Category: English

Tyler had severe sensory issues. After his car accident, Tyler couldn’t stand even the slightest noise. To accommodate his illness, I wore noiseless slippers at home. I even held my breath whenever I walked past him. One night, I couldn’t help but sneeze. Tyler lost his mind, relapsing instantly, and kicked me straight out of bed. That kick cost me our five-month-old unborn baby. Yet right now, Tyler was sitting in a deafening VIP lounge at a downtown club. The heavy bass was vibrating through the floorboards, shaking my chest. Instead of throwing a tantrum, Tyler was watching my adopted sister, Polly, with pure adoration as she danced wildly to the music. The moment he saw me walk in, Tyler’s face iced over. “What are you doing here, Alyssa? Don’t ruin Polly’s graduation party. Go wait for us outside.” “And remember to whip up a hangover cure the second you get home. Polly’s stomach gets sensitive when she drinks.” I didn’t say a word. I just threw the divorce papers right in his face.

The noisy VIP lounge went dead silent. Tyler frowned, brushing the papers away. The white sheets scattered all over the sticky club floor. “Alyssa, what kind of childish stunt is this?” “Look at yourself. Is this how a decent wife behaves?” The sheer disgust in his eyes was blinding. It was as if my very existence was a chore to him. I took a shaky breath, a sharp pain radiating from my chest. I couldn’t help but ask: “And how is a ‘decent wife’ supposed to behave? Like Polly?” “Since you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t we just get a divorce so you can put a ring on her finger? That way, I won’t be standing in your way anymore.” Tyler didn’t expect me—the girl who had always been submissive—to humiliate him in public. He stared at me, his gaze resembling that of an owner looking at a pet throwing a sudden tantrum. He let out a heavy, patronizing sigh and reached out to grab my hand. I took a step back, dodging his touch. His hand froze in mid-air. Slowly, his expression darkened. “Alyssa, do you still think you’re the pampered heiress of the Franklin family?” “Look at you. Aside from me, what man would ever want to marry a ruined woman like you?” The moment those words left his mouth, my eyes went wide. I stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. Before I turned eighteen, my life was perfect. But maybe my happiness was too loud, and fate decided to silence it. On my eighteenth birthday, I was kidnapped. I was tortured, broken, and left wishing for death. It took a whole year before the police finally rescued me from that basement. I foolishly thought I could just go back to my old life. But the ugly scars all over my body and my heavily pregnant belly were constant slaps to my face. My old friends, who used to kiss the ground I walked on, gave me pitying looks. But behind my back, they whispered. They treated my trauma as juicy gossip over brunch. Even my parents, who used to worship me, started treating me like the family’s dirty little secret. Eventually, they adopted Polly—the nanny’s daughter. They didn’t want a broken daughter anymore. They wanted a clean, shiny new one. I was so exhausted back then. I wanted to end it all, but Tyler saved me. He dragged me back from the edge. He spent months telling me it wasn’t my fault. He told me not to be afraid, that he would protect me forever. But in just five years, the man who once rebuilt my entire world had turned into a monster. I stared at him, tears blurring my vision. Seeing my tears, Tyler seemed to realize he had gone too far. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone softening a bit. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up…” “But today is Polly’s high school graduation. You’re her older sister. Can’t you just let her have her moment for once?” For once? Hadn’t I let her have every single moment over the past few years? Ever since she entered the Franklin estate, she had made it her mission to throw her perfect life in my face. She constantly reminded me of how much our parents loved her. How they were a “real” family. She made sure I knew that my presence was a stain on the family name. But I was too tired to fight her. So I stood by and watched her steal my parents’ love, my inheritance, and my place in the family. Yet, she only grew greedier. Even after I married Tyler, she refused to let me go. Whenever she ran into sketchy guys, twisted her ankle, forgot her umbrella… or just felt sad, she would call. She always had a million emergencies to drag Tyler away from me. In the past, I lied to myself. I told myself Tyler only cared about Polly because she was my sister. But now, the illusion was shattered. You can’t hide love. His endless excuses, his protective instincts, his constant favoritism—it was all glaringly obvious. The woman Tyler loved was never me.

Before I could say anything, Polly pushed her way through the crowd. She smiled sweetly at me, looking genuinely thrilled by my arrival. “Alyssa! You came to celebrate with me after all?” “It’s all Tyler’s fault. He kept saying you hated loud places. I’m so happy you’re here!” With her bright eyes and bubbly tone, anyone would think she was just an innocent, sweet girl. But I didn’t miss the cruel gleam of triumph in her eyes. A wave of nausea hit me. I was done playing nice. I let out a cold laugh. “Aren’t you tired of acting after all these years, Polly?” “You already took my parents, my friends, and my status. Is this pathetic little game still fun for you?” Polly’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. She looked incredibly hurt. “Alyssa… how could you say that about me?” “I know I’m just adopted. I’ve never forgotten my place. I would never try to steal anything from you.” I ignored her act and took a step toward her. “You want Tyler too, right? Fine. He’s yours. Consider him my graduation gift to you. Do you like it?” Before the last word left my mouth, a glass of red wine was splashed directly over my head. Tyler quickly pulled Polly into his arms, shielding her, and glared at me with pure rage. “Alyssa! That is enough!” “Just because you’re a useless failure doesn’t mean you get to drag down everyone who is better than you!” “She’s your sister! There’s a limit to your jealousy. And now you’re throwing a tantrum about divorce? You’re pathetic.” A sneer curled on his lips. He was entirely convinced that I could never survive without him. He thought this was just another desperate attempt to get his attention. I wiped the dripping wine from my face, blinking back the burning tears. A failure? Useless? So that was what I was to him. A pathetic, disgusting burden. Then why did he go through all that trouble to save me five years ago? Why did he insist on marrying me despite all the rumors? When he was teaching me how to love myself again, was he laughing inside? When he kissed my scars with tears in his eyes, was he secretly holding back vomit? What an incredible actor. “Tyler, let’s get a divorce. I’m not playing games.” The smirk on Tyler’s face slowly faded. He stared at me. Then, he let out a harsh laugh, as if he had just heard a hilarious joke. “Divorce? Where would you even go? Back to the Franklins? They don’t want you.” “Look at you. Every single thing on your body was bought with my money.” “I’ve clearly spoiled you too much. If you’re so independent, stop using my credit cards.” “Even the clothes you’re wearing right now are paid for by me. You want a divorce? Fine. Strip right here, give them back, and leave!” The lounge gasped. All eyes locked onto me. The whispers, the mocking grins, and the sudden clicking of phone cameras filled the air. Polly tugged at Tyler’s sleeve, pretending to be shocked. “Tyler, stop! Calm down!” “Alyssa, why do you have to be so stubborn? If you hate me, I’ll stay away from you. Why are you taking it out on Tyler?” “Just apologize to—” Before she could finish, I unzipped my jacket and let it drop to the floor. I didn’t stop. I reached for the buttons of my shirt. One, two… “Fuck!” Tyler cursed, lunging forward to wrap his own coat around me. He gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing. “Alyssa, you’re a psycho!” “Are you trying to make me a laughingstock?!”

Without caring about the crowd, Tyler grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. He dragged me out of the club, threw me into the passenger seat of his car, and slammed the door shut. A second later, he climbed in, leaning over to pin me against the cold door. His hand wrapped tightly around my throat. His eyes were wild with fury, his grip tightening as he growled: “Fine… you win!” “Throwing a tantrum like this just because I forgot our anniversary? You really are desperate.” It was pathetic. Even now, he genuinely believed this entire meltdown was just a twisted game to make him pay attention to me. Looking at his furious face, I actually laughed. I laughed at his arrogance. I laughed at his stupidity. Five years ago, when Tyler’s outburst caused my miscarriage, I had begged for a divorce. But the Franklins refused to support me. They told me I should be grateful that a man like Tyler was willing to overlook my “baggage” and marry me. They blamed me for ruining my marriage over an “accident.” Tyler had knelt by my hospital bed back then, sobbing and shaking. He told me that ever since he witnessed my kidnapping, he had suffered from terrible nightmares. He said he could still hear my screams every time he closed his eyes. He hated himself for asking me out that day. He hated himself for letting go of my hand to help a stranger. Over time, his PTSD and anxiety grew worse. The slightest noise triggered his fight-or-flight response. He couldn’t control himself. He held me tight, crying so sincerely. But my heart was already dead. That was my baby. That was my only hope for a fresh start. How could he murder my child and then casually ask for forgiveness? How was I supposed to just live happily ever after with him? But what choice did I have? My life was already a trainwreck. What was the point of fighting? So, I went home with him. I never mentioned the baby again. But soon, I realized something. His “uncontrollable PTSD” disappeared the moment Polly was around. He could tolerate any noise, any chaos, as long as Polly was the one making it. That was the moment I realized. He didn’t hate the noise. He hated me. Since we both despised each other, there was no point in dragging this out. From now on, we were both free. Seeing my face turn red from the lack of oxygen, Tyler finally let go of my throat. He turned his head away, refusing to look at me. He slammed on the gas, driving us home in tense, suffocating silence. The moment we got back, Tyler went straight to the shower. I walked into the study to print out a fresh copy of the divorce papers. The moment I turned on his laptop, his SnapChat started flashing. He had forgotten to log out. I clicked on the chat. The screen was filled with messages between him and Polly. I watched him apologize for ruining her graduation night, making promise after promise to make it up to her. He sounded like a teenage boy head-over-heels in love. Then, I saw his text: Tyler: [Ugh, I don’t know what kind of crazy episode Alyssa is having today.] Tyler: [I’m hiding in the bathroom right now. Honestly, just the thought of having to touch her tonight makes me want to throw up.] Polly’s reply was quick, dripping with fake innocence: Polly: [Tyler, please don’t say that. Alyssa is your wife. It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have let myself fall for you.] Polly: [It physically hurts thinking about you two together, but there’s nothing I can do.] The flirting, the mocking, the casual way they ripped my dignity to shreds—it made my blood run cold. My heart hammered against my ribs. I placed my fingers on the keyboard, typed a quick message, and hit send: [You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m out.]

A second later, the account was force-logged out from another device. Within minutes, Tyler burst into the study with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his panic with anger. “Why the hell were you snooping through my SnapChat? Where are your manners?” He raised his voice, desperately trying to cover up his betrayal. I was too exhausted to fight. I tried to walk past him to go to the bedroom. Thinking I was backing down, he reached out to wrap his arm around my waist. I flinched away, dodging his touch, locked myself in the bedroom, and went to sleep. It was the best sleep I had in years. At dawn, a loud crash woke me up. The bedroom door was kicked open. Tyler marched in, his face contorted with rage. “Alyssa! Did you post anonymous threads calling Polly a homewrecker?” “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Stripping at the club to get clout, and then leaking lies about Polly to ruin her reputation?” “I didn’t realize you could be this calculating.” My head was pounding. I groaned, turning away. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t care enough to.” My indifferent attitude only pushed him over the edge. Tyler lunged forward and slapped me across the face. The loud crack echoed in the quiet room. The force of the blow knocked me back onto the mattress. My head spun, and I had to swallow the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. Tyler froze, staring at his own hand, realizing what he had just done. “Alyssa… I…” “Get out!” I wiped the blood from my lip. The very last trace of affection I had for this man died right then and there. Tyler opened his mouth to explain, but his phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen, muttered “stay put,” and rushed out of the room. I dragged myself out of bed, forced down some breakfast, and grabbed the suitcase I had packed weeks ago. When I arrived at the airport terminal, I noticed people staring at me. Whenever I caught their eyes, they quickly looked away, whispering furiously to their friends. “So tragic…” “The kidnapping…” “Oh my God, is that her?” A chill ran down my spine. My grip on my suitcase tightened. My heart beat so fast it felt like it was going to burst through my throat. With trembling fingers, I opened Twitter. The top trending hashtag in New York was: #Tyler’s Wife: The Kidnapped Heiress and the Secret Pregnancy.# The article leaked highly confidential photos from five years ago. Staring at the screen, my head felt like it was splitting open. Through the static in my mind, I was dragged back to that horrifying day five years ago. I saw my eighteen-year-old self—naked, bruised, and pregnant under the blinding flashlights of the paparazzi after being rescued. Even though the Franklins had spent millions to scrub those photos from the internet back then, the humiliation was permanently branded into my soul. There was no way Tyler hadn’t seen this. And yet, he let them drag me through the mud just to protect Polly. With shaking hands, I called Tyler. He picked up almost instantly, his voice filled with a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years. “Alyssa, don’t be scared. I’m here.” “Just stay home. Don’t look at your phone. I’ll be back to hold you as soon as I finish this meeting.” I paused, my voice barely a whisper. “Why did you do it, Tyler?” There was a long, agonizing silence on the other end. “Alyssa, I’m sorry. By the time I found out, the leak was already viral. I couldn’t stop it.” “But you’re my wife. As long as I don’t care about your past, what does it matter what public thinks?” “Besides… this leak successfully buried the threads exposing Polly. It was the only way to save her. It’s a win-win, right?” I couldn’t hear whatever else he said. The world went cold. My legs gave out, my vision turned black, and I collapsed onto the hard airport floor.

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To pay off my boyfriend’s debts, I sold Scout—the rare, purebred Akhal-Teke stallion who grew up with me, the last of his kind in the world. On the day of the transfer, Howard held me tight, his eyes red and tearful. “I’m so sorry, Bella. I promise I’ll work myself to the bone and buy Scout back for you!” Today, while I was mucking out stalls at the dusty suburban ranch, I spotted a newly released issue of a luxury finance magazine left on a bench. The cover headline screamed at me. [New Billionaire Icon Bids Fortune for Ultra-Rare Stallion, All to Win a Beauty’s Smile] Inside, on a high-definition, double-page spread, was Howard—the man who claimed he was working himself to death. He was wearing custom-tailored equestrian gear, elegantly holding Scout’s reins. And the woman sitting on my horse, laughing with wild, arrogant triumph? It was Chloe White. My former rival who, jealous of my riding skills, had sabotaged my saddle three years ago and severed the tendons in my right hand, ending my career. In the photo, Scout was pawing at the ground, looking visibly stressed. Meanwhile, Howard was leaning down, tenderly kissing the back of the hand of the very woman who had destroyed my life.

I gripped the magazine so hard the glossy pages sliced into my palm, leaving deep, red marks. My stomach churned. I dry-heaved, but nothing came up. I pulled out my phone and dialed Howard’s number. The screen showed it went through, but he declined it instantly. Without a second thought, I ripped off my manure-stained apron and bolted out of the run-down suburban stables. There was only one place Chloe White hung out—the elite Sky Equestrian Club in the heart of downtown. I spent my last $50 on an Uber to get there. The security guards at the gate stopped me, but I managed to slip through a side entrance when a luxury sports car was being waved in. Suddenly, a sharp, agonizing neigh echoed through the arena. I knew that sound all too well. It was Scout’s cry of extreme pain. I ran toward the noise. In the center of the indoor sand arena, Scout was secured to a metal exhibition post by two heavy iron chains. Chloe was dressed in a pristine white riding habit, holding a professional whip tipped with metal spikes. She raised her arm and brought the whip down hard across Scout’s back. A bloody welt bloomed instantly on his coat. “Still got a nasty temper, huh? Just like your pathetic, crippled former owner!” Howard stood nearby, holding a glass of red wine. He frowned slightly, but his voice was completely indulgent. “Careful, Chloe. Don’t let him kick you. He’s wild and untamed.” The blood rushed to my head, boiling hot. To pay off Howard’s $300,000 debt to those shady loan sharks, I had literally knelt before the buyer, begging him to treat Scout well. Howard had held me and wept, swearing he would do anything to make it up to me. And now, he was watching my worst enemy abuse my horse, only telling her to “be careful.” I lost control. I charged into the arena and shoved Chloe away with all my might. Chloe lost her footing and stumbled, crashing hard onto the dirty sand. Her white outfit was instantly ruined with mud. I turned around, wrapping my arms around the panicked Scout, my rough fingers gently stroking his neck. Sensing my scent, Scout slowly calmed down. He lowered his head, nuzzling my shoulder with a soft, trembling whimper. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Howard slammed his wine glass down. He marched over, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, and threw me to the ground. I crashed onto the hard dirt, my right wrist taking the brunt of the fall. Pain flared instantly in the exact spot where my tendons had been severed three years ago. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Howard knelt down, checking Chloe’s arm with deep concern. Once he was sure she didn’t have a scratch, he whipped his head around to glare at me. “Bella? Are you stalking me?” I clutched my throbbing right wrist and slowly forced myself up, staring directly into Howard’s eyes. “What are you doing here? You said you were working yourself to the bone!” “You said the loan sharks were going to kill you!” “Why are you with Chloe White!” Chloe dusted the sand off her clothes and walked over to me. She looked down at my faded t-shirt and my mud-caked sneakers, letting out a sharp scoff. Then, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face. The loud crack echoed through the quiet arena. My head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Know your place, Bella. Do you really think someone like you belongs in a club like this?” I ignored Chloe, my eyes locked onto Howard. “Howard! Say something!” Howard stood up, stepping in front of Chloe to shield her. The warmth and tenderness he used to look at me with were completely gone. His eyes were dead and cold. “You see it. It is exactly what it looks like.”

