I broke up with my boyfriend during the year he was at his absolute rock bottom. A year later, he hit the big time. He became the nation’s biggest star and married a girl far prettier and more vibrant than I could ever be. On a popular talk show, the host asked him if he had any regrets now that he had swept every major award at such a young age. He tightened his arm around his new wife, Chloe’s, waist and looked directly into the camera: “I just want to know… after dumping me, how is she doing now?” The host paused, a look of hesitation crossing her face. “She’s doing… not well at all.” A smirk finally spread across Silas’s face. “Good. Then I can rest easy.” “But,” the host continued, “Ms. Quinn left behind a box of videotapes before she died.” The smile on Silas’s face froze. Inside those tapes were the records of every single day and night I spent from the moment I left him until my final breath. 1 “Before she died?” Silas’s hand, resting on Chloe’s waist, twitched. Then, he forced a dismissive laugh. “Is this for the ratings? A bit dark for a talk show, don’t you think?” The host didn’t smile. She simply shook her head. The massive screen behind them flickered to life. My face appeared, filling the studio. “Hey everyone! I’m Quinn. And today… I’m officially single! “Huh? You’re asking if it hurts to kick a handsome, talented, pure-hearted boy to the curb?” In the frame, a girl with a completely shaved head was busy picking out a wig from a stand. She looked at the lens and laughed. “It doesn’t hurt. What would hurt is letting him see me looking like this. Haha! “Hey! Why is the camera shaking? You’re ruining the shot!” I reached out to steady the trembling hand of my best friend, Daisy. Daisy’s voice came from behind the camera, thick with sobs. “I don’t want to film this… Quinn, I can’t. I’m going to cry myself to death. Let’s stop.” “No way. You promised me, remember? You’re going to document every single day I have left.” “Can’t I take it back?” Daisy whimpered. “Nope!” I pouted at the camera. “This is my grand finale. I can’t trust anyone else with the cinematography.” Seeing her still crying, I grabbed the corner of her shirt and gave it a little tug. “Come on, Daisy. You’re the only person I have left in this world.” The sobbing grew louder. “Fine, fine… I’ll film it. Just stop talking like that…” 2 [Goodbye World: April 17, 2023, 9:34 AM — Take Everything You Want] After years away, I finally returned to my family’s old house in the countryside. Daisy held the phone behind me as I led my old golden retriever, Goldie, down a narrow dirt path through the fields. A soft laugh came from behind the lens. “No wonder Silas just updated his status with a breakup song. It’s because you took Goldie with you!” I turned around. “What song? I blocked him the second I left.” “It’s a classic. Take Everything You Want.” Daisy and I locked eyes for a moment and burst into a fit of bittersweet laughter. “Take everything you want, I’ll handle what’s left. Just leave our dog, Whether he’s useful or not…” Daisy laughed until tears came out. “He wanted nothing but the dog, and you took nothing but the dog! Hahaha!” Our laughter echoed under the vast sky. Slowly, it dissolved into weeping. 3 [Goodbye World: April 17, 2023, 10:08 AM — Does a Dog Know When You’re Leaving?] The old wooden door creaked open. I brushed away a thick cobweb. “I’m telling you, ever since Silas and I moved to the city for college, I’ve barely been back. After my parents passed, we took Goldie to the city. This is his first time home.” The camera flipped. Now I was holding it. “Hello, hello! Quinn here, taking you on an immersive tour of cleaning the old homestead!” Daisy appeared in the frame wearing an apron, holding a broom with a scowl. “I’m the one doing the cleaning! You’re just standing there, my lady!” “I’m the patient! Give me a break!” After a lot of laughter, I emerged from the kitchen covered in dust and soot. Daisy’s face went black as she snatched the spatula from me. “I told you! No cooking! Do you have no self-awareness about your skills? Go sit down!” I sat down, laughing and coughing at the same time. As soon as Daisy vanished into the kitchen, the smile vanished from my face. I propped the phone against a bowl and began to gasp for air. With trembling hands, I took a few puffs from a portable oxygen tank. Only then did I look back at the camera and smile. “Sorry about that. My breathing has been acting up more often lately… “Cough! Honestly, I’m a great cook. Really. Watch me brave the kitchen again!” As I reached for the phone, I felt something furry against my leg. I tilted the camera down. Goldie was lying at my feet, his eyelids drooping. “Hungry?” I offered him a piece of jerky. He sniffed it, then just rested his head back on my foot, motionless. “Good boy, Goldie. I need to go help Daisy. Get up.” He didn’t move. “What’s wrong? Why are you so clingy today?” I stroked his thinning, dry fur. “I get it. You’re getting old too, aren’t you? Just don’t feel like moving? Fine. I’ll stay here with you for a bit.” I leaned back into the worn sofa. “I won’t have many chances to sit with you later anyway.” Goldie let out a soft, low whimper. 4 [Goodbye World: April 17, 2023, 11:21 AM — Is a House Still a Home If No One Is In It?] When I woke up on the sofa, Daisy was kneeling by my feet. She heard me move and looked up, her face drenched in tears. “Quinn… people say dogs can sense when their owners are about to leave. They say they go to the next world early to wait for them. Is that true?” I almost dropped the camera. I reached out to touch Goldie. Cold. No breath. He was curled up by my feet. While I was drifting off from exhaustion, he had quietly left me. My smile looked worse than a sob. “What are you talking about? Goldie was ten. He just died of old age.” When the camera turned on again, I was in the backyard, mounding dirt over a small grave. My breath was shallow, my face deathly pale. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and pointed toward the house. “Just walk straight that way and you’re home, Goldie. Don’t go the wrong way. If you wander off toward Silas…” I stopped abruptly. I smiled and pulled my hand back. “Don’t go back there. There won’t be anyone there soon anyway. Wait for me. When I get there, we’ll find Mom and Dad and start a home together.” The camera shook as Daisy sobbed behind it. I looked up and pointed at the lens. “What are you doing? You can’t even hold the shot steady.” Daisy wailed, “You’re the one! Listen to yourself!” I laughed, waving her over. “Look at you. Let’s go home and eat your cooking. I’m starving.” “Quinn! If you keep acting like this, I’m going to stop talking to you!” I walked up and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your girl Quinn is invincible. “A little cancer? Please. I’ve got this. “Hahahahahahaha!” 5 [Goodbye World: April 18, 2023, 8:27 AM — Sometimes I Forget I’m Sick] “Quinn! Quinn, open the door!” Daisy was pounding on the wood. The camera was propped up on a nearby crate, capturing only the lower half of her body. Inside the room, I was screaming. “Go away! I told you to go! Get away from me!” Then came the sound of violent retching. Daisy was crying now. “Quinn, if you don’t open up, I’m breaking this door down! What happened? Let me see you!” “Leave me alone!” The heart-wrenching scream cut through the speaker. Daisy threw her weight against the door. The old wood gave way with a crash. Inside, I was on my knees by a trash can, vomit matting my hair to my face. I looked pathetic. There was no trace of the girl who was singing and laughing yesterday. I looked up in despair, my eyes bloodshot. “Daisy…” “Quinn.” She dropped to her knees and pulled me into her arms, ignoring the mess. I clung to her with trembling hands, burying my face in her shoulder, my tears soaking her shirt. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have yelled… “But every time I wake up, I have this split second where I think I’m normal again… “Then I stare at the ceiling for a long time and remember… I’m sick. “I’m dying, Daisy… I’m actually dying…” I was hyperventilating. Daisy held me tighter. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Quinn. You can fight this. You can… “Because you’re… “You’re Quinn. You’re the strongest person I know.” 6 [Goodbye World: April 21, 2024, 4:34 PM — Sometimes Forgetting is a Mercy for the Dead] I was leaning on Daisy’s shoulder. My sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms covered in purple and blue bruises from the IVs. My voice was a raspy whisper. “What am I going to do, Daisy? There’s nowhere left to stick the needles. It hurts so much.” “Oh, now it hurts? You weren’t complaining when you stayed up all night to snag those concert tickets.” I pouted. “I had to see my ex-boyfriend’s first sold-out stadium tour. I haven’t seen him in forever. I wanted to see if his vocals actually improved.” Daisy went silent. After a long time, she nudged me. “You said you dumped him because you didn’t want to drag him down. If he still has feelings for you, would you ask him for help?” “Never!” I was firm. “But he makes millions per song now. He could afford the best treatment in the world for you.” “No! And don’t you dare tell him!” “But Quinn, look at you…” I put my hands on my hips, the medical tape on my skin crinkling. “I’m doing great! Besides, I dumped him when he was a nobody. If I crawl back now that he’s famous and tell him I’m sick, what does that make me? “Don’t worry. I’m Quinn! “Cancer? Pfft. Easy work.” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together in a “tiny” gesture. Daisy stared at me for a long time, then sighed. I waved her forward. “Let’s go. This illness probably won’t get better no matter how much money I spend. I’d rather spend my last bits of cash on having fun. Come on, we have the pier tonight! But before that, I found this BBQ place…” “Oof!” I walked straight into someone’s chest. I started apologizing frantically, but when I looked up and saw his face, I froze. I stumbled back several steps. Daisy gasped. “Silas?” Even with a mask and a hoodie pulled low, lovers recognize each other by the eyes alone. “Quinn?” His beautiful eyes were wide with shock. Then, they turned to anger and resentment. I didn’t think. I just turned and bolted. The camera shook violently as Daisy chased after me. A cancer patient managed to run faster than a healthy person. Behind me, over the sound of my ragged breathing, I heard a voice screaming my name: “Quinn! Do you really hate me that much?!”

