Category: English

I’ve been able to see ghosts since I was a child. I can’t speak to them, only watch. On our fifth wedding anniversary, I prepared a whole table of food and waited for my husband Ethan to come home. When I looked up, I saw his ghost. He was curled up in the corner of the living room, his face deathly pale and gray, staring at me intently. I felt like I’d fallen into an ice pit. Trembling, I reached for my phone, wanting to call him. Before I could dial, the door opened. Ethan walked in and hugged me gently like always. “Sorry, honey. I got held up at work.” He held me in his arms. I heard his familiar heartbeat in my ear, warm and strong. I closed my eyes and told myself: he’s alive. But when I opened them again, the spirit in the corner was still there. My heart sank bit by bit. If Ethan was already dead, then who was this person wearing his face and embracing me? I stared hard at Ethan’s face. I’d been looking at that face for twenty years. From childhood until we got married, he’d been by my side every single day. Now, I was watching with my own eyes as a ghost with his exact face curled up in the corner. My whole body trembled. For a long time, I couldn’t make a sound. “Emma, what’s wrong?” He walked over and placed his hand on my forehead. “Why are you sweating so much? Do you have a fever?” His eyes were full of concern, his warm palm pressed against my forehead. I startled and stumbled back a step. The movement was too sudden and knocked over the glass on the table. “Crash!” Water spilled everywhere. He froze, his hand suspended in mid-air, looking at me helplessly with a trace of hurt in his eyes. “Emma? What’s wrong?” I forcibly suppressed the panic in my heart. If the ghost in the corner was the real him, then who was this person in front of me? I absolutely couldn’t tip my hand. I took a deep breath and forced out a smile. “Nothing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Come eat. The food’s getting cold.” I sat down and picked up a piece of pork rib with my fork. He ladled me a bowl of soup and took out a bottle of red wine from the cabinet. “I came home late today. Let me apologize first.” I looked at the dark red liquid in the glass and spoke as casually as I could: “Do you remember that time we snuck liquor?” I stared at his face. He paused for a moment, then smiled. “How could I forget? That day you insisted on trying it. I couldn’t stop you. You got blackout drunk after two glasses.” “And then?” My hand holding the fork trembled slightly. “Then you threw up all over me. I took you home, and your mom smelled the alcohol and thought I’d forced you to drink. She chewed me out.” He shook his head. “I didn’t dare say you wanted to drink it yourself. I just took it.” My heart tightened. Only the two of us knew about this. “What were you wearing that day?” I pressed on. “A white shirt. You threw up all over it. It took forever to wash clean.” He smiled and ruffled my hair. “Why are you suddenly asking about this?” I lowered my eyes without answering. He even remembered this detail. I glanced at the ghost in the corner. He was still staring at me. My heart lifted again. No, this wasn’t enough. I cleared my throat and looked back at him, speaking with slight embarrassment. “Today… Mom called and said she’s craving the beef stew I make.” He picked up a piece of pork rib for me. “Okay, I’ll make it tomorrow and take it to her.” “You’ll make it?” I looked up at him. He laughed. “Haven’t I always been the one who makes it? Back then you tried to learn how to make that dish and nearly set the kitchen on fire. I ended up learning it instead. I burned several blisters on my hands.” “The first time I made it, you used salt instead of sugar. After you tasted it, your whole face scrunched up, but you still stubbornly said it was good. I thought to myself, this wife of mine is really cute.” “You even lied to my mom and said you made it,” he shook his head. “Then my mom bragged about your cooking to the neighbors. I didn’t dare expose you.” “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” He patted the back of my hand. I said nothing more. All the details matched up perfectly, but the ghost was still there. Could my eyes really be playing tricks on me? Impossible. I’d been able to see ghosts since childhood. I’d never been wrong about this before. After dinner, he put on an apron and went into the kitchen. I followed and leaned against the doorframe, observing him carefully. His movements handling the ingredients, his technique applying the seasonings, even his posture when sprinkling salt—everything was exactly the same as years ago. The familiar aroma drifted from the kitchen. He turned back and smiled at me. “Go sit down. It’ll be ready soon.” I didn’t move. When the food was served, I tasted a bite. The flavor was identical. “Is it good?” He leaned over, his eyes bright as he looked at me. I nodded. “Yeah, same taste as always.” He smiled and packed the beef into containers to put in the fridge. Then he took my hand. “Alright, it’s been a long day. Let’s go rest.” I leaned into his embrace. His body temperature came through his clothes, his steady breathing brushing against my ear. “Okay.” I closed my eyes. Whether you’re human or ghost, I will find out the truth.

I followed him into the bedroom. The ghost in the corner followed us in too. I looked away, not daring to look again. Ethan made the bed and patted the pillow. “Come, lie down. You’re tired today. Get some rest early.” I lay down beside him. He reached over to turn off the light, leaving only a small nightlight by the bed. “Emma,” he turned on his side to look at me, “have you had something on your mind lately?” “No,” I stared at the ceiling, “just a bit tired from work.” He held my hand. “If you’re tired, take a break. I’ll take care of you.” His palm was warm, his voice gentle. My throat tightened as I glanced again at that lonely spirit in the corner. “Do you still remember this necklace?” I picked up the necklace from the nightstand. He glanced at it and smiled. “Of course I remember. I gave it to you for your eighteenth birthday. I saved up my allowance for two months to buy it. The shopkeeper said it was the last one, and I was afraid someone else would snatch it up.” My heart clenched. He was right. “Do you remember what you wrote on the note when you gave it to me?” I continued pressing. “‘This necklace is for you. Happy birthday.’” His face reddened slightly. “Actually I wanted to write ‘I like you,’ but I didn’t dare.” “How did I respond?” “You didn’t. The next day you stuffed a box of chocolates in my desk. I was so happy I didn’t pay attention in class all day.” I closed my eyes. All correct. He took out the necklace and pointed to the words “Waiting for you” engraved on it. “I even cut my hand engraving this.” He extended his index finger. There was a faint scar on the pad. “Then why haven’t you worn this necklace all this time?” My voice trembled. “You said you couldn’t bear to, that you wanted to wait until our wedding day to wear it.” I took a deep breath and put the necklace back on the nightstand, lying down as casually as I could. “You have such a good memory. You remember things from so many years ago.” He smiled and ruffled my hair. “How could I forget anything about you?” I lowered my eyes, but my heart felt like it had a thorn in it. He was right. He remembered everything. But how could I explain the ghost in the corner? I turned on my side. “Since your memory is so good,” I stared at him, “let me test you. Do you remember when we went swimming as kids?” He thought for a moment. “I remember. The pool was deep, and you wanted to jump in without a float.” “Then you almost suffocated. I pulled you out. You were so lame.” I watched Ethan’s face nervously, afraid to miss even the slightest expression. I was the one who almost suffocated back then. He was the one who saved me. If he went along with my version, he would be fake! He paused for a moment, then suddenly tapped my forehead with his finger. “Are you dreaming? You were the one who almost suffocated. I pulled you out. You choked on water and cried for a long time.” I opened my mouth, unable to refute. “Do you remember our first time at the beach?” He looked at me blankly. “We’ve never been to the beach. Don’t you remember? You always said you wanted to see the ocean, but we never had time.” My whole body went cold. He was right again. I really had never been to the beach, just said I wanted to go. “Also, I had a white cat when I was little, named Snowball.” My voice tightened, my tone becoming somewhat urgent. He frowned. “You’ve never had a cat. When you were twelve, you got scratched by a cat, so you’re afraid of them. You avoid them whenever you see one.” I couldn’t say another word. Every lie, he could precisely identify. “Sleep. Stop thinking nonsense.” He pulled the blanket over and wrapped me in his arms. “You’ve been acting weird today.” I leaned against his chest and heard his heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Hm?” “Nothing.” I closed my eyes. He turned over, habitually draping his arm over my waist, naturally pulling me into his embrace, exactly the same as before. I opened my eyes and locked gazes with the ghost in the corner. My mind was in chaos. Who should I believe?

This went on for several days. I still had no clue, feeling like a stone was pressing on my heart. Until one morning, Ethan was tying his tie. He glanced at me in the mirror. “Didn’t sleep well again last night?” “Yeah.” I rubbed my eyes, looking exhausted. “Had dreams all night.” He turned around, fastened the last button, and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Emma, I need to tell you something.” “Hm?” “I booked a couples trip to the Maldives before. I wanted to surprise you,” he held my hand, “but there’s an emergency at the lab and I can’t get away. You go first, and I’ll join you in three days.” I froze. He’d never let me travel far alone before. “Why so suddenly…” “You’ve been so tired lately,” he smiled and ruffled my hair. “Go relax. I’ll fly over as soon as I finish up.” My heart stirred. This was a good opportunity to test him. I nodded. “Okay.” He turned to pack my luggage. I followed and leaned against the doorframe. He took out my favorite floral dress from the closet and folded it neatly. Then he stuffed sunscreen, a sun hat, common medications, and even the eye mask I usually used into the suitcase, one by one. “It’s hot there, pack more light clothes. Don’t get too cold, cover yourself at night,” he chattered on without stopping. “Your stomach isn’t good, so I bought some crackers to put in your bag. Eat them if you get hungry.” I watched his busy figure, my eyes getting a bit teary. He even remembered these details. “Also, that book you said you wanted to read—I downloaded it to your tablet. You can read it on the plane if you get bored.” He turned back and smiled at me. I lowered my eyes. The more meticulous he was, the more I felt like a jerk. Seeing me standing in the doorway without reacting, Ethan waved his hand in front of my face. “Alright, stop dawdling.” He zipped up the suitcase. “I’ll take you to the airport.” He came over, took my hand, and pulled me out the door. I looked back at the spirit in the corner and noticed he didn’t follow. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Good. It must just be my hallucination. My eyes must be the problem. All the way there, Ethan held my hand, chatting idly. I looked out the window, my mind in turmoil. At the airport, he helped me check in and stuffed the boarding pass in my hand. “Call me when you arrive.” “Okay.” He hugged me, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Have fun.” I walked through security and looked back at him. He stood outside the glass door, waving at me. My nose tingled. He was so good to me, yet I kept doubting him. I closed my eyes and made a secret vow: this is the last time. I’ll never doubt him again. On the plane, I deliberately chose a window seat. After takeoff, I looked out the window. Still no ghost following. The weight on my heart finally lifted. I’d have to make time to get a medical checkup. After forcibly suppressing the lingering unease deep in my heart, I opened the book he’d downloaded for me to distract myself. After landing, I immediately turned on my phone and sent him a message. “Arrived. Don’t worry.” He replied instantly. “Have fun. Wait for me.” I stared at the screen and smiled.

The scenery in the Maldives was beautiful. I sent him photos every day—beaches, sunsets, palm trees. He replied instantly to every one, his tone as gentle as always. During our video call at night, he leaned back on the sofa in warm yellow light. “Where did you go today?” “Diving,” I said, lying on the bed. “When are you coming? It’s no fun here alone.” “Soon, soon,” he smiled. “Didn’t you always want to see the Maldives? Back in college you said your honeymoon had to be here. I remembered.” I froze. That was something I’d said casually in college. I’d almost forgotten it myself. “You still remember?” “I told you, how could I forget anything about you?” His eyes were bright. My nose tingled. He got up to pour water. The phone camera shook slightly. In that instant, I saw a blurry shadow standing in the hallway behind him. The ghost had appeared again. Staring hard at Ethan with an unfriendly expression. My whole body went cold. “Emma? What’s wrong?” He came back with a water glass. “Bad signal,” I forced out a smile. “I’m tired today. I’m going to hang up.” After hanging up, I opened the ticket app with trembling hands. The nearest flight was in three hours. Before boarding, I dialed his number. No answer. My heart sank hard. He never ignored my calls! It was early morning when I landed. I rushed home. The lights were off. He wasn’t there. The ghost wasn’t there either. I could only open my phone’s location tracker and found he was at the hospital. I ran out like a madwoman. The hospital corridor was long, the lights blindingly white.