Looking at Howard’s familiar face, my head spun. “Why?” I screamed, my voice cracking. “I sold Scout to save your life! I’ve been working three jobs a day!” “And you used my sacrifice to hang out with Chloe?” Chloe burst into a mocking laugh. “Oh, Bella. You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” “Did you honestly think Howard needed your pathetic $300,000?” She wrapped her arm around Howard’s, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Let me introduce him properly. The man standing in front of you is the sole heir to the Wilmot Group, and the actual owner of this very club.” I froze. The Wilmot Group. They were the mega-corporation that monopolized the entire equestrian industry in North America. Howard looked at me, showing no remorse. Instead, he looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Chloe’s right, Bella. I don’t need your money.” “I only hid my identity and went to that trashy suburban ranch to study the operational model of low-end stables.” “And, of course, to find a free, highly skilled trainer to break Scout in.” “Your $300,000 wouldn’t even buy the cufflinks on my suit.” Every word he spoke felt like a dagger to my chest. Three years ago, right before the national championships, someone cut my saddle girth. I fell, and my hand was ruined. We later found out Chloe had bribed the stable boy, but her family was too powerful, and they got a scapegoat to take the fall. I lost my career. I was forced to retreat to the countryside to survive with my Grandpa Charles and Scout. Then, Howard showed up. He played the part of a struggling, penniless traveler. He mucked stalls for me, brewed my herbal teas, and swore he didn’t care about my disability. He promised to protect me forever. Last month, a group of terrifying men broke into the ranch, holding a knife to Howard’s throat. To save him, I swallowed my pride and sold Scout to a mysterious private buyer. It turned out that buyer was Howard all along. It was all a sick, twisted game. I looked at Howard, my body trembling violently. “You knew Chloe destroyed my hand. You knew what Scout meant to me!” “You lied to me from day one? You treated me like a joke?” Howard frowned, a look of pure disgust flashing in his eyes. “Bella, stop playing the victim.” “Chloe is an heiress. It’s an honor for Scout to belong to her.” “As for you… look at yourself.” “You smell like horse manure, and your hands are covered in ugly calluses and scars.” “Every time I had to hold your hand, it made my skin crawl.” “How could a girl like you ever think she was worthy of standing next to me?” A physical pain stabbed through my heart. The calluses I got from working day and night to keep us afloat, the scars I got from cooking his meals… To him, they were just disgusting marks of poverty. Chloe raised her chin proudly. “Howard and I are getting engaged next month. Scout is his engagement gift to me.” “Have some self-respect, Bella. Go back to the gutter where you belong.” I looked at Scout. He was pacing nervously, chained up. I tried to run over to unchain him, but Howard kicked me hard in the back of my knee. I collapsed heavily onto the sand. “Get out. Don’t dirty my arena.” Howard threw those cold words over his shoulder as he walked toward the VIP lounge, holding Chloe’s hand. Two burly security guards rushed in, grabbed me by my arms, and dragged me out of the club. They threw me onto the hard pavement of the street. My palms were scraped raw, dripping blood.

The next morning, ignoring my aching body, I put on my only clean white shirt and went to the National Equestrian Association headquarters. Today was my final evaluation to get certified as a rehab coach for disabled riders. It was my only way back into the industry, and my only hope to pay for Grandpa Charles’s urgent heart surgery. I sat in the waiting room, clutching my application form tight. The large screen in the lobby was playing promotional videos for the association. Suddenly, the screen glitched, and a security camera video started playing. In the video, a woman wearing the exact same white shirt I was wearing was brutally whipping a chained horse. The horse was Scout. But the person wielding the whip wasn’t me! It was Chloe, wearing her white riding habit from yesterday! The video had been maliciously edited. The face was blurred, leaving only the clothes and the silhouette. The riders and coaches in the lobby gathered around, pointing and whispering at the screen. “Isn’t that Bella? How does she have the nerve to apply for a coaching license?” “Her hand got ruined, so she’s taking out her anger on a helpless animal? What a psycho!” I jumped up, shouting, “That’s not me! That video is fake!” A soft laugh echoed from the entrance. Chloe, dressed in a designer suit, walked into the lobby, accompanied by Howard. “Bella, the evidence is right there. Are you seriously trying to deny it?” Chloe pulled out a document stamped with the Wilmot Group’s official seal and handed it to the association’s president. “Chairman Thomas, I saw it with my own eyes. Bella was desperate for cash.” “She not only sold her horse illegally, but she also abused him severely before the sale, leaving him traumatized.” Chairman Thomas took the file, his face darkening as he glared at me. Howard stepped forward, standing close to Chloe, looking at me with total indifference. I stared back at Howard. “Howard, you were there yesterday! You know exactly who was whipping Scout! Tell them the truth!” Howard casually adjusted his designer watch. “I was indeed there. And I personally witnessed Bella whipping Scout with a spiked crop.” “I couldn’t stand the cruelty, which is why I bought the horse at a high price and handed him over to Chloe to be saved.” Gasps erupted around the room. The testimony of the heir of the Wilmot Group was the final nail in my coffin. I shook with rage, my fingernails digging deep into my palms. “Howard! You liar!” Howard looked away, annoyed. “Bella, take responsibility for your own actions. Stop making a scene.” Chairman Thomas announced loudly to the room: “After reviewing the evidence, Bella is found guilty of severe unsportsmanlike conduct and animal abuse.” “Her application is denied. She is banned for life from holding any position in the equestrian industry!” Banned for life. The words shattered my world. I had lost my career, lost Scout, and now I had no way to make money to save Grandpa Charles. The crowd began hurling insults at me. Someone threw a half-empty cup of cold coffee, splashing it all over my white shirt. Security guards grabbed my collar and threw me out the front doors. I tumbled down the concrete steps, my forehead hitting the edge of a step. Warm blood trickled down my face. Chloe stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me like I was trash. “You can never beat me, Bella. You’re done.”

As I lay on the cold ground, my phone vibrated violently in my pocket. It was the hospital. “Is this Bella? Your grandfather, Charles, has gone into acute heart failure. He needs an emergency bypass right now.” “We need a $100,000 deposit immediately, or we can’t proceed with the surgery!” I scrambled up from the ground. Grandpa Charles was my only family left in the world. Wiping the blood from my eyes, I stumbled to the street and hailed a cab. I ran to the hospital’s billing counter, pulling out the bank card that held all my hard-earned savings. The receptionist swiped it and handed it back. “Declined. Your account is frozen.” I gasped. “That’s impossible! There’s at least $20,000 in there!” I begged her to try again, but the people in the line behind me began to complain. Then, the click of high heels echoed down the hallway. Chloe and Howard strolled over. Howard was casually holding a black credit card between his fingers. “Bella, your account has been frozen by the Wilmot Group’s legal team due to investigation into illegal horse trading.” Howard’s voice was flat, as if he were just reading a weather report. I turned to him, desperate. “Howard, that’s my grandfather’s life-saving money!” “Give it back to me, or unfreeze my card. Please, I’m begging you.” I bowed my head, swallowing every ounce of pride. Chloe sneered. “Why should Howard give you a dime? But… I’m in a good mood today. I can pay the $100,000 for you.” Chloe pointed to the filthy, cold tile floor of the hospital lobby. “Kneel. Admit to everyone here that you abused Scout, and sign this contract waiving all your rights to ever see him again.” Howard stood by, silent and cold. “Chloe is offering to help you. It’s your last chance. Don’t be ungrateful.” I looked toward the ICU doors. Grandpa Charles was in there, fighting for his life. I closed my eyes. My knees hit the hard tiles with a dull thud. “I admit it. I abused Scout. I waive all my rights. Please… pay the bill.” I pressed my forehead to the floor. Chloe let out a delighted laugh. She whipped out her phone and snapped several pictures of me. “Good girl. Howard, go pay.” Howard walked toward the counter with his card. But before he could hand it to the receptionist, the doors of the operating room flew open. The surgeon walked out, drenched in sweat, pulling down his mask. “Are you Charles’s family? I’m so sorry. We couldn’t save him. The patient has passed away.” My mind went completely blank. “No… no, doctor! We’re paying right now! Please, try again!” I scrambled up and rushed toward him. A nurse rolled out a gurney covered in a white sheet, sighing softly. “A young woman snuck into his ward earlier and played a video of you being banned for life and accused of animal abuse. She told him you were going to prison.” “The patient’s condition was already critical. The shock caused his heart to stop instantly.” The nurse’s words echoed in my ears. I slowly turned my head to look at Chloe. She was playing with her phone, not a single trace of guilt on her face. “Oops. I just wanted to keep the old man updated on your life. Who knew he was so fragile?” A primal, agonized shriek escaped my throat. I lunged at Chloe. Howard immediately stepped in, grabbing Chloe by the waist and kicking me squarely in the chest. “Bella, have you lost your mind! He died because of his weak heart! What does this have to do with Chloe!” I collapsed onto the floor, staring at Grandpa Charles’s covered body, gasping for air. Just then, loud sirens wailed outside the hospital. A squad of armed police officers burst into the lobby, quickly surrounding Howard and Chloe. The lead detective flashed his badge, his voice booming. “Howard, Chloe! You are under arrest for suspicion of manslaughter. Come with us!”

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On the day of our graduation trip, my boyfriend and his childhood best friend left me behind at a highway gas station. They had been driving for half an hour before they even realized someone was missing from the car. When Ethan finally called, there was no panic in his voice—only sheer impatience. “Caroline, why aren’t you in the car?” “Stop playing around. We’re rushing to catch the sunset, and we can’t turn back now.” “Just Uber and catch up with us.” Through the receiver, Summer’s voice came in loud and clear in the background: “She’s not a kid, Ethan. You can’t baby her forever.” If this were the old me, my eyes would have welled up with tears as I apologized. I would have dragged my heavy suitcase and done everything in my power to chase after them. But this time, looking up at the vast blue sky over the gas station, the urge to run after them suddenly vanished. I canceled all the hotel reservations for the rest of the trip. Instead, I booked a ticket to a quiet coastal town—a place I had always wanted to visit, but they had always dismissed as “boring.” From that moment on. I was done following in anyone’s shadow.

This graduation road trip was originally supposed to be just between Ethan and me. Throughout our four years of college, I had tagged along with him to so many places. Snowy peaks, deep canyons, scorching deserts, endless highways. Every single trip was tailored to his tastes. Before graduation, I had pleaded with him just once. “Ethan, let’s go to the beach this time.” “Just a quiet, underrated coastal town. No tight schedules. We can sleep in, eat fresh seafood, and just feel the ocean breeze.” He had promised so easily back then. “Sure. We’ll do whatever you want for our graduation trip.” I was thrilled for weeks. I made three different versions of the itinerary. I booked a cozy Airbnb right next to the historic district, complete with a tiny balcony overlooking the harbor lights. I even secretly bought a white sundress, hoping to take graduation photos with him by the shore. But a week before our departure, Summer suddenly dropped a map of the Colorado Loop into our SnapChat group. [Graduation is all about chasing wild adventures! 🔥] [We can go to the beach anytime. But you don’t get perfect summer weather in the Colorado Rockies every year! ] Ethan replied almost instantly: [This route looks sick. Let’s do it.] I stared at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen for a long time. Finally, I typed: [But didn’t we agree on the beach?] Summer was quick to reply: [Come on, Caroline. You don’t want our graduation trip to feel like a retirement home vacation, do you? 👵] [We’re in our twenties. Live a little! Don’t be such a grandma.] The others in the group chat started chiming in with laughing emojis. Someone said Colorado would look amazing on Instagram. Someone said the beach was too basic. Someone else added that with Ethan and Summer’s photography skills, it would be a crime not to shoot a road-trip documentary. Ethan didn’t defend me. Instead, he sent me a private Snapchat: [Don’t be a party pooper.] [Summer has a point. I’ll take you to the beach next time, I promise.] Next time. He always had a million “next times.” But every “next time” promised to me eventually became someone else’s “right now.” My chest tightened as I stared at the screen. Still, I typed out a single word: [Okay.] So, I canceled all the coastal hotel bookings. I spent the next few days researching the Colorado route, renting the car, booking cabins, checking altitudes, monitoring weather forecasts, budgeting, and buying travel insurance. Summer sent a text to the group chat: [Honestly, Caroline is a lifesaver when it comes to planning. 👏👏] Looking at her message, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On the day of the trip, Ethan drove over to pick me up. Summer was already sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing oversized sunglasses, her long legs casually propped up near the dashboard, holding an iced Americano. Seeing me walk out with my luggage, she gave me a lazy nod. “Caroline, do you mind sitting in the back?” “I get super carsick, so the front seat is way better for me.” I got carsick too. And Ethan knew that. But before I could even speak, Ethan had already opened the back door for me. “Just hang in there, babe. Summer was editing videos until 3 AM last night. She’s exhausted.” “The back has more room anyway. You can take a nap.” Watching his natural, practiced care for her, my mind flashed back to our freshman year. On our first trip together, I had been throwing up from motion sickness. Ethan had immediately made me sit in the front, cramming himself into the back while constantly passing me water and tissues. Back then, he had smiled and said: “So what if my girlfriend is high-maintenance? I love spoiling her.” Now, he tossed my luggage into the trunk. He turned to Summer and said, “Seatbelt on, let’s hit the road.” I stood by the car door and let out a quiet, bitter smile. I guess being the favorite has an expiration date.

The entire drive was filled with their loud chatter. They talked about camera angles. They talked about drone flight paths. They argued over which stretch of the highway would be perfect for the sunset shoot. They decided that if they edited this trip into a vlog, they’d title it “Wild Hearts: Our Great Escape Before Graduation.” I sat in the back, an iPad resting on my knees. On the screen was the itinerary I had meticulously built. What time to leave, what time to arrive, where to refuel, where to eat, which zones had no cell service, and which cabins required us to call ahead to make sure the hot water was turned on. I tried to join the conversation a few times. “Hey, the cabin host for tonight said the mountain road is super narrow. We should really get there before sunset.” Nobody heard me. When we stopped at a highway diner for lunch, I forwarded Ethan a highly-rated spot I had researched. “This diner on the left has terrible reviews. A lot of people got food poisoning. Let’s go to the organic cafe next door.” Summer glanced at the diner’s neon sign. “But I want diner food.” “Bad reviews just mean it’s authentic. Those trendy aesthetic cafes are always overpriced trash.” Ethan chuckled. “Alright, whatever you want.” I frowned. “Ethan, your stomach has been acting up lately.” “Caroline,” he sighed, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Can you stop being so uptight?” “It’s just a quick lunch. It’s not that deep.” In the end, they ordered a table full of greasy, spicy loaded nachos and jalapeño poppers. Ethan ate happily. Thirty minutes later, he was leaning against the car, his face pale from stomach cramps. I reached into my bag, pulled out some Pepto-Bismol, and handed it to him with a bottle of water. Summer sat beside him, resting her chin on her hand, smirking. “Wow, Caroline. You really act like his mom.” Ethan froze mid-sip. Then, he laughed it off. “Yeah, she’s always been like this. She loves micromanaging me.” My hand froze in mid-air. It was genuine care. But out of their mouths, it sounded like a pathetic joke. We continued our drive in the afternoon. The weather took a turn for the worse, and thick fog began rolling over the mountain passes. I warned Ethan, “Slow down a bit. There are sharp turns ahead.” Summer, busy adjusting her camera settings, didn’t even look up. “Caroline, if you’re scared, just close your eyes and sleep.” “Don’t stress out the driver.” Ethan chuckled, echoing her, “Yeah, babe. Close your eyes.” I gripped my seatbelt and didn’t say another word. As the fog grew thicker, my motion sickness hit me hard. My stomach churned, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I rumbled through my bag for my motion sickness pills. Only then did I realize that during our morning packing, I had put the medicine bottle in the front glove compartment. I called out to Ethan. “Can we pull over at the next rest stop? I need to grab my medicine.” He gave a distracted “Mm-hm.” The music in the car was blasting. Summer was excitedly showing him the photos she had just snapped. “Look at this one! It has such an indie movie vibe.” “If we post this on YouTube, it’s going to blow up.” Ethan leaned in to look. “Damn, Summer. You’re a genius.” They laughed together. I leaned back against the headrest, closing my eyes as waves of nausea washed over me.

