The day my parents divorced, two agreements lay on the table. One meant staying in the old neighborhood with my dad, who was drowning in gambling debts. The other meant moving to the coast with my mom, who’d remarried a wealthy man. In my last life, my little sister, Chloe, cried and begged for Mom. I quietly packed my bags and followed Dad. Later, Dad quit gambling and became a millionaire, spoiling me rotten. Chloe, however, was emotionally abused and trapped at home by her stepfather. She eventually succumbed to depression and passed away. This time around, Chloe snatched the cigarette from Dad’s hand and hugged him tight, refusing to let go. “Jade, I feel for Dad. You go to Mom’s, okay? I’ll keep the good life here for you.” Dad paused, then affectionately stroked Chloe’s head, a look of relief on his face. I said nothing, picking up the train ticket for the coast. Chloe didn’t know that in my last life, Dad only quit gambling because I, riddled with a brain tumor, worked myself to death to pay off his debts, coughing up blood. My life was the price for his temporary peace. Now, reborn, with no debt collectors banging on the door, all I wanted was a good night’s sleep.
I picked up my duffel bag. “Get out, get out! Go find your mom, the one who only cares about money.” Dad waved his hand, like shooing away a fly. Chloe hid behind him, making a childish face at me. Her lips exaggeratedly formed the words: “Sis, don’t come begging me for money later.” I just smiled, saying nothing. Then I turned and walked into the rain. I pulled my neck into my shoulders, feeling a chill seep deep into my bones. Honestly, it didn’t matter where I went. I just wanted to find a quiet place to endure these last few moments. No more hearing the gamblers’ creditors banging down the door. No more smelling that sickening stench of cheap cigarettes. Mom’s black Mercedes pulled up at the end of the alley. The window rolled down, revealing her perfectly made-up face. She frowned, looking at me, drenched from head to toe, a flicker of disgust in her eyes. “What happened to you? Get in, quickly, don’t get the car dirty.” I opened the back passenger door, about to slide in. “Put that bag in the trunk.” Mom pointed at the duffel bag in my hand. “It’s filthy, probably crawling with germs.” I paused. But I still obediently closed the door and put the bag in the trunk. Back in the car, I huddled in the corner, careful not to touch the luxurious leather seats. The heater was on full blast, but I still felt cold. “Jade, once we get there, you need to be sensible.” Mom drove, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Your stepfather doesn’t like noise. Don’t leave your room unless you have to.” “Eat quietly, and don’t drag your feet when you walk.” “And never mention your dad. He’s bad news.” I looked out at the rain streaking past the window and nodded. “Got it.” The familiar spike of pain lanced through my head again. My vision blurred for a second. I reached up and pressed my forehead. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked, her tone laced with impatience. “Nothing, just car sickness.” I said. “So delicate,” Mom scoffed. “Just like your dad.” I closed my eyes, swallowing back the metallic taste of blood that welled up in my throat. Next time, no way I’m signing up for this again. The drive took five hours. By the time the car pulled into the hillside villa community, it was pitch black outside. Though ablaze with lights, the whole place felt eerily dead. “We’re here.” Mom parked the car, touched up her lipstick, and took a deep breath. She was shifting gears, transforming from the sharp-tongued woman she was with me into a sweet, devoted wife. “Get out of the car. Remember to call him Mr. Henderson.” I followed her inside, still carrying my duffel bag. A man sat on the living room sofa, a blanket over his legs, a book in his hand. He looked up when he heard us. This was my stepfather, Robert Henderson. 2 The same man who, in my last life, slowly suffocated Chloe until she broke. “You’re back?” His voice was flat, emotionless. “Robert, this is Jade.” Mom pushed me forward, a plastered smile on her face. “Jade, say hello to Mr. Henderson.” I stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Hello, Mr. Henderson.” Robert Henderson turned a page of his book, as if he hadn’t heard me. A few seconds later, he hummed a noncommittal “Hmm” from the back of his throat. His gaze swept over my wet shoes, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “The carpet was just replaced.” He lowered his head back to his book. “The first room on the left upstairs is the guest room. It’s ready.” “Thank you, Mr. Henderson,” I said. Mom breathed a sigh of relief and pulled me upstairs. “See? Mr. Henderson is really a good man,” Mom whispered. “Just don’t upset him, and you’ll be able to stay in this house.” Inside the room, it was huge and empty. “Mom,” I called out, stopping her just as she was about to leave. “What is it?” “I’d like to change rooms.” Mom’s face instantly changed. “Jade, are you being picky the moment you arrive?” “What’s wrong with this room? It’s a hundred times better than your dad’s dump, isn’t it?” “Don’t be so ungrateful!” I calmly watched her outburst. Only after she finished did I speak. “No, this room faces north, it’s too cold.” “I’d like a south-facing one, even if it’s smaller.” I was truly cold. The brain tumor messed with my body’s temperature control, leaving me perpetually freezing. Only sunlight offered me any comfort. “Cold? Just turn on the AC!” Mom thought I was being unreasonable. “The south-facing rooms are your Mr. Henderson’s study and a storage room.” “Then the storage room,” I said. Mom’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy?” “Why would you stay in a storage room when there’s a perfectly good guest room?” “Are you deliberately trying to make Mr. Henderson think I’m abusing you?” Her voice grew shrill. I covered my ears. It was too loud. My brain felt like it was going to burst. “I’m just cold,” I repeated. Just then, two light taps came from the doorway. Robert Henderson stood there, a glass of water in his hand, his