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I had booked our flight months ago, eager to return to our favorite place for our anniversary. Before boarding, I was stopped by my husband’s assistant—the woman everyone said he truly loved. She looked tearful and pleaded with me, asking for my ticket. “Please, I have a family emergency. I can’t afford the fare.” I refused, explaining I’d bought the ticket myself. Later, Declan questioned me. “Did you know she ended up walking home?” he asked, explaining she was trying to reach her dying mother. I was confused. “Why would she walk? There’s plenty of transport.” Declan nodded softly and handed me my nightly glass of milk, as he always did. I drank it and fell asleep. When I woke, I was alone in a blazing desert. A helicopter hovered nearby. Declan stood in the doorway, his arm around his assistant, staring down coldly. “You said transportation was convenient,” he said. “Let’s see you manage without a flight.” I was being broadcast live. The tag “Billionaire Wife Treks the Desert” was already trending. Looking into the camera, I stayed calm. “When you’re done with this childish game,” I said, “send a car to pick me up.” 1 The moment the words left my mouth, a massive digital screen hanging from the helicopter lit up. A flood of live comments rolled past rapidly. [Abigail still thinks she’s a spoiled heiress! Everyone knows the Hastings family went bankrupt and her parents fled the country. Who is she expecting to pick her up?] [Exactly! She lives off her husband’s money now, yet she still bullies average working class girls. Stealing discounted tickets from desperate employees? Has she no shame?] [I bet she won’t even make it a mile. Give it thirty minutes and she will be begging on her knees. Declan is the best boss ever for avenging his staff!] [Place your bets! I’m putting money on her crying and apologizing!] The desert heat was easily pushing past a hundred degrees. Baking under the merciless sun, I was already on the verge of severe dehydration. My miserable state was projected perfectly onto the live broadcast. Declan held Lily close to his chest, taking a slow sip from a crystal glass of iced wine. He looked down at me with absolute arrogance. “Stop acting so tough. If you want to leave this wasteland, you have two options. Walk out yourself, or drop to your knees and beg Lily for forgiveness. There is no third choice.” Hearing this, Lily immediately put on her best innocent act. “Declan, it’s okay. Abigail grew up in the lap of luxury. She’s never experienced real hardship. Please don’t punish her.” She lowered her head, her voice dripping with fake sorrow. “It’s my own fault for being poor. I couldn’t afford a first class seat and missed the cheap tickets. I had to walk through the mountains… I guess I deserve it.” My memory of the airport was crystal clear. When I bought my ticket, there were plenty of economy seats left. Lily deliberately waited until they were completely sold out before putting on her little show to guilt trip me. Declan’s voice cut through the dry air like a whip. “When she used her status as my wife to bully you, she should have known this day would come!” “Abigail, I warned you over and over again. Do not mess with Lily. She might not have your elite pedigree, but that does not mean she is completely unprotected.” Looking at the man I had loved for five years, a bitter taste flooded my mouth. After the Hastings family lost everything, Declan ignored all corporate protocol and brought his childhood sweetheart straight into the executive office. Lily was incredibly incompetent. She was constantly late and made endless mistakes. As her supervisor, I naturally assigned her overtime to fix her errors. When Declan found out, he punished me in our bed that night, keeping me awake until I was physically incapable of going to work the next morning. When I finally dragged my aching body into the office, he sneered at me in front of the entire staff. “I thought you hated tardiness? You can stay here until three in the morning tonight. Let that be a lesson.” From that day on, anytime I offered Lily even a shred of constructive criticism, Declan accused me of being an elitist snob. Once, Lily tripped and scraped her knee. Without asking a single question, Declan assumed I pushed her. He grabbed my shoulders and violently threw me down a flight of stairs. The memories snapped back to the present. My eyes burned, turning slightly red. Up in the helicopter, Declan saw my expression and froze for a fraction of a second. “Look, she’s already crying.” Lily capitalized on the moment, her voice trembling pitifully. “When I walked those miles through the mountains, I lost my shoes and bled everywhere, but I never shed a single tear.” Just as she intended, those words erased any fleeting sympathy Declan might have felt. His face hardened into pure stone. “Do you have any idea how much Lily suffered because of you? Guards, strip off her shoes!” 2 Before I could even brace myself, the bodyguards standing by lunged forward. They pinned me down and violently ripped the sneakers from my feet. My bare skin hit the scorching sand. A layer of skin instantly blistered and peeled from the agonizing heat. The live chat went completely feral. The total betting pool on when I would surrender skyrocketed into the millions. “Abigail, if it’s too much for you, just apologize. I promise I won’t hold a grudge,” Lily called out. She wore a mask of pure innocence, but a sickeningly triumphant gleam flashed in her eyes. “What exactly did I do wrong? You failed to buy a ticket, and you think you can manipulate the world into feeling sorry for you?” I gritted my teeth and forced myself to take a step forward, completely ignoring her fake pity. Lily’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. “I know I’m useless… If I were better, I wouldn’t have had to trek through the treacherous mountain trails. The ground was covered in thorns and jagged rocks. It was all my fault…” “Abigail, it seems I have spoiled you for far too long. Do you still think you are sitting on a throne?” Declan pulled Lily into a protective embrace, issuing another cold command. “I explicitly ordered this environment to replicate her mountain trek. Scatter the nails. Let’s see how long her stubborn pride lasts!” A torrential rain of metal thumbtacks cascaded onto the path ahead of me. They vanished into the loose sand, leaving only their razor sharp tips exposed. I couldn’t stop my momentum in time. My foot came down hard, and the metal spikes drove deep into my flesh. Fresh blood welled up, dripping down my ankles and staining the yellow sand a brilliant crimson. The color drained entirely from my face. The private physician standing by in the helicopter looked alarmed. “Sir, her health has always been incredibly fragile. Her body will go into shock.” “I am well aware of her condition. Why do you think I brought you along?” Declan scoffed softly. “I am just breaking her arrogant spirit. If she is truly on the verge of death, you have my permission to treat her. Besides, she isn’t blind. Can’t she just avoid the nails?” But the tacks were perfectly camouflaged in the shifting dunes. Walking barefoot, it was a literal minefield. Within minutes, the soles of my feet were a mangled, bleeding mess. The pain was so blinding I was on the verge of passing out. Declan’s jaw tightened as he watched me stumble. Before he could speak, Lily whispered softly into his chest. “Declan, all she has to do is say she’s sorry and this all ends. But with millions of people watching… even if I want to forgive her, she needs to give you some respect.” “But I suppose a spoiled princess like her would never lower herself to apologize to someone like me…” Those words perfectly triggered Declan’s deepest insecurity. He leaned out of the helicopter and shouted down at me. “Don’t think I don’t know the truth! You have always looked down on me because of your wealthy background! If you refuse to bow your head, then you can walk until you drop dead!” His cruel words echoed in my ears, carving a hollow cavern into my chest. We had been together for five years. I had severed ties with my family to stand by his side when he had absolutely nothing. Back then, he treated me like glass. If I got a papercut, he would hold my hand and cry out of pure guilt for hours. All of that vanished the day the Hastings empire collapsed. He grew entirely sick of my supposed entitlement. He labeled my basic standards as elitist tantrums and poured all his affection onto the submissive, easily controlled Lily. He was willing to torture me in a lethal desert just to avenge a minor inconvenience for his new favorite pet. Realizing this, whatever love I had left for him completely died. The live chat was moving at lightning speed. [Just give it up already. You are never making it out of there. This is getting boring.] [Seriously, I bet three months of rent on this. Apologize so I can cash out!] “It looks like the entire world knows you can’t make it, Abigail. Stop trying to act tough. Just get on your knees.” Lily mocked me with a sickeningly sweet tone. But the very next second, her smug expression completely vanished. An anonymous user had just placed a massive wager that I would successfully leave the desert. The bet was fifty million dollars. 3 That single notification sent a shockwave through the entire broadcast. Because the amount was so astronomical, the chat immediately erupted with suspicion. [Who casually drops fifty million?! Are they rigging this just to steal our money?] [Is this a massive scam?!] Lily panicked but tried to play it cool. She flashed her own betting slip to the camera. “Don’t worry, everyone! I also put my money on Abigail apologizing. I have no idea what idiot is trying to hand us free cash.” But the doubts kept rolling in. Lily was sweating. She had literally emptied her entire bank account to place her bet. Declan’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. “Who placed that bet? Who else would possibly support you? Are you sleeping with another man behind my back?!” “That is none of your business. The second I get out of here, we are getting a divorce.” I fired back without missing a beat. Hearing the word ‘divorce’ only fueled his manic rage. He let out a dark, cruel laugh and signaled his guards. “If we are truly replicating the mountain path, we need to do it properly. I want her to feel exactly what Lily felt.” “Mountains are full of snakes. Release them!” My heart stopped. The blood froze in my veins. Declan knew perfectly well that I had a crippling, clinical phobia of snakes. At his command, the bodyguards hauled massive bamboo crates to the edge of the chopper. Hundreds of thick, slithering reptiles spilled out into the sand, writhing and hissing as they moved. I stumbled backward in pure terror. Declan simply sneered. “They are just harmless garden snakes. Kids in the country play with them every day. Only a fragile, pampered princess would be terrified of something so basic.” “Exactly! I used to get bitten all the time growing up. It’s totally harmless!” Lily chimed in, though a vicious, calculating shadow crossed her eyes. It didn’t take me long to realize the horrifying truth. The vibrant, triangular heads emerging from the sand were absolutely not harmless garden snakes. They were highly venomous vipers. I turned and tried to sprint away, but my mutilated, bleeding feet couldn’t find any traction. In my panicked rush, I lost my balance and collapsed hard into the dirt. The scorching sand seared my bare skin. Hidden tacks pierced my palms and knees, tearing fresh, agonizing wounds across my body. The vipers smelled the fresh blood. They began to swarm, closing the circle around me. I had nowhere to run. A thick, brightly colored snake lunged forward, sinking its fangs directly into my ankle. The venom burned like absolute fire. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Once the first snake struck, a second and a third slithered closer, ready to attack. The skin around the bite immediately swelled, turning a sickly, bruised purple. The color rapidly drained from my lips. The physician up in the helicopter instantly noticed my physical collapse. He stepped forward in a panic. “Sir! She has been bitten by a venomous species! She is going to die! We need to administer antivenom right now!” Declan didn’t even flinch. “I specifically ordered non venomous snakes. Stop overreacting over a tiny bite. We save the medical supplies for real emergencies.” But as he looked closer, the reality finally registered. My lips were turning blue. My breathing was shallow and ragged. He looked down at the sea of vipers swarming the dunes. Those were not the harmless garden snakes he had requested. A sudden, paralyzing panic gripped Declan. He screamed at the top of his lungs. “I said no venom! Who brought these things?!” “Get those monsters away from her! Bring the chopper down! Let me out!” The bodyguards immediately deployed chemical repellents and heavy nets to drive the swarm back. I lay in the burning sand, barely clinging to consciousness. Through blurred vision, I watched Declan shove past a protesting Lily and sprint toward me. The doctor grabbed a vial of antivenom from his emergency kit and rushed to the open door. “Sir, we have to inject her immediately! Let me call for a medical evac!” Before the doctor could step off the helicopter, Lily suddenly lunged forward. “Let me help!” She violently tripped over her own feet, slamming into the doctor. The glass vial of antivenom slipped from his hands, plummeting toward the ground and shattering into a hundred pieces against a jagged rock. Declan’s eyes widened in absolute horror. “What the hell did you just do?!”

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When Xavier brought his eighth assistant to me for hymen reconstruction surgery, Eleanor, my mother-in-law, sent me a message: “Still not divorcing? This is the eighth one. Are you some kind of masochist?” This time I didn’t have a hysterical breakdown. I just quietly performed the reconstruction surgery on the young woman. When we walked out of the operating room, Xavier tenderly held the young woman. “There, now your first time will be mine.” The young woman seemed a bit shy in front of others. “Oh, what are you saying? Right in front of your wife, Lily? Aren’t you afraid she’ll misunderstand?” Xavier acted as if he’d only just noticed me, giving me a glance followed by mockery. “Her parents’ medical bills still depend on me. As long as I’m happy, she’ll do anything. Besides…” Xavier paused mid-sentence to glance at me. “For a woman who’s been humiliated like her to hold the position of a rich man’s wife—that’s already more than she deserves.” Meeting Xavier’s questioning gaze, I nodded, then pulled out several documents. “Perfect timing. Sign these, so I don’t have to track you down later.” Xavier signed without even looking. Then he instructed me to take good care of the young woman, adding, “Don’t make things difficult for her, or I’ll make you regret it.” I nodded obediently. Watching Xavier take the young woman to the hospital room, I pulled out the divorce agreement from among the documents. This time, I didn’t want to wrong myself anymore.

Xavier had barely left when Eleanor called me. “Have you no shame? Hurry up and divorce my son.” “Fine. How much are you willing to pay me?” Eleanor seemed surprised that I would actually agree to divorce. After all, in her view, I was clinging to Xavier for money. And I was completely unworthy of her son, so over these years of marriage, she had become my greatest enemy. From the time we started dating, she’d approached me multiple times to talk. After marriage, she mocked me every time she saw me. “Some people marry a good man and think they can comfortably settle into being a wealthy wife.” Because she didn’t like me, everyone in the wives’ social circle treated me coldly too. At first, for Xavier’s sake, I desperately tried to fit into that circle. When Xavier found out, he said, “Why do you need to fit in with them? They should be the ones trying to please you.” Back then, Xavier’s heart and eyes were full of me. The extreme mismatch in our social status—he completely ignored it. Even paying my parents’ medical bills was something he suggested, not something I demanded. When Eleanor found out, she went directly to my parents. She cursed at my parents in front of the neighbors. My parents’ health deteriorated further because of her words. When Xavier found out, he had a huge fight with Eleanor and declared, “If you target my wife again, our relationship as mother and son is over.” After that, Eleanor’s targeting of me became less obvious. But it only lasted a year. Everything changed. On our first wedding anniversary, Xavier didn’t celebrate with me, using work as an excuse. But I saw him on his assistant’s social media. Xavier, who had no time to celebrate with me, had time to celebrate his assistant’s birthday. I made a huge scene that day, but Xavier was dismissive. “The assistant is Director Lin’s daughter. This is business entertainment. Don’t be so unreasonable.” But later, seeing I was truly angry, Xavier apologized. He swore to me there would never be a next time. But a man’s mouth—it’s full of lies. The next time came quickly. From my initial hysteria, I’d become numb by now. I understood clearly—people don’t rot from the beginning. Perhaps the current Xavier was the real him. But I kept remembering how sincere Xavier was when we first got together. His acting was excellent. He deceived me, making me believe I’d met true love, met a man worth spending my life with. But then he said to me, “You’re not even a virgin. You expect me to be faithful to you?”

In that instant, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Meeting my heartbroken eyes, Xavier realized he’d said the wrong thing. He quickly tried to backtrack. “I didn’t mean it like that, I…” His attempt to explain was interrupted by a phone call. Xavier answered the phone gently and walked away without looking back. I watched Xavier’s retreating figure, my heart feeling torn apart. So when he said he didn’t care at all, he was lying. Back when we first got together, Xavier’s competitors couldn’t find any weakness in him. He’d announced our relationship publicly, so I became their target. To humiliate Xavier, they found someone to nearly assault me. That was the first time I’d seen Xavier angry. He nearly killed that man. Afterward, Xavier bankrupted that person in less than a day. He’s still in prison now. But now… “Are you serious?” Eleanor’s skeptical voice pulled my thoughts back to the present. I nodded. “Yes.” “Fine. How much money do you want?” “Whatever you’re willing to give.” For the first time, I hung up before waiting for Eleanor to finish speaking. She immediately sent several angry messages complaining about me. Seeing I didn’t reply, she could only fume, eventually transferring me five million dollars. Although it wasn’t much compared to the Xavier family’s wealth, it was enough for me. After accepting the money, I blocked Eleanor. Then I handed the divorce agreement and all the evidence to my lawyer, having him handle our divorce lawsuit. I thought Xavier and I wouldn’t see each other again, but I didn’t expect him to bring someone to my small apartment. Seeing Xavier and Molly, I instinctively frowned. Xavier casually pushed me aside and brought Molly in to look at the place. “This small apartment is closest to the office. You’ll live here from now on, so I can come see you anytime.” “Okay, Xavier.” “Xavier, this is my apartment.” “What, drawing such clear lines with me now? Fine then. Your parents’ nursing home fees—should you settle those yourself? I don’t need to pay anymore, right?” “You…” I never imagined Xavier would say such things for Molly’s sake. Seeing me unable to fight back, Xavier smiled smugly. “Alright, I’ll compensate you. You can go live in that small apartment near your hospital.” Hearing this, my heart sank. Had Xavier completely forgotten? I was nearly assaulted in that small apartment. Back then, I became depressed because of that incident. Xavier stayed with me every day until I recovered. But now? I looked at Xavier in disbelief. “You want me to live where?” “What? Unwilling? That place is much bigger than this apartment.” Xavier had just finished speaking when something seemed to occur to him. He slapped his forehead in realization. He looked at Molly with a smile. “I forgot—that’s where she slept with another man.” “Slap…” I really couldn’t hold back. The moment the slap landed on Xavier’s face, my heart skipped a beat. “Xavier, you…” “Slap!” It was my face that got hit. Molly looked at me with a trembling body, her face flushed red with anger. “What right do you have to hit people? You seduced Xavier’s competitor during your marriage, and he didn’t even despise you for it. Now you’re acting proud?” Molly’s protective behavior made Xavier laugh. “Alright, don’t stoop to her level.” Then Xavier looked at me magnanimously. “You hit me, Molly defended me. We’re even now. You should be more gracious too. Whether you and I can continue depends on you.”