In that moment of misery, a flood of old memories rushed back. I remembered his sophomore year photography exhibition. To help Ethan set up, I had run back and forth to the print shop for three straight days, losing my voice from exhaustion. When the exhibition opened, Summer stood proudly by the gallery wall, explaining the artistic concepts to the professors. The professors praised their incredible chemistry. Ethan had smiled warmly and said, “Yeah, we make a great team.” I had stood in the far corner of the gallery, holding a stack of empty cardboard boxes. He didn’t look back at me once. I remembered the summer of our junior year when Ethan wanted to do a shoot in the wilderness of Montana. Worried about his asthma, I spent two weeks researching the terrain, buying first-aid kits, and renting heavy-duty gear. But on the morning of the trip, he casually told me the car was full and that I should just stay home. I stood under my dorm building with my packed suitcase for a long time. Later that day, I saw Summer’s Instagram post: [The best adventure partner. Always on the road. 🌲🚗] In the photo, she was in the passenger seat, and Ethan had one hand casually on the steering wheel. The golden hour sunlight hit his face perfectly. He looked so handsome. And so incredibly foreign. There was also that one time at a photography club party. Someone asked Ethan, “Where’s your girlfriend tonight?” Ethan had waved it off. “Oh, Caroline doesn’t really do parties. She’d just sit in the corner and feel awkward.” He said it so casually. I had been standing right outside the door, holding a hangover cure kit I had bought for him. I never went inside that night. I texted him lying that something had come up. He didn’t even ask what it was. None of these things seemed like a big deal on their own. But piled up in my heart, they felt like heavy, wet blankets. It didn’t cause sharp pain. It just slowly suffocated me. The car finally pulled into a rest stop. I pushed the door open and stepped out, my legs trembling. Ethan rolled down his window. “Hurry up, Caroline. We need to catch the sunset.” I nodded. “I’ll just grab my meds. I’ll be quick.” The rest stop was packed with tourists. The convenience store was all the way at the back of the building. I lined up to buy my medicine, then went to fill a paper cup with hot water. By the time I walked out, the sky had turned a dusky gray. Clutching the medicine and the warm cup, I walked back to the parking lot. The spot where our car had been parked was empty. I froze. Thinking I had misremembered the spot, I walked further down. Row after row of cars. But there was no sign of our white SUV. I stood there in the chilling wind, my hands turning cold. That was when my phone rang. Ethan’s voice came through the speaker: “Caroline, where are you?” My throat felt incredibly tight. “I’m at the rest stop. I went to get my medicine.” He sighed loudly. “Why didn’t you get back in the car?” I retorted, “I didn’t get in the car, and neither of you noticed?” Summer’s voice drifted in from his side. “Oh, I totally thought she was sleeping in the back.” “Ethan, we’ve already driven twenty miles. If we turn back now, we’re going to miss the sunset completely.” Ethan lowered his voice, sounding exasperated. “Caroline, don’t make a scene.” “We’re on the highway, and taking an exit to loop back is a huge pain.” “Can you just call an Uber or see if someone can hitch you to the next exit?” I stood alone in a strange rest stop, surrounded by crowds of unfamiliar faces. A massive semi-truck roared past, the gust of wind making my eyes sting. I asked him quietly, “Ethan, are you really not coming back to get me?” There was a brief silence on the other end. When he spoke again, he sounded even more annoyed. “Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion?” “It’s not like we did it on purpose.” “You’re a grown woman. Can’t you just figure it out and meet us there?”

Summer let out a dry laugh in the background. “See? You’ve spoiled her way too much.” “Every single time, she expects the whole world to revolve around her over some minor inconvenience.” A soft, empty laugh escaped my lips. So being abandoned at a highway rest stop was just a “minor inconvenience.” So the sunset they were rushing to see was far more important than my safety. I looked down at the hot water in my hand. The cup was hot enough to turn my palm red. But my chest felt like ice. I said, “Okay.” Ethan seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. Send me your location once you get an Uber.” “Don’t wander off.” “And hey, don’t start crying. It ruins the vibe of the trip.” I didn’t reply. I just hung up. The cold wind swept over me, and my tears finally spilled over. I wasn’t sobbing hysterically. They just silently streamed down my face. They dripped into the paper cup, making no sound at all. I remembered my mom asking me before I left: “Are you sure you want to go that far with them, Caroline?” “Every time you go trip with Ethan, you come back looking absolutely drained.” I had defended him back then: “It’s our graduation trip, Mom. It’s the last time.” Well, she was right. It really was the last time. I opened my travel app and booked a bus ticket to Fairhope, Alabama. The historic streets. The ocean I had been longing to see. The fresh seafood soup. And a boutique travel agency where I had secretly submitted my resume weeks ago. They had sent me an interview invite last week. I hadn’t replied because Ethan had said: “I don’t feel comfortable with you living in some random southern town alone.” “Just come back to New York with me. I’ll ask my dad’s friend to get you an operations gig.” I hadn’t rejected him then. Not because I wanted that job. But because I was so used to aligning my life with his. But now, I was done aligning. I opened my booking apps. I canceled all the cabin rentals, campsites, car bookings, and photography reservations for the next six days. I had planned it all, and my credit card was on the hook for the deposits. I had absolutely no obligation to fund a trip that no longer included me. Then, I opened Snapchat. I unpinned Ethan from the top of my chat list. I blocked and deleted Summer. Finally, I texted my mom: [Mom, I’m not going to Colorado anymore.] [I’m going to the coast.] My mom replied almost instantly: [Go for it, sweetie.] [This time, stop taking care of everyone else. Just take care of yourself.] Staring at her text, the tears came fresh again. The sky had gone completely dark. I dragged my suitcase toward the bus stop. Behind me, the highway lights stretched into a long, glowing thread. It looIt looked like the path I had spent four years desperately chasing. But this time, I wasn’t running anymore.

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My Son Ruined His SATs to Label Me a Killer During the two-and-a-half-hour SAT exam, my son wrote only one essay. The title was: “My Mother is a Cold-Blooded Killer.” It detailed, step-by-step, how I allegedly murdered my husband ten years ago and bricked his corpse up inside our bedroom wall. A few days later, the test graders read it and immediately called the cops. A dozen police cruisers surrounded our house, and officers smashed open the exact wall my son had described in his essay. But when they finally saw what was hidden inside… I smiled. And my son completely lost his mind. When the police surrounded my house, I was in the front yard watering the hydrangeas. These flowers were planted one by one by Tyler when he was just a little boy. He treasured them. If even one leaf withered, he would be too upset to eat. Suddenly, the front gate was kicked open. A crowd of police officers rushed in, trampling all over the lush green flowerbeds. Watching Tyler’s favorite flowers get crushed under heavy boots made my heart ache. But before I could say a word, Tyler rushed out of the house, his eyes wide and burning with excitement. “You’re finally here!” he cried. I stood there, totally confused. The lead officer stepped forward, flashing his badge right in front of my face. “I’m Detective Marcus. Ma’am, you’re a prime suspect in a homicide investigation. Please cooperate with us.” With that, he handed me a printed copy of the essay Tyler had written during his exam. It was only in that exact moment that I realized I had become the most notorious “killer mother” in the country. Tyler’s essay had caused an absolute media storm across the state. He was a straight-A student. In every single practice exam, he ranked first by a landslide. Everyone expected him to get a perfect score on the real SATs. But instead of answering a single multiple-choice question, he spent the entire two and a half hours writing this essay. The essay read: “Ten years ago, on a dark night, my mother, Grace, murdered my father, Richard. She bricked his body up inside their master bedroom partition wall overnight.” Once the grading board flagged it and called the cops, the story leaked online. Along with the news, the essay itself was leaked. Now, the entire internet was buzzing. Everyone was talking about the high school genius who threw away his future just to expose his own mother. And I was the last one to know. I stared at the printout for a long time. My hands shook violently. I recognized the handwriting. It was Tyler’s. But the words on the page felt like a fever dream. I looked up at him, my voice trembling. “Did you write this, Tyler?” Tyler stared back at me, his face devoid of any emotion. “Yes. I’ve been waiting ten years for this day.” A sharp pain stabbed through my chest. “So… for the last ten years, you studied your heart out just to ruin yourself today and stab me in the back?” Tyler’s gaze was icy. “Exactly. Only by becoming a top student would my essay get this kind of attention. Only then would the whole world know what a monster you are.” Looking at the boy I had raised for eighteen years, he felt like a complete stranger. Ten years ago, Tyler was in the third grade, and his grades were at rock bottom. He wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t sit still. His mind was always on the garden, the dirt, and the flowers. I hired tutors and signed him up for prep classes, but nothing worked. Until his father disappeared. Then, everything changed. He became quiet, almost mute. Whether he was eating or lying in bed, he always had a textbook in his hands. At first, I thought it was just a phase. But the test papers on his desk piled higher and higher. He did practice sheets from morning till night, all the way from third grade through senior year.

For ten long years, he never took a single day off. His grades crawled up from the bottom to the average, and then shot straight to the top. Throughout high school, he held the number one spot. In all his prep exams, he got near-perfect scores, leaving the second-place student miles behind. His teachers patted his back, telling him he was Ivy League bound. His classmates looked at him like he was some kind of miracle. I was so incredibly proud of him. I genuinely thought he had just grown up, matured, and decided to take charge of his life. But now I knew the truth. He had spent ten years sharpening himself into the sharpest blade possible. All so he could drive it into my heart today. The media and local TikTok influencers arrived right behind the police. Now, dozens of phone cameras and professional lenses were pointed directly at my face. Some were livestreaming; others were shouting questions. “Grace! What do you have to say about your son’s essay?” “We heard your husband vanished ten years ago and was never found. Did you really murder him?” “Your son gave up his entire future to expose you. How do you feel about that?” “Why did you kill him, Grace?” The questions were brutal and relentless. The livestreams were blowing up. The viewer count crossed a hundred thousand in minutes, and the comment section was filled with pure hate. It was as if the whole world had already convicted me. I looked straight into one of the camera lenses, my voice dead calm. “It’s just a creative writing piece my kid made up. You guys actually believe this nonsense without a shred of proof?” As soon as the words left my mouth, a sharp voice cut through the crowd. “Tyler is an honest boy! He has never lied in his life!” “I know he’s telling the truth!” It was Eleanor, my mother-in-law. Leaning heavily on her daughter, Chloe, Eleanor pushed her way through the crowd. Her eyes were red, filled with pure hatred as she glared at me and yelled to the reporters: “I am Grace’s mother-in-law!” “I haven’t seen my son, Richard, in ten years!” “Every time I called him, his phone was dead. He never replied to a single text.” “Back then, Grace told me he went abroad for a top-secret, high-paying job. She said he changed his number and was too busy to call.” “I always knew something was wrong. My son was a devoted boy. No matter how busy he was, he would always visit me, or at least call to check on my health.” “There is no way he would cut me off for ten years.” “So I believe Tyler! My son was murdered by this wicked woman!” Chloe chimed in, her face twisted in rage. “Exactly! I tried to visit my brother so many times, but Grace always blocked the door. She was hiding her crime!” Hearing this, Detective Marcus frowned deeply. He turned to my son, his tone serious. “Tyler, how do you know the exact details of the murder you wrote about in your essay?” Tyler looked at me, his eyes dark. “Because ten years ago, on that very night… I saw it with my own eyes.” The entire yard fell dead silent. Every camera lens shifted to Tyler, waiting for the gruesome details. Under the gaze of hundreds of thousands of live viewers, Tyler clenched his fists and spoke, his voice shaking: “It was the night of November 20th, ten years ago. I was asleep, but I woke up to my parents screaming at each other in their room.”

“The fight was vicious. My dad was screaming about a divorce, saying he was going to take me away and expose some dark secret.” “I felt like something was wrong, so I crept over to their bedroom door to peek through the crack. That’s when I saw my dad lying on the floor, covered in blood. My mom was just standing over him, staring down coldly.” “Later, I watched her carry bricks and cement into the room. She sealed his body inside the master bedroom partition wall.” “Since that night, she never let me set foot in her room again. And whenever anyone asked about my dad, she just said he went abroad.” Hearing this, Eleanor clutched her chest, sobbing hysterically. “My poor baby!” “I knew you wouldn’t just abandon your mother! You were murdered!” Chloe wiped her tears, pointing a finger at me. “Grace, you monster!” “My brother was so good to you! Why did you kill him?” Looking at their dramatic display of grief, I actually found it a bit funny. “Who says I killed him?” I asked quietly. “Anyone can write a fictional essay. Anyone can make up a story.” “Do you have actual proof?” Tyler’s eyes flared red. He turned to Detective Marcus. “Detective, my dad’s body is right inside that wall in her bedroom. If you smash it open, you’ll find the proof!” Marcus’s face hardened. He cast a long, calculating look at me. After a tense silence, he gestured to the officers behind him. “Get inside. Break the wall.” A few young officers immediately grabbed sledgehammers from their patrol cars and headed for the front door. I moved fast, blocking the doorway with my arms spread wide. “Detective Marcus, you have no warrant and no physical evidence. On what grounds are you destroying my property? This is illegal.” Marcus stared me down. “Ma’am, your son is an eyewitness.” “Furthermore, our preliminary check shows that Richard has had absolutely zero social footprint for ten years. No bank activity, no phone signals, no ID usage. Nothing.” “We have strong reason to believe he is deceased. Step aside.” I didn’t budge an inch. “A high school kid ruins his SATs to write a confession letter, and you think he’s mentally stable? You’re taking the word of an unstable teenager as gospel?” “Just because my husband hasn’t been active doesn’t mean he’s dead.” “Maybe he’s just hiding, or maybe he changed his identity to start a new life.” “You don’t even have a death certificate. What right do you have to smash my walls?” Marcus hesitated, his brow furrowed. Just then, our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, spoke up from the crowd. “Detective, I can back the boy up. What Tyler said is true.” Everyone turned to look at her. Mrs. Higgins said solemnly, “I’m a very light sleeper. Ten years ago, on that exact night, I heard them screaming. It was a massive fight.” “But midway through, the noise suddenly stopped. The very next day, Richard vanished into thin air. I never saw him again.” Other neighbors started nodding in agreement. “Yes! They fought so loud that night. And Richard never walked out of that house again!” “I actually asked Grace about it back then. She told me Richard had to leave for an overseas job in the middle of the night, and they fought because she didn’t want him to go. But she claimed he left anyway.”

“I remember that too! Grace sounded so convincing back then, so I didn’t think much of it. But looking back, it’s incredibly suspicious!” The neighbors’ testimonies spread like wildfire through the crowd. The livestream chat went completely wild: “The neighbors are confirming it! Grace is definitely a killer. No doubt about it.” “No kid would throw away his SATs unless he actually saw his dad get murdered.” “This is terrifying. I heard her husband was a really nice guy. How evil do you have to be to brick someone up in a wall?” “What are the cops waiting for? Go in and smash the wall!” At that moment, a young officer ran into the yard, panting, and handed a file folder to Detective Marcus. Marcus flipped through the documents, his face growing darker by the second. Finally, he looked up at me. “Grace, according to the city water records, on the night Richard went missing, your household water usage spiked by seven times its usual amount. What were you washing away in the middle of the night?” “Also, home association records show you renovated a partition wall in your bedroom that very same night, entirely by yourself, without hiring any contractors.” “Tell me, why would a woman pull an all-nighter to build a brick wall by herself? What were you hiding?” Marcus’s eyes locked onto mine, trying to read my expression. I remained completely calm. “Detective, the water spike was because a pipe burst. I spent half the night fixing it and washing the flooded floors.” “As for the wall, the plaster was cracked and damp. It looked ugly, so I put up some decorative brick veneer. Since when is home DIY a crime?” “I built a brick planter in the backyard last week too. Do you want to smash that open as well?” Marcus sneered. “Fixing pipes and bricking a wall all in one night without sleeping? Grace, do you take us for idiots?” He didn’t want to waste any more time. He waved his hand. “Move her out of the way. Get inside and break that wall!” Two officers grabbed my arms to drag me away while the others rushed into the house with sledgehammers. Seeing them reach the bedroom door, panic flared in my chest. I broke free from the officers with a burst of desperate strength. I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a paring knife from the counter, held it against my own throat, and screamed: “If anyone touches that wall, I’ll kill myself right here!” To prove I wasn’t bluffing, I pressed the blade in. The sharp steel broke the skin, and a warm trickle of blood slid down my neck. Marcus froze. He immediately raised his hand, signaling his men to stop. The house went dead silent. Everyone stared at me, terrified. The livestream chat exploded: “Oh my god! She’s threatening suicide to protect a wall? She’s insane!” “What on earth is in that wall that’s worth her life?” “The more she acts like this, the more it proves there’s a body in there!” The viewer count on the stream had bypassed half a million. Seeing the blood on my neck, Marcus grew visibly anxious. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, keeping his voice soft and steady. “Grace, please calm down. If you didn’t do anything, breaking the wall will prove your innocence.” “But doing this only makes you look incredibly guilty.”