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In the viral video taking the internet by storm, my twenty-three-year-old self is wearing a heavy, suffocating mascot costume. Drenched in sweat but beaming at the camera, I shout: “Hey, thirty-three-year-old Maya! Are you and Silas on your honeymoon in the Maldives yet? Working three jobs is exhausting! You better make Silas pay you back for every bit of this, you hear me?” I didn’t. He didn’t pay me back. Thirty-three-year-old Maya Miller had been left in the dust by Silas Sterling a long time ago. 1 In late June, a documentary suddenly trended on social media. The director had passed away ten years ago. After being diagnosed with terminal cancer, he quit his corporate job, grabbed a camera, and set off on one last journey across the country. He filmed the people he met along the way and asked a friend to edit and upload the footage ten years later as a final parting gift to the world. The first two episodes drew sentimental praise for his courage in the face of death. But when the third episode dropped, the documentary exploded into a global phenomenon. At the 13:22 mark of Episode 3, a face appeared that no one expected. —Silas Sterling, the reigning A-list Oscar winner. Back then, he was a struggling extra on a backlot, his face still holding the nervous, raw edges of a rookie. But he wasn’t the star of the episode. I was. Twenty-three-year-old Maya, her eyes overflowing with a love she couldn’t hide, boasted shamelessly to the camera: “I guarantee you, Silas is going to be the biggest star in the world. If he doesn’t win an Oscar one day, I’ll crawl across the Brooklyn Bridge on my hands!” 2 I didn’t even know Silas and I were trending until my manager, Elena, called to wake me up. We had been at the top of the search results all night. I clicked the video. Seeing my ten-year-younger self was like a punch to the gut. It took me a long time to dig that memory out of the scrap pile of my mind. It was our first year after college. I was supporting Silas while he chased bit parts in Hollywood. He acted; I worked. I remember a man with a camera following me around, asking to film me for a documentary. I told him I wasn’t interested, but he was like a shadow—persistent and silent. Eventually, I stopped caring and let him film while I worked. Elena asked if I wanted our PR team to scrub the video. I shook my head. “No. Let it run. We could use the engagement.” Curious, I scrolled through the comments. Five years ago, when our breakup went public, the internet treated me like a parasite. I expected more of the same. Instead, the tide had turned in a bizarre direction. 【OMG, can I say it? I’m actually crying. This is the ultimate ‘expired sugar’.】 【Look at Maya’s eyes. I haven’t seen a look that pure and full of love in years. It’s making me sentimental about my own life before I became a bitter adult.】 【Maya worked three jobs a day to support Silas’s dream back then! Man, I used to bash her in the forums… now I don’t know what to feel.】 【No matter how it ended, that kind of devotion is rare.】 I watched the video again. I wanted to see what kind of “look” could make the internet forgive a woman they had branded a “cheater” five years ago. Ten years is a long time. Between the grind of the industry and the trauma of the breakup, my memories were blurred. But the screen didn’t lie. Twenty-three-year-old Maya loved Silas Sterling with a heat that was, quite frankly, devastating to witness. 3 While Silas was grinding in Hollywood, I was working three shifts. I woke up at 3:30 AM to help at a local bakery, finishing at 10:30 AM. I’d go home for a one-hour nap, then at noon, I’d squeeze into a heavy mascot suit to hand out flyers at a shopping mall. Summer in a plush suit is a special kind of hell. It’s a swamp of heat and sweat, plus you’re constantly dodging toddlers who think it’s funny to kick the “giant bear.” By 2:00 PM, I was soaked to the bone. At 2:30 PM, I started my shift at a boba shop. It was a long commute, so I’d stop at a cheap public gym nearby to take a five-minute shower just to feel human. I finished at 10:00 PM, cleaned the shop until 10:30, and by 11:00 PM, I was picking Silas up from his latest set. The documentary director had tried to follow me for a full day twice and gave up. It wasn’t until his third attempt that he made it to the end. He collapsed on the curb at midnight and asked me, “How do you do this? Aren’t you exhausted?” Of course I was. But there was no choice. Even with three jobs and Silas’s meager acting checks, we barely covered rent in LA. And the most important part— In the video, I’m leaning against a brick wall, eyes closed while Silas rants about a director who ignored him. I look like a ghost—deep dark circles, shoulders slumped with bone-deep fatigue. But a second later, I hear his voice and my eyes snap open. The light that floods into my expression in that moment is enough to blind you. I look like a wilted flower that just found a drop of water. I throw myself into his arms, laughing. The most important part was that I loved Silas Sterling. I had burned every bridge with my family and walked away from a comfortable life just to be his safety net in a city that didn’t know his name. Love is a hell of a drug. 4 In the video, Silas sees the cameraman for the first time. He pulls me behind him, protective and wary. I explain the situation. He sighs, a reluctant smile forming as he pinches my cheek. “How many times have I told you not to talk to strangers? Last month you gave fifty bucks to a guy who ‘lost his wallet’ and he drove off in a Mercedes.” I giggle and promise to be smarter next time. The director records us in silence before finally prompting us for an interview. The questions are standard—dreams, work, the industry. We answer with the usual naive optimism of twenty-somethings. Until the final question. The director looks at Silas and mutters, “You’re a handsome guy.” Then he turns to me. “Maya, Silas has the kind of looks that bring a lot of temptation in this town. Are you worried he’ll get distracted? Are you sure he’ll always love you?” The question was sharp, invasive. I blinked, then laughed as if he’d told the funniest joke in the world. I linked my arm with Silas’s and looked at him with absolute, terrifying certainty. “I’m not worried. Silas will always love me. I know it.” I looked at Silas and gave a mock-serious cough, holding my hand out like a queen. “Well, Mr. Future Movie Star? Someone is questioning your loyalty. You going to let that slide?” Silas was used to my drama. He looked at me with a gaze so tender it felt like a physical touch. He dropped to one knee, took my hand, and slipped a simple silver band onto my finger while I stared in shock. “He’s right, Maya. I am going to love you for the rest of my life.” “So, Maya Miller, will you marry me?” I covered my mouth, looking at the director who was grinning behind the lens. They had planned this together. Huge, fat tears rolled down my face as I choked out the words. “I w—” I exited the video. I couldn’t watch the “Yes.” I checked the comments again. The mood had shifted into a war zone. 