Xavier’s threatening intent was obvious. But I didn’t want to endure it anymore. “Get out.” “Lily…” Xavier glared at me, dissatisfied. “You really want to tear off all pretenses?” “Yes.” “Good. Very good.” Xavier smiled at me, then turned and left with Molly. I knew Xavier would retaliate, but I didn’t expect him to be this vicious. That same day, my nude photos were spread wildly in our hospital’s group chat, captioned: One hundred dollars per session. I became the laughingstock of the entire hospital. Colleagues who’d been jealous of my rapid promotion due to my excellent medical skills directly reported me: “We suspect she’s engaging in power-for-sex transactions at the hospital.” Unable to withstand the pressure, the hospital sent people to investigate. The so-called investigation was really just pinning charges on me. In the end, I, a gynecology specialist, was directly fired. The deputy director rumored to be having an affair with me even came forward saying I’d seduced him. Furious, I confronted him, demanding to know why he was framing me. To my surprise, he was even more disgusted with me. “Lily, you have the nerve to blame me? You and your husband are playing me for a fool. Do you know my wife doesn’t believe me now and insists on divorcing me?” Listening to the deputy director’s condemnation, my body shook violently. I knew this had something to do with Xavier, but I never imagined that to stand up for Molly, he would slander me like this. He even personally intervened to make my disgrace stick. True love, indeed. Xavier used to protect me the same way. Fortunately, my lawyer called saying our divorce certificate would be processed soon. Once it was done, Xavier and I would have nothing to do with each other. That day, worried my parents would be upset if they saw the news, I wanted to go to the nursing home and explain things clearly to them. When I arrived, I just happened to see my parents being kicked out of the nursing home. They didn’t struggle at all, just silently took their belongings and left. Hiding in the shadows, I heard my parents sighing. “Our daughter and Xavier have reached the end. We can’t drag her down anymore.” “Yes.” The couple looked at each other, then walked away with hunched backs. I quietly followed behind them, picking up my phone to call them. I held back my tears. They forced smiles too. As I was about to hang up, my parents cautiously asked, “You and Xavier…” “Yes, we’ve started divorce proceedings. I’ve booked plane tickets for you to leave. You should…” “Good. We’ll leave right away.” My parents answered me quickly. We tacitly said nothing more, and then I sent them the ticket information. Watching my parents leave, I breathed a sigh of relief. Given Xavier’s current level of devotion to Molly, I truly didn’t know what he might do to my parents. Their leaving was for the best. That night I didn’t go to the small apartment near the hospital. Instead, I returned to the marital home I shared with Xavier. All my belongings were there. But I didn’t expect that the moment I opened the door, I would see Molly and Eleanor. Eleanor immediately gave me a cold look. “Have you no shame? Hurry up and divorce my son.” “I can. How much are you planning to give me?” I ignored Eleanor and went upstairs to pack my things. But they watched me like they were monitoring a criminal. When I wanted to take my cosmetics, Molly even mocked, “Lily, these things were all bought with Xavier’s money, right?” At first, I didn’t respond, but every time I reached for something, Molly would mock me. Unable to bear it anymore, I said, “What, aren’t you spending Xavier’s money now? Xavier and I aren’t even divorced yet. The money he’s spending on you—I have the right to demand it back.” “You…” Molly immediately stamped her feet in anger. But the next moment, she sat down directly on the floor. “Lily, I kindly wanted to let you stay here a few more days. Why did you hit me? Do you hate me that much?” “Lily…”

Meeting Xavier’s eyes that looked like they wanted to devour me, I was too lazy to defend myself. Xavier shot me a vicious glare, then nervously helped Molly up. “Are you okay?” Molly shook her head fearfully. “I’m fine. I just don’t know why Lily…” Before she could finish, Molly began crying pitifully. Xavier looked at me again. I simply said flatly, “I’ll leave once I’ve packed my things.” “Apologize.” Xavier’s face was grim, his hand gripping my wrist tightly. In that moment, I read one message in Xavier’s eyes: if I didn’t apologize, I would definitely regret it. “Xavier, because of you, I was fired from the hospital. Because of you, my parents were kicked out of the nursing home. Because of you, I’m now a whore. Because of you, I’ve been insulted. And now, because of a mistress’s few words, you want me to apologize?” I looked at Xavier aggressively. I wanted to know if this man truly had no heart. The facts proved that when a man doesn’t love you anymore, anything you say is worthless. “What happened to you is what you deserve. What does it have to do with me? Stop deflecting. Apologize to Molly right now, or else…” “Or else what?” I stared at Xavier defiantly. He panicked for a moment, frowning and saying softly, “Why do you have to be so difficult? You know Molly is still young. Why are you arguing with her? No one can shake your position. Can’t you just behave?” I really couldn’t understand Xavier. If he didn’t love me anymore, why not let go? From the first time Xavier cheated with an assistant, I’d proposed divorce. Time after time, Xavier always refused. He even targeted me because I wanted a divorce. Everyone who was good to me had been targeted. So that now, only my parents still stood on my side. And now they were gone too. Xavier had no one left to threaten me with. “Xavier, in this house, it’s either me or her.” “Ha, how arrogant. You really think my son can’t live without you. My son just pities you.” “A woman like you who’s been used by others and can’t even have children—our Xavier family doesn’t want you.” Eleanor’s words stabbed into my chest like knives. “So Lily is targeting me because I’m pregnant and you can’t conceive?” Molly’s one sentence made my face change dramatically. “Lily, why pretend you don’t know? You’re a doctor. Couldn’t you tell at a glance?” I ignored Molly, only looking at Xavier. “Answer me. Is she pregnant?” “Yes.” “So you’re keeping this child?” “Yes.” Xavier answered firmly, even worrying I might harm Molly, quickly shielding her behind him. Watching the Xavier family on high alert, I couldn’t help but laugh. But as I laughed, tears came. For myself, and for my unborn child. That was my first child, and Xavier’s first child too. But when he learned of the pregnancy, he wasn’t happy at all. Instead, he was troubled. Later he told me, “Lily, you know I grew up without a father. I’m not ready yet. I don’t think we’re suited to have a child right now.” I knew very well that my body conceiving a child was extremely difficult. So I explained to Xavier that I could take good care of the child. But he acted tormented every day, as if he would die if I gave birth to this child. When a colleague learned I was going to have an abortion, she was shocked. “Dr. Lily, you know very well that this might…” I didn’t let her finish, because I knew she was right. But I couldn’t take the risk. I couldn’t let Xavier suffer. In the end, I had a miscarriage. And that man who said he’d never want children for the rest of his life was now carefully cherishing his mistress and her child. Tears fell uncontrollably. “Xavier, back then our…” “Enough, Lily. Some things I won’t mention, so don’t bring them up yourself. If you don’t find it shameful, I find it disgusting!” Xavier glanced at me with disgust. I was instantly petrified. What did that mean? Was he—was he suspecting me? My chest hurt, but I still asked, “So back then it wasn’t that you didn’t want children—you didn’t want my child?” “Exactly. You’re dirty.” Eleanor answered first, and Xavier didn’t deny it. In that moment, I felt like a joke. I laughed bitterly at myself, throwing a document at Xavier. “Take a good look. I hope you never regret your decisions for the rest of your life.” Xavier dismissively glanced at the document. With just one look, his expression changed drastically. “This is impossible…”

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When I was three, scavenging for food, I was bullied until a couple rescued me. Back then, I still didn’t know that the blonde woman was the head of the New York Mafia, and the tattooed man was the leader of all the Motorcycle Clubs in America. The blonde woman taught me to shoot, and the tattooed man taught me how to race. For eighteen years, they protected me fiercely. Then my biological parents tracked me down. That’s when I found out I was the true heir to the Sterlings, a family worth hundreds of millions. But the day I was supposed to move in with them, Tiffany, the fake daughter, blocked my way. She looked down at me, a cold sneer on her face, and told me to crawl through the pet door like a stray to get inside. I stood my ground. Brandon Sterling, the eldest brother, scowled and snapped: “It’s just a pet door! Don’t be ungrateful, Jade! Tiffany letting you come home at all is a huge favor.” Caleb Sterling, my younger brother, scoffed, his face full of disdain: “A stray like you dares to upset Tiffany? Get lost!” I turned to my biological parents. They just said: “Tiffany gets emotional. She’s upset you’re back, so just humor her.” Looking at their aggressive stares, I calmly pulled out my phone and messaged my adoptive parents: “Mom and Dad, the Sterlings are bullying me. Come get your revenge, fast!”

The second I sent the message, Caleb lunged forward and snatched my phone. The screen was open to the “Jax and Sera’s One and Only Baby” family SnapChat group. Two messages popped up instantly: Mommy: Baby, don’t be scared! I’m flooring it. Your dad and I are coming for them! Daddy: Who the hell dares lay a hand on my girl? The Sterlings, huh? I’ll make sure they’re bankrupt by sundown! He looked at the two jumping Jersey Shore-style avatars, scoffed aloud, and mockingly repeated the ridiculously arrogant messages for my biological parents to hear. Tiffany Sterling, the fake daughter, burst out laughing so hard she couldn’t stand straight. Wiping away tears of mirth, she sneered: “I’m dying! Jade, your two street thug parents think they can go up against the Sterlings?” I blinked. Didn’t they bother to do their homework before claiming me? My adoptive parents’ style might be a little gaudy, and their manners unconventional, but they’re definitely not thugs! Mrs. Sterling’s face completely darkened. Her gaze held nothing but undisguised disgust. She stepped forward, her voice sharp, leaving no room for argument: “How can a Sterling be associated with thugs? It’d be a scandal! We’d be a laughingstock, completely ruining the Sterling family’s reputation!” “Jade, now that you’re back with the Sterlings, you must cut all ties with those unsavory characters!” With that, she gave Caleb a look, signaling him to hand the phone back to me. “Delete all your adoptive parents’ contacts right now. Sever all contact! This is your first test to rejoin the Sterling family.” I swallowed my anger, ready to grab my phone and leave. But just as my fingers brushed the device, Tiffany snatched it away. She pouted and complained to Mrs. Sterling: “Mom, look at Jade! She’s got that cold look on her face. She clearly doesn’t want to delete them. She doesn’t respect you at all.” “Since she won’t do it, I, as her older sister, will kindly help her! We don’t want these low-lives bothering the Sterlings later!” This family was so infuriating, I almost laughed. “The wealthy Sterling family”? In my eyes, they were nothing. This “true heir” nonsense? Whoever wants it can have it. I, Jade Walker, don’t care for it!

I held out my hand to Tiffany, my voice cold: “Give me back my phone!” But Tiffany ducked behind Brandon, stuck out her tongue at me, and rapidly tapped the phone screen. She exited the family group, deleted the contacts, all before I could even react. Once she was done, she showed me the empty contact list, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “I don’t care about the phone. Just give me back the charm!” Attached to my phone case was a faded, worn-out little bear charm. My adoptive parents bought it for me from a street vendor when I was three, after some kids threw rocks at me while I was scavenging and made me cry. It was the first gift I had ever received. For eighteen years, I had kept it with me, treasuring it like gold. Tiffany’s gaze fell on the tattered little bear, and a flicker of malice crossed her eyes. She slammed the phone on the ground and stomped on it. “Ugh, you call this piece of trash a treasure? It’s probably crawling with germs. It should have been thrown in the trash a long time ago.” “The Sterlings don’t tolerate such dirty things. I’m just helping you declutter!” With that, she ground her high heel into it several times. The once-chubby little bear was instantly crushed, its cotton stuffing spilling out. My face went pale. I quickly bent down to pick it up. But just as my fingers touched the charm, Tiffany’s heel came down hard on my hand. Excruciating pain shot from my fingertips through my entire body. I bit down hard, yanking my hand back. My knuckles were already bruised and swollen, a sickening sight. The next second, Tiffany shrieked and dramatically collapsed to the ground. Her eyes welled up with tears instantly. She looked at Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, sobbing plaintively: “Mom, Dad, I was just trying to help Jade get rid of some dirty things, but she deliberately pushed me… Is it because I’m the fake daughter that I deserve to be bullied like this…?” Caleb immediately shielded Tiffany, glaring at me with utter disgust: “I only recognize Tiffany as my sister. A malicious woman like you doesn’t deserve to be my sister!” “I’m warning you, don’t cause a scene here, or you’ll never set foot in the Sterling family home again.” Brandon’s face instantly turned furious. Without a word, he roughly shoved me away. The force was immense. I stumbled back several steps, my lower back hitting the edge of a flower bed with a painful thud. The pain was so intense I couldn’t straighten up. He glared down at me, his voice icy: “Get down on your knees and apologize to Tiffany right now! We raised her with love. No one has ever dared to upset her. How dare you, a wild girl we just met, hurt her?” Only then did Mr. Sterling, who had been observing coldly, finally speak, and his words immediately condemned me. “Jade, since you pushed Tiffany, you should apologize to her.” Mrs. Sterling sharply chimed in: “The Sterling family values respect and rules. When you make a mistake, you must kneel and apologize sincerely!” They acted as if they were blind, completely ignoring my injured hand. Or rather, they simply didn’t care about me. My hand still throbbed faintly, but my heart felt strangely calm, even a little mocking. Just wait. When my parents show up, They’ll be the ones on their knees, crying and begging.

“I won’t apologize, and I won’t kneel.” I straightened my back, clenched my fists, my eyes as cold as ice, showing no sign of submission. My defiance completely enraged the Sterlings. “Fine! Fine, then!” Brandon gritted his teeth in anger. He snatched my phone from the ground, grabbed my suitcase from beside me, and strode towards the pool. “Since you insist on getting tangled up with those thugs and refusing to change, I’ll put an end to all your hopes today!” “No!” I raced towards him like a madwoman, but it was too late. My suitcase and phone plunged heavily into the pool, splashing water everywhere, and instantly sank. Without hesitation, I dove into the pool. The icy water enveloped me. I frantically searched, swimming three laps back and forth, until I finally retrieved the tattered little bear. When I stumbled out of the pool, I was drenched, my clothes clinging to me, my lips purple with cold, shivering uncontrollably. Tiffany stood there, arms crossed, looking down at me with arrogant disdain. Suddenly, her gaze fell on a faint red mark on my neck. As if she’d found a major piece of evidence, she immediately shouted: “Jade, is that a hickey on your neck?!” She feigned surprise, covering her mouth, her voice laced with malicious speculation: “Oh my god, did you have sex with a thug already?!” “Or… did you catch some dirty disease? After all, the circles you ran in were so messed up, who knows what kind of nasty stuff you might have picked up…” At that, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling’s faces instantly changed. Mrs. Sterling recoiled half a step, her face twisted in disgust: “Your adoptive mother, with her weird outfits, always hanging around on the streets with those thugs. She clearly has a questionable private life. What kind of child could she raise?” “Jade, tell us honestly, have you been fooling around outside?” Mr. Sterling frowned, his voice sharp: “Absolutely not! We need to take her to the hospital for a check-up, see if she’s ‘clean’!” Brandon and Caleb stepped forward, grabbing my arms, one on each side, with such force I thought my bones would shatter. No matter how much I struggled, they roughly shoved me into the car. “Don’t be difficult. You’re getting this check-up whether you like it or not!” The car sped off, heading straight for the hospital. As soon as we entered the clinic, Mrs. Sterling grabbed Dr. Miller’s hand and loudly declared, her voice so piercing people in the next department could hear: “Doctor, is that a hickey on her neck, or some dirty disease? My daughter lived with thugs for over ten years, please, you have to give her a thorough check-up!” Her words made everyone around us turn their heads. Those stares – disdainful, scrutinizing, disgusted – felt like a thousand needles pricking my skin. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. The results came back quickly. Dr. Miller held the report, looking at Mr. and Mrs. Sterling with a serious expression: “The results are completely normal. She has no infectious diseases. And this young woman is chaste; she has no sexual history. The red mark on her neck is just a common allergy. As parents, how could you so unfairly slander your child’s reputation? If word gets out, it could ruin her life.” The clinic fell into a sudden, stunned silence. But there was no trace of guilt on the Sterlings’ faces. Mrs. Sterling, instead, frowned and chastised me: “If you were ‘clean,’ why didn’t you say so sooner? You wasted our time and made us look foolish in front of Dr. Miller!” I forced a smile, looking into her eyes, and asked the question burning in my heart: “You don’t love me at all, so why did you go to such lengths to find me?”

