed the empty cup at me. “And throw this out. We can’t have you taking pictures with the cup, pretending you can afford it, trying to catfish women online.” I just watched her, my expression unreadable. From the moment I’d walked in, I had given her multiple chances to de-escalate. Instead, she chose to double down every single time. And this aunt of hers… I had to find out who had the gall to impersonate me as the CEO of my own company. With that thought, I decided to play along a little longer. I let a bit of the tension leave my shoulders. “Scarlett, you said your aunt is the CEO. Who is she?” Seeing my apparent capitulation, Scarlett became even more smug. “Don’t think I don’t know your game. You’re just trying to get her name out of me so you can stalk her.” She smirked. “I’ve seen guys like you before. Not every piece of trash gets to marry into a family like ours. Do yourself a favor, turn right out the door, and find a nice Uber Eats driver to settle down with.” Her words made me realize how foolish my plan to play along was. This needed to end now. I gave up on trying to get information from her and pulled the conference room door open, intending to call security. Scarlett slammed it shut, blocking my path. “You think you can run away after I’ve exposed you? Not a chance.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “Here’s the deal. You get on your knees and bow to me twice, and I’ll let you leave.” “Otherwise… you can kiss your career goodbye.” I stared at her, my voice dangerously low. “I hope you don’t regret a single word you’ve just said.” The next thing I knew, the coffee in her hand was flying through the air, drenching the front of my custom-tailored suit. Without a single thought, my hand shot out and I slapped her across the face. “You’re asking for it.” Stunned, she touched her cheek, and then her face contorted in a mask of fury. She grabbed my arm. “Everyone, look! This low-life tried to hit on me, and when I rejected him, he assaulted me! Does this company have any rules? Is this what you allow here?” She was screaming now. “Some uneducated loser thinks he can put his hands on a graduate student who studied abroad? He must be insane!” She turned to the other interns. “Whoever can make this man kneel and apologize to me, I’ll have my aunt promote you on the spot!” At the word “promote,” their eyes lit up. “I’ll hold him down for you, Ms. Monroe! Make him bow 99 times!” “This creep was obviously trying to sleep his way to the top! He probably sold his ass just to get this security job!” “Ms. Monroe has spoken! This disrespectful bastard needs to be taught a lesson!” Only Ben, the young man with the glasses, tried to intervene. “Stop it! This is illegal! Even if her aunt is the CEO, you can’t treat someone like this!” But he was one person against a dozen. They shoved him to the ground. I reached for my phone to call the head of security directly, but Scarlett was faster. She snatched it from my hand and smashed it on the floor. “Looking for some sugar mama to come save you?” she sneered. “Too late. In this company, my word is law.” 3 I had reached my limit. This woman, for all her education, was a toxic, vindictive menace. She had to be fired, blacklisted, and escorted off the premises immediately. And every intern who had enabled her would be joining her. Before the mob could descend on me, I kicked out, striking Scarlett in the stomach and sending her stumbling back. I yanked the door open, ready to find my security team. But in the next second, a pair of interns grabbed me from behind and dragged me back into the room. Scarlett was clutching her stomach, her face twisted in pain and rage. “You… you bastard! You actually kicked me! I’m going to kill you today!” At her signal, two more interns seized my arms, pinning me in place. “He disrespected you, Ms. Monroe! He needs to be taught a lesson!” “I say we strip him naked and throw him out on the street! Let’s make him famous!” A few of the male interns crowded around Scarlett, their faces etched with concern. “Are you alright, Ms. Monroe? Should I take you to the hospital?” Scarlett ignored them. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “You still don’t get it, do you? You need to be taught some respect.” Her voice dropped, thick with venom. “A worthless piece of trash who sells his body for a living dares to touch me? You must have a death wish.” She gave a nod to the interns holding me. “Make him kneel. You’d better get on your knees and apologize, then take off your clothes piece by piece for our entertainment. If you don’t… I’ll have someone make you disappear, and no one will ever know.” I narrowed my eyes. The last time I’d heard a threat like that, it was from my own brother and sister. One of them is now permanently exiled overseas, and the other has been struck from the family records. I had no problem arranging a similar fate for Scarlett Monroe. Perhaps my expression was more menacing than I realized. The interns holding me exchanged a nervous glance. No one made a move to force me to my knees. Scarlett was about to do it herself when the conference room door swung open again. My executive assistant, Claire, walked in, her arms full of files. She stopped dead, her face paling as she took in the scene. She dropped the files on the table and rushed over, pushing the interns away from me. “What is going on here?” she demanded, her voice sharp and authoritative. “Who gave you the right to do this?” The interns might not have known me, but they all knew Claire. They fell silent. All except Scarlett. She laughed, assuming Claire was rushing to her defense. She clapped Claire on the shoulder. “Claire, honey, you’ve got good instincts. Always know who to suck up to.” She gestured at me. “I don’t know how you people hire security, but this one is completely unhinged. Get the head of HR in here. I need to have a serious talk with him about hiring standards…” Before she could finish, Claire had already guided me to a chair, her expression a mixture of fury and concern. “Mr. Sterling, are you alright? I’m calling the police right now.”