【Who are these people romanticizing this? Silas is with Chloe Vance now! They’ve been together for five years. Why are you digging up his ex? It’s disrespectful to the current couple.】 【’Expired sugar’ my ass. When the news broke five years ago and Maya was caught ‘climbing into a director’s bed,’ you guys were ready to stone her. Now you’re crying over a ten-year-old video? Give me a break.】 【Is my memory failing? They broke up because Maya cheated on him with Director Thompson. It was a mess. She was branded a social climber and vanished.】 【Maya Miller is probably just paying for these bots. She’s desperate for a comeback. Girl, Silas is about to marry a real Oscar winner. Stay in the trash where you belong.】 As the drama peaked, Chloe Vance—the current “it girl” of Hollywood—posted a photo on Instagram. No caption. Just a picture of her leaning into Silas’s chest, showing off a massive, multi-carat diamond ring on her finger. Five years into their relationship, Silas Sterling had finally proposed. 5 To understand Silas and Chloe, you have to go back to the movie that made him. At twenty-four, Silas landed the lead in The Immortal, a massive fantasy epic directed by the legendary Arthur Thompson. He became an overnight sensation. The next year, he starred in a rom-com with Chloe Vance. Their “ship” name, Silas-Chloe, trended for months. Chloe’s agency wanted them to fake a romance for PR. Silas refused. At the height of the hype, he officially announced that he had a long-term girlfriend—a non-celebrity named Maya Miller. He was a man of principle back then. He loved me. Even when the studio tried to blackball him for a year because he wouldn’t play along, he just held me close. “Don’t apologize, Maya. I love you. I won’t let you be a secret. It was my choice.” It made my heart ache. At twenty-seven, Silas worked with Chloe again on The Sunset. At twenty-eight, during reshoots, a video was leaked of me entering and leaving Director Thompson’s hotel room at 2 AM. The world went nuclear. Silas and I had a loud, ugly, public breakup. At twenty-nine, Silas and Chloe both won Best Actor and Best Actress for The Sunset. On the podium, Silas officially announced they were dating. The fans rejoiced. Compared to me—the “cheating social climber”—Chloe was a saint. For five years, they were Hollywood’s golden couple. But they never got married. Rumors of breakups popped up every six months, only to be crushed by their fans. And now, with this proposal, the fans were throwing a digital parade. 【Suck it, haters! Silas and Chloe are endgame. To those still feeling bad for the cheating trash: protect your own partners, because people like Maya are everywhere.】 Soon, the five-year-old hotel video was being reposted everywhere. My personal inbox was a sewer of insults. I didn’t care. I was just glad Director Thompson and his wife weren’t on social media. I shut my phone and went back to work. I had a war to fight in three days. 6 The #SilasProposed hashtag stayed at number one for forty-eight hours. People discussed the ring’s clarity, the cost of the estate he rented for the occasion, and the three nights of fireworks he set off. It was the ultimate romantic gesture. Just as the world thought the Maya Miller “glitch” was over, a new announcement shook the industry. After The Immortal, Director Thompson hadn’t produced a single film in ten years. Five years ago, his wife, the famous screenwriter Sarah Thompson, moved to London. Arthur followed shortly after. The internet assumed my “affair” with Arthur had ended their marriage. Some even claimed Arthur took me to London while I was pregnant with his secret child. Until today. Director Thompson’s team announced a live press conference for a new project: The Chronicle of Gods. After ten years, he was returning to work with his wife. The news was big, but the cast list was bigger. My name was right there at the top as the Executive Producer and Lead Consultant. 【Gross. They aren’t even hiding it anymore.】 【I feel so bad for Sarah Thompson. Imagine having to work with your husband’s mistress. This is disgusting.】 【Boycott this movie. Don’t let these predators win.】 Three days later, the live stream began. Director Thompson was a titan in the industry. He invited half of Hollywood to the event. For the sake of optics, he even invited Silas and Chloe. Predictably, their teams declined with “scheduling conflicts.” In the green room, I met with Arthur and Sarah. “Maya.” Sarah touched my cheek, her eyes full of worry. “Are you okay?” I smiled and squeezed her hand. “I’m fine, Sarah. It’s been years. Honestly, we should thank them for the free PR. They saved us millions in marketing.” She smiled, but the sadness in her eyes remained. “Alright, the kids say they’re fine, so let’s stop worrying,” Arthur said, patting my shoulder. The conference started. They talked about the vision for the film and their years studying in London. Everything was going by the script until the Q&A. “Director Thompson!” a reporter shouted, lunging forward like a coyote. Arthur pointed to him. “Director, have you and your wife spent the last five years solely on ‘studying’?” “Yes. You never stop learning in this industry. We needed fresh blood, a new perspective.” “Was it just the two of you in London? Or was there… someone else?” Arthur looked at him, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Someone else? Who exactly are you looking for? Or are you asking if Maya Miller was with us?” The room went silent. Flashbulbs went off like machine-gun fire. Arthur’s face went stern. “I am going to address the baseless rumors once and for all. Maya is a child my wife and I have known since she was a little girl. We love and protect her like our own daughter. “As for why Maya was seen entering my hotel room five years ago? I’ll tell you. I was in town for a meeting, and Maya came to see me specifically to beg for an opportunity for her boyfriend at the time—Silas Sterling.” The reporter froze. “You mean… Silas got his breakout role because…” “Correct,” Arthur nodded, staring into the camera. “Without Maya, I wouldn’t have given Silas the time of day. He wasn’t talented enough for my lead role back then. Agreeing to give him an audition because Maya begged me is the biggest regret of my life. “Moving forward, neither I nor any of my subsidiaries will ever work with Mr. Sterling or his new fiancée. I refuse to work with people who steal relationships, destroy reputations with lies, and lack basic human decency.” The room erupted. At that exact moment, the final episode of the documentary was uploaded.