I gripped the handle tighter. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.” “If you truly believe there’s a body in there, get a proper warrant.” “But smashing my house without a shred of real evidence? You’re acting like thugs, not law enforcement.” I pressed the knife a little deeper. Pain flared, and more blood dripped down my collar. I wasn’t fearless. I didn’t want to die. But some things in this world are far more terrifying than death. Even if it cost me my life today, I had to stop them. Marcus silenced himself. He knew I was right legally. Without a search warrant or solid forensic evidence, relying solely on a teenager’s essay and some vague neighbor gossip to destroy a citizen’s home was a massive legal liability. If I actually killed myself on a live broadcast, Marcus wouldn’t just lose his job—he could go to prison. For a long, agonizing fifteen seconds, the room remained at a complete standoff. But just as Marcus was about to back down, Tyler suddenly snatched a sledgehammer from an officer’s hand. He charged into the master bedroom like a madman, raising the heavy hammer high above his head. My pupils dilated, and I screamed at the top of my lungs: “Tyler! Don’t do it! You’ll regret this for the rest of your life!” Tyler turned his head, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “Regret?” “Mom, the only thing I regret is not stopping you ten years ago!” “I’ve waited ten years for this day.” “If I don’t break this wall and bring you to justice, that is what I’ll regret forever!” With a guttural scream, he swung the hammer with all his might against the brick wall! “CRASH!” With a single blow, the bricks fractured, and a cloud of white dust billowed into the air. The wall was open. But as the dust settled, everyone in the room froze in absolute shock… Plaster and debris rained down. The silence in the room was so thick you could hear a pin drop. Every single eye was glued to the dark cavity inside the shattered wall. But there was no body. No bones. No rotting clothes, no bloodstains, not even a speck of dark discoloration. It was completely empty. Just a hollow space between the studs, some old backing bricks, and a thin layer of grey dust. Nothing. Tyler stared, paralyzed. “No… that’s impossible.” “I saw it. I saw her seal my dad inside this wall.” “How is it empty?” He muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial. Then, like a man possessed, he raised the hammer again and began frantically smashing the rest of the wall. He swung again and again. Within minutes, the entire partition wall lay in a pile of rubble on the floor. But even with the wall completely demolished, there was absolutely nothing inside. The heavy hammer slipped from Tyler’s limp fingers and clattered onto the floorboards. He collapsed to his knees among the debris. He stared at the broken bricks, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with terror. The ten years of hatred and vengeance he had built his entire life around began to crumble into dust. “No way.” “This can’t be happening.” For ten years, he had relived that night in his nightmares. The blood on the floor, his father lying lifeless, my cold posture, and the overnight brick construction. He was absolutely certain his father was sealed inside this wall.

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I won a million dollars on a scratch-off ticket Ethan bought me. The moment I saw the winning numbers, I screamed, jumping up and down in pure ecstasy. “Ethan! We have the money to get married now!” He wouldn’t have to stress about our wedding budget, a down payment for a house, or car loans anymore. Our five-year relationship was finally going to end in a beautiful wedding. But he didn’t laugh. He just let out a faint, irritated sigh. “Are you really that desperate to marry me?” I froze. Then, a burst of roaring laughter erupted from his phone on the table. “Ethan, a bet’s a bet! She actually wants to use that money to marry you! You better put a ring on it, bro!” “Your wedding budget is only ten grand? That’s not even enough to buy Chloe a designer bag. She’s so cheap.” Chloe. The rich girl who bullied me throughout high school. I looked down at the scratch-off ticket crumpled in my fist. Then, I tossed it straight into the trash can. “Alright, cut it out, guys,” Ethan said into the phone. “Am I the type to go back on my word? Just get your wedding gifts ready for me.” After another round of teasing from the group, a voice that often haunted my nightmares came through the speaker. It was Chloe. “Ethan, are you insane?!” “We agreed you’d just play her to help me get even. Are you actually going to marry her?” Ethan wiped my tears with one hand while replying carelessly into his phone, “Yeah, why not? Who else would I marry? You, Chloe?” “Did you really think I was your lapdog, doing whatever you told me to do?” The call ended abruptly with a beep. She had hung up. Ethan stared at his phone for a long time before looking up at me with a smile. “Why were you crying just now? Were you just shocked that I actually have money?” Before I could answer, he asked, “Want some pasta? I’ll make it now.” He put on his apron and began boiling the pasta, acting as if that humiliating prank call had never happened. I took a deep breath, my chest aching terribly. I couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you tired?” “What?” “These past five years… aren’t you tired of acting?” Ethan went silent. The only sound in the apartment was the roar of the range hood. It was driving me crazy. I walked over, shut it off, and yanked Ethan’s arm, forcing him to look at me. “Aren’t you going to explain?” “I just did, didn’t I? What else do you want me to say?” He paused, then added, “Chloe is just a childhood friend. Don’t overthink it.” He was brushing it off, completely avoiding the bet they had made, and conveniently ignoring Chloe’s words about “getting even.” I tilted my head back, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. Five years. More than a thousand days and nights. I had given Ethan my whole heart. I truly believed he was the one I would spend the rest of my life with. I didn’t care that we were broke. We could work hard. I didn’t care that we didn’t have a house or a nice car. We could rent, and we could save. But now, I was being told that all of this—our entire relationship—was just a setup to help Chloe get revenge on me? A custom-made trap? I honestly didn’t get it. I was just an ordinary girl. Why did they go to such lengths to mess with me? How could Ethan play the role of the perfect, caring boyfriend for five whole years? When he used to tell me how guilty he felt for not being rich enough to give me a better life, did he want to laugh? When he massaged my cold feet or did my laundry, did he have to hold back his disgust? What an amazing actor. I really put him through a lot, didn’t I? “So, what date should we set for the wedding?” he asked casually, as if asking whether I wanted cheese on my pasta. I clenched my teeth, my voice dripping with bitterness. “We’re not getting married.” He scoffed. “Seriously? Because of a joke? Haven’t you been begging to marry me?” “Yeah, I lied to you, but doesn’t this have a happy ending?” “I can increase the wedding budget to over a hundred thousand dollars. House, car—whichever you want, just name it. What are you still throwing a tantrum about?” “This isn’t about the money…” Ethan stopped what he was doing. Suddenly, he slammed the pasta bowl against the wall. The shards shattered everywhere, scratching my bare leg. Marinara sauce splattered all over the floor. “When we had no money, you wanted security. Now that we have money, you want to talk about something else!” “Ava, are you out of your mind?!” Blood trickled down my leg, and my hands felt numb. Ethan instinctively reached out to grab me, but I pushed him away. “Yes! I am out of my mind!” My voice was barely a whisper. I pulled up my sleeves, revealing the old and new scars lining my forearms. “I have severe depression and PTSD. Are you happy now?” Tears poured down my face. I bit my lip so hard it bled, staring straight into his eyes. “Ethan, I’m asking you—are you happy now?!” “Why the hell would I marry you?!” “Why would I marry the man who helped my bully torment me?!” Ethan’s lips trembled, and a flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. For a split second, I actually thought it was pity. Then, his phone rang. He answered it. A frantic voice yelled from the other end, “Ethan! Chloe’s wasted! She’s screaming your name, saying she needs to see you!” “What does that have to do with me?” Ethan said, pulling out a first-aid kit to clean my cut. “She said… if you don’t show up tonight, she’s going to sleep with some random guy at the bar…” The bottle of antiseptic knocked over, spilling brown liquid all over the floor. Ethan clenched his fists. He gave me a conflicted look, then made his decision. “Clean yourself up. I’ll be right back.” I didn’t say a word. I just stood by the window in silence. I watched him sprint out of the building. He even kicked over my Vespa parked by the entrance because it was in his way. He had bought me that Vespa during our second year of dating. It couldn’t shield me from the rain, but it meant I didn’t have to squeeze onto the subway anymore. The day I got it, I was so happy that I took him on rides around the neighborhood for hours. My definition of love, my definition of happiness… Just like that Vespa, it was now lying knocked over on the pavement, its side mirrors shattered to pieces.

The blood kept dripping. I wrapped my leg up with gauze, feeling completely numb. The bright red blood mixed with my tears. It was sickening. I stared at the bandage. My mind kept drifting back to Chloe’s words: “play her.” Then, I remembered the nights I would wake up sobbing from nightmares, cutting myself because I couldn’t handle the pain, and how Ethan would always hold me and scream— “Ava! If you die, you get to escape! But what about me?!” “What about the people who love you?!” He had held me so tight. He sounded so incredibly sincere. His warm tears had soaked my shoulder, melting the ice around my heart. So, I had opened up to him. I sobbed and told him all my trauma. I told him how Chloe and her friends had spread disgusting rumors about me, accused me of stealing money, and how they had poured ice-cold water over my head in the middle of winter, leaving me with chronic health issues… It had forced me to take a year off from school and spend six months in a hospital. I had broken down countless times because of “Chloe,” yet I kept enduring it. And Ethan had comforted me every single time, holding me from dusk till dawn, whispering, “Don’t worry, I’m here.” Was he really comforting me? Or was he sharing my misery with Chloe as their proud trophy? I didn’t dare to think about it anymore. My laptop screen lit up. The Snapchat icon kept flashing. Ethan had forgotten to log out. With trembling hands, I clicked on it. I saw a group chat where Chloe was the admin. I scrolled all the way to the top and read every single message, word by word. I saw how Ethan’s relentless pursuit of me in college wasn’t because of love at first sight. It was because Chloe had said: [She’s going to the same college as you? She doesn’t deserve to be there.] [Ethan, I hate her so much. Can you pretend to date her, ruin her, and then dump her?] And Ethan had replied casually: [You won’t be my girlfriend, but you’re pushing me to someone else?] [You’re cruel.] I saw how every time I let my guard down around Ethan, the group chat would celebrate, begging him to “take her virginity.” I saw Ethan posting the video of him gifting me the Vespa, and everyone laughing at it: [So cheap. And she actually treats that piece of trash like a treasure.] I saw them calling the watch I bought him—using six months of my savings—cheap garbage… Every single cruel, toxic message pierced through my brain. My tears splattered onto the keyboard. I wiped them away with my sleeve and kept reading. Later on, Ethan’s messages in the group became less frequent. Until recently, when they couldn’t wait to see me break, planning the final blow. I sank back into my chair, my heart pounding violently. The air in the room felt frozen. I could hear my own shallow breathing and the loud noise coming from a video sent in the group chat. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” “Ethan, Chloe is being so obvious. Aren’t you going to show her some love?” I stared blankly at the video. I watched Ethan pick up a drunken Chloe and carry her into a private bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The cheers and wolf whistles in the video almost blew out my speakers. My fingers slowly moved to the keyboard. I typed and hit send: [You disgusting, sick bastards. Why don’t you all just go to hell?] The next second, the account was force-logged out. My stomach churned. I ran to the toilet and threw up until my throat burned. It turned out the storm of my youth had never ended. Ethan had just temporarily held an umbrella over me, making me believe the sun was shining. My phone rang. I picked it up. “You saw it?” Ethan’s voice sounded panicked. “Yeah.” “Wait till I get back. I’ll explain. I…” “No need.” I sat on the cold bathroom floor, looking around the cozy apartment we had decorated together. “You don’t need to explain, and you don’t need to come back.” “Ethan, I don’t want to play your game anymore. Just let me go.” “I can’t fight you guys, but at least I can run away.”

My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Annoyed, I turned it off completely. I packed my bags and found the deed to the apartment. I put it back where it belonged. I used to wonder how Ethan had found such a cheap place so close to my office. It never occurred to me that he was the actual landlord. The bright moon hung outside, shining on my lonely figure. The rolling sound of my suitcase was incredibly loud in the silent night. But even louder was the screech of car tires stopping right in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?” Ethan ran up to me, gasping for breath, grabbing my wrist tightly. “You’re a grown woman and you’re running away? How childish can you get?” “Come on. We’re going home.” I turned my head away, trying not to look at the hickey on his neck. I pulled my wrist back with all my might. “There is no ‘home’ between us.” Ethan stared at me. I tried to walk past him, but he snatched my arm again. “Be rational, okay?!” “Whatever happened between you and Chloe was years ago! How long are you going to keep bringing it up?” “You need to move on. I’ve been good to you for five years, and you know it. If you leave me, where else are you going to find a guy like me?” *How long am I going to keep bringing it up?* Because it still hurts. And he was casually reducing the trauma that gave me sleepless nights to a mere “old grudge.” I looked closely at him. This face that used to bring me so much joy… why did it look so foreign now? I guess I never truly knew him. My head was pounding. I didn’t want to argue anymore. “The keys are under the doormat. I didn’t take anything you bought me, except the clothes I’m wearing. But they’re ripped now.” “Tell me how much they cost. I’ll pay you back.” “You can’t afford it,” Ethan sneered, as if hearing a joke. “Do you really think I buy you cheap mall clothes? This was custom-made, Ava. What are you going to pay me with?” “With your tiny paycheck? Or your sad little pride?” “If you’ve got the guts, then take them off right—” He cut himself off. Because I had already started unbuttoning my shirt. One, two… “Fuck!” He threw his jacket over me, growling, “Ava, you’re literally insane!” He shoved me into his car. The car sped through the night, driving towards Ethan’s real home— A massive luxury mansion I had only ever seen on TV. “You’re sleeping here tonight,” he said, leading me into a bedroom. The closet was filled with clothes in my size. The bathroom had my favorite brands of toiletries. Even the giant plush strawberry bear I had wanted but couldn’t afford was sitting on the bed. What was this? A poisoned apple wrapped in gold? Or a temporary sweet treat before the next cruel prank? My stomach turned again. I dry-heaved, my hair sticking to my tear-stained face. Ethan frowned, looking at me with sudden uncertainty. “Ava, are you…” Are you what? I saw a flash of hope on his face, but it was immediately crushed by the loud clicking of high heels. Chloe stormed in, glared at me with pure hatred, and raised her hand to slap me. Fear shot through my chest. I instinctively flinched and closed my eyes. But the pain never came. Ethan had caught her wrist. “What is your problem?!” Chloe screamed. “I told you to play her, not marry her!” “Ethan, did you actually fall for this bitch?!” “She’s been a manipulative slut since we were kids! Don’t let her trick you!” Ethan didn’t say if he loved me or not. He just paused for a few seconds before saying coldly, “The moment you pushed me to someone else, you lost the right to question me.” I sat on the floor, watching them fight. My head felt heavier and heavier, and my skin felt burning hot. Through the haze, I heard Chloe yell, “This is my room! Why did you give it to her?! You’re just trying to make me jealous!” I couldn’t hear the rest of their argument. I just smiled faintly. I smiled at how pathetic I was. I had actually thought Ethan had a shred of genuine feeling for me. But he was just a liar through and through.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Ethan was sitting beside me, dark circles under his eyes, but a huge smile plastered on his face. “You’re pregnant.” He gently touched my stomach and opened his phone calendar. “I looked up some wedding dates. Which one do you like?” “We can have a beautiful outdoor wedding. I’ll get a custom wedding gown for you. Take a look at these designs.” “And after the wedding, we’ll go on our honeymoon. Didn’t you always want to go to…” He kept talking, planning out our future. I didn’t say anything. I just stared at my phone. My HR manager had messaged me. I was fired. It came from the higher-ups. I didn’t even need to ask. It was either Ethan or Chloe’s doing. Five years. I had worked my ass off at that company for five years. And they ruined my career with a single sentence. A trending notification popped up on my phone. It was about Chloe. I clicked on it. It turned out she was an influencer with millions of followers. Her page was filled with her glamorous life as a rich girl, with tons of people kissing her feet. Why did she get to live such a perfect life? Did she deserve it? The trending video was of her crying about her “doomed love story.” She claimed she and Ethan were childhood sweethearts. She said Ethan rented out venues for her birthday fireworks every year. He had gifted her countless luxury items and jewelry. And I was the “homewrecker” who ruined it all. With a few tears, she painted me as a manipulative gold-digger. Her followers were already doxxing me in the comments. My hands shook. I glanced at Ethan, who was busy talking to a wedding planner on the phone. I slowly began to type, attaching screenshots of our chat logs, and hit post. I watched the likes on my comment shoot up. Some people questioned my mental illness, while others brought up Chloe’s bullying history. Soon, the comment section became a warzone. But within minutes, my post was gone. Chloe had deleted it. Ethan walked back into the room after finishing his call, his brow furrowed. “Ava, you’re being too impulsive.” “Chloe is an influencer. It’s normal for her to exaggerate things online. I won’t let her hurt you anyway.” “We’re all in the same social circle. Don’t make things so ugly.” After a pause, he added, “Go apologize to Chloe. Let’s just put all these years of drama behind us.” I let out a soft laugh, looking at him with hollow eyes. My heart was too dead to feel any anger. I obediently let him lead me to a private room at a high-end restaurant. Ethan pressed a glass of juice into my hand. Across the table sat Chloe, looking perfect and arrogant. She tilted her head. “Apologize. Just like you did in high school. On your knees…” The room was filled with their wealthy friends, all wearing mocking grins. Just like back then. I walked over to her, step by step, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m sorry you’re such a miserable piece of trash—” And then, I threw the juice right in her face. She shrieked in horror as her expensive makeup ran down her neck. I grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and poured it over her head. As the dark liquid soaked her hair, I yelled, “I’m sorry that I was prettier than you! I’m sorry my grades were better than yours!” “I’m sorry the class president liked me instead of you! I’m sorry you had to bully me to feel important!” Someone tried to grab me, but I slammed the wine bottle against the table, shattering it. I pointed the jagged glass at them. “Come near me and I’ll stab you! We can all die tonight!” Chloe was sobbing on the floor. I grabbed her hair, pulled her up, and slapped her face hard, over and over again. “Go to hell! You’re nothing but a spoiled, pathetic dog!”