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To clear the way for his mistress, my husband faked his own infertility and demanded a divorce. “It’s for the best,” he said, his voice thick with fake sincerity. “You don’t have to worry. I could never remarry after this. The guilt would be too much.” I cried, my sobs so violent it was hard to breathe. But the second I turned my back, I let out a sigh of relief and tossed the shredded remains of his real test results into the trash. I had been worried he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. Turns out, I worried for nothing. Oh, we were getting a divorce, all right. And I was going to make sure he left with nothing but the clothes on his back. When I silently agreed, he was overjoyed, already planning to welcome his pregnant mistress into our home. What my husband didn’t know was that the paternity test he was holding was a fake. And the infertility report I’d just thrown away? That was the real one. 1 Holding Tyler’s medical report, my heart had been a lead weight in my chest for days. I walked in from work one evening to find his entire family sitting in our living room. The moment I stepped through the door, every head turned in unison to stare at me. Their faces were grim, their eyes a mixture of pity and judgment. For a terrifying second, I thought they knew. My heart clenched, but I forced a smile. “Mom, Dad, you’re here! You should have called. I just bought some fresh seafood. Have a seat, dinner will be ready in a bit.” I started to roll up my sleeves and head for the kitchen, but my mother-in-law’s voice stopped me. “Phoebe, wait. We need to talk to you about something.” My husband, Tyler, looked at me, his face a blank mask. “Phoebe, let’s get a divorce.” “What did you say?” I whispered, my eyes wide with disbelief. He held out a piece of paper. “A few weeks ago… Mom had us both get check-ups, remember? The results came in. I’m infertile. And it’s irreversible.” How could he have a report? I was the one holding it. It clicked. The whole family was in on it. This was a setup. My mind reeling, I took the paper from his hand, my heart pounding with suspicion. Suddenly, I remembered what a friend had told me two weeks ago. “Phoebe, I saw your husband at the OB-GYN clinic today. He was with some young woman, and she was very obviously pregnant.” “And I heard them calling each other ‘honey’ and ‘babe’!” She’d even sent me a photo. I recognized the woman instantly. She was an intern from Tyler’s office. He had told me she’d quit months ago. I had been about to call Tyler and demand an explanation when the hospital called me. They said he had left an important document at the reception desk. It was his real report. The conclusion was written in cold, clinical print: Tyler would never be able to have children. But Tyler didn’t know that. And neither did his mistress. Pushing down the storm of emotions inside me, I put on my best performance. “Honey, it doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice choked with fake tears. “I don’t care if you can’t have kids. I love you. We can adopt if we want to.” For a moment, I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “I can’t handle the pressure, the pitying looks from your family. Let’s get a divorce. It’s the last act of love I can give you.” He looked at me, his eyes shining with false nobility. “I can’t be so selfish as to take away your chance to be a mother. I love you, Phoebe, but I want you to be happy more.” 2 “No! I won’t do it! Plenty of people in the world can’t have children, and they make it work. Why can’t we?” I cried, clinging to his arm. “We can try Eastern medicine, alternative treatments… there are options!” Tyler immediately shot down the idea. “I’m a man, Phoebe! How am I supposed to hold my head up if people know? My life would be over! If you really love me, you’ll keep this a secret.” I broke down completely. The tears of heartbreak were fake, but the sense of betrayal was agonizingly real. I had been a devoted wife for years, and this is how he repaid me? By faking a medical condition to push me out for another woman? He was going to learn that playing with people’s hearts has consequences. In a last-ditch, staged effort, I turned to his parents. Tyler was their eldest, the golden child. “Mom, Dad, please, talk to him! We can’t just give up. People will talk!” My father-in-law took a long drag from his cigarette and shook his head. “Phoebe, this kind of condition… it’s a lost cause. Dragging it out will only ruin his reputation. You have to understand a man’s pride.” I looked at his younger brother, Caleb. “Caleb, please. You know how good your brother has been to you. Talk to him. We can get through this.” A muscle twitched in Caleb’s jaw. “Phoebe, this divorce is a relief for him. Just let him go. It’s different for a man. The gossip… it’s like being flayed alive.” His wife just looked down at her hands, silent. Their united front was all the confirmation I needed. A wave of triumphant joy washed over me, but I let the tears flow freely. Tyler pulled me into an embrace. “Phoebe, it’s my fault. I’m a broken man; I don’t deserve you. I’ll make sure you’re compensated, of course. You deserve that much.” Gasping between sobs, I finally gave in. “I know you’ve always been a good man. Okay… I respect your decision.” 