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My husband and I were invited to a high-profile charity auction over the weekend. During the bidding, his secretary and I both set our sights on the same oil painting. I intended to compete fairly, but my husband, in a blatant display of disrespect, “lit the sky lantern” for her—committing to outbid any price just to secure the win for his assistant. “Elena Vance, you’re nothing but a dog I keep at home,” he sneered in front of the city’s elite. “What right do you have to compete with me?” As the room fell silent and other bidders retreated, I snapped my fingers at the auctioneer. “Whatever Mr. Sterling bids, I’ll raise him… by one dollar.” 01 The moment the words left my mouth, every guest in the ballroom turned to stare at me. A heartbeat later, the room erupted in laughter. “Is this woman insane? She’s trying to outbid her own husband? Does she just have money to burn?” “She’s not just crazy; she’s hollow. A trophy wife trying to challenge Silas Sterling in public? She has no idea what she’s doing.” “I heard about her. Sterling’s been keeping a little ‘ornament’ at home for years. I didn’t expect to see the vase crack in person.” As the whispers grew into roars, Silas’s face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. He stood up abruptly, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Elena! Put your hand down right now! Do you hear me?” “You’re spending my family’s money. How dare you have the nerve to compete with me?” I leaned back in my chair, looking at him with practiced indifference. “Silas, I am your wife. I suggest you find a shred of politeness when addressing me.” “I like the painting. Why should I step aside for someone else?” “And for the record,” I added, my gaze sharpening into ice, “I haven’t spent a single dime of your family’s money. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” Silas looked like he was about to explode. “Listen to me, Elena. I told you—in public, you address me as Mr. Sterling.” “You’re a stray I took in. You have nothing to do with my success!” I sighed, pinning him with my stare. “Mr. Sterling, are you truly going to gamble your reputation against mine for the sake of a secretary?” I had sensed the disrespect the moment I walked into the gala. As his wife, I should have been seated next to him at the head table. Instead, I had been relegated to a dark corner in the back. I had tolerated it for the sake of his father, the elder Mr. Sterling, who had always been kind to me. I thought a woman of my stature could afford to be patient with a self-important husband. But then I saw who was sitting in my seat: his secretary, Maya Rivers. She was a fresh college grad with nothing to offer but youth, yet here was my husband, ready to burn his company’s capital to stroke her ego. The fire in my chest began to rise. “Elena, you think you’re someone?” Silas continued, relentless. “I don’t take orders from you. You’ve lived off my wealth for years. What do you have to fight me with?” He turned to the crowd, his voice booming. “I’m bidding on this painting for Maya. And I’m going to win it.” Maya didn’t even wait for me to respond. She turned in her seat, tossing a provocative look my way. “Mrs. Sterling, I suggest you give up,” she smirked. “If you upset Mr. Sterling, your comfortable little life might come to a very abrupt end.” She let out a condescending giggle. “A trophy wife should know how to stay on the shelf. Don’t you agree, Elena?” The crowd laughed again. Even the auctioneer looked like he was suppressing a smile. I merely waved a hand dismissively. “So, Miss Rivers, you’re determined to see this through to the end?” Maya’s eyes were full of contempt. “It’s not about determination, it’s about reality. You’re a housewife with no career. What are you bidding with? Allowance money?” “Mr. Sterling just lit the sky lantern. That’s an unlimited bid. Do you even know what those words mean?” I tilted my head and smiled at her. “Maya, you’ve made a mistake. I’m not like you.” “I’ve never needed a man to pay for my things.” The room sneered again. “Good lord, the girl is delusional. Without Sterling, she wouldn’t even have made it past the valet.” “She’s just riding his coattails. Host, just call the result. Don’t waste our time.” The insults didn’t touch me. I was telling the absolute truth. If I weren’t trying to save Silas a shred of dignity, I could have announced right then and there that I was the one who owned the controlling interest in Sterling Global. Seeing my silence, Maya grew bolder. “See? I told you. Without a man’s backing, she’s got nothing. How embarrassing.” I didn’t let her finish. I slowly raised my bidding paddle. “Who said I was finished?” “If it’s a matter of money, trust me—I have plenty.” 02 The entire ballroom froze. Even the auctioneer hesitated, his hammer hovering in mid-air. Professionally, he couldn’t close the bid as long as a higher offer was on the floor, even if he doubted my liquidity. Silas’s roar shattered the silence. “Elena! You’re really doing this? You’re going to humiliate me here?” I glanced at Maya, then back at him. “Yes.” Silas’s face contorted. “Fine! Let’s see how deep your ‘allowance’ goes!” He thrust his paddle into the air. “One million dollars!” Everyone in the room knew the rules of the “Sky Lantern.” Once you light it, there is no backing out. You either win, or you go bankrupt trying. If Silas was willing to bet his company for a secretary, I was happy to play. “One million… and one dollar!” The guests exchanged looks of pure amusement. They were watching a train wreck. None of them knew that three years ago, when the Sterling family was on the brink of collapse, Silas’s father had come to me with a marriage contract and a plea for help. I married Silas to settle an old family debt. I had spent three years being insulted and ignored, but watching him light the sky lantern for another woman was the final straw. “Elena, you don’t have that kind of money! This is a legal auction, not a flea market!” Maya was losing her cool now, her face pale. “If you win and can’t pay, you’ll go to prison!” I smiled at her. “Don’t worry about my bank account, Maya. Worry about your boss. Sky lanterns don’t have a ‘stop’ button.” Silas was livid. He raised his paddle again. “You want to play?! I’ll show you! Ten million dollars!” The room went wild. This was a charity auction. The items were nice, but nothing was worth ten million—especially not this piece, which had been painted by a talented child, not a grandmaster. “Mr. Sterling is so generous,” I said, standing up and clapping lightly. “The children in the rural charities will appreciate your sacrifice.” “But… since it’s for a good cause, the more the merrier.” I raised a single finger. “Ten million… and one dollar.” 03 The atmosphere changed. People were no longer just laughing; they were baffled. The people in this room were the titans of industry. Silas was only here because I had spent three years quietly building Sterling Global into a powerhouse. I could see the greed in Silas’s eyes. He thought he was winning a power struggle. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Silas announced to the room. “I want to make it clear. This woman is my wife in name only. I am not responsible for her bids.” “If she defaults, Sterling Global will not cover her.” I almost laughed out loud. “Mr. Sterling, I wouldn’t be so quick to sever ties if I were you.” “You’re the only one who lit a sky lantern tonight. If you can’t pay, you might find yourself begging me to save you.” Maya stood up, screeching. “Elena, you’re delusional! You’re a housewife! You think you can outmatch a corporation?” I shook my head, looking at her with pity. “It’s hard for you to grasp, I know. But it’s the truth.” “If you don’t believe me, let your ‘boss’ try one more time.” Maya scoffed. “Oh, we’ll try. I want to see you crawl out of here in handcuffs.” I remained perfectly calm. “I told you, Maya. I don’t use a man’s money to buy my toys.” The whispers started again. “She’s just talking big. If she were that powerful, why would she stay home?” “Exactly. Silas is a rising star. She’s just a footnote.” I stood up slowly, scanning the room. “I don’t just look down on the Sterling family,” I said clearly. “I look down on every single person in this room.” I wasn’t a business expert, but I knew character. Since I had entered, these “titans” hadn’t discussed charity once. They had spent the entire night flattering Silas and mocking a woman they didn’t know. The room turned on me instantly. Even the host frowned. “Madam, we do not welcome such disrespect at this auction.” I looked at him. “Oh? And what kind of person am I, exactly?” Maya rushed onto the stage, snatching the microphone from the host. “You’re a failure, Elena!” Her voice echoed through the speakers. The businessmen in the audience stood up and cheered. Even Silas was grinning, enjoying my “downfall.” In that moment, I realized how stupid I had been to save this family. Maya raised the mic again. “Now you know why Mr. Sterling wouldn’t let you sit with us, Elena.” “Because… you don’t belong.” 04 I suppressed my anger and spoke coldly. “You sound like you’re trying to convince him to divorce me, Maya.” Maya’s grin widened. “Since you’re so self-aware, I’ll stop pretending.” “Yes. I am much better suited to be the Mrs. Sterling than you are.” I stared at her. “Go on. What else?” Maya tossed her hair. “He’s divorcing you!” I paused, then looked at Silas. “Is she telling the truth? You want a divorce?” Silas leaned back, his eyes full of loathing. “She’s right. I’ve wanted this for years. I only stayed because of my father.” “Since everyone is here to witness it, let’s make it official.” “I, Silas Sterling, am divorcing you!” My voice was flat. “Are you sure?” “Have you really thought this through, Silas?” Without a word, the man pulled a set of divorce papers from his jacket pocket. “Elena, don’t bother begging. I’ve never felt anything for you.” I looked at the papers and sighed. “You came prepared, didn’t you, Mr. Sterling?” “Every single second,” he nodded. “I’ve wanted you gone since the wedding day.” Maya started clapping, and the guests joined in, hooting and hollering. I felt a small, sharp smile pull at the corners of my mouth. “Well, if the mood is this festive, it would be rude of me to say no.” “I agree. We’re getting a divorce. But…” Silas was ecstatic. He didn’t let me finish. “Great! Now that that’s settled, tell me how much you want to disappear. I’ll pay you to stay away.” I waved him off. “Don’t worry about the settlement yet. We still have an auction to finish.” “My bid is ten million and one dollar. Are you still in, Silas?” I knew Silas. His ego was his greatest weakness. Seeing me still challenging him, his face went dark. “Elena, don’t push your luck.” I arched an eyebrow. “What? The great Chairman of Sterling Global is scared of a ten-million-dollar bid?” That did it. “Fine! Let’s see how long your mouth stays open!” “Twenty million!” “Twenty million… and one dollar.” Silas was sweating now. “Thirty million!” “Thirty million… and one dollar.” Silas’s hand was shaking as he raised the paddle again. “Fifty million!” The price was astronomical. Silas’s forehead was drenched in cold sweat. I chuckled softly. “Silas, if we’re doing this for charity, let’s stop playing with small numbers.” “I bid… one hundred million dollars.” The room went dead silent. Everyone here was worth millions, but having one hundred million in liquid cash for a single painting was unheard of. Silas was stunned into silence. Maya stepped forward again. “You little brat, this is an auction, not a video game!” “Anyone can scream a number. Can you actually produce the funds?” Silas’s eyes lit up. “Maya is right! Why should I match a fake number?” He turned to me with a venomous grin. “Elena, if you don’t have that hundred million, you’re looking at serious federal charges.” Maya grabbed the mic and screamed at the audience. “We demand a proof of funds! Right now!” I smiled. “Finally, you asked the right question.”