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A gorgeous new transfer girl arrived at our high school, boldly bragging to everyone that she’d get my childhood sweetheart, Ethan, into her bed within three months. Ethan merely gave her a freezing glare and called her delusional. Then, he grabbed my hand tightly, pulling me close as he whined like a spoiled puppy. “Everyone knows I’ve been yours since we were in diapers, Daisy.” The transfer girl chased him relentlessly all the way until winter break, but Ethan never gave her the time of day. Until the party right before the spring semester started. Ethan got completely wasted, and I had to drive him home. He mumbled my name the entire ride. My heart fluttered. Looking at his handsome, sleeping face, I decided to steal a quick kiss. This was going to be my first kiss. But the second my lips brushed his, his hand shot out, locking around my waist. His voice was incredibly husky. “Babe, why so shy this time?” “No tongue?” I froze instantly. Ethan’s kiss was deep and intense. His movements weren’t clumsy at all. In fact, he kissed like an absolute pro. He said this time. Who was the last time? Before I could even ask, he let me go. Ethan was too drunk to keep his eyes open. He let out a low groan, his brow furrowing slightly. “Silly girl… still haven’t learned how to breathe?” “Did I teach you all those times for nothing?” I took a sharp breath, placing my hand against his cheek to push him back. My fingertips were trembling violently, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Ethan. Look at me. Who am I?” Ethan went quiet, squinting his eyes to look at me. I never expected those few seconds of waiting to be so torturous. An answer was already screaming in my head. But I wanted to hear it from his own mouth. Ethan slapped his own cheeks, then pinched mine, mumbling drunkenly, “Babe… why are you still in my dreams?” “Daisy… you’re so much better in my dreams. You actually let me kiss you whenever I want.” My eyelashes fluttered. Hearing my name, the icy dread in my chest melted away instantly. So, he thought he was dreaming. Ethan cupped my face, his warm, wet lips pressing against mine again. “Babe, breathe. Don’t choke up and blush like you did last time.” He coaxed me gently between kisses, whispering all the pet names he had always used for me. After he finished kissing me, he collapsed back onto the bed, burying his face under the duvet as if he were suddenly shy. “Damn, it felt so real this time.” I sat by his bedside, my lips pressed into a thin line. After a few seconds, I stood up. Whatever. Ethan was an idiot, but he had chased me his entire life. If there was something going on, he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from me anyway. My parents weren’t home today. I pulled out my phone to order some takeout on DoorDash, but the screen flickered and died. Out of battery. Too lazy to grab my charger, I reached for Ethan’s phone instead. His lock screen was still my latest selfie. Ethan always claimed he got bored of things easily. So, he insisted on receiving at least three new, different photos of me every week. Otherwise, he’d throw a tantrum and ignore me. He was incredibly high-maintenance. I used to tease him about it, saying if he got bored so easily, why had he only loved me for so many years? He would just shrug and smile. “Well, I just love loving you.” But when I pressed my thumb against the home button, it read: Fingerprint Try Again. Out of the five registered fingerprints on his phone, one was his, and the other four had always been mine. I tried every single one of my fingers. All failed. Did he delete them by accident? No, Ethan wouldn’t do that. I tried entering his passcode—my birthday. He had used this passcode for years. He would never change it. Incorrect Passcode. Just then, his screen lit up with a notification from Snapchat. It was a photo. Sent by Chloe. The transfer girl who had been chasing him for months.

My grip on the phone tightened. I wondered, when did they even add each other on Snapchat? Didn’t Ethan hate her guts? Honestly, Ethan had always had plenty of admirers. But he was naturally arrogant, sharp-tongued, and his blatant favoritism toward me made most girls give up eventually. Chloe was the only one who had persisted this long. She was also the only one who could genuinely piss Ethan off. Once, after school, Chloe cornered me in the hallway. She looked at me coldly and said: “Daisy, you and Ethan aren’t officially dating, right?” “May the best woman win, then.” She was dripping with hostility. Before I could even open my mouth, Ethan grabbed my backpack, slinging it over his shoulder with practiced ease. He handed me a warm cup of coffee, then wrapped my scarf and beanie securely around me. Usually, Ethan was quite playful, but that evening, the air around him was freezing. He took my hand, his tall frame shielding me completely from Chloe. He said coldly: “She doesn’t need to compete with you. Because I’m the one begging for her attention.” “We aren’t dating yet, but she is my future wife.” On the walk home that night, Ethan didn’t say a word. I couldn’t help but poke his cheek. “What’s… wrong with you?” Ethan’s eyes were slightly red. He pinched my cheek in frustration. “Aren’t you even a little jealous?” “Another girl literally threatened you, and you had zero reaction? Do you even like me at all?” Oh. So that was why. I shook my head. “No. Because I know I’m the only one in your heart.” Ethan’s lips curved up, clearly pleased by my answer. He squeezed my hand tighter. “I can’t wait for us to graduate, Daisy. I want to make you my official girlfriend so bad.” I lowered my gaze, remembering what Ethan’s mother, Mrs. Carter, had told me in secret. “Daisy, Ethan has loved you since you were kids. I don’t object to you two being together, but can you promise me one thing? Don’t officially date him until after graduation.” I squeezed Ethan’s hand back, thinking: Ethan, just wait for me a little longer. We only have one semester left. I put Ethan’s phone down and went downstairs to my bedroom. The room I had lived in for over ten years. When I was three, my parents got a divorce. My mother, Sarah, took me with her and started working as a live-in housekeeper for Ethan’s family. Since Ethan and I were the same age, we basically grew up together. As a kid, Ethan always had this aloof, “do not cross” vibe. I was pretty terrified of him, but I’d still politely call him “Ethan.” He never acknowledged the nickname, but he would always drag me along whenever he played with his friends. I guess I was a cute kid, because one day, one of his friends asked Ethan if he could “have” me as his girlfriend. Normally indifferent, Ethan snapped. He tackled the boy to the ground and snarled, “Fuck off.” That was the first time I saw him angry, and the first time I heard him swear. On the walk back, I timidly trailed behind him, calling his name. His anger hadn’t faded. He turned around and yelled at me for the first time in his life: “Stop calling me like we’re just friends!” I was so scared that I avoided him for days, until he finally cornered me. His voice had softened, and his usual nickname for me was born. “Daisy, are you stupid?” “Friends don’t get married. I want to be your husband.” I had stood there, frozen, my heart pounding wildly. I had thought he tolerated me, maybe even disliked me. I never imagined he loved me. After that confession, Ethan became completely shameless about showing his affection. His love was loud, proud, and passionate. To the point where everyone in our circle knew: Ethan Carter would only ever marry one person. Daisy. But tonight, I couldn’t stop the doubts from creeping in. His natural, practiced kissing skills. The way he called me “babe.” And that Snapchat photo from Chloe that I couldn’t unlock.

The next morning was the first day of the new semester. My mom had taken a month off to visit family, and Ethan’s parents were away on a business trip. Only Ethan and I were left in the house. I had been tossing and turning all night, so I overslept. The moment I rushed out of my room, I bumped straight into Ethan’s chest. A faint scent of sweet citrus washed over me. I sniffed, asking subconsciously: “Did you change your body wash? It smells different.” He had always insisted on using the exact same body wash as me. He hadn’t changed it in years. Even when we went out yesterday, he still smelled like my lavender body wash. Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He gave a quiet, dismissive grunt. He clearly didn’t want to explain. “I made breakfast. Let’s get to school first.” I took the breakfast bag from him, biting my lip. “My mom told me to take care of you…” Ethan grabbed my wrist, letting out a soft laugh. “You? Taking care of me? You literally threw me onto the bed last night and ran away.” I seized the opportunity. “I was going to order food, but my phone died. And you changed your passcode.” Ethan paused for a split second, then explained smoothly, “Some guys at school guessed my passcode was your birthday. It wasn’t safe.” “You know my phone is packed with your photos. I’d go crazy if anyone saw them.” “Oh,” I murmured. He continued, “I changed it to the date I first confessed to you.” I nodded, but a nagging thought lingered. Even so, did he really have to delete my fingerprints? Before I could ask, Ethan tossed his phone into my lap and leaned his head against the car window, closing his eyes. “See for yourself. It’s rare for you to actually check up on me.” “At least it means you finally care a little.” I never used to do things like this, but today, I was consumed by anxiety. I unlocked his phone and opened Snapchat. Chloe’s contact name was gone. I tossed the phone back onto his lap. “I saw Chloe send you a photo yesterday. Now she’s not even on your friend list.” Ethan replied casually, “Oh, yeah. She sent some nude photo. I blocked and deleted her immediately.” …A nude? My throat felt tight. I wanted to ask him why he had even added her in the first place. Didn’t he despise her? But I felt like I had no right to ask. Who was I to him? Everyone else thought I was being dramatic, playing hard to get when Ethan was practically worshiping the ground I walked on. But Ethan’s mother had taken my mom and me in when we had nothing. We owed her everything. Since she asked me to wait until graduation, I was going to keep my promise. Besides, it was only a few more months. We would be together soon anyway. “Daisy, when I accepted her request, I didn’t know it was her account,” Ethan said, showing me his lock screen. His eyes were warm and sincere. “It just disgusted me. She doesn’t have a fraction of my Daisy’s cuteness.” Once we reached the classroom, Ethan sat next to me as usual. He smoothly unpacked my favorite snacks, new stationery, and various little things I might need from his backpack. He had always taken care of me with this level of meticulous detail. Chloe was the last to enter the classroom. Despite the freezing winter weather, she wore a tight, cropped top, a thin jacket, and a tiny miniskirt. Chewing gum loudly, she tossed her backpack onto the desk right across the aisle from Ethan. Ethan’s pen paused. He glanced at me. “Daisy, let’s swap seats.” Chloe raised her chin and scoffed, sliding into her seat. I moved to Ethan’s original seat. The moment I sat down, a strong scent of sweet citrus hit my nose. It was the exact same scent as Ethan’s new body wash. Only, on her, it was much stronger.

During the first period of study hall, I forced myself to focus on my math problems, telling myself not to overthink. Suddenly, a folded note landed on my desk. It was from Chloe. I hesitated, then opened it. He smells like me, doesn’t he? My heart sank. I crumpled the note into a ball and threw it angrily at Ethan. Ethan, who was busy compiling my practice mistakes, looked up in surprise. He slowly unfolded the paper. The moment his eyes scanned the words, his knuckles turned white. Muttering a curse, Ethan grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the classroom. The teacher yelled after us, but Ethan ignored him, leaving our names to be written on the board. At the end of the hallway, I yanked my hand away. “What is your problem?” “What lies did she tell you now?” Ethan hissed. I bit my lip. “She didn’t lie. You two smell exactly the same.” Ethan let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t listen to her BS, Daisy. I ran into her at the grocery store two days ago when I went to buy your snacks.” “She probably saw me buying that body wash. She bought the same one just to mess with you.” It felt like too much of a coincidence, but I chose to believe him. Ethan wouldn’t lie to me. “Fine. I didn’t say anything. Let’s go back.” Ethan reached for my hand, but I instinctively flinched away. I was distracted for the rest of the day, making silly mistakes on simple calculus questions. On the ride home, Ethan didn’t hold my hand or speak to me for the first time. Usually, the walk from the classroom to the parking lot was his prime time to whine and cling to me. I actually loved listening to his endless chatter. It was such a contrast to his cold, arrogant persona in public. It was cute. But today, he just kept staring at his phone. With his long legs and wide strides, he completely forgot to slow down for me, leaving me trailing far behind. I clutched my backpack straps and jogged to keep up. That night, Ethan brought a mug of warm milk to my room. He leaned against the doorframe, watching me drink it. Then, tossing his messy hair back, he smiled softly. “Can I have a hug?” I nodded. Since we had already kissed last night, a simple hug didn’t seem like too much. I walked over and stepped into his arms. But the scent that filled my nose wasn’t the citrus from earlier. It was my lavender body wash. Hadn’t he changed his body wash? Suddenly, Ethan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen. Immediately, he let go of me and walked out without looking back. “Sleep well, babe.” I stood frozen in the middle of the room. The mixed scent of lavender and citrus hung heavy in the air, suffocating me. Right before bed, I received a Snapchat friend request. The profile picture was Chloe. [Remember what I said three months ago? I did it.] [I tested him out for you first. Ethan is an absolute beast in bed.]

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After Ethan’s climbing accident, I lost thirty pounds in a single month. I uploaded decades of our chat logs into an AI simulator, desperately hoping to create a digital version of him to keep me company for the rest of my life. But after thirty seconds of deep processing, the AI gave me a cold, calculated reply: The user’s husband has never loved her. Later, they found Ethan’s body. When the avalanche struck, he had used his own body to shield Chloe Miller, protecting her until his very last breath. When they died, there was no fear on their faces—only a peaceful, quiet acceptance. After burying my husband and my best friend, my body finally gave out. I collapsed in the cemetery, coughing up blood, and died right there on the cold grass. But when I opened my eyes again, I was standing right outside the SAT test center. In front of the gates, Ethan and Chloe were sweating profusely. Ethan’s grandmother had just suffered heatstroke on the sidewalk. I took one cold look at them, turned around, and walked away. This time, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. I just wanted to live for myself.

I walked briskly through the crowd, keeping my head down. Just as I was about to step through the school gates, a panicked female voice called out from behind me. “Hazel! Get over here and help! Ethan’s grandma just collapsed from the heat!” My footsteps paused, but I didn’t turn around. The cold wind of the cemetery still seemed to howl in my ears, and the metallic taste of blood still lingered in my mouth. Suddenly, a warm, firm hand grabbed my wrist. “Hazel, please. You’re the only one who can help me.” Eighteen-year-old Ethan stood before me, wearing a faded school hoodie. His eyes were as clear as mountain lakes—the kind of eyes that made you drown in them with just one look. But I wasn’t that gullible eighteen-year-old girl anymore. In my past life, I was so terrified that Ethan’s SATs would be ruined. So, I volunteered to take his grandmother to the ER myself. By the time I rushed back to the test center, I was thirteen minutes late. The doors were locked, and I missed the entire English section. Ultimately, my SAT scores were a disaster, and I ended up at a local community college. Meanwhile, he and Chloe got into top Ivy League universities together. When Ethan proposed to me years later, he said that without the eighteen-year-old me, he would never have become the successful man he was today. Back then, his expression was incredibly complex. Only later did I realize that his look wasn’t just gratitude—it was the suffocating weight of obligation. I shook my head and gently pulled my hand back. “I can’t help you, Ethan.” “If I take her to the hospital, I’ll miss the gate-closing time.” Ethan’s face went pale with disbelief. “That’s exactly why we’re asking you to go!” Chloe chimed in from the side, her voice sharp. “Ethan is at the top of our class. He has a real shot at Harvard! You can’t let his entire future be ruined because of this!” The more Chloe spoke, the more self-righteous she became. I took a deep breath. “I know. That’s why I’m not going.” “Hazel!” Chloe’s voice jumped an octave. “You’re practically a straight-C student who’s probably going to end up at some community college anyway. How can you compare your future to Ethan’s?” I froze, looking directly into Chloe’s eyes. With my actual academic level, if I performed normally, I could easily get into a top-tier UC school. Yet here she was, already labeling me a community college failure. “Ethan is your boyfriend! How can you be so incredibly selfish?” Chloe hissed. Ethan pulled her back, letting out a soft sigh. “Don’t say that, Chloe. This is my responsibility. It’s totally fine if she doesn’t want to help.” “But it’s so unfair to your SATs!” Chloe’s eyes welled with frustrated tears. I looked at Chloe calmly. “If you’re so worried about him, you can take his grandma to the hospital yourself.” Chloe choked on her words, completely speechless. “Alright, Chloe, don’t worry about it,” Ethan said, his tone softening as he patted Chloe’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’ll run his grandma to the clinic down the street and sprint back. Just focus on your test and don’t worry about me.” Chloe suddenly stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck. “You have to run as fast as you can, okay?!” Ethan’s hands hovered in the air for a few seconds. Those hands. I knew them so well. They had tied my shoelaces, held umbrellas over my head in the rain, and slipped a promise ring onto my finger. Slowly, those hands came down and gently patted Chloe’s back. “I will. Now go in and do your best.” Ethan turned his head to look at me. But I had already averted my gaze, walking straight into the exam hall without looking back.