3 I excused myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My hand tightened around the real report tucked inside my purse. The doctor’s words echoed in my mind: “With a sperm survival rate of less than one-tenth of one percent… there’s no hope for a natural pregnancy.” For the past two weeks, my biggest problem had been how to break the news to him gently. I never imagined he’d hand me the solution on a silver platter. His report was a forgery, but his condition was real. For years, his family had assumed I was the reason we were childless. Now that another woman was pregnant, their suspicions were confirmed. Just then, a text came through from my friend. “He’s taken her to three different clinics and even sent a blood sample to a specialty lab in another country. It’s confirmed: it’s a boy!” And there it was. The Chen family, with their old-fashioned obsession with a male heir, had found their excuse to get rid of me. If he was so eager to play the proud papa to another man’s kid, who was I to stop him? Let them bask in the joyful anticipation of their new arrival. 4 I dried my eyes, stormed out of the house, and slammed the door for good measure. The divorce was happening, but not yet. I needed to drag this out. I made a show of calling all his friends, begging them to intervene. I cornered his best friend, Mark, in the street, putting on a spectacular display. “Mark, how can he be so sensitive?” I wailed, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “As long as I don’t mind, what does he have to worry about? Why does he have to divorce me? Please, talk to him! A man needs a family, even without kids!” Mark looked deeply uncomfortable. He obviously knew the real story. “Phoebe, please, keep your voice down. This is… a private matter. If he thinks this is for the best, maybe you should just let him go.” The neighborhood gossip mill was already churning. “What a wonderful woman. Her husband can’t have kids, and she still wants to stand by him.” “Yeah, if the roles were reversed, you can bet he’d be long gone.” He was worried about his reputation, but I wasn’t. I started an online diary. I wrote about my husband’s tragic infertility and his selfless decision to divorce me so I could have the chance to be a mother. I posted screenshots of his family’s cold texts and my friend’s well-meaning warnings. I even included a tearful video of myself. The internet ate it up. Our story was hailed as the ultimate tragic romance, the peak of “Bad End” love. One commenter wrote: “He sacrificed his own happiness for yours, never knowing that all you ever wanted was him.” I read it and cried, my tears of gratitude very real. Of course, I publicly begged everyone to respect our privacy. “This is a very sensitive issue for a man. Please, don’t try to find him or disturb his life.” Everyone thought I was a lovelorn fool. Some even tried to talk sense into me. “While being child-free is a valid choice, having your own child is a beautiful thing. Maybe your ex-husband really is doing what’s best for you.” On the day we were supposed to sign the papers, I hesitated again. “Maybe we should just try one more time. I really don’t want to do this.” Tyler’s patience was wearing thin. “What is your problem? Do you want the whole world to know I’m sterile so they can point and laugh at me?” he snapped. “I told you, I’m never getting married again! I won’t be a burden to anyone!” I knew he was getting antsy. His little intern was pushing to make things official, and he was terrified I’d find out the truth. He thought I couldn’t live without him. He had no idea I was just squeezing the last drops of value out of him. I took his hand, my eyes full of sorrow. “We were husband and wife. Before we say goodbye, let’s make one last beautiful memory together.” I’d seen influencers making “breakup countdown” videos. I always thought it was a sweet idea. Tyler had called it pathetic. But now, consumed by guilt, he couldn’t refuse. “Just… as a formal farewell,” I whispered, the very picture of a heartbroken woman. He looked at me, a flicker of something soft in his eyes, and finally nodded. 5 We drove to his hometown. Tyler had always been close to his grandparents. After his grandfather passed, his grandmother lived alone in the old house. She took my hand the moment we arrived. “When are you two going to give me a great-grandchild?