Mrs. Sterling’s face froze. She looked away awkwardly, not answering. Mr. Sterling was silent for a moment, then finally spoke. But every word was a dagger twisting in my gut. “Since you asked, I’ll tell you the truth. Ten years ago, we discovered Tiffany wasn’t our biological daughter. But we’d raised her for so many years, we’d already accepted her. We even legally changed her name to Tiffany, ensuring she’d remain the Sterling family’s true daughter forever.” “But then, your mother was diagnosed with kidney failure and desperately needed a transplant. That’s why we had to find you. Your match was perfect.” “We gave you life. Your mother needs saving now, and it’s only natural for you to give her a kidney in return. It’s your responsibility, one you can’t escape.” His words cleared the fog, revealing the harsh truth. The supposed longing and guilt I saw at our first meeting were all fake. This reunion was a cold, calculated scheme from the very beginning. They had two biological sons, and Tiffany, whom they’d coddled for twenty-one years. But they couldn’t bear for any of those children to donate a kidney. So, they set their sights on me, their biological daughter for whom they felt no affection. They found me back, simply because I was the one they could sacrifice without hesitation. I looked up at them, my eyes filled with nothing but sarcasm: “You have two biological sons, don’t you? Their matches must be highly compatible too.” The faces of the five Sterlings instantly changed. Mr. Sterling immediately scowled, pointing at me and snapping angrily: “Nonsense! Your brother is the Sterling family heir, and your younger brother is still a child. How dare you even think of them?!” Mrs. Sterling whirled around, glaring at me with a savage fury, as if she wanted to tear me limb from limb: “They’re men! What if losing a kidney ruins their health for good?!” “Jade, how can you be so malicious at such a young age, wanting to harm your own brothers?!” Tiffany quickly stepped forward to support Mrs. Sterling, feigning understanding: “Mom, it’s just a shame I’m not your biological daughter, otherwise I’d gladly give my life to save you.” The Sterlings looked at me with even greater contempt. Brandon stepped forward, pulling an organ donation agreement from his jacket, and promised: “Jade, donating a kidney is your second test to join the Sterling family.” “As long as you sign this agreement, from now on, you’ll be a real Sterling.” “A ‘Sterling family member’?” I scoffed, my voice dripping with defiance. “I never wanted to be a Sterling in the first place!” “I’ll never donate that kidney!” With that, I turned to leave. “Stop!” I ignored the angry shouts behind me. But just as I pulled open the clinic door, two bodyguards blocked me. They roughly dragged me back, forcing my hand to sign the agreement. Then, I was bound hand and foot and dragged into the operating room. The doctor picked up a needle for anesthesia, but Tiffany immediately shrieked to stop him: “No anesthesia! She thinks she’s so tough? If she dares to cross the Sterlings, she deserves a lesson!” The doctor paused, looking uncomfortable, and instinctively glanced at Mrs. Sterling. “But… operating without anesthesia, she’ll die of pain!” Mrs. Sterling immediately sneered, her voice harsh: “If she dies of pain, it’s her own fault! She wasn’t obedient, so she’ll pay the price. We’ll take responsibility for anything that happens, just do it!” The gleaming scalpel slowly approached, about to pierce my skin. I stared desperately at the stark white ceiling, trembling uncontrollably. Just then, BANG—a deafening crash! The heavy operating room door exploded inward. A sleek, roaring motorcycle burst through the door, engine screaming, and skidded to a halt beside the operating table. My adoptive mother, Seraphina Rossi, ripped off her helmet, hurled it, and it precisely struck the scalpel from the doctor’s hand. My adoptive father, Jax Walker, kicked over the lead surgeon, his eyes bloodshot as he scanned the room, roaring: “Who the hell dares lay a hand on my daughter?!”

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My husband, Michael, was away on a business trip in France. On Thanksgiving Day, he asked me to go back to his hometown and spend the holiday with his parents. I took a red-eye flight back to Michael’s family home. The moment I walked through the door, my mother-in-law, Susan Baker, pointed at a table piled high with ingredients. “You’re making Thanksgiving dinner this year! Remember, just like last year, it has to be ten dishes!” I paused, “Don’t you have a nanny?” Susan frowned. “Tiffany works so hard taking care of us normally. Since you’re back, you should let her rest.” I countered, “Isn’t that her job? Besides, my job is also very demanding.” That sentence upset both my father-in-law and mother-in-law. My father-in-law, Robert Baker, slammed his hand on the table. “It’s Thanksgiving, but you don’t show an ounce of gratitude! It seems Tiffany is more suitable to be our daughter-in-law than you are!” I scoffed. Fine, if that’s how it is, I won’t invest a single cent in your company anymore! You can all go bankrupt.

On Thanksgiving Day, I bought a bunch of gifts to visit Robert and Susan. But when I arrived, I wasn’t met with a warm welcome. The nanny, Tiffany, was snuggled between them, her right arm intimately linked with Susan’s. The three of them were chatting and laughing, just like a family. Before I could even speak, Susan’s voice was heavy with dissatisfaction: “So you finally found time to come back and see us.” I explained, “Michael and I are both too busy with work.” Susan continued to complain, “If it wasn’t for you, my son wouldn’t have left us to work in New York.” I still managed a strained smile. “Once work isn’t so crazy next year, Michael and I will come back to visit you more often.” With that, I handed the gifts to Susan. Susan pursed her lips and said, “That’s more like it! But don’t think buying us a few gifts means you care about us.” After dinner, just as I was about to sit down and rest, trying to shake off the fatigue from my travels, Susan said, “This year’s Thanksgiving dinner, you’re making it. Remember, just like last year, it has to be ten dishes.” I froze, instinctively saying, “Isn’t that Tiffany’s job?” Susan immediately frowned, setting down her water glass, her face darkening. “Tiffany works so hard taking care of us, she’s exhausted all day long. Now that you’re back, can’t you let her rest?” “I’m exhausted from work too,” I looked at them, completely perplexed. “I work overtime every day, and I bought a 1 AM flight ticket just to be here with you for Thanksgiving. I barely have the energy to make 10 dishes right now.” “Besides, I pay her so much money to do these things, don’t I? It makes no sense for me to pay her and then do the work myself.” Tiffany stood nearby, head bowed, looking as if she’d been wronged. Robert slammed his hand on the table, his face stern, and he angrily yelled at me, “What do you see besides money? You took my son away for money, and now you’re not even willing to make dinner!” “You don’t come home, you never visit, and now that you are home, you talk about money. I think you should just live with your money and your work. Why even bother coming back!” Susan sighed, her eyes full of disappointment. “Exactly. You and Michael only come home once a year. Tiffany has been the one taking care of us. When we get sick, it’s always Tiffany who looks after us. As a daughter-in-law, what have you ever done for us?” As soon as she finished speaking, Tiffany gently stepped forward, took Susan’s hand, and softly comforted her. “Aunt Susan, please don’t be angry. Emily is a CEO; she must be much busier than a nanny like me.” Listening to them, I was so angry I almost laughed. I didn’t care about them? Their company only survived because of my investments. Even Tiffany’s salary was paid by me.

How could they see it as if I’d done nothing? I clenched my fists, suppressing the anger bubbling inside me. “It’s unfair for you to say that, isn’t it? If it weren’t for…” “You say I don’t care about you, that I only care about work and making money? But haven’t the earnings I made been invested in your company? And I call you on FaceTime regularly, so it’s not like I completely neglect you, is it?” Robert immediately scowled. “But you didn’t even come home last year for Thanksgiving or Christmas, is that acceptable? Besides, my company is doing very well, it doesn’t need your investment at all. You just want to use my company to make more money.” “Uncle Robert, please don’t be angry,” Tiffany quickly stepped forward, gently tugging Robert’s arm, a submissive smile on her face. “Emily has it tough working in New York, she definitely still thinks about you both.” But Robert became even angrier after hearing that. “So what if she’s a CEO? What’s a woman doing working so hard? Her main task is to have a child for our Michael!” Susan chimed in, “Emily, you’re not getting any younger, you really should be thinking about having children.” I rejected it without a second thought. “I’ve said it before, I’m focusing on my career for the next three years. I’ll consider having children after that.” “Three more years?” Robert’s face turned ashen. “Can you even get pregnant in three years?” “Why not?” I met his gaze. “You—” Robert’s chest heaved with anger. “You are truly selfish! What if, in three years, you’re too old and can’t have children? Will my son have to be childfree with you for the rest of his life?” I frowned. “I’m only 30, I’m still young! How could I lose my fertility in three years?” Robert slammed his hand on the table, laying down a harsh ultimatum. “Since you refuse to have children, then I’ll have no choice but to persuade Michael to divorce you. I’ll have him marry Tiffany!” I laughed in exasperation. “When Michael proposed to me back then, weren’t you all very supportive?” I looked at them, my voice calm. “At that time, your company was on the verge of bankruptcy. If it weren’t for my investment, how could your company be making money now?” “Now that you have money, you want to kick me out?” I shook my head, continuing, “No way!” Robert’s brows furrowed, and his voice immediately rose. “No matter what, if you can’t have children, you’re not qualified to be our daughter-in-law! Of course, you still have one option.” I asked him, “What option?” He cleared his throat, then said, “You hand over your company in New York to my son, resign as CEO, and come back here to take care of us.” Hearing such an outrageous request, I laughed in disbelief. “That’s even more impossible!” “So you’re just going to abandon us?” Susan chimed in, her face full of disapproval. “I didn’t say I’d abandon you,” I took a deep breath and offered a solution. “If you genuinely feel lonely, move to New York. That way, Michael and I can visit you often.” Robert immediately waved his hand, looking impatient. “Move to New York? We’ve lived here for decades, all our relatives and friends are here. Going to an unfamiliar place? We wouldn’t get used to it.” Susan nodded along. “Exactly, New York is nowhere near as comfortable as living here. We’re not going.” I frowned. “If you don’t want to go, and I can’t resign, much less abandon my company, then there’s nothing I can do.” Robert opened his mouth, wanting to continue yelling, but Tiffany quickly walked over, softly interjecting, “Uncle Robert, Aunt Susan, Emily rarely comes home. It’s Thanksgiving, let’s not fight.” She then turned to me, her smile docile. “Emily, Uncle Robert and Aunt Susan are just getting older and want someone by their side. It’s only natural, you shouldn’t be angry.” Robert’s expression softened slightly at her words, and his gaze towards Tiffany became instantly gentle. “Tiffany is so sensible, she understands us. Not like you, who only cares about work and money.” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with them anymore. Every word felt exhausting, so I turned and walked toward my room. The moment I pushed open the door, I froze.

My bed was covered with unfamiliar sheets and bedding, skincare products and hair ties were on my desk, and the closet held several women’s clothes. It clearly looked like someone had been living here long-term. I spun around, looking at Tiffany, who had followed me. “Don’t you have your own room? Why are you living in my room without permission?” Tiffany’s eyes flickered, and she lowered her head, looking flustered. “Emily, I’m sorry, I…” Before she could finish, Susan interjected to explain for her. “Tiffany’s room had a broken AC before, and it couldn’t be fixed after several attempts. It was cold back then, so I let her stay in your room.” “Anyway, you don’t come back to stay, so it’s just sitting empty.” My anger flared up instantly. “Even if I don’t come back to stay, it’s still Michael’s and my room! How dare you let her live here without my permission?” “How dare we?” Robert roared, his face ashen. “This house was bought by my son! We can let anyone we want live here. Not only can Tiffany stay, we can even kick you out!” His words made me tremble with rage. Suddenly, they all felt like strangers. I stopped arguing, turned, walked to the living room, and grabbed my suitcase. “Fine, I’m leaving!” Robert scoffed, his face full of disdain. “If you’ve got the guts, divorce my son quickly! And never come back!” Susan opened her mouth, but in the end, she only sighed and said nothing more. Tiffany stood by, speaking anxiously. “Emily, don’t be angry, it’s all my fault. I’ll move out right away…” I couldn’t be bothered to listen to her. I pulled my suitcase and walked out the door without looking back. Dragging my heavy luggage, I walked step by step, finally hailing a cab to a nearby hotel. The next day at noon, Michael’s cousin, Lisa Miller, called. “Emily, there’s a family gathering today. Aren’t you back? Come over quickly.” “Got it, I’ll be right there.” I hung up, quickly tidied myself up, and rushed to the banquet hall. As soon as I arrived, I saw relatives gathered from a distance. Robert and Susan were there too. But as I got closer, I stopped in my tracks—Tiffany had also come, standing next to Susan. The large family sat around a round table. During the meal, Susan said: “Since all the relatives are here today, Robert and I also have something to say.” Robert took over, looking at everyone. “We’re going to persuade Michael to divorce you and marry Tiffany.” As soon as these words were out, the table instantly fell silent, and relatives exchanged bewildered glances. Susan followed up, “Tiffany is truly thoughtful. She’s by our side every day, taking care of us, more caring than a daughter.” After Susan spoke, the relatives instinctively looked at me. I said nothing. Robert glanced at me, his tone immediately hardening. “Unlike Emily, who you can’t see all year round. The moment she comes home, she talks about money.” “We asked her to resign and come back to take care of us, but she refused; we asked her to have children, but she wasn’t willing.” “I’ve never seen such a selfish woman.” Lisa, seeing the situation, quickly tried to mediate. “Uncle Robert, Emily actually cares about you a lot. She’s genuinely busy with work and under a lot of pressure. Please don’t talk about her like that.” Susan immediately waved her hand, her face looking unpleasant. “All she cares about is making money! What’s the point of having so much money if she can’t be by our side? Tiffany is different; she even gives me a massage every night before I sleep!” Robert grew more agitated, his voice rising slightly. “Since Emily isn’t suitable to be our daughter-in-law, then we’ll just get a new one!” The entire table of relatives was completely stunned, looking from one person to another, no one daring to speak. Some wanted to persuade them, but seeing Robert and Susan’s resolute attitude, they ultimately swallowed their words. The dinner ended in a strange atmosphere.

Afterward, Lisa pulled me aside, her face full of worry. “Emily, they must have been manipulated by that nanny. How can they say Michael should marry Tiffany? You need to go back and talk to them properly.” I looked at Tiffany, who was chatting and laughing with Robert and Susan in the distance, and gently shook my head. “Maybe they always wanted someone who could be by their side every day. They also resent me for taking their son to New York.” The third day, I prepared to return to New York. Before leaving, I called Robert, but no one answered. I called Susan, and she hung up directly. I called several times, all rejected. I looked at my phone, no longer insistent, and dragged my suitcase to the airport, embarking on my journey back to New York. Unexpectedly, upon my return, Michael angrily confronted me: “I asked you to spend Thanksgiving with my parents, how did you manage to upset them so much that they got sick?” I was stunned. “They were the ones who wanted to argue with me; I didn’t provoke them!” Michael pulled out his phone and showed me photos of his parents in the hospital. “How do you explain this?!” I gave a bitter laugh. How could I explain? Michael continued, “Maybe my parents’ suggestion is right. I shouldn’t have come to New York for you. Maybe you’re just not suitable to be a wife.” My mouth twitched. I asked, “So? Are you going to divorce me?” Michael was silent for a moment, then said, “I didn’t say I want a divorce, but you need to apologize to my parents!” My eyes reddened. I hadn’t expected even him to side with his parents. “What if I don’t apologize?” “Then don’t blame me for being ruthless!” After Michael finished speaking, he started packing his bags. Before leaving, he told me: “I’m going back to see my parents. Let’s get a divorce!” Over the next few weeks, I kept seeing Tiffany’s Ins posts: They were eating barbecue together, the four of them posing intimately for a photo. They were walking in the park, Tiffany holding Susan and Michael’s arms, smiling sweetly. I scrolled through the screen, not liking or commenting, pretending I didn’t see anything. A few days later, a call suddenly came in. It was Susan. As soon as I picked up, I heard her voice, filled with dissatisfaction: “Emily, why hasn’t this month’s company investment arrived yet? And Tiffany’s salary, why haven’t you paid that either?”

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When I was being sexually assaulted by a strange man, my brother Sebastian’s lavish wedding was taking place downstairs. I called him for help. His cold, disgusted voice came through. “Playing the victim again? Dora, why don’t you just die!” I hung up and leaped from the top floor. I landed on the statue at his wedding venue. The statue’s wings pierced through my body. I used my last bit of strength. Smiling at Sebastian, I said. “Don’t worry… I’m going to die now.” Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the sanatorium. I saw Sebastian with his head down, on the phone. Light and shadow fell unevenly on his familiar yet strange profile. My nose couldn’t help but sting. After our parents died, Sebastian and I had relied on each other growing up. He was my strongest support. But I hadn’t seen him in three years. The attending physician grabbed me, his clammy breath spraying on my neck. “Dora, about the treatment process—you need to learn to keep your mouth shut, understand?” A chill ran down my spine. I nodded obediently. “I understand.” The doctor led me by the hand into the reception room. Sebastian’s gaze slid over our clasped hands. His expression showed not a ripple of emotion. He wasn’t like this before. Our parents favored sons over daughters, and I grew up under Sebastian’s protection. When I was little and craved sweets, he’d secretly use his allowance to buy me candy. When I was naughty, he would shield me in his arms. Letting our mother beat him instead. After our parents died, Sebastian protected me even more carefully. If any man so much as looked at me, his blood pressure would spike. He’d scold them angrily. But now, I was no longer the sister he cherished and protected. Because I had killed the woman he loved most—Melody. Three years ago. On the eve of Sebastian’s wedding. Melody and her sister Natalie were in a car accident. Melody died on the spot. And Natalie told Sebastian. “Dora called and told us to drive in the rain to buy cupcakes. That’s why we got into the accident.” That day, Sebastian ignored my protests. He slapped me twice. “Dora, how could you be so greedy? Don’t you know Melody was pregnant! You killed the two people I loved most!” That day, his eyes were bloodshot. He wanted nothing more than to sew shut my mouth—so gluttonous and full of lies. Until Natalie’s understanding father stopped Sebastian. “Natural disasters are worse than human error. Don’t blame Dora.” Only then did Sebastian reluctantly let me go. After Melody’s funeral, Sebastian went abroad to manage the business she left behind. To let Sebastian focus on work, Natalie’s parents took me in. And my nightmare began.