When the proctor started reading the exam rules, my mind was still a bit hazy. But I forced myself to calm down quickly. It didn’t matter who Ethan truly loved anymore. What mattered was that I had successfully bought myself those precious thirteen minutes. It was only after the exam ended that I saw Ethan again, waiting near the gates. Chloe walked up behind him, tapped his shoulder, and as he turned around, she leaned in and kissed him right on the lips. Ethan froze for a second, but he didn’t pull away. Only after a few moments did he seem to regain his senses, whispering, “What if Hazel sees us?” Chloe pouted. “So what if she does? Were you planning on hiding us from her forever?” The passing students all turned to look, whispering. Once they recognized the top two students on the school leaderboard, their gossiping turned into supportive smiles. I walked right past them just as they were reluctantly letting go of each other’s hands. “How’s your grandma?” I asked. Ethan withdrew his hand from Chloe’s, his voice turning cold. “She’s in the hospital. Out of danger.” “That’s good.” I turned to leave, but Ethan quickly grabbed my arm. “Let me drive you home.” I pulled my wrist back. “No need. You should take Chloe home.” Ethan’s eyes darkened. In my past life, our three-way friendship had lasted for over fifty years. Like Ethan, my parents worked out of state, and I grew up with my grandparents. When I got my first period at eleven, I was terrified and locked myself in the bathroom. It was Chloe who knocked on my door with a box of pads, smiling and telling me, “Don’t worry, sweetie. It just means you’re growing up.” And it was Ethan who rode his bike to school with me every day, telling me, “Whenever your stomach hurts, my passenger seat is always reserved for you.” Later, they went to the same elite university, started a tech company together, and made it onto the under-30 Forbes list. And I was just the supportive wife, the loyal best friend, the one clapping for their grand achievements from the shadow of the stage. It was only after they died together in that Everest avalanche that I found out the truth. In our fifty years together, the chat log backup between Ethan and me was barely a hundred megabytes. But his archive with Chloe was over ten gigabytes. His will, locked securely in a safe deposit box, stated he wanted to be buried in the same plot as Chloe. All he left for me was a single, pathetic note: I’m sorry. But what use was a cheap apology for a lifetime of wasted devotion? The morning after the SATs, I put on my backpack and headed out. My grandmother poked her head out from the kitchen. “Are you starting your part-time job today, sweetie?” I paused for a few seconds, then shook my head. “No, Grandma. I’m going to the library.” Grandma let out a relieved smile. “I don’t mind you working, Hazel. I just don’t want you to exhaust yourself.” “I know, Grandma.” Ethan’s family was broke, and with his grandma hospitalized, he could barely afford his daily meals. In my past life, to help him cover his living expenses, I started working three part-time jobs the very next day after the SATs. For two solid months of summer, I worked non-stop without a single day off. Every night when I finished my shift, he and Chloe would walk over from the library to meet me. They were already studying college-level advanced calculus and would debate math formulas all the way home. I would drag my exhausted feet behind them, yawning constantly, unable to join their high-brow conversations. This time, as I sat down in the library with my laptop, I ran straight into Ethan and Chloe. Chloe gasped in surprise when she saw me. “Hazel? Why aren’t you working at the boba shop?” She glanced at the thick programming and web design books piled on my table. “Does your community college really require such heavy reading? I thought you guys just cruised through easy classes to get a degree.” “Honestly, instead of wasting your time on books you won’t understand, you should focus on keeping Ethan happy.” “He’s such an amazing catch. If you don’t lock him down, there’s a line of girls waiting to take your place.” I took a moment to digest her thinly veiled insults, then offered a faint smile. “Ethan is indeed very talented. You should hold onto him tightly then.” Ethan remained silent for a long time before asking, “Since when did we become so distant, Hazel?” I smiled but said nothing. Since when?

Probably since the moment I heard of his death, when I couldn’t eat or sleep, and my hair fell out in clumps. Or maybe when I imported his chat logs and tearfully typed to the AI, Ethan, I miss you so much. And the AI, after analyzing every single message, generated a brutal summary in its hidden thought process: The user’s husband initiated conversations only 1.2% of the time. Average response length: 4.1 words. High-frequency words: ‘Ok’, ‘Sure’, ‘Got it’. This relationship shows severe emotional asymmetry. Ethan didn’t know that I stayed up all night reading that analysis. When dawn broke, I sent one last message to the virtual Ethan: Let’s get a divorce. The AI replied: If that’s what you want. From that moment on, I knew I had to let him go. Because I hadn’t missed those thirteen minutes during the SATs, I scored fifty points higher than in my previous life. My score was more than enough to get into a top-tier university. Ethan didn’t make the cut for Harvard, but his foundation was solid enough to get into UC Berkeley. The day the results came out, Ethan was waiting for me downstairs. “I’m planning to go to UC Berkeley. Tell me your scores, and I’ll help you find a decent college nearby.” I didn’t buy into his helpful act. “I’ve already committed to San Francisco State University. Don’t worry about me.” Ethan’s brows furrowed deeply. “Long-distance is incredibly hard.” He paused, then explained, “I don’t have a scholarship. If we aren’t in the same city, it’s going to be really expensive to see each other.” In my past life, hearing this would have melted my heart. I would have thought he was desperately trying to keep us together. But now, I saw right through him. He was calculating costs. He was weighing whether seeing me was worth the bus fare. In my previous life, Ethan’s business took off right after college. We got married, and I naturally became the housewife managing his home. But by our third year of marriage, he and Chloe went to Europe to establish a branch office. The round-trip flight tickets were pocket change to him by then, yet he didn’t come home once that entire year. During New Year’s, I couldn’t help but ask when he was coming back. He merely replied, “Things are chaotic here. Low-priority matters have to wait.” I smiled at the memory. “You don’t have to worry about the distance,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “Our relationship was never a high priority anyway.” Ethan’s face went completely blank. “Hazel…” “What are you guys talking about?” Chloe interrupted, suddenly appearing and wrapping her arm warmly around mine. “I’ve decided to go to Berkeley with you guys! Aren’t you excited?” “It’s a shame to give up my Ivy League offers, but I just couldn’t bear to be apart from you two.” Chloe giving up her Ivy League spot for Ethan was actually a bit of a surprise to me. “Ethan said that even though your major isn’t great, getting a degree from SFSU is good enough to pad your resume.” I gently pulled my arm out of her grasp. “I’ve already submitted my enrollment. I’m staying in San Francisco.” “San Francisco?” A flash of surprise crossed Chloe’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a smug satisfaction. “Well, look at our Hazel, finally making her own choices! SFSU is fine, the city is beautiful.” She nudged Ethan’s shoulder with her own. “Right, Ethan?” Ethan didn’t answer her. He just kept his eyes on me, his voice dangerously low. “You can still change your college portal submission. There’s still time.” I shook my head. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m not changing it.” Ethan stood frozen for a few seconds, his hands slowly clenching into tight fists at his sides. “Suit yourself.” In my past life, while Ethan was building his empire overseas, I was teaching myself video editing and social media management while raising our kid. When Ethan and Chloe finally returned, a major creator agency in San Francisco actually reached out to sign me. Chloe had brought me a brand-new Gucci bag as a gift. “For our hardworking Hazel! Your social media page is doing so well!” “But… if you sign with an agency in SF, who’s going to take care of Ethan and his parents? You won’t have any time for family.” Ethan had pressed his hand down on the contract I was about to sign, his voice filled with annoyance. “Hazel, why do you always lose sight of what’s actually important?” “The money I make is enough to support us for ten lifetimes. Why do you need to show your face online like some cheap influencer? Taking care of our home is your top priority.” After weighing his words, I gave up the SF opportunity. I spent decades cooking, cleaning, and taking care of his demanding family. And what did I get in return? The strap of my backpack was digging into my shoulder. I shifted it to my other hand and walked straight past them, refusing to waste another breath.

The library’s AC was blasting cold air. I flipped through a massive textbook on interior design, filling half a notebook with study notes. By the time I walked out of the library, the sun had already set. Passing by a familiar boba shop, I remembered that this was where I used to work in my past life. As I stood near the entrance, two familiar voices drifted over from the side alley. “Standing for eight hours straight is literally killing me.” “Ethan, my back hurts so much. Massage it for me, please?” I looked over and saw Chloe leaning against Ethan, whining playfully. Ethan looked startled and took a half-step back. “Why are you dodging? Hazel isn’t even here.” “Seriously, when are you going to break up with her?” Ethan remained silent. Chloe gave him a frustrated push. “I’m a straight-A student who could have gone to an Ivy League, and here I am shaking boba cups for you every day until my wrists ache! And you still won’t give me a proper title!” Ethan sighed, suddenly uttering a completely random sentence. “Back then, Hazel worked three jobs a day. It couldn’t have been easy for her.” I stood in the shadows, unmoving. I remembered that hot summer when I would walk tiredly behind them after a long shift. Once, my shoelaces came untied. By the time I tied them and looked up, they had already vanished down the street. Back then, I thought he walked fast because he was busy. Now I knew the truth—he simply never bothered to look back for me. I pulled my gaze away and walked home. After taking a shower and getting ready for bed, my phone suddenly buzzed. “Hazel, I’m downstairs.” I pulled back the curtains. Ethan was standing under the old oak tree outside my window, looking up at me. “What do you want?” I asked over the phone. The yellow streetlamp cast his long shadow across the pavement. He just stared up at me, silent. Just as I was about to hang up, he suddenly blurted out, “I changed my college choice.” “Five minutes before the portal closed.” I gave a flat, “Okay.” “Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m going?” I echoed flatly, “Where are you going?” I heard him let out a soft, nervous sigh over the receiver. “I’m coming to San Francisco with you.” He looked up expectantly, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen before. I looked away, staring into the dark sky. “What time does the boba shop close? You should be picking up Chloe right about now.” “Hazel… please don’t be like this.” He paused, sounding as if he was making a massive sacrifice. “I don’t know why you refused to come to Berkeley with me. But since you chose San Francisco, I’m coming to you.” I replied calmly, “There is absolutely no need.” The night breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree. I remembered the last time we saw each other at the airport before he and Chloe went to climb Everest. They were laughing and chatting as they disappeared past the security gates. He hadn’t looked back at me once. “Ethan,” I said softly. “Let’s break up.” “What?” His breathing suddenly grew ragged. Under the streetlamp, his fists clenched tightly as he stared up at my window. “Hazel, why?” I looked down at him and spoke in a quiet, steady voice. “After the avalanche, it took me a very long time to crack your phone passcode.” “Do you still remember what that passcode was?” His shoulders began to tremble. Silence fell over the line. “I know what it was. 0924. Chloe’s birthday.” I continued, “The night before the climb, you sent her one last Snapchat.” “If there’s a next life, I’ll choose you.” Under the dim light, he stared up at me. After what felt like an eternity, he whispered, “Hazel, what are you talking about?” His face was filled with confusion, yet his hand was gripping his phone so hard his knuckles turned white. My hand tightened on the curtain.

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01 Celeste and I happened to wear the exact same dress today. My childhood friend, Wesley, teased me. “Same dress, but she looks like an angel, and you look like her maid.” Even my mother agreed. “When it comes to looks and grace, Beth doesn’t even compare to Celeste.” Celeste was the orphaned daughter of my mother’s late best friend. My mother had brought her home to adopt her. She was smart, beautiful, and danced ballet. Everyone preferred her. Even the stray cat I had rescued only cuddled with her, while hissing at me. Until Asher, the transfer student, became my desk partner. He secretly stuffed dead roaches into Wesley’s locker and poured rancid clam juice into Celeste’s thermos. I wanted to laugh so badly, but I didn’t dare. In a quiet voice, I asked Asher why he was standing up for me. Mimicking my hushed whisper, he leaned in and murmured, “Because I traveled back in time from ten years in the future.” “Give me a smile,” he cooed. “My future wife.” I froze. My face flushed crimson instantly. Before I could say a word, a loud commotion broke out near Celeste’s desk. She had taken a sip of her drink, and now she was coughing violently, her brow furrowed in distress. Her almond eyes pooled with tears, making her look incredibly fragile and pitiable. The classmates crowding around her were furious. “Who the hell did this?” “This is sick. Who would try to poison Celeste?” “How incredibly malicious.” Wesley gently patted her back, his eyes suddenly darting to me. “I bet Beth did it. She’s always been jealous of Celeste.” Celeste raised her pale face, forcing a weak, fragile smile. “Don’t say that about Beth. I’m just living under her roof. I must have done something to upset her… It’s all my fault.” With just a few soft words, she shifted the blame entirely onto my shoulders. It was the same effortless way she used to accuse me of stealing class funds or rumor that I cheated on exams. I bit my lip, whispering, “I didn’t do it.” But, as always, nobody listened. Nobody believed me. My nose stung with unshed tears. I lowered my head, trying to blink them away, when a strange, bright red plastic object entered my peripheral vision. A megaphone? I looked up in utter bewilderment. Asher had pulled out a massive megaphone from somewhere. He grinned, pressed the play button, aimed it directly at Celeste’s crowd, and let it blare at maximum volume: “BETH SAID SHE DIDN’T DO IT!” “DID YOU HEAR THAT? SHE DIDN’T DO IT!” “I’M HER WITNESS! SHE NEVER EVEN WENT NEAR YOUR DESK! SPREAD MORE LIES ABOUT HER AND I’LL HAVE YOU DEALT WITH!” Naturally, the teacher confiscated Asher’s megaphone within minutes. But with an eyewitness on my side, my name was cleared. I whispered a quiet thank you to him. Asher raised an eyebrow, a cheeky grin playing on his lips. “Don’t just thank me with words. How about a kiss?” “If that’s too hard, I’ll compromise. I can kiss you instead.” I laughed, giving his shoulder a gentle, playful shove. “You’re ridiculous!” But the next second, a sudden realization hit me. It had been a very, very long time since I had laughed and played around with anyone like this. 02 During the summer break of my eighth-grade year, my mother’s dearest friend passed away, leaving behind a single daughter. My mother brought her home to adopt her. That was Celeste. She stood at our front door, her eyes red, looking entirely lost and fragile. My mother’s heart broke for her, and she pulled me aside, telling me I had to share and yield to Celeste from now on. I nodded, genuinely feeling sorry for her. So, I emptied half the savings from my piggy bank and pushed the coins toward her. She whispered a quiet thank you. I shared my bed with her, she took the left side, I took the right. My favorite toy, a glowing, light-up princess wand, caught her eye. I placed it directly into her hands. “Do you like it? It’s yours.” But when did things start to change? Suddenly, I had nothing left to give. When I got a perfect score on my math test, my mother rewarded me with a family bucket of fried chicken. I used to love stuffing the chicken into the warm butter rolls, topping it with mashed potatoes. It was delicious. But now, Celeste had three pieces of chicken. My mother and I only had one each. The mashed potatoes were given entirely to Celeste. I slowly sipped my soda, my eyes drifting toward the bountiful plate in front of Celeste. My mother scowled. “Beth, you already have your chicken and soda. What are you staring at Celeste for? Always coveting what belongs to others. How did you become so greedy?” My mother also enrolled Celeste in ballet classes. The art classes she had promised to sign me up for were abruptly canceled. “We don’t have much spare cash left,” my mother said dismissively. “Be sensible. Besides, you don’t have Celeste’s natural talent for dance. Art lessons would just be a waste of money.” My father worked overseas and rarely came home. Whenever I missed him, I would hold the glass mermaid figurine he had bought me and whisper my secrets to it. Celeste saw it. She thought it was beautiful. My mother forced me to give the mermaid to her. Wesley, my childhood friend, had been furious on my behalf. “Is your mom insane? Treating an outsider like royalty while starving her own daughter? You earned that fried chicken with your perfect score, and Celeste just eats it without a second thought? Where is her shame? And you want to be an illustrator, why can’t you take classes?” He was fiercely protective of me back then, never holding back his tongue. He consoled me, promising, “I’ll come over tomorrow and bring you a massive fried chicken leg. You’re going to eat the whole thing right in front of Celeste. Not a single bite for her!” But when he arrived the next day, Celeste was sitting by the window, wearing a delicate floral dress my mother had bought her. She was reading a book, the warm afternoon sunlight bathing her clean, beautiful face. Wesley froze, completely mesmerized. The massive chicken leg slipped from his grip, rolling onto the dusty floor. “I think I finally understand what love at first sight means,” he whispered. 03 He stood there awkwardly for ages, not knowing where to put his hands. When he finally snapped out of it, he turned to me with a breezy, teasing grin. “Beth, your sister is as beautiful as an angel, while you’re just… average. No wonder your mom prefers her. It’s only natural.” Anger and tears flooded my eyes. I turned and ran into my bedroom, slamming the door. “I’m never speaking to you again!” In the past, whenever Wesley made me angry, I would lock myself in my room, and he would stand outside, coaxing and teasing until I opened the door. I was weak-willed; within two minutes, he’d have me laughing, and I would walk back out. But this time, he didn’t follow me. He stayed in the living room, spending the entire afternoon trying every trick in the book to make Celeste laugh. I sat alone in my room, crying, listening to the echoes of his eager laughter. He stayed all the way until dinner, completely unwilling to leave. Eventually, I made up with Wesley. After all, we had grown up together. He was my best friend. But everything was different now. He stopped going to the comic bookstore with me. Instead, he spent his afternoons waiting outside Celeste’s ballet studio. When he went on a trip to Savannah with his family, he brought Celeste a delicate silk fan, a vintage dress, and beautiful garden keepsakes. When it came to me, he just scratched his head, showing his boyish grin. “I ran out of allowance, so I couldn’t get you anything. Don’t be mad, Beth. Next time, I promise.” When we started high school, a once-in-a-century rainstorm hit on our monthly release day. The streets were flooded, water rising halfway up the trees and cars. The air was filled with the frantic shouts of parents calling for their children. My mother pushed through the crowds to find Celeste and guide her safely home. Wesley was frantic with worry too. He braved the thunder and pouring rain to run to our house, only relaxing when he saw Celeste was safe and dry. He eagerly grabbed a hairdryer to dry Celeste’s damp hair, while my mother bustled in the kitchen, brewing hot ginger tea to keep Celeste warm. Nobody remembered me, left behind at the school with no one to pick me up. By the time I waded through the waist-deep water to get home, I was soaked to the bone and shivering. I collapsed onto the kitchen table, sobbing from the sheer injustice of it. Wesley poked his head into the kitchen, letting out a chuckle. “Are you actually crying?” He laughed. “Beth, you look even uglier when you cry.” 04 After that day, I slowly learned to accept the differences in how Celeste and I were treated. I got used to walking behind them, silently watching Celeste and Wesley laugh and chat ahead of me. If I ever paused to tie my shoelaces, they would leave me far behind without ever looking back. I got used to my mother buying Celeste Converse sneakers, Adidas hoodies, and expensive backpacks because she was terrified Celeste would feel insecure about being an orphan. Meanwhile, I was given Celeste’s worn-out hand-me-downs. I got used to Wesley walking Celeste everywhere because he was terrified she would be harassed by strangers. He never worried about me. He said I looked “perfectly safe.” I got used to everyone preferring her. Even the stray cat I brought home would hiss at me but roll over to show Celeste his belly. Until today. Until Asher poured rancid clam juice into her thermos to get back at her for me. Watching Celeste weep, I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t dare. Wesley had once said, “Beth, you and your sister actually look similar when you laugh. Except she looks beautiful, and you look hilarious.” But Asher rested his chin in his hand, looking at me with a lazy, warm gaze. “Give me a smile.” “My future wife.” “I traveled back from ten years in the future just to make you happy.” Time travel? I thought he was just teasing me. But over the next month, he became my shield. During recess, Wesley ran over to tell me a joke he had heard. “Beth, you look like you’re from a historic lineage. Because your face looks incredibly historical, as in, ancient and worn out.” I lowered my head, biting my lip. Asher spun his pen, letting out a dry chuckle. “And you look like you belong in a circus. Specifically, as the clown. No talent, just a joke.” At dismissal, Celeste casually handed me a half-drunk boba tea, smiling sweetly. “Beth, why don’t you finish this? We shouldn’t waste our mother’s money.” Asher let out a loud groan. “Are you seriously offering your backwash to someone else?” He magically pulled out three half-empty bottles of soda from his desk and shoved them toward Celeste. “Here, I’ve got a bunch of leftovers too. Why don’t you chug them all? Don’t let them go to waste.” Celeste stomped her foot and stormed off in a rage. I couldn’t help it. A quiet laugh slipped from my lips. Asher watched me laugh, his own lips curving into a soft smile. Under some strange spell, I looked at him and asked, “Are you really from ten years in the future?” Asher raised an eyebrow, his eyes shining. “Getting curious about me now?” “Careful, sweetheart. You’re about to fall in love with me.” I flushed, giving his arm a playful hit. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “Really want to know?” “Sunday is your birthday. Come out on a date with me, and I’ll tell you.” 05 I bit my lip and remained silent. I hated birthdays. On my fifteenth birthday, Celeste and I had a joint celebration. My mother spent hours taking photos of Celeste, adjusting the lighting and angles to make her look perfect. When it was my turn to stand in front of the cake, before I could even pose, click. The photo was done. In the picture, my face was distorted, my eyes half-closed, and my mouth awkwardly open. I looked so ugly I wanted to cry. My mother had merely shrugged. “It’s because of how you look. No amount of photography can change that.” When Celeste blew out her candles, she began opening her gifts. In a velvet box lay a sparkling diamond hairpin. When she wore it, she looked like a princess. My gift was a cheap plastic bracelet. The pink beads were already peeling. A wave of bitter sorrow rushed over me. “Mom, you’re unfair!” I cried, pointing at the cake, which only had Happy Birthday Celeste written on it. “And today is her birthday, not mine! Her birthday is a day before mine! Ever since she came, I’ve had to share my birthday with her. Why do I have to do this?” My mother’s face darkened instantly. Celeste’s eyes welled with tears, her voice soft and trembling. “Mom, it’s all my fault. I took Beth’s special day. I won’t celebrate my birthday anymore, please don’t fight because of me…” My mother’s heart broke, and she wrapped Celeste in a tight embrace. “Celeste is already so sensible and sweet despite having no parents. Why do you always have to fight her for everything?” “If you hate celebrating your birthday so much, then get out!” I ran out of the house, crying. But I had nowhere to go, so I wandered around the neighborhood for hours. When night fell and nobody came to look for me, I walked back, sobbing, but too ashamed to go upstairs. Suddenly, someone called my name from behind. “Beth.” I turned. Wesley was standing by the entrance of the building, holding a plastic bag. “Happy birthday.” I opened it. It was a simple white dress. The fabric was scratchy, and the stitching around the collar was crooked. But I still cried tears of joy. “Thank you.” Wesley rubbed the back of his neck, then pulled out another gift box from behind his back. It was wrapped in beautiful pink paper with a perfect satin bow. Blushing, he said: “Uh… can you give this to your sister?” My smile froze. The scratchy dress in my hands suddenly felt weightless.