expression grim. I didn’t even notice him arrive. “What’s all the shouting about?” Mom immediately plastered on a different face, her voice trembling. “Nothing, Robert. This child is being difficult, complaining about the room.” “I’m about to teach her a lesson.” Robert Henderson looked at me, and I looked back at him. His face was very pale, his lips bloodless, looking as if he were about to die. “Which room do you want?” he asked me. “The one facing south,” I pointed to the end of the hallway. “That’s where we store old furniture.” “It’s fine, as long as there’s sunlight.” Robert Henderson was silent for a moment. “Suit yourself.” “Just don’t shout in the hallway.” With that, he turned and left, showing no interest in this mother-daughter dispute. Mom poked my forehead hard. “Go ahead and make a scene!” “Staying in a storage room… what will people say about me?” I ignored her. Carrying my duffel bag, I walked to the end of the hallway. Pushing open the door, a cloud of dust greeted me. But I saw the floor-to-ceiling window. When the sun rose tomorrow, it would be warm in here. That was enough. I made my bed and placed the photo album under my pillow. My diagnosis was tucked inside the album. As long as I wasn’t dead, no one would be idle enough to snoop through my things. That night, I slept soundly. There were no debt collectors in my dreams, only endless darkness. 3 I settled into the house, like an invisible ghost. Robert Henderson liked quiet, so much so that even the housekeepers walked on tiptoes. Mom tried every trick in the book to please Robert. Cooking soups, giving massages, watching those boring financial news channels with him. She lived in this house like a high-class housekeeper. As for me, except for meal times, I rarely left my room. The storage room had been tidied up nicely. Though cluttered with old furniture, the sunlight was truly wonderful. I often pulled up a chair by the window and soaked in the sun all afternoon, like an old woman. Sometimes Robert Henderson would pass my door. Seeing me sunbathing, he’d pause, but never spoke. His gaze was strange, like he was looking at a kindred spirit. One afternoon during lunch. The dining table was silent, save for the faint clinking of forks against plates. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. In the quiet living room, it sounded like an alarming siren. Robert Henderson frowned. Mom immediately put down her fork and glared at me. “Who told you to bring your phone to the table? No manners!” “Hang up!” I took out my phone and glanced at the screen. It was Chloe. I pressed decline. Less than two seconds later, it vibrated again. I declined again. The third time it vibrated, Robert Henderson put down his fork. “Answer it,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s giving me a headache.” I took my phone to the balcony. As soon as I answered, Chloe’s voice exploded through the receiver. “Jade, are you doing this on purpose?” “Did you take the passbook?” I held the phone away from my ear. “What passbook?” “Dad says the family passbook is gone, and he’s sure you stole it!” “There’s five thousand dollars in there!” I chuckled. Those five thousand dollars were what I’d earned washing dishes last summer. “That’s my money,” I said. “Even if you earned it, it’s still family money!” Chloe said, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “Dad can’t buy cigarettes now, and he’s throwing a fit at home!” “Transfer the money right away, or I’ll tell Mom you stole it!” From the other end of the line, I heard things crashing and Dad’s angry curses. “I should’ve strangled you when you were born!” Those sounds, even from hundreds of miles away, still made me feel suffocated. “I didn’t steal it,” I said calmly. “That was my medical fund.” “Medical fund? What kind of sickness do you have?” Chloe scoffed. “Stop playing the victim!” “Transfer the money now, or I’ll come to your school and tell everyone you don’t care if your own dad dies!” I looked out at the garden from the balcony. The flowers bloomed vividly, red as blood. “Chloe.” “You chose your path; you have to walk it, even if you’re crawling.” “Don’t bother me.” With that, I hung up and blocked her number. As I turned, I felt a warm gush from my nose. I reached up and touched it – my hand was covered in blood. I fumbled for a tissue from my pocket and pressed it to my nose. Tilting my head back, I tried to stop the bleeding. The blood flowed rapidly, trickling down my throat into my stomach, making me nauseous. I rushed into the downstairs restroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw bright red blood staining half my face. I turned on the faucet and frantically washed it away. “What are you doing?” A voice suddenly came from behind me. I froze. Through the mirror, I saw Robert Henderson standing in the doorway. He looked at my face, streaked with water and blood, his eyes deep and unreadable. I roughly wiped my face. “Just a nosebleed,” I mumbled, lowering my head. “Probably from the heat.” Robert Henderson didn’t say anything. He walked over and handed me a clean hand towel. “Wipe that off.” I took the towel and pressed it to my nose. “Thank you, Mr. Henderson.” He looked at the faint pink stains in the sink that hadn’t been rinsed away yet. “Does this happen often?” “Occasionally.” I lied. The nosebleeds had been happening more and more frequently lately. Robert Henderson stared at me for a moment. “You should see a doctor,” he said. “No need. It’s an old problem,” I replied, lowering my head, trying to slip past him. “Jade.” He stopped me. “You don’t have to live so cautiously in this house.” “Your mom is your mom; you are you.” I froze, looking up at him. His expression was still detached, but there was a hint of something in his eyes I didn’t understand. “If you’re not feeling well, say something.” “Stop trying to be tough. Nobody’s giving you a prize for enduring all this pain alone.” With that, he turned and left, leaving me alone in the restroom. The towel in my hand carried a faint scent of pine. It was his scent, mixed with a faint whisper of decay.
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