Sebastian led me toward the parking lot. He didn’t say a word the entire way. The Sebastian who used to remind me to be careful even when walking was gone. And I was terrifyingly quiet. I used to have endless things to talk about with Sebastian. But not anymore. Because I was sick. After Sebastian went abroad, Natalie wanted nothing more than for me to die immediately. That year I was a senior in high school, in the same class as Natalie. She would bully me with others every day. One day, she had a group throw me into a sewage ditch in the rain. She said I was a sewer rat, unworthy of living in her family’s home. Then she brought me to an abandoned factory. Her three followers stripped off my clothes and pressed cigarette butts hard into my arms. Hearing my anguished screams excited them. Those disgusting bodies pressed onto me one after another. They complained about how dirty and smelly I was from the filthy water while violating me at will. And Natalie turned on her phone, recording every expression and movement with her camera. Afterward, they threatened me with the video not to report it to the police, then left. I dragged my broken body up and called Sebastian. Crying, I said Natalie and her followers had bullied me. Sebastian paused. “Dora, you owe the family a life, but they took you in without holding a grudge. Natalie was very close to her sister. She’s just venting. Why are you being so unreasonable? Don’t you know how to be grateful?” In that moment, my heart shattered along with my filthy body. I gripped the phone and finally told him the truth. “Sebastian, it wasn’t ordinary bullying… Natalie had people sexually assault me in turns. Please come back and take me away from this family, okay?” But my desperate pleading didn’t earn Sebastian’s sympathy or trust. Because Natalie produced a forged gynecological examination report. In black and white, it was crystal clear. “No bodily fluids detected, no evidence of sexual assault… old hymenal tear.” When Sebastian received the photo of the diagnosis. His roar nearly burst my eardrums. “Dora! You degraded yourself! You already slept around with men and now you’re falsely accusing Natalie! You’ve disappointed me so much!” Sebastian hung up. And never contacted me again after that. That day, I dragged my broken body home. I scrubbed my skin raw until it bled. I had thought about ending my life. But when I thought of Sebastian. I retreated from the idea. I couldn’t die, because Sebastian only had me as family. If I died, Sebastian wouldn’t be able to go on living. I hid all my grievances, studied desperately, and tried my hardest to stay alive. All I thought about was. After the SATs end, after Sebastian returns home. My days would get better. But Natalie didn’t give me that chance. Three days before the SATs. She tied me up and threw me in a field during a torrential downpour. I developed a high fever and missed the SATs. And she sent me to a psychiatric sanatorium. She told the doctor I frequently self-harmed and then played the victim in front of others. That day, I was diagnosed with Munchausen syndrome. A condition where people seek attention and sympathy through lies or self-harm. All my injuries were classified as self-inflicted, all my protests classified as lies. I was admitted to that hellish sanatorium. I stayed there for two years.

Sebastian brought me to the cemetery. Kneeling before Melody’s tombstone, I could no longer control my tears. Sebastian tossed me a few tissues. “How dare you cry in front of Melody? Put away your cheap tears, don’t defile her tombstone.” He didn’t know I wished more than anyone that she was still alive. That way she could tell everyone about the phone call I made to her before the accident. I was only reminding her the weather was bad and to come home early. I never said anything about asking her to buy me cupcakes. I wiped away my tears and apologized to Melody’s photo. “Melody, I’m sorry.” The attending physician said as long as I learned to be compliant, Sebastian wouldn’t hate me anymore. Sebastian was my only family left in this world. It didn’t matter if I was wronged, it didn’t matter if he misunderstood me. As long as he didn’t abandon me. After I knelt down, my sleeve rolled up. Sebastian suddenly gripped my wrist tightly. He pulled up my sleeve. My arm was covered with horrifying scars. From whipping, from knife cuts, and from cigarette burns. Below the scars, there was even a tattoo! “Self-harm, tattoos, smoking—Dora, do you have to degrade yourself like this? “Just to make me feel sorry for you, you hurt yourself this way? “If you don’t love yourself, then just go die!” I wanted to explain, but in the end I held it back. Everyone knew I had Munchausen syndrome. Sebastian wouldn’t believe any truth that came from my mouth. All my injuries, and that tattoo. Were all forced on me by Natalie after Sebastian went abroad. In those dark days. Natalie trampled me at will. She thought this would make me want to die. But I didn’t. My endurance made her worse. My resilience drove her crazy. Later, Natalie went mad and force-fed me laxatives. She watched me lose control in front of everyone. She pinched her nose and walked toward me. Whispering to me. “Dora, do you know why I hate you so much? Because you ruined my relationship with Sebastian.” Natalie said she and her sister both liked Sebastian. But because I was more attached to Melody, Sebastian fell in love with Melody. “Dora, I hate Melody, and I hate you too. You don’t know this, but that day it was my suggestion for her to buy cupcakes…” So it was clearly Natalie’s suggestion that took her own sister’s life. Yet she pinned the blame on me. That day, she led me away in front of the entire school. Everyone said Natalie was kind, to endure my foul odor from losing control and take me away to clean up. But no one knew. She threw me into a field during a torrential downpour. That day I went back and developed a high fever. I called out Sebastian’s name. This completely enraged Natalie. She pulled up those videos on her phone. “Dora, if your brother saw how wanton you look in these videos, would he still like you?” I forced myself up to grab her phone. But she suddenly threw herself down the stairs. That day, Natalie’s mother sent Sebastian the surveillance footage of me pushing Natalie. Natalie suggested taking me to a psychiatric sanatorium for treatment. Sebastian agreed without a second thought. He trusted the family too much. So he had no idea what I went through. Looking at Sebastian before me. I recalled the day our parents died. He held me and said. “Don’t be afraid, Dora. From now on, no matter what happens, Sebastian will protect you.” My eyes stung. I tried to explain to him. But then I saw him caressing Melody’s tombstone. “Melody, I’m back. Mom and Dad want me to try things out with Natalie. Would you bless us?”

My throat tightened. I swallowed all my protests. I didn’t know how I got in the car. When I came to, we had already arrived at the family’s villa. The family had prepared a lavish dinner to welcome us. Natalie passed by me, whispering in my ear. “I specially made cupcakes for you. You must eat them all.” My stomach convulsed. After Sebastian went abroad, Natalie would prepare cupcakes for me every meal. Under her intimidation, I had no choice but to eat them. And every time I ate them, it made Natalie’s mother break down. Gradually, Natalie’s mother looked at me with increasing hatred. Eventually, even when she witnessed Natalie bullying me with her own eyes. She would choose to turn a blind eye. So when the family sent me to the sanatorium. I even felt somewhat relieved. Because I wouldn’t have to eat cupcakes anymore. But what I didn’t expect was that when I got there, not only did I have to eat them. They were also laced with things. The attending physician put meat worms and cockroaches in the cakes. He even used rat meat and snake meat to replace the fruit. Forcing me to eat. When I refused, he’d use a cattle prod. Later, I’d be so scared I’d wet myself just hearing the word cupcake. Only then was the attending physician satisfied. I sat at the table, trembling all over. Natalie’s mother sighed. “Dora, the way you’re acting makes your brother think you’ve suffered so much in our home.” Sebastian looked at me coldly. “Dora, what are you being fragile about now? You can’t even eat a meal without wanting me to feel sorry for you?” Before, whenever I sat at the table in a daze. Sebastian would always thoughtfully ask if there were no dishes to my taste. But now, my pain was treated as affectation. I forced down my nausea and picked up that cupcake, eating it in large bites. Sebastian froze for a few seconds. Suddenly he snatched my bowl and slapped me twice. “Dora! Melody died because of this thing, and you can still eat it!”

My face stung. But I felt a sense of relief in my heart. Because the bowl was knocked over, I didn’t have to eat anymore. Natalie cried out and rushed over to shield me. Choking up, she said to Sebastian. “Sebastian, don’t do this. My sister has been gone for three years. You should let go of the past, and let go of Dora’s mistake too.” With that. She brought me to the bathroom to clean up. As soon as we entered, she pinned me against the wall. “Dora, you see now, don’t you? You’re nothing in your brother’s heart! Complaining won’t help!” My body slowly slid down. “Natalie, I won’t tell Sebastian anything. Sebastian took me to the cemetery today. I already admitted it was my fault in front of him and apologized to Melody.” Natalie yanked me up viciously. “You went to the cemetery?” A trace of triumphant laughter slid through my eyes. I knew she was angry. Natalie grabbed my throat. “What are you smiling about? Smiling because I have no place in his heart?” As she spoke, she pulled out a razor blade from somewhere. She grabbed my wrist and slashed it directly. Blood gushed out. Natalie screamed! “Sebastian, Dora’s trying to kill herself!”

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My son had a high fever in the middle of the night, so I rushed him to the pediatric hospital where my husband works. But my husband was in a meeting, and the one on duty was an intern. She grabbed my son’s arm with a displeased expression, wanting to draw blood. She failed three times, couldn’t get the needle in. My son was crying his heart out from the pain, and a lump formed on his arm. I asked her, feeling distressed, if she could get another doctor to draw the blood. She flew into a rage and threw down the needle. “You can’t even hold your kid still and you’re blaming me! Coming to the hospital over a little fever! You’re so difficult!” With that, she turned and left. Just then, a nurse from hematology happened to pass by. She comforted me, saying, “Let me do it. That intern is the Chief of Pediatrics’ assistant. You can’t afford to cross her. Half the complaints in pediatrics are caused by her.” My whole body went cold. Chief of Pediatrics? Wasn’t that my husband, Ethan Smith?

The nurse’s technique was steady. One needle, and the blood came out. Before taking it for testing, she specifically told me, “That intern’s name is Emma Brown. If you can’t stand her, I can teach you how to file a complaint…” Just then, Emma suddenly came back. She heard our conversation, and her face darkened instantly. “Dr. Smith just called to chew me out. You complained, didn’t you? So what if I stuck him a few extra times? You’re exactly what I expect from helicopter moms!” The nurse quickly slipped away. My son was still crying. I held him and rocked him gently, suppressing my anger. “I didn’t complain…” Emma rolled her eyes, pulled out a chair and sat down, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Low-class moms are terrifying! They think just because they had a kid, the whole world has to revolve around them.” After the blood test results came out, Emma casually glanced at the report. “Just a common cold. Take some medicine and you’ll be fine.” I had a vague feeling something was wrong. My son’s breathing was rapid, his cough sounded phlegmy, and his forehead was burning hot—clearly over 102 degrees. I’d learned a little from Ethan. This didn’t seem like a common cold. It was more like pneumonia. However, after hearing my guess, Emma exploded. “Am I the doctor or are you? You’re one of those moms who teaches herself medicine online, aren’t you! Your kid’s really suffering with you as a mother!” She hammered away at the keyboard again. “Go pay and get the medicine. Take it on schedule. If it’s not better in three days, come back.” I picked up the prescription and scanned it. She’d prescribed every kind of antibiotic imaginable. Total: $876. There were even several medications that children with colds shouldn’t take, including some containing alcohol. I couldn’t stand this intern anymore. “My husband is the Chief of Pediatrics here. His name is Ethan Smith. Call him over. Tell him his son has a high fever.” She looked me up and down, then covered her mouth and laughed. “Do you know how many women come looking for Dr. Smith every day? And you even brought a kid with you. Older women really have thick skin, don’t they?” My son was crying in my arms. I comforted him while saying, “If you don’t believe me, just go to his office and ask him.” Her eyes darted around, and she nodded. “Fine. I guess you won’t give up until you hit rock bottom.” About three minutes later, she came back. She sat down in her chair and crossed her legs. “Dr. Smith said he doesn’t have a kid. Stop harassing him.” My mind went blank. Ethan and I had been married for five years. Our son was three years old. During that time, he’d been incredibly attentive to me and our child. It was rare for him to be unreachable like tonight because of a shift and a meeting. There was only one possibility—she never called him at all. I pulled out my phone and dialed Ethan’s number again, but it was still turned off. Just then, my son suddenly began coughing violently, his little face turning bright red. I quickly held him upright and patted his back. As he coughed, his body suddenly went rigid. He started having a seizure.

I made the snap decision to head to the emergency room. But as I rushed toward the door holding my seizing son, my hand just touching the door handle, Emma charged over and blocked my way, looking at me with wary eyes. “Where do you think you’re going? The treatment isn’t finished yet. Are you planning to complain about me again!” I anxiously explained, “My child is having a febrile seizure. This isn’t something that can be solved with medicine or injections anymore. I need to get to emergency!” But her eyes shifted, she frowned, then turned around and locked the door. “You’re not going anywhere! If this blows up, Dr. Smith will yell at me again. I told you it’s just a normal fever. Why are you making such a fuss?” My son was convulsing in my arms, his eyes rolling back, white foam starting to appear at the corners of his mouth. I said through gritted teeth, “I won’t complain. I promise I won’t let Ethan scold you either.” She tilted her head at me. “You really think Dr. Smith is your husband? Getting too into your act, aren’t you? Just stay put!” I forcibly suppressed the urge to argue with her. The soundproofing here was good, and there were few people around at night. Arguing would only frighten my son further and wouldn’t solve the problem. I dialed Ethan’s cell phone again. Still off. I decided to call the police. But Emma seemed to understand my intention. She rushed over, snatched my phone away, and smashed it hard on the ground. “Your kid has a seizure and you’re calling the police on me? If I lose my job, will you compensate me!” My temples were throbbing with anger, but I forced it down. “If you trap me here now, something will really happen! If you treat my child, I promise I won’t complain!” But she acted like she couldn’t understand. She turned and went back to the computer. “If emergency can treat him, why can’t I? Worst case, I’ll just order you a few more tests!” I forced myself to calm down. Ethan had mentioned that to prevent incidents, every examination room had an emergency button that would bring security immediately. Looking around, I spotted that red button on the side of the desk. Moving quickly, by the time Emma realized what was happening, I’d already pressed it. Footsteps rapidly approached from outside. “What’s going on in there! Open the door!” She shouted toward the door, “Nothing! It’s a misunderstanding! Everything’s fine!” But not only could the people outside not hear her, when they discovered the door was locked, the pounding became more urgent. “Open the door!” She pressed her body against the door, but the glass door couldn’t withstand the force and shattered with a crash. Two security guards rushed in. “What’s going on?” I decisively rushed out holding my son. Glass shards cut my neck. I didn’t care about the pain and burst through the door. Not knowing which way the emergency room was, I could only shout at the top of my lungs: “Help! My son is sick! Help!” Several family members waiting for medicine in the lobby looked up, and some seemed to be debating whether to help. But the two security guards from behind caught up, and Emma shouted: “Her kid just has a common cold and fever! I prescribed medicine and drew blood, but she won’t accept it! She’s insisting her kid is dying, trying to cut the line for emergency resources!” The few passersby, seeing this, hesitated to help. Just then, a doctor passing by stopped. I rushed up to him pleading, “Doctor! My son has a high fever seizure. Please help look at him!” The doctor was just reaching out to take the child when Emma rushed over and shoved him aside. “She’s a fraud! She just smashed things and called the police in the examination room. You must have heard all that noise, right?” The doctor clearly recognized this as the legendary always-causing-trouble Emma. Seeing the blood on my neck, he sighed. “Fine. Your department’s problems are yours to solve.”