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I finally saw Caleb again after five years of silence. We were at my best friend’s wedding. He was the groom. I was the bridesmaid. My best friend, Maya, giggled as she leaned in to share their love story: “I actually saved him after his car crash. I heard he had a fiancée back home, but I didn’t care. I moved him across the country that same night to get him ‘better treatment’.” “Pretty bold move, right? Admit it, your girl is a total badass.” 1 Maya kept talking, her voice bubbling with excitement, but I couldn’t hear a word. All I could hear was a high-pitched, deafening ringing in my ears. Five years. Nearly two thousand days and nights. The man I loved most had been hidden away by my best friend for five entire years. I doubled over, gasping for air, my body shaking uncontrollably. Maya noticed my face and rushed to steady me, leading me toward the bridal suite. “Clara? What’s wrong? Is it another panic attack?” she asked, her voice laced with forced concern. For five years, I had searched for Caleb. I had traveled to every city, questioned every witness, posted missing person flyers on every street corner, and spent my savings on private investigators. Even his own family had given up. I was the only one left looking. On countless dark nights, I had stood on the edge of subway platforms, wondering if I should just let the darkness swallow me whole. And now, it was all a sick joke. I looked at the faint white scars on my right wrist—marks of a pain that never truly healed. My chest felt like it was being ripped open. Maya sighed. “Are you still thinking about your ex? Let it go, Clara. It’s been five years. He’s probably dead.” “Look, after the honeymoon, I’ll set you up with one of Caleb’s groomsmen. They’re all great guys.” Just then, Caleb walked in. He was in a sharp black tuxedo, tall and poised, looking exactly as he did five years ago. Our eyes met. He offered me a flat, indifferent glance before stepping forward to fix Maya’s veil. Behind him were the groomsmen—his old friends, people I had known for years. When they saw me, they looked away, their expressions full of guilt and unspoken words. A moment ago, I could have lied to myself. I could have hoped he had amnesia. But the looks on his friends’ faces told me everything. He hadn’t forgotten. He knew exactly who I was. He just didn’t love me anymore. Maya beamed. “Honey, tell your friends to stick around for the after-party tonight. We’re going to have a blast.” She winked at me. Caleb gave a curt nod, never looking back in my direction. It was as if we were total strangers. I closed my eyes. My heart felt like it was being crushed, then carved out and thrown into a furnace. I had never felt this kind of agonizing madness. I needed an exit. I stood up and bolted into the restroom. I slammed my forehead against the tiled wall. Thud. The impact sent a shock through my system, and blood began to trickle down my face. The world blurred. I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, my breath coming in ragged hitches. I hit the back of my head against the wall again. And again. It was the only way to drown out the pain in my soul. “Caleb…” I whispered, a broken laugh escaping my lips. “You really didn’t want me after all.” 2 By the time I walked out of the restroom, the ceremony had started. Maya had found someone else to fill in for me. I stood at the very back of the chapel, watching her smile as she said, “I do.” Caleb dropped to one knee with practiced solemnity, sliding a diamond ring onto her finger. A jagged spark of jealousy flared in my gut. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear that dress off her and ask why she stole my life. I wanted to ask Caleb why he was pretending I didn’t exist. Why he never came home. I wanted to burn the whole place down. But I didn’t. I sat in the corner and, once they were pronounced husband and wife, I was the first one to start clapping. I clapped so loudly that people turned to stare. I didn’t care. When Caleb finally looked toward the back of the room, I met his gaze. My eyes filled with tears I couldn’t hold back. Caleb’s brow twitched for a split second, then he looked away. His dark eyes remained cold and empty. I squeezed my hands into fists. I felt like I was losing my mind. I pulled out my phone and sent him a text: [Caleb, I’m not going to wish you a happy marriage.] [I hope you never get anything you truly want for the rest of your life.] A second later, I realized how stupid I was. The woman he wanted was already standing right next to him. My curse meant nothing. I left before the reception started. If I stayed a moment longer, I knew I would break. Three years ago, when the leads on Caleb went cold again, I had tried to end it. I woke up in a hospital bed with Caleb’s mother holding my hand, begging me to stay alive—for him. But a world without Caleb was too bitter. We had met when we were six. We were high school sweethearts. On the day of our college graduation, we had picked out a date to get our marriage license. He was on his way to meet me when the accident happened. Then he vanished. Now he was back, but the man I loved was gone. 3 I fell into a heavy, feverish sleep. When I finally checked my phone, I had missed calls from Maya and a sympathetic text from Caleb’s mother. And one reply that stood out above the rest. A single, freezing word: [Leave.] I let out a hollow laugh. My years of devotion were nothing but a nuisance to him. I shut myself inside my apartment. I stopped sleeping. My hair fell out in clumps. I didn’t leave the house for ten days. I withered away until I was nothing but skin and bone. Finally, Maya showed up at my door, Caleb trailing behind her. I hadn’t showered in over a week. I smelled of sweat and despair. Maya didn’t care. She hugged me tight, trying to pull me toward the car to take me to the hospital. I knew she was afraid I’d try to kill myself again. I pulled my hand away, my voice cold and distant. “I’m fine. Thank you.” I didn’t know how to look at her. Hate? Gratitude? I couldn’t feel either. I just wanted her away from me. She ignored my coldness, chalking it up to my “condition.” “Clara, pick up your phone! Do you know how worried I’ve been?” she scolded. “Starting today, Caleb and I are moving in with you. We’re going to take care of you until you’re back on your feet.” “No arguments. It’s settled.” She was so bright, so bubbly, so determined. It was impossible not to be swept up by her energy. I could see why Caleb fell for her. I looked at the shadow standing behind her. His eyes were like ice, narrowing as if he were looking at a total stranger. Even if he was cold, even if he was a million miles away, I still craved his presence. Just one more day. One more minute. Even a second. I don’t know if I gave in because I needed her care or because of my own selfish heart. I let them move in. This apartment was supposed to be our home. After he vanished, I had decorated it exactly the way he liked it. Everything was in his style. Maya looked around, eyes wide. “Whoa, Clara. Your taste is… intense. Why is everything so dark? It’s so depressing.” “Everything is black or gray. There’s no color at all.” Because the light left my world, I thought. “My fiancé liked it this way,” I said softly. “So I kept it.” 4 Maya frowned. “You need to have your own opinions, girl. Don’t let a guy dictate your life.” “My husband let me pick everything for our place. I make him sleep on pink silk sheets every night.” I looked down. I remembered when we first moved in together. I loved pink too. I bought pink towels, pink toothbrushes, pink dishes. I even bought him pink boxers. He never wore them. He hated the sheets so much he slept on the floor until I changed them back to navy. I felt a pang of self-torture and asked, “Does he… sleep on the