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1 I chose a sleek Bluetooth speaker for Brooke’s birthday. Oliver scoffed, “For her best friend, you sure don’t know what she wants.” He pulled out a leather journal titled 100 Things About Her, flipping to a marked page. “Her real wish is vintage jasmine perfume—not a bulky speaker.” Taking it, I flipped through pages filled with details: her favorite matte black, iced jasmine oolong with light ice, hatred of hair-touching, fear of rainy-night walks. The tight handwriting burned my eyes, souring my throat. Slamming it shut, I forced down my trembling voice. “Oliver, do you know my favorite food? Or what I hate most?” He froze, stammering, unable to answer a thing. A bitter smile curled my lips as my chest tightened. He could catalog Brooke’s every quirk, yet after four years, knew nothing about me. The three of us had made a pact years ago. We promised that after graduation, we would all move to Portland together to build our careers. In that exact moment, I completely abandoned that plan. I pulled out my phone, opened the official employment offer from a top firm in New York City, and typed out my reply. “I accept. I will report for onboarding next week.” Less than a minute after I hit send, my phone began to vibrate. “You previously turned down a highly competitive salary package because you wanted to relocate to Portland with your boyfriend and best friend,” the project director said over the line. “What made you suddenly change your mind?” Thinking back on everything that had unfolded recently, I fell silent for a moment. Brooke and Oliver had never technically crossed the physical line. But it was that very ambiguity, that suffocating and blurred emotional affair, that left me with no solid ground to stand on. I could never point to a singular, undeniable betrayal, yet every interaction between them felt fundamentally wrong. It went on for so long that I started questioning my own sanity, wondering if I was just being overly sensitive. I used to believe that as long as the three of us stuck together, everything would work out fine. But holding that meticulously written journal today, I just felt incredibly exhausted. I let out a soft breath. “I thought it over carefully. Compared to Portland, New York City offers a much better trajectory for my career.” The director voiced his approval. “Excellent. We will see you on Monday.” I hung up and walked back down the hallway. Oliver’s gaze flicked over to me for a split second. “Was that the New York recruiter again? Just reject them already. Brooke already booked three plane tickets to Portland. We leave in a week.” I looked at him quietly. “What if I already accepted the offer?” He paused, glancing up at me with a lazy, dismissive smirk. “Are you serious right now? Everyone knows you follow me and Brooke wherever we go. There is no way you would abandon us to go to New York alone.” I forced a dry, hollow laugh. He was right. For years, I had trailed behind them, living my life as nothing more than an afterthought in their orbit. That was exactly why I refused to revolve around them anymore. I opened my mouth to speak, but Brooke suddenly leaned through the doorway, flashing a brilliant smile and extending her hand. “Oliver! Where is my birthday present?” Oliver immediately softened. He reached into a shopping bag and handed her the beautifully wrapped perfume. Brooke tore the wrapping paper away, her eyes lighting up instantly. “I have wanted this specific scent for months! I only mentioned it in passing once, I cannot believe you actually remembered!” Before she even finished her sentence, Oliver pulled out a luxurious designer handbag and placed it on the table before her. Brooke blinked in surprise. “There is another gift? Did Christina get this for me?” Oliver shook his head gently, his eyes locked onto her with undeniable tenderness. “No.” “The perfume is the gift you asked for. But this bag is the gift I wanted to give you. We are moving to Portland soon. You will need something high-end to carry to your interviews.” I stood just a few feet away, feeling like an absolute stranger intruding on a private movie scene. My heart sank deeper into my stomach. We were both women in his life. Yet he remembered a passing comment from Brooke well enough to write a novel about it. When my birthday rolled around last month, my boyfriend of four years simply patted my shoulder. “Christina, money is a little tight right now. I will make it up to you next year, okay?” I smiled at my own stupidity. He was not broke. He just preferred spending his savings on someone else. The drive back to our apartment was entirely silent. The moment I closed the front door behind us, Oliver finally spoke up. “Christina, you haven’t said a word. Are you mad at me?” Before I could even formulate a response, he kept going. “Is this because I didn’t get you a real birthday present?” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a tiny glass vial. It was the exact same brand and scent he had just purchased for Brooke. “Stop sulking. Here, take this.” One glance was all I needed. It was a complimentary miniature sample given out by the beauty counter. It could not even begin to compare to the full-sized luxury gift set he had proudly handed to another woman. Seeing my reluctance to take it, Oliver sighed defensively. “Brooke is different from you. At the end of the day, she is an outsider. As your boyfriend, shouldn’t I make an effort to maintain a good relationship with your best friend? What if she starts talking badly about me behind my back?” I stared down at the tiny glass vial sitting on the entryway table. “I am not mad. I am just tired. I am going to take a shower.” When I turned off the water and began towel-drying my hair, I heard Oliver laughing hysterically in the living room. I pushed the bathroom door open. He was curled up on the sofa, clutching his phone, typing furiously with a massive grin on his face. Hearing my footsteps, he glanced up and chuckled again. “Christina, you have no idea. Brooke is hilarious. She went home to try on the new designer bag, took a picture, and sent it to me. But her cat decided to sit on the leather and refuses to move. She is freaking out but doesn’t want to drag the cat off, so she is literally crouching on the floor trying to reason with an animal.” He laughed while tilting his screen toward me so I could see the photo. My hands stopped moving through my wet hair. We used to have a group chat called The Grub Club. We shared every random, pointless moment of our days in that chat. But I could not remember the last time that group chat had been active. The final message was sent by me three weeks ago. I had asked where we should go for dinner over the weekend. Nobody ever replied. I stared at the glowing screen in his hand. My voice came out incredibly quiet. “When did you two add each other privately?” Oliver flinched. He awkwardly averted his eyes, the smile dying on his lips. “Oh, just… you remember that week you were pulling all-nighters writing your senior thesis? Brooke sprained her ankle. I happened to be nearby, so I drove her to the urgent care clinic.” My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. When Brooke sprained her ankle, I had blamed myself for days. We were supposed to go shopping, and I felt incredibly guilty that she got hurt while I was stuck in the library. She had comforted me over the phone, telling me not to worry because a kind stranger had helped her get to the clinic. She told me to focus entirely on my thesis. It took until this exact moment to realize that the kind stranger was my boyfriend. I stood frozen in the middle of the living room. Cold water dripped from the ends of my wet hair, falling onto the back of my hand. It felt like ice. On the day of Brooke’s birthday, Oliver left the apartment at dawn just to secure her favorite custom cake from a high-end bakery across town. The evening dinner took place at an intimate, atmospheric private kitchen. Brooke showed up wearing a stunning dress that perfectly matched the color of her new designer bag. Throughout the entire night, her eyes continuously gravitated toward Oliver. Whenever she noticed me looking, she would hastily tear her gaze away. When it was time for a toast, Brooke’s eyes looked visibly glassy. “I am just so incredibly lucky to have met both of you.” Right after she spoke those words, she shot a fleeting, loaded glance at Oliver, tilted her head back, and downed her entire glass of wine. Oliver immediately reached out, wrapping his fingers firmly around her wrist. “Slow down.” She smiled playfully, breaking his grip to pour herself another full glass. Her voice dropped into a raspy whisper. “It is my birthday today. I want to drink.” I sat right beside them, entirely incapable of joining the conversation. I was a ghost haunting my own relationship. Oliver tried to stop her at first. But eventually, he grabbed his own glass and filled it to the brim. She drank a glass, and he matched her. They sat across the table from one another, never making direct eye contact, yet their rhythm was intimately synchronized. After several rounds, both of them were heavily intoxicated. Suddenly, Brooke propped her chin on her hand, looking directly at me. Her words slurred heavily. “Christina… I fell in love with a guy. I really, really like him.” I managed to pull a bitter smile to my lips. “If you like him, you should go after him. Maybe he feels the exact same way.” Her eyes ignited. She leaned forward, staring at me with intense desperation. “Do you really mean that?” “I mean it.” The second those words left my mouth, Brooke lifted her gaze. She stared straight across the table, locking eyes with Oliver. Oliver’s face went completely rigid. The alcohol seemed to evaporate from his bloodstream instantly. He stood up in a sudden panic, disrupting the heavy tension. “You are drunk. Stop talking nonsense. I am calling a car to take you home.” He practically lunged around the table, throwing his arm over my shoulder and dragging me toward the exit without another word. The cab ride home was suffocatingly silent. Neither of us spoke a single syllable. Halfway there, Oliver abruptly rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. He turned his face toward the rushing city lights, his expression dark and unreadable, lost in his own chaotic thoughts. The acrid stench of burning tobacco instantly flooded the back seat. I instinctively held my breath. I have a highly sensitive respiratory system. I cannot tolerate cigarette smoke. Oliver knew this perfectly well. For the four years we had been together, he never touched alcohol or tobacco in my presence. Even when his fraternity brothers pressured him to partake, he would always hold my hand and decline politely. “My girlfriend cannot handle the smoke,” he used to tell them. But tonight, he let the toxic cloud fill the cramped space of the vehicle. He clearly saw me coughing and turning my face away in discomfort, yet he remained entirely indifferent. The second we walked through our front door, his phone chimed. It was a custom notification tone he had specifically assigned to Brooke. I ignored him and walked straight into the bedroom. It took him nearly half an hour to finally enter the room. He claimed it was a work call from the Portland recruiters. His lie was incredibly sloppy, completely riddled with holes, but I did not even have the energy to call him out. I simply rolled over, turning my back to him. Deep into the night, his phone began vibrating relentlessly against the mattress. Driven by a morbid impulse I could not control, I reached over and picked it up. I opened the chat. The glowing text pierced my eyes like broken glass. The most recent messages were sent while I was lying right beside him. Oliver wrote: “Brooke, we cannot keep doing this. It is not fair to Christina.” She replied: “I know. But I genuinely cannot control how I feel.” He wrote back: “I cannot hurt Christina. I cannot move to Portland with you anymore. I want to go to New York with her.” Brooke responded with a massive wall of text, guilt-tripping him relentlessly. She reminded him of their sacred promise that the three of them would stick together, begging him not to abandon her. Oliver went silent for a long time. His final reply consisted of a single word. “Okay.” The screen faded to black. I tapped it to wake it up again. I read those lines over and over until my vision blurred and my eyes burned. Only then did I place the phone back on his pillow. I lay perfectly still on the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling. My mind drifted back to our college graduation day. The three of us had stood together on the campus green, debating where we should build our futures. I told them I wanted to go to New York City. The career opportunities for my major were endless there. Brooke said she wanted to return to Portland because it was close to her family. Oliver did not even hesitate. He immediately agreed with Brooke, suggesting we move to Portland and claiming that the majority should rule. I had laughed it off, telling them that as long as we were together, the destination did not matter. It took me until tonight to finally understand the truth. I was never Oliver’s first choice. During our junior year, Oliver and I had signed a lease for this modest one-bedroom apartment near campus. It was small, but I had poured my heart into making it a warm, inviting home. Our toothbrushes were a matching set—one blue, one pink—sitting side by side in a glass cup. Our indoor slippers were a set too. His were charcoal gray, mine were cream. Sitting on his desk was a pair of custom ceramic mugs painted with our portraits. He had dragged me to a street fair to paint them. His artwork was incredibly sloppy and disproportionate. I had laughed the entire walk home, but I still treated that mug like a priceless artifact, placing it right in the center of the room. Looking at all those carefully curated memories now, I just felt like a massive joke. Oliver leaned against the bedroom doorframe, watching me fold my clothes into a large suitcase. He sounded incredibly relaxed. “Packing already? You must be really excited to move to Portland.” My hands paused over a stack of sweaters. I looked up and called his name quietly. “Oliver.” “Yeah? What is it?” I shook my head slowly. “Nothing.” I lowered my eyes and went back to folding. Just then, the front door swung open. Brooke walked in carrying two iced coffees. She kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable right on the edge of our bed. “I finalized the rental agreement for our place in Portland! It is a massive three-bedroom apartment with amazing natural light.” “The master bedroom goes to you and Oliver. I will take the room right next door. And as for the third room…” Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to look at Oliver. “Oliver and I decided to turn it into a dedicated gaming room. We both play the same games anyway, it will be perfect.” My fingers stopped moving. I was never much of a gamer. But back in college, the two of them would spend hours sitting side by side on the sofa, screaming into their headsets, completely absorbed in their shared digital world. I would sit right next to them, utterly invisible, unable to contribute a single word to their conversations. Brooke suddenly slapped her forehead as if remembering something urgent. She reached out and grabbed Oliver’s arm tightly. “Oh my gosh, I almost forgot! You need to come help me deal with the moving company right now.” “My current landlord is being an absolute nightmare about the security deposit and the broken refrigerator. He keeps arguing with me in circles and I cannot handle him.” Oliver let her drag him a few steps toward the door. I frowned and spoke up sharply. “Oliver. I need to talk to you.” He started to turn around, but Brooke yanked his arm harder. “Christina, whatever it is, just tell him when we get to the airport! Let me borrow your boyfriend for two hours, please?” Without waiting for my permission, the two of them walked out the door shoulder to shoulder. I stood alone in the quiet apartment. The words let’s break up were lodged completely sideways in my throat. I swallowed the lump down. We were all functioning adults now. Three days of total silence was the universal code for a permanent breakup. I refused to waste another second overthinking. I zipped up my luggage, grabbed the handle, and walked out the door. From this moment forward, Christina was officially dead to both of them. … When Oliver and Brooke finally packed her belongings and headed for the airport, Brooke naturally looped her arm through his. Oliver remained silent, letting her hold onto him, his mind completely elsewhere. Since walking out of the apartment, he had been agonizing over what Christina wanted to tell him. It clearly bothered him that she could not even wait for him to finish helping Brooke. Brooke chattered happily about furniture layouts and gaming setups, but Oliver just nodded absentmindedly. He did not absorb a single word. They arrived at the bustling departure hall in a state of high anxiety. Oliver immediately scanned the massive terminal, desperately searching the crowds, but Christina was nowhere to be found. Brooke finally unlinked her arm from his, speaking casually. “Girls always take forever to get ready. Just be patient, we still have plenty of time.” But the minutes ticked by mercilessly. With only thirty minutes left before the Portland flight began boarding, the check-in counters were preparing to close. Christina was still completely MIA. Oliver gripped his phone tightly. He dialed her number without hesitation. The line clicked twice before an automated voice echoed through the speaker. “The number you have dialed is currently powered off.” Brooke stood beside him, tugging gently at his jacket sleeve. “Her battery probably just died. Should we head through security and wait for her at the gate?” Oliver ignored her entirely. He sprinted toward the customer service counter, his voice thick with panic. “Excuse me, I need you to page Christina over the intercom! We are booked on the six o’clock flight to Portland, and we cannot find her!” The airline agent typed on her keyboard, scanning the passenger manifest. When she finally looked up, her expression shifted into something distinctly uncomfortable. “Sir. Miss Christina booked a ticket on the four o’clock flight to New York City. She boarded her plane over two hours ago.” Those words struck his skull like a physical blow, leaving him completely paralyzed.