He turned and left. I was so angry I wanted to tear her mouth apart. But looking back and seeing the security guards about to catch up, I couldn’t think about it and just ran. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared around the corner ahead. It was the hematology nurse from earlier, coming out from the ward area. I rushed up to her again, pleading, “Nurse, please help me! You saw it earlier, my son’s condition. Please call a doctor!” Seeing my convulsing child in my arms, her face changed. She reached out to take him. Emma caught up again. “I was personally trained by Dr. Smith! You’re just a nurse—dare to interfere and see what happens!” The nurse’s hand froze in mid-air. Hesitation flashed across her face, and she looked like she was about to run too. I immediately grabbed her arm, leaned close to her ear, my voice low and urgent: “Please go find the Chief of Pediatrics and tell him my name is Vivian Winters!” Her eyes widened instantly. I didn’t have time to say more—the security guards caught up and grabbed my arm. I looked at her with pleading eyes. The nurse’s expression was complicated. She turned and walked away quickly. Emma directed the security guards to grab my arms and drag me back. I was hauled back to the pediatric examination room. The guards pressed me down into a chair. My son was still in my arms. His convulsions had slowed down. Emma sat back at the computer and started typing away again. “Chest X-ray, EEG, and…” I was going crazy. “He’s having a febrile seizure right now. He can’t have a chest X-ray! Besides, the child is too young. X-rays have radiation!” Emma pulled out the order form with a cold snort and walked over to me. “Didn’t you say it might be pneumonia? Don’t I need to check everything? What if I miss something and you complain me to death?” With that, she grabbed my son’s arm and tried to pull him away. I held on and wouldn’t let go, but suddenly one of the guards wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled backward. I screamed, afraid my son’s arm would dislocate. My hands instinctively loosened. She snatched my son away and ran out holding him. I chased after her. She turned into the CT room, laid my son on the examination table, and started fiddling with the machine. My son was completely still now, his little face ashen, his chest barely rising. She grabbed the restraint straps and tied my son’s hands and feet to both sides of the bed, binding them tightly. I tried to rush in, but the security guards blocked the doorway. She fumbled around for a long time, pressing this button, then that button. The machine beeped but didn’t move. I shouted desperately toward the inside, “He’s not seizing anymore! Let him down! He needs emergency care!” Emma didn’t even turn her head. “If he stopped, that’s good. Proves I handled it right. Stop making noise, I’m trying to figure out this button.” She kept pressing. The machine still didn’t respond. My son’s face grew paler and paler, while the two guards at the door kept their eyes fixed on me.

I was angry, anxious, and heartbroken, my voice trembling: “Emma isn’t a CT room doctor. What she’s doing right now is illegal operation! When it’s discovered, she’ll definitely be disciplined!” One of the guards seemed to hesitate a bit, but the one who had grabbed my waist earlier remained stone-faced. “This child belongs to Chief of Pediatrics Ethan Smith! And I just asked someone to get him!” Thinking of that nurse, I actually wasn’t sure if she would help me. “Emma is still young. If she loses her job, she can find another one! But what about you two!” The two guards exchanged glances and turned their backs. The CT room had no other exit, only an emergency stop button right next to the machine. I steeled myself, suddenly rushed in, shoved Emma aside, and pressed the emergency stop. The machine stopped. I fumbled to undo the restraints. “What are you doing!” Emma lunged at me and grabbed my hair. I undid the last buckle, scooped up my son, and held him tight against my chest. Thank God he was still alive. I turned and slapped Emma. “If anything happens to my son, I’ll make you pay with your life!” She covered her face in shock and screamed, “Someone! Security!” The two guards rushed in again and grabbed me, dragging me out. I protected my son, struggling desperately. “He needs emergency care! If something happens to him here, none of you can escape responsibility!” But Emma looked completely unconcerned. “Throw her out! If something happens to them outside, it has nothing to do with us!” The two guards decisively dragged me out of the CT room, through the corridor, toward the main entrance. “Let me go! My son really can’t hold on much longer!” “Dr. Brown is right! With all this commotion tonight, if he dies in the hospital, none of us can escape responsibility!” I was dragged to the entrance. Below the steps was the concrete pavement outside. The guard pulled me down. I slipped, fell, and my knee hit the edge of the step. I held my son tightly, my whole body aching from the impact, my vision going dark. Emma walked over and kicked my shoulder. “That’s for complaining about me!” She then pointed at me and told the guards, “This kind of mother! From now on, block every single one you see. Don’t let them in to cause trouble!” I didn’t argue with her. I immediately looked down. My son in my arms had his eyes closed. He’d stopped convulsing, his breathing so shallow it was almost undetectable. My heart filled with despair. So much time had passed and my husband still hadn’t come out. That nurse probably hadn’t helped after all. And even if I took a cab to another hospital now, given my son’s condition, by the time we got there, he would probably… Just then, a hand with prominent knuckles reached in and pulled open the glass door. Bang! The glass door slammed to the side, the frame seeming to tremble. A man in a white coat walked out. Tears streaming down my face, I looked up desperately. Ethan. Emma immediately put on a forced smile and went up to him. “Dr. Smith, perfect timing!” “This woman came to cause trouble. She even pretended to be your wife and smashed up our examination room! I was just having security throw them out…”

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Maybe my existence was a glitch in the universe. A mistake that never should have been coded into reality. That realization didn’t fully click until I was twelve, the year my brother was born. I remember trying to change his diaper—he was this tiny, screaming pink thing—and I was clumsy, my hands shaking. My mother didn’t just stop me; she threw me against the hallway wall with a force that made my teeth rattle. The look in her eyes wasn’t just anger. It was a cocktail of pure loathing and bone-deep terror. She shrieked at me, demanding to know what I was trying to do to her son. Then came the words, the ones that landed like a serrated blade in my chest: “You’re just like him. You’ve got that rapist’s blood in you. Why didn’t you just rot with your father?” I sat there, clutching my bleeding head. For the first time in my life, I didn’t fight back. For the first time, I realized she was right. She’d never hidden her hatred. When I was three, she tried to “help me sleep” with a bottle of Benadryl. When I was five, she’d “accidentally” let me get into the industrial cleaner under the sink. But I was stubborn. I was a weed that refused to be pulled, surviving every attempt to prune me from her life. By seven, I’d learned how to bite back. If she didn’t feed me, I’d flip the dinner table so no one else could eat either. If she came at me with a belt, I’d wait until she wasn’t looking and give her precious youngest daughter a black eye. I fought her tooth and nail for five years, a bitter cold war within the walls of a suburban house. But the birth of my brother—her “clean” start—finally broke me. 1 By the time I limped to my grandmother’s porch, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a bruised purple. Gran didn’t even look surprised to see me covered in blood and grime. She moved with a practiced, weary efficiency, pulling out her first-aid kit to swab my cuts before setting a bowl of canned chicken soup in front of me. Usually, this was where I’d inhale the food and brag about how I’d get even once I was big enough to leave this hellhole. But tonight, the fire was out. I stared at the oily broth and whispered, “Gran… I’m not really his, am I? Not like the others.” Gran didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted—a quick, involuntary flash of disgust that told me everything. She stood up abruptly and began scrubbing the kitchen counter where the medical kit had been, her motions frantic, as if she were trying to bleach away a stain I’d left behind. I got it then. The blood in my veins was toxic. I was the living, breathing ghost of the worst night of my mother’s life. No wonder she hated me. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I barely made it out the back door. I leaned against the fence and retched until my stomach was empty. The night air was sharp, making the gashes on my face sting. Before, I’d worn these scars like trophies of a war she owed me for. Now, I couldn’t even bear the thought of her seeing me. I didn’t go back inside. Gran didn’t come out to look for me. I wandered the streets aimlessly, a limping shadow in a town that felt too small to hold me. I passed a bistro where a family was huddled around a birthday cake. The woman in the center—the mother—was glowing, her laughter ringing through the glass. It hurt to look at. Last year, on my mom’s birthday, she’d had that same smile—until she saw me. The moment I walked into the room, her face curdled. I remembered an essay prompt from school: My Mother. I’d written a horror story, painting her as a demon in a floral dress. My teacher had pulled me into the office, lecturing me for an hour about “perspective” and “respect.” She told me something I actually believed for a second: “There is no mother in this world who doesn’t love her child.” I’d taken the money I’d made from returning aluminum cans and bought a small cake. I just wanted her to hold me, just once, the way she held my sister. But the coldness in her eyes made me feel like a circus freak. The hurt turned into a black fire in my brain. I’d caught a few bullfrogs in the garden and shoved them inside the cake when no one was looking. The sound of her screaming when they hopped out… I’d lived off that twisted high for months. I thought she deserved it. But standing outside that bistro, watching a “real” mother, I realized the truth. I was the one who didn’t deserve to be there. My very existence was a recurring trauma for her. I looked at that happy woman inside and made a decision. For my mother’s birthday this year, I’d give her the only thing she actually wanted. Total freedom. I decided to die. 2 The moment the thought took root, my steps felt lighter. I started planning it like a school project—how to do it without making a mess for others, how to disappear without a trace. But the universe wasn’t done with me yet. A patrol car spotted me loitering near the bridge and hauled me back home. My mother opened the door. I kept my head down, staring at the frayed edges of the welcome mat, listening to the ice in her voice. “Why didn’t you just stay lost?” I wanted to snap back, but the words died in my throat. Instead, I stood there like a coward and whispered, “If… if I really died, what would you do?” Would you be even a little bit sad? “Hah,” she scoffed, not even turning around as she walked toward the kids’ rooms. “If you actually had the guts to do it, I’d be the happiest woman alive.” The door clicked shut. I stood in the dark living room and wiped my eyes, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. See? I knew she’d love her gift. My only friend was a girl named Judy. She was a foster kid who’d been through the ringer, sharp-tongued and smarter than anyone gave her credit for. We used to spend our afternoons scavaging for “treasures” in the alleys. The next day, I bought her a popsicle and sat on the curb, my voice low. “How do you make someone die… so it looks like an accident?” Judy gave me a look like I was growing a second head. She shoved the half-eaten popsicle into my hand. “Stay away from me. I don’t do felony shit.” “No, wait,” I grabbed her arm, desperate. “I mean, how do you go out without it hurting? Someone who’s… maybe a little scared of pain.” Judy’s face went pale. She scrambled to her feet, trying to bolt. I tackled her like a linebacker. “You ate my popsicle! You’re in this now! Just give me an idea!” She couldn’t shake me off, so she sat back down, her face twisted in a grimace. “Look, girl, I know things are rough. You get hit, sure. But they feed you, don’t they? Look at you, you’re sturdier than I am!” A lump formed in my throat. How could I explain it? It wasn’t about the bruises anymore. It was the realization that the hate wasn’t just hers—it was justified. I couldn’t live with the “why” anymore. But explaining that would only make her look like the villain again, and I was done being the victim. “Just tell me!” I barked. Judy groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Jesus! You want to kill your mom? How am I supposed to help with that?” I froze. I stared at her, confused. Kill my mother? Before I could correct her, a shrill, familiar wail pierced the air. “MOM! She’s gonna kill Mom!” My brain stalled. I turned my head slowly. It was my sister, Chloe. She was running toward our house, screaming her head off, one of her shoes missing in her haste to tell on me. That night, the house echoed with the sound of a belt hitting skin. My mother was manic, her eyes bloodshot, swinging a broom handle like she was fighting for her life. She looked at me like I was a monster. But through the red mist of her rage, I saw tears. In the past, I would have fought back. I would have told her to wait until I was older, so I could hire people to break her. But tonight, I just curled into a ball on the cold linoleum and waited for it to end. Eventually, she ran out of breath. The broom clattered to the floor. She didn’t look back as she stumbled into her bedroom. A long time passed. I forced myself up, but then I heard it—the sound of muffled, soul-crushing sobbing coming from behind her door. It sounded like she was trying to choke on her own grief. It cut through me deeper than the broom ever could. I looked at my hand. It was covered in a mix of blood and floor dust. Filthy. Just like me. “She looked exactly like that when she was nineteen, lying on the floor.” I jumped. Gran was standing in the doorway, her eyes cloudy, looking past me into a different decade. “That night, her clothes were torn… she was covered in bruises just like those. She didn’t make a sound. She just bit her lip until it bled.” I stopped breathing. “She tried to get rid of you. The doctors said she couldn’t. After you were born, I tried to leave you at the fire station, but the cops brought you back by morning. Said it was abandonment. Said they’d be checking in.” My life was a punchline. No one wanted me, yet I’d clawed my way to twelve years old out of sheer spite. Gran started dabbing at my face, her voice a low, rhythmic drone. “Don’t blame her. She’s got a bitter heart, and she never let it go.” I looked down and managed a small, hollow smile. “I don’t blame her anymore, Gran.” I didn’t hate her. But she still hated me enough to want me gone. When she pressed the pillow over my face later that night, she didn’t realize I was awake. I felt the pillow shaking because her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. I didn’t struggle. I just closed my eyes and waited for the dark. 3 Just as my lungs began to burn, a massive force yanked the pillow away. “Are you insane?” Gran’s voice was a ragged whisper. “You’d throw your whole life away for this? She isn’t worth it! Once was enough!” My mother collapsed into Gran’s arms, letting out a broken, jagged sound. “Mom! I can’t do it anymore! She has his blood. Is she just born evil? Is she going to hurt my babies?” Gran held her tight, but her eyes flicked to me. For a second, I thought she saw my eyes half-open. But she just whispered, “Go back to sleep.” The sobbing faded as they moved down the hall. I lay there, gasping for air, eventually pulling the covers over my head. Before dawn, Gran came back in. She was carrying a heavy mug of steaming broth. Chicken soup at 5 AM. She set it on the nightstand. Her face was as weathered as a canyon wall. “Drink it.” I understood. I wanted to tell them they didn’t have to rush—if they’d just waited a few days, I would have found a way to do it cleanly. Now, they were going to have a mess on their hands. But I didn’t say anything. I took the mug. It was so hot it blistered my fingers. I tilted my head back and drained the whole thing. A strange, medicinal bitterness coated my tongue, seeping into my chest. The mug hit the nightstand. I lay back down, pulled the quilt to my chin, and waited for the end. Gran watched me for a few seconds, her expression unreadable, then slipped out of the room. The “medicine” worked fast. First came the white-hot cramping in my gut, like claws ripping at my insides. Then a bone-deep cold that made my teeth chatter. My vision blurred; the world sounded like it was underwater. I heard Gran moving around, heard her on the phone. Then came the sirens—the high-pitched wail of an ambulance, the frantic voices, the blinding strobe of emergency lights. In the sterile glare of the ER, a tube was forced down my throat. I retched until my vision went black, tears and bile soaking my hair. A young doctor looked at the charcoal-colored liquid in the basin, then at Gran, who looked like she’d already died herself. “What was in that soup?” he asked, his voice sharp with suspicion. I used the last of my strength to grab his white coat. My voice was a gravelly ghost. “It was… me. I took the pills… myself…” The doctor froze, his eyes softening into a look of devastating pity. I let go and stared at the ceiling. I guess being “hard to kill” was my curse. Even death didn’t want me. When I came home, the house felt like a mausoleum. The walls were still white, the furniture still tidy, but the air was heavy with the stench of failure. I became a ghost before I was even dead. I was silent. I ate what was given, I went to school, I did my chores. I shrank myself until I occupied as little space as humanly possible. I even tried to be kind to Chloe. “Be good,” I told her one day, wiping a crumb from her chin. “Don’t make Mom upset.” She looked at me with this confused, budding dependence. As for the baby, Ben… my mother guarded him like he was made of glass and I was a sledgehammer. But I managed to sneak out to a little gift shop near the highway. I spent my last few dollars on two small “Guardian Angel” pins. While my mother was staring blankly at the kitchen wall and the kids were napping, I slipped into their room. I pinned one inside Ben’s bassinet and tucked the other into Chloe’s backpack. May you both grow up safe, I thought. Then, I decided it was time to leave for real. I was a coward—I couldn’t finish the job myself, so I would just vanish. No goodbyes. It was a blistering summer afternoon. I was walking along the dirt path by the Blackwood Reservoir, the sun making the world hazy. Then, a sharp, distorted scream shattered the heat. “CORA!” I spun around. I saw Chloe—that sweet, stupid girl—lose her footing on the steep embankment. She tumbled straight into the dark, murky depths of the reservoir.