floor?” Maya laughed, glancing at Caleb. “He wouldn’t dare.” “He even wears the pink boxers now.” A flicker of embarrassment crossed Caleb’s face. He tapped her on the head, trying to quiet her. “What’s wrong with pink sheets? If your fiancé slept on the floor over a color, it just proves he didn’t love you enough,” Maya added. “You spent years looking for a total jerk.” After a long silence, I whispered, “You’re right.” “Maybe he really didn’t love me.” I felt Caleb’s gaze linger on me for a moment. His voice was like a blade. “In that case, Miss Lane should have the dignity to move on.” “It’s pathetic to interfere in other people’s lives. Living in a fantasy only makes people despise you.” His words were cruel and direct. Fantasy. He thought my grief was a performance. My eyes stung. “You seem to know a lot about him. Are you the same kind of man?” “The kind who disappears, lets someone wait until their hope dies, and never even offers an apology?” “And then you call it ‘living in a fantasy’? I just wanted an explanation. Does five years of my life mean absolutely nothing to you?” Caleb’s jaw tightened. He was losing his patience. “No one asked you to wait. Love and hate are choices. If you chose to waste five years, you should deal with the consequences yourself.” “Or did you think your ‘sacrifice’ would force him to marry you out of pity?” 5 His words were final. I stood there, frozen, as every hope I had ever held collapsed. Tears finally spilled over. His words were like a jagged knife, carving into me over and over again. He was right. It was my choice. No one forced me to wait. So I had to swallow the result alone. Our history, once so solid, now felt like smoke. Maya realized the vibe was becoming toxic and pulled Caleb into their guest room. Her voice drifted through the door, sharp and hushed. “What is wrong with you? She’s clearly not stable, and you’re being a total ass.” “Stop provoking her, do you hear me?” Caleb let out a short, mocking laugh. “She’s just putting on a show.” I sat in the dark living room for hours. My forehead still throbbed, a physical reminder of my own stupidity. Over the next two weeks, I barely saw Caleb. He went out of his way to avoid me. I became even more of a ghost, staying in my room. Maya was always there, cooking for me, making sure I took my meds. I hated her for being so kind. Her kindness made it impossible for me to even try to take him back. It made me feel like the “other woman” in my own home. But how could I be okay with this? I was jealous of every smile he gave her. I wanted to tear my own eyes out so I didn’t have to see them. I even had a dark thought: I wish he had actually died. At least then I could have kept the memory of the man who loved me. I started spending all my time in the living room, hoping to catch a glimpse of him when he came home. But he seemed to sense it. He stopped coming back. “Where is he?” I finally asked Maya. She was scrolling through her phone, smiling. “Oh, he’s been so busy. His company in New York needs him, so he’s been staying at a hotel near the office to get work done.” I froze. “New York? He’s been in New York?” “Yeah, for the last three years.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Caleb was in the country three years ago?” “Yeah. He came back to finalize our engagement.” I couldn’t breathe. My throat felt like it was closing up. He was here. He was in the same country while I was ending up in the ER because I couldn’t find him. Maya’s words were like a physical blow to the face. The next second, she jumped up. “Clara, get up! Get dressed!” “Caleb wants me to bring you to a lounge tonight. He wants you to meet someone. I saw a photo—he’s gorgeous. Total upgrade.” She dragged me into my room, did my makeup, and picked out an outfit. I let her. I just wanted to see Caleb.

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One night, right after I got out of the shower, the Head of the Student Council Disciplinary Committee barged into my room and took a photo of me half-naked. I demanded she delete it. She refused and threatened to post it on the campus bulletin board as a “shaming” tactic. I snapped. “If you post that, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” She turned pale with rage, gritting her teeth. “Do you have any idea what happens to a freshman who crosses a Student Council Head? Your four years here are over!” I laughed. The Student Council? Please. If you push me, I’m taking the whole damn circus down with me. 1 I was a freshman, and classes had barely started when the university announced a “Model Dormitory” competition. Civility, hygiene, the whole nine yards. Sounds great on paper, right? At 9:00 PM, after deep-cleaning my room, I took a shower. I walked out into the room wearing nothing but my boxers when—BAM—the door flew open. A girl followed by two guys marched in. Without a single word, she held up her phone and started snapping photos of me and the four bunks. I froze for a second, then lunged for a towel to wrap around my waist. Too late. One of the guys pointed at the girl. “Disciplinary Committee. This is our Chair, Sarah Miller. From now on, you don’t call her ‘Sophomore,’ you call her ‘Chairwoman Miller.’ Got it?” I got it, you little… I forced myself to stay calm. “Sarah, you’re a girl. You’re in a guys’ dorm. Don’t you think you should at least knock first?” “What’s your name? How dare you speak to me like that!” Miller adjusted her glasses and turned to her lackeys. “Check the bed number. Get his name.” I felt like the air was being sucked out of the room. She kept rambling. “Model Dorms! A campus-wide event, and I have to handle it myself. Look at you. Does this look like ‘civility’ to you? Let me tell you freshies something: a dorm is a public space. From now on, you stay fully dressed. Understand?” A public space? My bedroom? My head was pounding. I told them to just leave; our room was clean. Miller looked around, realizing there wasn’t a speck of dust to find. She turned to her team. “The room is clean, but the tenant has a bad attitude. Deduct six points for ‘lack of character.’” She turned to walk out. “Stop!” I roared. “Deduct whatever points you want, but delete that photo before you leave. I’ve been more than patient with you.” Miller spun around, glaring at me like I was dirt. “Say that again.” “Delete the photo and get out!” She was shaking with fury. She claimed she’d never met a freshman this arrogant. She said the photo was staying, and tomorrow, it would be on the main campus board as a “negative example.” I told her if she posted it, I’d sue for privacy violation and call the police. Her face went white. “You think you can threaten me? Your college career is done!” “Blah, blah, blah. Get out. I can’t snatch your phone, but hear me clearly: if that photo leaks, I’ll see you in court.” She muttered a few choice words and told me to watch my back. Three days later, the real trouble started. 2 I was heading to my 8:00 AM English lit class when I realized I’d grabbed my political science textbook by mistake. I jogged back to the dorm to swap them. On the path, a girl wearing a face mask on an electric scooter came flying toward me. She either didn’t know how to steer or was aiming for me. Thwack. I dodged, but the handlebar caught me hard in the ribs. It stung like hell. Since I was late, I didn’t stop, and neither did she. We both kept going. Back in my room, I saw a nasty purple bruise forming on my side. That night, I became “campus-famous” on the student forums. A post from the “Women’s Rights Committee” was trending: This morning, a male student crashed into a girl on a scooter near Hall 3. Instead of helping, he cursed at her and ran toward the dorms. The girl’s hand was crushed by the brake lever and she’s in a lot of pain. We want an apology. If this man doesn’t come forward, we’re pulling the security footage tomorrow. Attached was a photo of my back as I jogged away. Are you kidding me? I was walking. She was on a scooter. She hit me. Newton’s Third Law of Motion? She clearly failed physics. And this “Women’s Rights Committee”? They didn’t even investigate; they just started a manhunt. The comments were a cesspool: 【Absolute trash. Why are men like this?】 