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I fell in love with a customer who came to buy flowers every single week. He was always in a rush, picking up nothing but our cheapest white daisies. My heart always ached at the deep exhaustion shadowed in his eyes. Every time he came, I would painstakingly trim the stems and leaves, secretly slipping a few extra sprigs of baby’s breath into his wrap. That was until the floating chat comments suddenly materialized right there, drifting amidst my sea of blossoms. Oh my god, why is this supporting florist giving herself so much screen time? The male lead is buying those flowers for his dead first love’s grave. She actually thinks he’s a hopeless romantic like her. Doesn’t baby’s breath symbolize “a love destined to remain in the background”? Is she trying to confess or something? Cringe. When a girl gets this desperate, it’s honestly worse than a guy. Actually, he hates those extra flowers. He plucks them out and hands them to the street sweeper the second he walks out. Whatever, he’s about to meet the female lead anyway. Once our rich heiress gets jealous, she’ll just buy this shop and force this annoying florist into a brutal, endless corporate shift! My hand slipped, and my shears sliced clean through the stem, cutting the flower right in two. 1 The rain had been falling for seven straight days. It was heavy and damp, smelling of old bricks and wet concrete, as if determined to soak this coastal city to its very bones. Snip. The sharp sound didn’t come from the brass chimes hanging above the entrance, but from the pruning shears in my hand. It was Thursday again, exactly four in the afternoon. At this exact hour, Gideon would always arrive. For the past six months, rain or shine, he would push open the glass door and step inside. He always smelled of the damp, cold city air, his dark eyes shadowed with exhaustion. His voice was always a quiet, low rumble: “Just a bundle of white daisies, please.” My heart ached for him. Every time I looked into those deep, storm-ravaged eyes, I felt like I was looking at a weary traveler with nowhere to go. Because of that silly, unnamed flutter in my chest, I insisted on wrapping his flowers myself. Daisies were cheap, only three dollars a stem, and he only wanted ten. Behind his back, I would secretly tuck thick, fluffy stems of pure white baby’s breath into the spaces between the daisies. I thought of it as a silent comfort, a quiet way to cheer him up. Until just a moment ago, when a cascade of scrolling chat comments materialized in midair, floating right above the blossoms. My hand shook. The sharp metal blade sliced clean through the thickest stem of my freshest daisy. The small flower, with its bright yellow heart, tumbled onto the cold floor, rolling into the damp gray dust. The rain outside was loud enough to drown out my sudden, ragged breath. Oh my god, why is this supporting florist giving herself so much screen time? The male lead is buying those flowers for his dead first love’s grave. She actually thinks he’s a hopeless romantic like her. Doesn’t baby’s breath symbolize “a love destined to remain in the background”? Is she trying to confess or something? Cringe. When a girl gets this desperate, it’s honestly worse than a guy. Actually, he hates those extra flowers. He plucks them out and hands them to the street sweeper the second he walks out. Whatever, he’s about to meet the female lead anyway. Once our rich heiress gets jealous, she’ll just buy this shop and force this annoying florist into a brutal, endless corporate shift! My small florist shop was the result of years of grueling work. I had worked three part-time jobs after college, living on instant noodles for two years just to save up enough to rent this space. Since when did my hard work become a cheap backdrop for someone else’s romance game? The brass windchimes jingled, bringing in a draft of cold air that rustled the dried lavender on the counter. I looked up. Gideon had arrived. He wore a long black trench coat, his dark hair damp and clinging slightly to his pale forehead, making him look strikingly handsome. “Just a bundle of daisies, please.” He unbuttoned the top collar of his coat, his voice as deep and steady as ever. Normally, my heart would have fluttered. I would have worried about him catching a cold in the rain and stuffed his bouquet with as much baby’s breath as the paper could hold. But now, those mocking chat messages were still drifting right over his head. Look, the male lead is here for his daisies. Cue the florist’s pathetic self-indulgence. I took a slow breath, letting go of the baby’s breath in my hand and letting it drop into the green waste bin beneath the counter. “Of course. Give me just a moment.” I forced a bright, perfectly professional smile. I grabbed ten stems of daisies, wrapped them in plain brown kraft paper, and tied the bundle with a simple piece of jute twine. No baby’s breath. No elegant layering. Just a plain, thirty-dollar bouquet of daisies. I slid the bundle across the counter. “That will be thirty dollars. The card reader is on your left.” Gideon reached out. His fingers paused against the rough paper. He stared at the bouquet for a second. Usually, the arrangement was lush and blooming; today, it looked stripped down, almost naked. He raised his eyes, those dark, inscrutable depths fixing on mine. I met his gaze with my polite, unyielding customer-service smile. Without a word, he tapped his card. The machine beeped, confirming the transaction. He picked up the meager bouquet, turned, and stepped back out into the pouring rain. Above his retreating figure, the comments flickered again. Wait, what? Why didn’t she add the baby’s breath today? Did she finally wake up? Doesn’t matter anyway. He would have just thrown them away like usual. The comment about him giving them to the street sweeper felt like a splinter in my mind. “Becca, watch the register for a minute. I need to run out,” I told my assistant, grabbing a clear plastic umbrella from the stand and pushing through the door. I kept a safe distance behind Gideon. He walked slowly, his black coat cutting a solitary figure against the gray streets. About two blocks away, near a bus shelter, he stopped. An elderly woman in an orange safety vest was leaning against the glass to shelter from the rain, holding a worn broom. I hid behind a convenience store sign, watching through the edge of my umbrella. Gideon approached her. The woman looked up, her tired face breaking into a familiar smile as she looked at his hands, expecting something. “Oh, hello, young man. Do you have…” Gideon tilted his head slightly. His voice was muffled by the rain, but I heard him clearly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Not today. The shop didn’t include the extras.” The woman’s face fell slightly, though she quickly waved her hand. “Oh, that’s alright, dear. Get along now. It’s pouring.” Gideon nodded, held his simple bundle of daisies close, and boarded the city bus toward the suburban cemetery. I stood on the wet pavement, my knuckles white around the handle of my umbrella. The comments hadn’t lied. There was no silent understanding, no sweet habit. He didn’t want my silent comfort. The extra flowers I had lovingly tucked in were just a nuisance he cleared out of his way, a weekly charity hand-out for a stranger. “You really outdid yourself, Naomi,” I muttered, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. I didn’t go back to the shop. Instead, I hailed a cab. “Follow that bus, please.” The driver gave me a knowing look through the rearview mirror and hit the gas. We pulled up near the gates of the hillside cemetery. I watched Gideon walk past the stone archway, his dark coat disappearing among the rows of gray headstones. I waited until he left before I stepped inside. The air was heavy with the scent of wet pine and cold stone. Following the clues from the comments, I walked up the wet stone steps to the third row. I stopped in front of a clean marble headstone. The photograph on the stone showed a young girl. She had deep, lovely dimples and bright eyes that seemed to hold a thousand stars. In Loving Memory of Rosalie Jenkins. My breath caught. I knew her. Six months ago, she was a regular at my shop. She used to wear light purple sundresses, looking like a blooming iris. She never bought expensive arrangements; she only wanted pink hydrangeas, holding them to her chest with a smile sweeter than the flowers. Sometimes, she would press homemade cookies into my hands while we chatted about the weather. Then, she just stopped coming. I had wondered if she moved away. I never imagined she was lying beneath the cold earth. The cold rain dripped down my face. Looking at her picture, then remembering the hollow look in Gideon’s eyes, everything clicked. Gideon was never the lead in my story. He was a grieving man trapped in a past he couldn’t escape, while I had been stuffing his mourning bouquets with baby’s breath, symbolizing a quiet confession of love. How foolish, how incredibly inappropriate. “I’m so sorry, Rosalie,” I whispered to her picture. Leaving the cemetery, I tossed a damp, crumbled tissue into the trash, along with the ridiculous crush I had nurtured behind my counter for six long months. Gideon was just a heartbroken soul. And I needed to go back to my shop and figure out how to pay next month’s rent. Over the next few weeks, my shop returned to its quiet routine. Gideon still came every Thursday at four, and I served him with polite, professional distance. No extra flowers. Just business. “Why did you stop adding the baby’s breath, Naomi?” Becca asked one day. “It’s out of season,” I said simply. “Not worth stocking right now.” The comments above Gideon’s head were baffled. Wait, did she actually give up? It’s been weeks. Maybe we broke her spirit. Doesn’t matter. The real female lead is about to show up. This florist’s time is running out. One afternoon, as I was arranging fresh ranunculus, the chat suddenly went wild. Here she comes! The main event! Get ready! Our rich girl is going to humble this little shopkeeper! A woman in a tailored Chanel suit and an Hermès Birkin bag stepped into the shop, followed by a sharp-looking assistant. “Who’s the owner here?” her voice was sharp, dripping with casual arrogance. I wiped my hands and stepped forward. “I am. How can I help you?” She scanned me from head to toe, her eyes filled with cold amusement. “Wrap me a bouquet.” “Of course. What kind of flowers do you prefer?” Instead of answering, she strolled around the shop, stopping by the daisy bucket. She tapped a white petal with a manicured nail. “I hear Gideon buys these here.” Here it was. “Yes,” I replied smoothly. “Gideon is a regular customer. He usually prefers the white daisies.” Bianca, the heiress from the comments, let out a sharp laugh. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Whatever pathetic little fantasy you’ve been playing at, drop it. A girl like you has no business dreaming about someone like him.” I met her eyes calmly. “Miss, you’ve misunderstood. The extra flowers I used to put in Gideon’s bouquets were just older stock we needed to clear out before they spoiled. It was a simple business decision to minimize waste. Since we adjusted our inventory strategy, we no longer have surplus to give away.” Bianca blinked, utterly thrown by my dry, practical response. She had probably rehearsed a dozen insults, but my sheer corporate pragmatism left her with nothing to bite on. “Make sure it stays that way,” she snapped, turning on her heel. In her haste, she kicked over a potted plant by the door, leaving in a huff. The next Thursday, Gideon arrived at four. I assembled his daisies. Just as I was about to hand them over, he spoke. “Why…” he hesitated, “is there no baby’s breath anymore?” I paused. I hadn’t expected him to ask. “Oh, we adjusted our inventory. We don’t stock extras anymore.” The chat exploded. Oh my god! He noticed! Is this a plot twist? She’s playing hard to get! What a snake! I kept my face neutral. Gideon looked at me, a rare flicker of emotion in his dark eyes. “I liked it better before,” he said quietly, taking the bouquet and leaving. I froze. Outside the window, I spotted Bianca’s assistant holding up a phone, recording the exchange through the glass. This was going to be trouble. The next morning, Bianca’s assistant returned, tossing a buyout contract onto the counter. The offer was insulting, barely half of the shop’s market value. “Sign it,” the assistant said. “You’ll stay on as manager, but you’ll be working for Miss Bianca.” “No,” I said, pushing the paper back. “I’d think twice if I were you,” she sneered. “What Miss Bianca wants, she gets. If you don’t sign today, you might not have a shop to open tomorrow.” In the days that followed, inspectors from the fire department, the health board, and the city licensing bureau began showing up in waves. But I had anticipated this from the floating comments. I had spent forty-eight hours organizing every permit, safety log, and purchase receipt into pristine, double-backed physical and digital folders. Every inspection passed with flying colors. Frustrated, Bianca changed her tactics. Her assistant placed massive online orders for rare, imported flowers under various fake accounts, totaling tens of thousands of dollars, due the next morning. My team worked through the night to secure and package the flowers. But at 8:00 AM, every single order was canceled. Becca looked at the mountains of delicate, perishable flowers, on the verge of tears. “Naomi, what are we going to do? We’re going to lose everything.” I stared at the blooming petals, a fire igniting in my chest. “Becca, grab your phone. We’re going live.” We went live on social media. I explained that due to a series of sudden cancellations, we had a massive surplus of beautiful, fresh flowers. “We are converting all of these into charity bouquets,” I announced. “We’re delivering them to local retirement homes, hospitals, and night-shift nurses. It’s on us.” I walked the viewers through how small businesses can protect themselves from malicious online cancellations, never naming names but keeping my tone completely objective and educational. The stream went viral. Our sales surged. The comments above my head shifted completely. I take it back. This florist actually has backbone. Why is she so hard to get rid of? I smiled. Hard to get rid of? We were just getting started. Bianca’s next move was vicious. She released a heavily edited video of my charity stream, splicing my words to make it look like I was exploiting Rosalie’s death for views. The title screamed: Local Florist Uses Deceased Girl’s Memory for Social Media Clout! The internet erupted with hate. My phone was flooded with abusive messages. Then, Gideon barged into the shop. His eyes were bloodshot, his face contorted with fury. He slammed his phone onto the counter, knocking over a glass vase. “Why would you do this?” his voice shook with betrayal. “Just to save your shop? To get views? How could you exploit someone who is gone?” “She hated being talked about when she was alive, and now you won’t even let her rest in peace!” My heart felt like it was being scraped by a dull blade, the pain slow and deep. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t flinch. I simply looked him dead in the eye, my voice tight but steady. “Is that really who you think I am?” He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but the anger quickly took over again. “The evidence is right there!”

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