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t follow those modern trends. A child is a continuation of your life, a symbol of your love. It’s what makes a life complete.” I felt a pang of nostalgia for the woman I used to be, the woman who truly believed that love was enough. Now, I just couldn’t wait to see the look on their faces when the truth came out. Tyler watched me clean the entire house from top to bottom, a look of genuine appreciation on his face. “Phoebe, thank you.” “It’s nothing,” I said, resisting the urge to slap him. “I know how much your grandmother means to you. It’s just a shame I won’t be able to visit anymore. A divorced woman… life will be hard. But don’t worry, I’ll work hard. I won’t let anyone say your ex-wife is a failure.” “I’ll make sure everyone knows you were a man with the best taste in the world.” That did it. “Phoebe,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Besides our shared assets, I have about half a million saved from before we were married. It’s yours.” “I couldn’t possibly. You’ll be all alone; you’ll need it.” I pretended to refuse, but I knew he’d insist. He was a hypocrite who needed to buy a clear conscience. With his six-figure salary and rising career, half a million was a small price to pay for peace of mind. Sure enough, he pulled out his phone and initiated the wire transfer. Moments later, my phone pinged with the notification. What he didn’t know was that his new boss, a staunch traditionalist, had a strict policy against promoting divorced employees. Tears of “gratitude” streamed down my face as I leaned against his shoulder. “Let’s take a picture,” I sobbed. “It might be our last chance.” He smiled and agreed. I posted the screenshot of the bank transfer to my online diary. The praise came flooding in. 6 The divorce would have to wait a little longer. We still had a list of things we’d always promised to do together. We hiked a mountain to see the sunrise. We rowed a boat on a serene lake. He cooked me breakfast. We watched an old classic, Titanic, at a revival theater. The moments were genuinely beautiful, which made my online posts all the more poignant. My followers were heartbroken for us. “Why does fate have to be so cruel to such a perfect couple?” “Please don’t separate! Adopt a child! Your family can still be complete!” I could see it was getting to him. It’s hard to reject a beautiful, kind, successful woman who is willing to stand by you even after learning you’re infertile. He was wavering. But he had no way out. The intern wasn’t going to let him go that easily. That night, after he thought I was asleep, Tyler opened my purse. He saw the report.

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The first thing I smelled was the beast—a rank, feral odor of wet fur, pine, and decay that suffocated the air. From the roof of Mayor Thompson’s house, I saw it all. A brown bear, impossibly large, stood on its hind legs at our front gate, a creature torn from a nightmare. It dwarfed our small home, its jaws stretched in a silent roar as its claws tore splinters from the groaning wood. Inside the yard, my grandmother was a crumpled heap on the ground, her face a mask of pure terror. “Elara, you have to do something!” Mayor Thompson urged, his hand gripping my shoulder. “Your parents are rangers, they have rifles! Go get them!” His words were a shove, waking me from my shock. The scent of the bear mixed with the sudden, sharp memory of another life. A life where I had run. A life where I had saved them, only to be destroyed. Last time, I’d scrambled up that mountain in the dark, my heart hammering with a desperate need to be the hero. I found them helping my sister, Mila, track rabbits by moonlight. They came back, killed the bear, and the whole town celebrated. They were given medals, a new house in town. But Mila, who had thrown a tantrum and refused to leave the woods, was found in pieces, torn apart by wolves. They told everyone she was reckless, that it was her own fault. But on the anniversary of her death, they dragged me back to that same mountain, tied me to a tree, and left me for the starving pack. “You little monster,” my father had hissed, his face a cruel mask in the moonlight. “Don’t think we don’t know. You led that bear here on purpose.” “You murdered your sister,” my mother had whispered, her voice colder than the grave. “This is what you deserve.” Reborn into this moment, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time, I wouldn’t run to them. This time, Mila could have her fun on the mountain. But as the bear savaged our gate and my grandmother wept, my father’s words from this new life echoed in my ears. He’d refused to come down. He’d told the villagers I was lying, just trying to ruin Mila’s birthday. And now, while my parents celebrated her, a monster was tearing our world apart. “Mayor Thompson,” I said, my voice trembling as tears stung my eyes. “My parents… they hate me. They won’t believe a word I say.” A heavy silence fell over the rooftop. Everyone in our small, isolated town knew it was true. I was Elara, the daughter they never wanted. The girl born instead of a son, the one they blamed for my mother’s weakened health, for every bad harvest, every stroke of misfortune. I was the family’s shadow. Mila, on the other hand, was their sun. The treasured one they’d take into the wolf-haunted woods at night just to catch a rabbit for her stew. The men on the roof exchanged uneasy glances. “She’s just a kid,” one of them finally muttered. “It’s not safe to send her.” “Alright,” the Mayor declared, his voice firm. “A few of you younger men, grab torches. We’re going ourselves.” As they slipped out the back, the rest of us on the roof started shouting and banging, trying