【Dox him. Now.】 【Looks like Mark Evans from Freshman Comp Sci, Room 302…】 Fine. I don’t do “victim.” I do “retaliation.” I didn’t wait for them to find the footage. I went straight to the campus radio station. 3 I grabbed the mic and broadcasted to the entire campus: “To the girl on the forum and the ‘committee’ members who posted that: I’m the guy you’re looking for. Stop writing fan fiction and come talk to me face-to-face. I’m at the radio station. I’ll wait one hour. If you don’t show, I’m broadcasting your lies to the whole school and filing a defamation report. Thanks.” Within ten minutes, a crowd gathered outside. Half an hour later, Sarah Miller showed up with a group of girls. She sneered. “I’m Sarah. I’m the girl you hit. What’s your name, ‘Mark’?” Incredible. She took my name down during the dorm raid two days ago, and now she’s playing amnesia. “Cut the act, Miller. Who wrote the post? Was it your friend here, the Head of the Women’s Committee?” The girl next to her turned beet red. “I… I…” “Save it. Miller, you said I crushed your hand. Which finger?” She held up her right hand. A Band-Aid was wrapped around her index finger. I laughed. “Brake lever crush is an internal injury. Why the Band-Aid? Is your finger cold? Take it off. Let everyone see the ‘injury’.” She froze. She couldn’t take it off because there was nothing under it. I turned to the crowd. “Listen up. I was walking; she was on a scooter. How does a pedestrian ‘hit’ a motorized vehicle? She’s claiming a hand injury she won’t show. Meanwhile, she hit me in the ribs.” The Committee head tried to save face. “Internal pain doesn’t always show! You’re a guy; you purposely targeted her!” “Oh, really?” I pulled up my T-shirt, revealing the deep purple bruise on my side. “Everyone see this? Miller hit me, lied about it, and tried to dox me. Miller, I want that security footage. Don’t post a screenshot—post the whole video tomorrow. Let’s see who hit whom.” The crowd started murmuring. Miller and her friend realized the tide was turning and bolted. That night, the forum post was deleted. I thought it was over. I was wrong. The real nightmare was just beginning. 4 Three days later, I was “digitally executed.” Sarah Miller posted a video on TikTok. It went viral. The caption: Self-exposure: I’m being stalked and harassed. In the video, she claimed that while she and her best friend were walking on campus, a guy followed them for over an hour, staring at them with “disgusting, predatory eyes.” She claimed they fled to the radio station for safety, but the guy followed them in and—right in public—pulled up his shirt to “expose himself” to them. The “proof”? A photo someone had snapped of me lifting my shirt to show the bruise to the crowd. Out of context, it looked exactly like what she described. 400,000 likes. 30,000 comments. All calling for my head. People found my full name, my parents’ address, and started leaving death threats. To top it off, Miller had a link in her bio for “Personal Safety Pepper Spray.” Her pinned comment: 【Ladies, stay safe. Predators are everywhere. Never let your guard down.】 I sat in my room, staring at the screen in silence. My phone was vibrating non-stop with harrassment from “internet vigilantes.” I turned it off. My roommate walked in. “The Dean wants to see you. Now.” 5 The Dean was soft-spoken and “rational.” She listened to my side, nodded, and said, “I believe you, Mark. This seems like a misunderstanding.” I felt a wave of relief. Finally, someone sane. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate you listening—” “However,” she cut me off. “I need you to apologize to Sarah Miller first. I’ll ask her to take the video down. This has gone viral, and it’s hurting the university’s reputation.” I blinked. “I’m sorry? I should apologize to her?” She gave me a patronizing smile. “You’re young. You don’t understand the ‘big picture.’ Apologize to settle the public outcry, and then we can handle the internal dispute behind closed doors. You don’t want people talking trash about your school, do you?” I looked at her for a long beat. “Dean Harrison, with all due respect, I think your ‘big picture’ is full of crap. Goodbye.” I walked out before she could start yelling. My friend, Toby, was waiting in the hall. He looked terrified. “Mark, you’re in deep. It’s not just the video.” “What now?” “You’ve pissed off the entire Student Council. They’re planning to bury you.” 6 Toby was a “joiner.” He’d spent the first month of school trying to get into the Council. Now, he was a pledge for the Organizational Department. “My boss got drunk last night,” Toby whispered. “He said you being arrogant to Sarah Miller was an insult to the whole Council. The President, Thomas Vance, is livid. The ‘scooter’ thing was planned—they sabotaged the cameras first. But when you fought back at the radio station, Thomas decided to go nuclear.” “He told the PR Head and Miller to film the ‘harassment’ video. He even said in the group chat: ‘Making him look like a creep isn’t enough. I want him expelled. This university isn’t big enough for someone who thinks they’re above the Council.’” I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the deal with this Thomas Vance and Sarah Miller?” “They’re dating,” Toby said. Right. Of course. A power couple of campus bullies. “Toby, thanks for the heads-up. Do yourself a favor: quit the Student Council today. I’m about to blow that port-a-potty sky-high, and I don’t want you getting splashed.” 7 Against people like this, you don’t use the rules. You use leverage. I’m a Computer Science major. I’m not just a “student”; I’m a high-level coder with a specialty in data retrieval. Penetrating their socials was child’s play. I wrote a quick script to crawl their accounts. I focused on birthdays, pet names, and common password patterns. By 3:00 AM, I had into their university logins, which gave me their cloud storage, their DMs, and their “hidden” folders. It was a goldmine of filth. Chat logs, leaked exam keys, “private” videos, and evidence of financial fraud. I spent ten days cross-referencing everything. Online logs, offline interviews with people they’d bullied, bank statements. I turned their secrets into a bulletproof dossier. Time to move. I sent three anonymous messages. To Sarah Miller: 【Sarah, I don’t think your dad would like hearing the audio of you calling Thomas Vance ‘Daddy’ in that off-campus motel. If you want to keep your reputation, see me tomorrow at 7:00 PM, University Grill, Room 201. Come alone.】 To The Women’s Committee Head: 【Jennifer, I have the receipts of you forging your financial aid documents to steal a low-income scholarship. See me tomorrow at 7:00 PM, University Grill, Room 201. Come alone.】 To The PR Head: 【Greg, I think Thomas would be very interested to know you’ve been sleeping with Sarah behind his back. See me tomorrow at 7:00 PM, University Grill, Room 201. Come alone.】 I went to bed and slept like a baby. 8 7:00 PM. University Grill, Private Room 201. Sarah Miller, Jennifer Hayes, and Greg Thompson filed in. They knew it was me. They looked like they were walking to their own executions. I smiled and waved them into their seats. “Relax. I just wanted to buy my ‘mentors’ dinner. This isn’t an ambush.” I ordered a spread of food and a round of drinks. I downed my soda while they sat in petrified silence. “Alright, Sarah,” I said, sliding a stack of papers toward her. “Let’s start with you.” She glanced at the first page and her face went gray.