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On the night of our third wedding anniversary, Stephen came home smelling like a distillery and a mid-life crisis. He stumbled through the door, his hands fumbling for purchase until they clamped around my wrists. His grip was frantic, desperate. Then he whispered the name that had been a ghost in our guest room for three years. “Daisy,” he slurred, his face pressed into the crook of my neck. “You’re finally free. You finally left him.” I froze. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t cry. I just stood there like a statue in my own hallway, letting him hold me while he confessed to a woman who wasn’t there. He started mumbling again—bitter, jagged words. He talked about how agonizing these three years had been. How every time he’d picked me up from work, or bought me flowers, or sat across from me at dinner, he’d been pretending I was her. Every second, he said, was a penance. Once he’d emptied his heart of all that poison, he collapsed onto the bed and fell into a heavy, alcohol-induced sleep. I sat on the edge of the mattress and watched the moon crawl across the floor. I stayed there until the sun replaced it. When Stephen finally stirred and saw me, he flinched. But the shock didn’t last long. It was quickly replaced by a look of profound, sickening relief. “So, you heard?” he asked, rubbing his face. His voice was gravelly. “Good. At least I don’t have to keep playing the part.” He told me he was with her. Daisy. It had happened yesterday. On our anniversary. He’d been chasing her for three years, he said, and she had finally said yes. “I’m sorry,” he added, though he didn’t look it. “But what I have with her… it’s the real thing. It’s the only thing that’s ever been real.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I just reached into the nightstand and pulled out two copies of a divorce settlement. The date lines were blank, but the signature at the bottom was already there. He’d signed them three years ago, on the very day we got our marriage license. It had been my one condition for saying “I do”—a safety switch I hoped I’d never have to flip. 1 He snatched the papers from my hand, flipping through them twice as if looking for a hidden trap. “What is this?” “It’s exactly what it looks like,” I said, my voice steady. “I told you three years ago when you signed these—the day you decide you’re done, you just fill in the date. Consider it my anniversary gift to you.” He slammed the papers onto the nightstand. The sound was sharp, like a bone snapping. “Daisy had no idea I was still pursuing her these last three years,” he snapped, defensive. “She only gave me an answer yesterday. This isn’t an affair. I didn’t cheat on you.” I stood up and went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. My throat felt like I’d swallowed glass. “I know,” I said. “You were always home by six. You were here every weekend. You never missed a birthday or a holiday. You were the perfect husband on paper. You didn’t cheat.” He followed me into the kitchen, his shadow looming over me. “Then what’s with the attitude? You’ve had these papers ready for three years? You’ve just been waiting for me to fail?” I set the glass down. “You were so drunk last night that when I helped you into bed, you called her name twenty-three times. I counted, Stephen. Twenty-three.” He went silent. I walked past him back into the bedroom, picked up the documents, and placed a pen neatly beside them. “Fill in the date. I’m going to work.” I was at the door, stepping into my heels, when he caught up to me. He was barefoot, his shirt rumpled, looking smaller than I remembered. “You’re just… leaving?” I straightened my back and looked him in the eye. “What else is there to do? You confessed your love to her yesterday. Have you even told her the truth yet? Is she waiting for you? Do you have a first date planned?” His mouth opened, then clicked shut. “I’ll help you out,” I said. “Today is Thursday. You can take her to dinner Friday, maybe a movie on Saturday. I’ll be back on Monday to get the rest of my things.” When the door clicked shut behind me, he didn’t follow. The elevator arrived instantly. I watched the numbers count down, a digital heartbeat. 10. 9. 8… The doors slid open on the lobby level. A delivery guy was standing there, clutching a massive bouquet of red roses, squinting at a slip of paper. “Daisy?” he asked, looking up at me. “No,” I said, stepping past him. “Wrong floor.” I walked out into the blinding morning sun. 2 A white BMW was idling near the entrance of the complex. As I walked toward the street, the window glided down. Daisy’s face appeared. She gave me a small smile. It was a fragile, delicate thing—the kind of smile that looked accidental, but felt entirely calculated. “Claire,” she said softly. “Is Stephen upstairs?” I didn’t stop. I walked right past the hood of her car. “He was pretty trashed last night,” she called out after me. “I was worried. I just wanted to check on him.” I stopped then. I turned around. She was already stepping out of the car. She was wearing a simple white sundress, her hair loose and wavy, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She looked like an angel. I’d seen this version of her a thousand times—in the photos hidden on Stephen’s phone, in the shadows across the street from his office. “He was trashed,” I agreed. “In our bed.” She flinched, just a little. “Claire, please don’t misunderstand—” “Oh, there’s no misunderstanding,” I said. “He spent the night griping my wrist and calling your name. Twenty-three times, to be exact. This morning, he woke up and told me you finally said yes. Congratulations. You’re officially a couple.” A soft pink flush crept up her neck. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen. I truly didn’t know he was still… married. He never mentioned it…” I watched her. Her eyes were already beginning to shimmer with tears, her lashes wet, her lip trembling. She looked like the victim of some great, tragic misunderstanding. It was a hell of a performance. “Well, now you know,” I said. “He’s in 301. Go ahead. He’s waiting.” She didn’t move. Behind me, the sound of heavy footsteps hit the pavement. “Daisy?” I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Stephen. He’d run out in his slippers, his hair a mess, his shirt half-unbuttoned. When he saw her standing there, he froze for a split second before rushing over. He stepped in front of her, physically shielding her from me. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and threatening. I let out a sharp, dry laugh. “What am I doing?” He stood there like a knight protecting a maiden, as if he expected me to lung at her. “She didn’t know anything,” he said, his jaw tight. “I’m the one who chased her. I’m the one who lied and said we were over. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Leave her out of this.” From behind his shoulder, Daisy whispered, “Stephen, don’t. She didn’t say anything…” I couldn’t help it. I laughed again, louder this time. “I haven’t even opened my mouth yet, and you’ve already finished the script.” Stephen scowled at me. “Stop with the sarcasm, Claire. It’s beneath you.” “Sarcasm?” I looked at him, then at the half-hidden face behind him. “Daisy, you just told me you were sorry because you didn’t know he had a family. He just said he lied to you. So, which one of you is the liar? Because the math isn’t adding up.” Daisy’s tears finally spilled over. Stephen’s expression darkened. He looked at me with more fire than I’d seen in years. “Enough,” he said. “I’ll sign the papers. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just leave her alone.” I stared at him. For three years, he’d never looked at me like that. He’d never stood in front of me. He’d only ever been a ghost sitting at my dinner table. “What do I want?” I asked. “I don’t want anything. The settlement is already favorable to you. Keep the house—your parents paid the down payment anyway. Just buy out my half of the mortgage payments I’ve made for three years. Keep the car. I’m taking my clothes and my dignity. That’s it.” He blinked, stunned by the lack of a fight. Daisy stepped out from behind him, reaching for his sleeve. “Stephen, don’t do this. I’m fine, really…” He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, gripping her tight. The sight of it—their hands locked together in the morning light—felt strangely hollow. I felt a sudden, sharp wave of boredom. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll be back Monday for my things. Enjoy your first day of ‘real’ love.” I turned and walked toward the edge of the complex. I was twenty paces away when I heard footsteps sprinting behind me. It was Daisy. She was out of breath, her hand catching my elbow. “Claire,” she hissed, her voice low. “I really didn’t know he was married. If I had, I never would have said yes. You have to believe me.” I looked down at her hand on my arm. Her nails were perfectly manicured, tipped with tiny, shimmering crystals. “Let go.” She didn’t. “Claire, don’t hate him. It’s my fault—” I wrenched my arm away. “Daisy,” I said. “Do you want to know what I find most exhausting about you?” She stared at me, wide-eyed and innocent. “It’s not that you want him,” I said. “It’s this act. This ‘I’m just a girl in a white dress’ routine. You knew everything. You knew he was married. You’ve known for three years. You didn’t say yes a month ago, or a year ago. You waited until yesterday. Do you even know what yesterday was?” Her eyes flickered. “It was our anniversary,” I said. She didn’t say a word. “For three years, you accepted the flowers he bought with our joint account. You went to the dinners he used as excuses to stay out late. You knew exactly where he went every night when he left you. You didn’t ‘misunderstand’ anything. You just waited until you were sure you’d won.” The tears started again. “Claire, I swear—” “Don’t,” I said. “We aren’t friends. We aren’t sisters. We’re just two people who happen to be exhausted by the same man.” I turned my back on her and walked away. This time, she didn’t follow. When I reached the bus stop, my phone buzzed. A text from Stephen. I signed the papers. They’re on the shoe rack by the door. Let me know before you come on Monday. I’ll take her out so you don’t have to see each other. I stared at the words until they blurred. the bus pulled up. I climbed on and found a seat by the window. My phone buzzed again. Stephen. She’s been through enough these last three years. I won’t let her be hurt anymore. 3 Daisy was waiting on the steps of the courthouse on the day of the hearing. She’d traded the white sundress for a pale blue one. Her hair was pulled back, her face still remarkably “clean” of makeup. When she saw me get out of the car, she took a step back but said nothing. Stephen was standing at the top of the stairs, clutching his file like a shield. As I climbed the steps, he looked at me briefly, then looked away. “Let’s get this over with,” I said. He turned and led the way inside. I followed. Daisy stayed outside, a silent sentinel on the concrete. The divorce windows and the marriage windows were separated only by a few rows of plastic chairs. We sat in front of a middle-aged clerk with thick glasses who didn’t even bother looking up from her screen. “Reason for dissolution?” “Irreconcilable differences,” I said. Stephen glanced at me sharply. The clerk flipped through the papers and pointed to a blank space. “Fill in the bank details for the buyout. If there are no children, leave the custody section blank.” I wrote down my routing number and handed over the copies of the mortgage payments. The clerk glanced at the totals, pulled out a heavy stamp, and slammed it down. The sound echoed in the quiet room—a dull, final thud. “That’s it,” she said, sliding two green folders across the counter. “One for each of you. Keep them safe.” Stephen didn’t move. I reached out, took both folders, checked the names, and pushed his toward him. “Take it.” He stared at the folder but didn’t touch it. I left it on the counter, stood up, and started for the exit. I was almost at the heavy glass doors when he called out. “Claire! Wait.” I stopped. He caught up to me, his face pale, clutching the folder so hard the cardboard was crinkling. “That’s it? You’re just… going?” “What did you expect, Stephen? Should I take you and Daisy out for a celebratory brunch?” He gave a sudden, jagged laugh. It wasn’t the relief I’d seen the other morning. It was something else—bitter and hollow. “I regret it,” he said. “I regret ever marrying you.” I looked at his face. For three years, this was the face I’d woken up to. I knew the way his brow furrowed in his sleep, the way he’d reach out in the middle of the night, touch my shoulder, and then pull away as if he’d been burned. “What did you say?” “I said I regret it.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Every single day for three years. But what I regret most is—” I slapped him. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the lobby. The clerk looked up. The couples in the marriage line turned their heads. He stumbled back, his hand flying to his face, eyes wide with shock. I rubbed my palm. It stung. “That,” I said, “was a refund for the last three years of my life.” Before he could respond, footsteps clicked rapidly behind him. Daisy ran into the lobby, throwing herself in front of him, her arms spread wide like she was protecting him from a firing squad. “What is wrong with you?” she screamed at me, her eyes red. “How can you hit him? You’re a monster! A common thug!” I looked at her. Her lips were trembling, her posture was tragic. She looked like a heroine in a Victorian novel. “A monster?” I asked quietly. She flinched but stood her ground. “He’s just telling the truth, and you attack him? Do you have any idea how much he suffered? He came to see me every single night before going home to you. He told me he couldn’t breathe in that house. He said being in the same room as you made his skin crawl—” “Daisy,” Stephen warned behind her. “Stop.” She ignored him. “Every gift he ever bought you? I picked them out. He didn’t know what you liked because he didn’t care. Every bouquet of flowers? I chose the colors because he was afraid to bring home something you’d actually like—” “DAISY!” She spun around to look at him, tears streaming down her face. “I’m defending you!” she sobbed. “I won’t let her bully you anymore!” Stephen pulled her into his arms, holding her close. He looked at me then, and I saw a cocktail of emotions I’d never seen before. Hate, rage, pity, and a sliver of guilt, all crushed into a single command. “Just go, Claire. Get out.” I didn’t move. “I was going,” I said. “He’s the one who stopped me.” He looked stunned for a moment. Daisy looked up from his chest, her face tear-streaked. She looked at me and whispered, “Claire, don’t blame him… he’s just having a hard day…” I looked at the two of them. He was shielding her, she was clinging to him. They stood there in the lobby of the courthouse like a pair of star-crossed lovers who had finally reached the end of their ordeal. The sun streaming through the glass doors made them look radiant. I tucked my green folder into my bag and walked down the steps. “I’m sending someone for the house tomorrow!” he yelled after me. “Get your shit out by tonight!” I didn’t turn around. “I have your account number! You’ll have the money by next week!” I still didn’t turn around. When I reached the curb, Daisy’s voice floated down from the top of the stairs. “Claire!” I stopped and looked back. She had run down the steps and was standing three feet away, panting. “Claire,” she said, her voice small. “I’m sorry.” I looked at her. The tears were still there, her nose was red, her expression was a masterpiece of sincerity. “Sorry for what, Daisy?” She hesitated. “For… for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I just… I love him so much, and it hurts to see him hurt…” “Hurts to see him hurt from what?” She blinked. “From… from everything. These last three years…” “What about them?” I asked. “Did he cheat? No. Did he hit me? No. Did he starve me? No. He just didn’t love me. That’s not a tragedy, Daisy. It’s just a bad marriage.” Her mouth fell open. “Daisy,” I said, leaning in. “If you really loved him, why did you wait? He chased you for three years. You kept him on a leash for three years, and you only pulled him in on our anniversary. Do you really love him, or do you just love the way he looks when he’s begging?” She went dead silent. I turned and walked away. This time, she stayed put. By the time I reached the bus stop, my phone buzzed. Money will be sent this afternoon. Keys are with the building manager. Don’t contact me again. I stared at the screen for a long time. The bus arrived. I took my seat by the window. The phone buzzed one last time. She isn’t who you think she is. You’ve got her all wrong. I slid the phone into my pocket. A small, genuine smile touched my lips. Finally. I was free.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “428887”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I decided to show up at her place a night early. It was supposed to be a grand gesture. She’d been away at a week-long intensive corporate leadership retreat—no phones allowed, total immersion. I wanted to be there waiting with dinner and a bottle of wine the moment she stepped through the door tomorrow morning. But as I stood in the hallway of her apartment building, I heard something. Lauren had always told me she lived alone. She valued her “independent space,” she said. But through the heavy oak door, a man’s voice drifted out: “Don’t move. Let me see your phone.” Then Lauren’s voice, honey-sweet and teasing, the way she used to talk to me when we first started dating. “There’s nothing to see. I wasn’t taking pictures of you.” My entire body went rigid. My hand, poised to knock, froze in mid-air. I stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. Inside the apartment, I heard her ringtone—the upbeat indie track she loved. A few seconds later, she picked up. Her voice was light, airy, completely untroubled. “Hey, babe? What’s up?” “I’m standing outside your door,” I said, my voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. “Open up.” Sudden, suffocating silence fell over the room inside. 