to draw the bear’s attention. It worked, for a moment. The men vanished into the trees as the bear turned its massive head towards us, its dark eyes filled with a primal rage. But then, as if remembering its purpose, it turned back and slammed its body against the gate. My grandmother, Gran, had been chased all the way from the woods. Her strength was gone. She curled into a ball, hiding her face, a tiny, fragile thing against the looming specter of death. I watched the mountain path, praying the men would return with my parents, praying they could save the only person who had ever truly loved me. They returned near dusk, their faces grim with failure and disgust. “That Cole is a real piece of work,” one of them spat. “He said we were lying. Said Elara put us up to it, just to ruin Mila’s birthday!” A shard of ice pierced my heart. Mila and I shared a birthday. Every year, our parents would make her a special breakfast with two wild bird eggs. I got nothing. When I grew older, I was the one who had to cook it for her. I’d prepared that meal for years, but I’d never once dared to taste it. From the yard below, Gran must have heard. Trembling, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled into the kitchen. She emerged a moment later holding a small, cloth-wrapped bundle, which she carefully unfolded for me to see from the roof. “Don’t be sad, Elara,” she called out, her voice thin but clear. “They won’t give you anything, but Gran will.” Inside the cloth were white flour and two perfect, speckled eggs. My tears, hot and sudden, blinded me. In our house, where my parents rationed every scrap of food for Gran and me, this was a treasure. How long had she saved this, going hungry herself, just for me? A raw sob escaped my throat. I broke free from the Mayor’s grip and scrambled for the ladder. The villagers knew how close Gran and I were; they’d been holding me back, afraid I’d do something foolish. “Elara, stop!” someone shouted, grabbing my arm. “You’re a child! You can’t even kill a chicken. We can’t watch you go down there to die!” Gran heard them and shrieked, her voice a blade of panic. “Elara, no! I’m an old woman, it doesn’t matter if I die! Don’t you dare! Stay where you are!” My heart felt like it was being torn in two. “Gran,” I choked out, “I wouldn’t have survived without you. I won’t do anything stupid. Trust me!” I looked at the men holding me, my eyes pleading. “Let me go. I have to save her.” My desperation must have convinced them. I wasn’t just hysterical; I had a plan. “It was like this last time,” I explained, the words rushing out. “The bear… it didn’t attack anyone else on the road. It ignored them. It followed Gran right to our yard, and it won’t leave. There’s something in that house it wants.” The stark, terrifying logic settled over them. The gate was splintering. There was no more time. The Mayor made a decision. He would have the others create a diversion while I, small and fast, would circle around and slip through the old doggy door in the back fence. Hands lifted me over the wall. The moment my feet hit the dirt, I ran. A few of the farmhands followed with a ladder, their heavy boots thudding behind me. The bear, obsessed with the front gate, didn’t even notice. We reached the back of my house. I told the men to hide in the neighbor’s shed, then dropped to my hands and knees and crawled through the narrow opening. “You foolish child!” Gran sobbed, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Why did you come back?” “No time,” I gasped, pulling her towards the back fence. “Gran, you have to climb. Step on my shoulders. When you’re safe, I can get out.” She beat her chest in anguish, silent words of protest dying on her lips. A thunderous crash from the front told us the gate had finally given way. “Now, Gran, please!” I knelt, turning my back to the wall. “They’re waiting. If you don’t go, we’ll both die here!” With a shuddering breath, she placed a worn shoe on my shoulder. The weight made me buckle, but I grit my teeth and pushed myself up, shaking, until she could grab the top of the fence. Strong hands reached down from the other side, pulling her up and over to safety. Relieved, I immediately began searching the house. Something was drawing the bear here. But what? We were poor. The only meat we had was jerky from two years ago. It couldn’t be that. CRACK. The front door was splintering now. My heart hammered. I forced myself to be calm, scanning the yard. Where could something be hidden? From over the fence, Gran’s voice called out, filled with desperate hope. “Elara! They’re taking me up the mountain! You hide, sweetheart! I’ll be back with the rifles soon! Just hide!” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. As she left, a strange scratching sound came from the large ceramic pickling crock near the back door. My hands trembling, I lifted the heavy wooden lid. And froze. Curled at the bottom was a tiny bear cub. It was small, barely weaned, its dark eyes blinking up at me without a trace of aggression. My blood ran cold. Why was a bear cub in our pickling crock?

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