1 I hung up. I reached into my messenger bag and dug for the spare key. She’d given it to me two years ago. I remembered the way she’d tucked it into my palm, her eyes bright. “Take it,” she’d whispered. “Come over whenever you want. It’s going to be your home eventually anyway.” In all that time, I’d never used it without calling first. I’d respected her boundaries. I’d been the “perfect” boyfriend. I slid the key into the lock. It turned with a sickeningly smooth click. The door swung open. The entryway light was on. Her sneakers were tossed haphazardly by the shoe rack, and right next to them was a pair of men’s high-tops I’d never seen before. I didn’t go further. I just stood there in the foyer. From the living room came the frantic sound of rustling fabric—the friction of clothes being pulled on in a hurry. I heard hushed, panicked whispers. I took two steps forward. A cropped gray hoodie was crumpled on the floor near the sofa. A single navy sock lay a few feet away. On the coffee table sat two wine glasses and a half-empty bottle of Cabernet. Then I saw them. Lauren was scrambling up from the sofa, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She’d missed a button, the hem was crooked, and her hair—usually so sleek—was a bird’s nest. A guy was behind her. Younger. Early twenties, maybe. There was a faint, angry red mark on his shoulder. I stopped in the middle of the room. A cold, detached thought drifted through my mind: I’m glad I called first. If I had just walked in, I would have seen something far more visceral. Something that would have burned itself into my retinas forever. “Blake.” Her voice was tight, thin. “What are you doing…?” “I thought you were at the retreat,” I interrupted. She blinked, finally getting her jeans zipped, but her shirt was still a mess. She looked down at herself, then back at me. Her expression was hard to pin down—the look of a thief caught red-handed, yet desperately trying to pretend they were just “borrowing” the goods. “I—I got back early,” she said. “Right,” I nodded slowly. “And did the retreat provide the guest, or was that an add-on?” She went silent. The boy stepped out from behind her, his head down as he grabbed his hoodie and shoved his arms through the sleeves. He looked like a kid, his hair bleached a trendy sandy brown, his face flushed with a lingering wine buzz. His hands were shaking so hard he couldn’t get the zipper to catch. I watched him. He glanced up at me, eyes darting away the second we made contact. “Who is he?” I asked. Her mouth opened, a few jagged syllables dying in her throat. She couldn’t find the words. She stood there, arms hanging awkwardly at her sides, her hands eventually curling into tight fists. The silence in the living room was deafening. The boy finally got his shoes on, the soles clacking loudly against the hardwood. He looked at her, then at me, then bolted for the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Bang. I stared at the closed door, then turned back to her. “Talk,” I said. “Blake, I…” She took a step toward me, then faltered. “I messed up.” “I asked you who he is.” “Just a friend.” “A friend?” She looked at the floor. I let out a short, jagged laugh. I didn’t know if I was laughing at her or the absolute joke my life had become. Eight years. I’d known her for eight years. We’d survived high school, long-distance in college, and the grueling first years of our careers. I thought I knew every inch of her soul. But I didn’t recognize the woman standing in front of me. “It won’t happen again,” she said suddenly, her eyes lifting to mine, pleading. “I swear, Blake. Never again.” I didn’t answer. She turned abruptly and began searching the room. She dug through the coffee table drawer, checked behind the TV stand, and lifted the sofa cushions. I watched her, bewildered. After a moment, she pulled out a small, velvet red box. She walked over and held it out to me. “I got this for you,” she whispered. “I was going to give it to you in a few days.” I looked down. It was a watch box with a high-end logo embossed on the top. I opened it. Inside was a silver watch, the dial intricately designed with tiny, shimmering stars around the perimeter. It was beautiful. I held the box for a few seconds, feeling the weight of it. Then I walked over to the kitchen trash can and dropped the watch, box and all, into the garbage. “Blake!” she shrieked. “I don’t want it,” I said. I turned back to face her. The lighting in the room felt harsh, clinical. For the first time, her face looked like a stranger’s mask. “Eight years, Lauren,” I said. “Is this really how it ends?” She looked down again, mute. “Eight years,” I repeated. My voice was rising now, the dam finally breaking. “Since junior year of high school. I moved across the country for you. I brought you dinner every night you worked late. I took time off work to care for your mom when she was in the hospital. I thought we were just waiting. Waiting for the wedding, waiting for the house to be finished, waiting for life to finally ‘start.’ What were you waiting for?” 2 She still wouldn’t speak. “Were you waiting for him?” “No!” Her head snapped up. “It’s not what you think, Blake. It was a mistake. A moment of stupidity. I’d had too much to drink…” “Too much to drink?” “Yes. Just a few glasses of wine and things got out of hand…” The bedroom door creaked open. The boy walked back out. He’d changed into a crisp white button-down and jeans, his hair pulled back. He looked more put-together now. But he couldn’t hide the mark on his neck. A hickey. Fresh, purplish-red, right above his collarbone. He walked over to Lauren’s side and stood his ground. He wasn’t looking at the floor anymore. He stared at me with a defiant, stubborn pout. “I love her,” he said. I stared at him. “I love her more than you do,” he added, his voice quiet but steady. “We’re for real.” “Shut up!” Lauren hissed, spinning around to glare at him. “Stop talking!” He looked stung. He reached out, grabbing her arm, looking up at her with big, wounded eyes. “That’s not what you said five minutes ago. You said you’d marry me.” She yanked her arm back, recoiling as if he were radioactive. He stood there, his hand still suspended in the air, his face crumpling. I looked from him to her. She was avoiding my gaze, picking at a loose thread on her jeans. He was biting his lip, his eyes welling up. “Do you even know who she is?” I asked him. “Do you know she’s had a boyfriend for eight years?” “I know,” he said, chin tilted up. I was momentarily stunned. “She told me. She said you guys had been together forever.” He paused, glancing at her. She didn’t look up. “But she said the spark had been dead for years.” His voice picked up speed, fueled by a strange kind of triumph. “She said you were suffocating. That you had to know where she was every second. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She said being with me was the only time she felt free—like she could finally be herself.” I stood perfectly still. So, asking if she made it home okay was “suffocating.” Waiting for her so we could have dinner together was “tracking her.” Caring if she was exhausted from overtime was “making her feel trapped.” I thought I was being a partner. To her, I was a prison guard. “She said you’re too much work,” the boy continued, a smug edge creeping into his tone. “Always nagging her about eating better, telling her to sleep more, asking why she didn’t text back right away. She said she couldn’t take it anymore.” I looked at Lauren. She was still a statue, staring at the floorboards. “Is that true?” I asked. Her lips thinned, but no sound came out. “Lauren.” Finally, she looked at me. Just for a split second. But in that look, I saw everything. It was true. Every word the kid said was what she had told him. A wave of exhaustion crashed over me, starting at my toes and working its way up. My legs felt heavy, like lead. I wanted to sit down, but I refused to let myself collapse in front of them. I took a deep breath. “Fine. We’re done.” 3 Her head snapped up. “Blake—” “Don’t,” I snapped. I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped the screen. “Everything you both just said? I recorded it.” She froze. The boy went pale. “Including your little confession,” I said, looking directly at him. “You knew she had a boyfriend. You went for it anyway. And you,” I looked at Lauren, “you lied about everything. It’s all on tape.” The boy’s face shifted from smug to terrified. “You recorded us? Since when?” I didn’t answer. I tucked the phone back into my pocket and turned toward the door. “Stop!” he yelled. “You have to delete that!” I didn’t stop. I kept walking. “Lauren!” he screamed, his voice hitting a frantic pitch. “Make him delete it! He can’t leave with that! What is he going to do with it? What if he sends it to people?” I heard a scuffle behind me. Running footsteps. Before I could reach the handle, the boy grabbed my arm. His skin was cold, his nails digging into my forearm. “Give me the phone!” he shrieked. I shoved him off. He lunged again, reaching for my pocket. I held the phone high above my head. He started jumping, clawing at my hand, his nails raking across my skin. A sharp, stinging pain flared up my arm. “Lauren! Don’t just stand there!” I gave him a hard, two-handed shove. He stumbled back, his sneakers sliding on the wood, and he landed hard on his backside. He let out a sharp cry of pain, sitting there on the floor and looking up at me with watery, victimized eyes. Lauren rushed over, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?” she asked, her hands hovering over his shoulders as she checked him for injuries. “Where are you hurt?” He leaned into her, shaking his head as a tear escaped. I stood by the door, watching the tableau. She looked up at me, her expression hardening into something cold and accusatory. “Blake,” she said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. “Why did you push him?” I didn’t say a word. She helped him up. He clung to her, whispering that he was “fine” and it was “his fault,” which only made her hold him tighter. “Delete the recording,” she said, her tone clipped. “I know I messed up, but you had no right to put your hands on him.” I almost laughed. It was so absurd I couldn’t even find the anger. “Delete it?” I asked. “Yes,” she said. She paused, her eyes calculating. “I’ll pay you. Just delete it.” “How much?” She blinked, clearly surprised I’d even entertained the thought. She thought for a second. “Two thousand dollars.” I looked at her. Eight years. The most expensive thing she’d ever bought me was that twelve-hundred-dollar watch. At the time, she’d told me she wanted to save every penny for our future. For our wedding. For our “forever.” The word “forever” felt like a slur now. Now, she was offering me twice that just to protect a secret. 4 “Two thousand?” I said. “Not enough?” She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. How much do you want?” I looked at the boy. He was leaning against her, the tears gone, replaced by a look of nervous anticipation. “I’m not deleting it,” I said. Her face twisted. “Blake, don’t be like this. Don’t be a dick.” “Don’t be a dick?” I repeated, turning back to the door. “Lauren!” the boy panicked. “Don’t let him leave! What if he sends it to my parents? They’ll kill me! You said you’d protect me!” Lauren’s face went through a dozen different emotions in a few seconds. My hand was on the doorknob. “Wait,” she called out. I didn’t turn around. “Blake, please.” Her voice softened into a desperate plea. “Please just delete it. This is on me, not him. He’s young, he didn’t know better. I’m the one who couldn’t control myself. Blame me, but don’t ruin his life.” I turned back. They were standing there, hand in hand. “He didn’t know better?” I asked. “He seemed pretty knowledgeable a minute ago. He knew I existed, and he didn’t care.” She was speechless. The boy looked at his feet. “He’s ‘young,’ but you’re an adult,” I said to her. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” “Lauren,” the boy whispered, tugging at her sleeve. “Make him do it. Please…” She looked at me, and her eyes changed. They went flat and dark. “Blake,” she said, her voice a low hiss. “Delete it. If you don’t, I’ll take it from you.” I didn’t move. She took a step forward. I reached into my pocket and gripped the phone. “Try it,” I said. “It won’t matter anyway.” She stopped. “I’ve already set it to auto-send,” I lied. “If I don’t enter a deactivation code in the next two hours, the recording goes out to every contact in my phone. Including your boss. And your mother.” She turned white. The boy looked like he was about to faint. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’re insane.” I said nothing. She stood there, her jaw working but no sound coming out. The boy was gripping her arm so hard his knuckles were white. “Ten thousand,” she blurted out. I stared at her. “Ten thousand dollars,” she repeated. “You delete the recording right now, and I’ll wire you ten grand.” I remained silent. “I don’t have it in cash, but I can get it.” Her voice was frantic now. “I have eight thousand in my savings, and I can borrow the rest. I’ll have it to you by tonight. Just delete it and we’ll call it even. Please.” The boy looked at her, a flash of protest in his eyes at the mention of her savings, but he stayed quiet. “Ten thousand. Right now,” I said. She gasped, then whipped out her phone and started tapping furiously. I opened my banking app and pulled up my QR code. Her hands were shaking so much it took three tries for her phone to scan it. She punched in the amount, then looked up at me. “Sent,” she said. “Check it.” My phone buzzed. A notification from my bank: Transfer Received: $10,000.00. “Now,” I said. “I want a statement.” “A what?” “Write it down. On paper. State clearly that this ten thousand is a voluntary compensation for the end of our relationship. Write down that we were together, and write down the fact that you cheated. Sign it and date it.” 5 She glared at me. “You’re pushing it,” she whispered. “I already gave you the money.” “The money was for the recording,” I said. “The note is for my peace of mind.” The boy tugged her sleeve again. “Just write it. Hurry. How much time is left?” She looked at her phone, then back at me, her eyes bloodshot. “Forty minutes,” I lied. She grit her teeth, turned to her desk, and grabbed a notepad and a pen. She wrote slowly, pausing every few words as if she were weighing the legal implications of every sentence. I stood there, watching her crumble. The boy stood over her shoulder, watching the pen move. “Done,” she said, standing up and thrusting the paper at me. I scanned it. Her handwriting was shaky, but it was all there. The duration of our relationship, the admission of her affair, and the confirmation of the $10,000 payment as a “breakup settlement.” “Sign it,” I said. She signed. “I need a thumbprint.” “I don’t have an inkpad, Blake!” I pointed to the glass of Cabernet on the table. She stared at it, then realized what I meant. She dipped her thumb into the dark red wine and pressed it firmly onto her signature. The wine stained the paper, a blurred, brownish-red mark. I folded the paper and tucked it into my bag. Then, I pulled out my phone. Right in front of her, I selected the voice memo and hit Delete. She watched my finger, watched the file vanish from the list, and let out a long, shuddering breath. The boy slumped against her in relief. I put my phone away and looked at them one last time. She stood there, clutching the pen, her face a mask of resentment and exhaustion. The boy had his arm around her waist, his chin tilted up in a final, weak attempt at bravado. I suddenly remembered something. That ten thousand dollars. The eight thousand in her savings—that was every cent she’d earned over the last three years. She’d always told me that money was “sacred.” It was for our down payment. Our future. I had believed her. Because of that, I never let her buy me expensive things. I never let her pay for dinner. I wanted her to feel secure. I turned and walked out. The door clicked shut behind me. The hallway was silent, the fluorescent lights buzzing with a sterile, white hum. I walked toward the elevator, my footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. When the doors opened, I caught my reflection in the polished metal. My hair was a mess. I was pale. There was a red scratch on the back of my hand from the boy’s nails. It didn’t hurt, but it looked ugly. The elevator reached the lobby. I walked out into the cool autumn night. I took a deep breath, the crisp air clearing the lingering scent of her perfume and expensive wine from my lungs. My phone buzzed. Bank Alert: Your account ending in 3827 has received a deposit of $10,000.00… I shoved the phone back in my pocket and kept walking. The streets weren’t crowded. A few people passed me, laughing. A little boy held his father’s hand, skipping along the sidewalk. I reached the subway entrance. I swiped my card and headed down the stairs. The platform was nearly empty. I leaned against a concrete pillar. When the train came, I stepped on and leaned against the door. I watched the dark tunnel walls whip past. My phone buzzed again. A call. From her. I didn’t answer. It rang until it went to voicemail, then started ringing again immediately. I watched her name—Lauren—flash on the screen. I’d never changed it to a pet name. I’d always thought her name was beautiful enough on its own. I thought I’d be saying it for the rest of my life. The ringing stopped. Then a text came through. Blake, pick up. I didn’t reply. Then another. That ten thousand dollars… can you send some of it back? He just told me something. He just tested positive for syphilis. He needs the money for treatment. What?

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