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When my parents separated, they made a deal: Dad would take care of my sister, and Mom would raise me. So, Dad poured all his energy and money into my sister. Meanwhile, no matter what I needed, he’d wave me off impatiently: “You’re your mother’s responsibility. Go ask her.” But my mother had a different philosophy: “You and your sister are both my children. Whatever I give to you, I must also give to her…” After college started, Mom only gave me a few hundred dollars a month for living expenses. If I asked for more, she’d say it was to teach me independence. I drank water to fill my stomach and skipped classes to work part-time jobs. But it still wasn’t enough. Just as I was crying over my inability to pay exam fees, I saw my sister’s Instagram post. It was her Sweet 16. Dad gifted her a month-long trip to Europe. Mom bought her a stunning gold bracelet. I stared at the receipt visible in the photo. It clearly read $980. This month, Mom had only given me $100. 1 My sister’s glamorous life stung my eyes. In a fit of rage, I called my mom and demanded: “Why did you buy her a $980 bracelet when you only gave me $100 to live on?” “Do you have any idea how hard it is to survive on a hundred bucks in college?” I was furious. I unleashed all my firepower on my mother: “You’d rather I starve for four months and work myself to death…” “Than buy a slightly cheaper gift for your precious little daughter?” “How can there be a mother like you in this world…” Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. I clutched the phone and wailed. I was so tired. To save up for living expenses, I delivered food on campus, climbing stairs while everyone else napped. Often, my hands and feet would tremble involuntarily when I lay down to sleep. I never dared to go to roommate gatherings. Even spending twenty dollars meant skipping meals for a week. I was studying pre-med, a major my mom loved, which required constantly buying materials and paying exam fees. I had zero leisure time. Even study time had to be squeezed out. To save money and time, I survived on “human feed”—cheap, bulk protein powder shakes. I thought I was being considerate of my mom. But she casually dropped nearly a thousand dollars just to give my sister a meaningless accessory. I cried and screamed. But my mom just sounded helpless: “What can I do? You’re both my flesh and blood. I can’t just care for you and ignore her!” “You grew up with me; I barely raised her!” “It’s her sixteenth birthday. I sent her a gift, and you’re going to hold that against me?” She spoke righteously, the picture of a good mother. But I wasn’t accepting her pity party anymore. “Send a gift if you want, but why so expensive?” “She lives with Dad! She doesn’t lack anything!” Resentment filled my voice: “Dad said each of you takes care of one…” Before I could finish screaming, my mom shouted back: “Your dad is a deadbeat father, so you want me to be a deadbeat mother too?” “You’re both my children. Why should I raise one and abandon the other?” “You ungrateful girl, how can you be so vicious?” “If I had known, I would have taken your sister and left you behind.” My unwillingness and resentment exploded with that sentence: “Who begged you to take me? Dad originally wanted me!” “It was you! You left my sister with Dad to live the good life and dragged me along to suffer with you!” 2 I’m two years older than my sister, Chloe. When our parents separated, I was ten, and she was eight. Dad thought I was older and easier to manage, so he wanted to take me. Mom originally wanted to take Chloe because she was cute, sweet, and clingy. But my grandma stopped her, scolding: “How can you work if you take the little one?” “The older one is sensible. She can help you with chores and work.” “The little one is spoiled. She can’t handle a hard life with you.” That’s why Mom “reluctantly” chose me. At the time, although sad, I calmly accepted moving from a big house to a tiny apartment. I thought even if I lived with Mom, Dad would still care for me. But no. Dad cut off my allowance, tutoring, and extracurriculars. He said: “Your mom and I each take one. If you need something, ask your mom!” “Isn’t she so tough, demanding equality with me? Why are you asking me for money?” He humiliated my mom completely. For her sake, I never asked him for a dime again! Living with Mom, I took over the chores and cooking so she wouldn’t worry. To save money, we ate cabbage and turnips every meal. I didn’t cry or fuss. In the summer, when temperatures hit 100 degrees and our tiny apartment had no AC because we couldn’t afford electricity, I stayed awake all night from the heat. I accepted all of it. But it turned out she had money. She just saved half of it for Chloe. Chloe already had a full glass of water. But Mom, ignoring that I was dying of thirst, insisted on “fairness” and would only give me her half-glass. What kind of laughable fairness is this? I cussed my mom out. I called her a saboteur, ruining my childhood and college life. I called her delusional and shameless: “You think you deserve to talk equality with Dad?” “How much does he make a month? How much do you make?” “My sister lives like a princess, while I live like a maid with you. Don’t you have a clue?” I blocked her and posted on social media, vowing to cut ties. Any relative who dared to persuade me got blocked instantly. I also applied to drop out of school. I was starving; I couldn’t afford this education! The news of me dropping out to work soon reached my dad’s ears. He called. I blocked him too. He didn’t care about me, so why keep his number? My professors tried to keep me, so I agreed to “think about it” and took a week off. But I turned around, packed my bags, and found a place to shake boba tea. Who wanted to go to that crappy college anyway? The one who wanted to be a doctor wasn’t me! 3 My uncle and aunt from my mom’s side came to find me, urging me to go back to school. They “apologized” on behalf of my mom: “We scolded her. She knows she was wrong.” “In the future, before buying things for your sister, she’ll make sure you’re fed first.” I just sneered: “She keeps screaming about fairness. Why doesn’t she provide me with the life my sister has?” “We came out of the same womb. Why is my life so cheap?” “Dad originally wanted to choose me…” Thinking of this, I hated my mom’s betrayal even more. I chose her. I gave the good life to Chloe. But she took it for granted, feeling that because Chloe was with Dad and rarely seen, only Chloe was owed anything. I refused to go back to school and even dropped a harsh line: “When my mom dies and my dad lets me live the good life with him…” “Or at least when I don’t have to deliver food on an empty stomach, I’ll go back to college.” I made it clear I was going to be an unfilial wretch. I heard my mom cried hysterically when she heard that. I didn’t care. I cared about her so much before; did she care about me? If she had just given me enough money to eat before buying expensive gifts for Chloe, I wouldn’t hate her this much. Chloe found out and actually came to the boba shop to confront me: “How can you say that about Mom?” “Do you know how much I envy living with Mom?” Seeing her righteous indignation, I grinned: “Then let’s switch?” “From now on, I’ll go be a princess with Dad.” “You go do chores for Mom and be her emotional trash can.” Chloe’s face stiffened instantly: “This, this…” She didn’t dare, nor did she want to give up her pampered life. I rolled my eyes and ignored her without hesitation. She rambled for a long time before finally saying: “Grandma and Grandpa want you to come home for dinner tonight.” That was what I wanted to hear. That night, I went back to my dad’s side. My dad just didn’t give me money. But he let me eat there and stay there. Sometimes, Grandma and Grandpa would call me over for a good meal. Then at the dinner table, they’d talk about me persuading Mom to come back. Before, I respected my mom and refused to help. But now, I chewed on my chopsticks and said directly: “Mom and Dad have been separated for so many years. Dragging it out isn’t a solution.” “Either divorce or end the separation.” Grandma quickly said: “Exactly.” “Talk to your mom.” I chuckled: “Chloe should be the one to say this!” “She’s Mom’s precious darling. Mom would rather starve me than miss her birthday gift.” “Mom will listen to whatever she says.” “But Mom won’t listen to a word I say.” I had made such a scene recently. Who didn’t know why I cut ties with my mom? My words made Chloe look like she was about to cry. Dad slammed the table in rage: “Stop with the sarcasm!” “Your mom starving you is because she’s sick in the head. What does it have to do with your sister?” “Besides, I didn’t give you money because your mom was screaming about equality and fairness first. Didn’t you support her?” “Your mom and I each take care of one kid. Chloe will take care of me when I’m old, and you take care of your mom. Isn’t that great?” “Even if I gave you money, you wouldn’t be grateful. You’ve always sided with your mom. When you’re old, you’ll definitely take care of her.” “I might as well focus on your sister…” He spoke with such conviction, as if it made perfect sense. He felt that whoever raised the child gets the care in old age. He didn’t give me money, but he didn’t expect me to care for him either. If I wanted to blame someone, I had to blame my mom! But… “The logic is fair.” “But what about feelings?” I looked at him and asked: “Just because I went with Mom, I’m not your daughter anymore?” “You buy Chloe new phones, bags, luxury goods whenever.” “Have you ever thought that if you even sent me a $20 red envelope occasionally, I could work 20 fewer hours?” 4 I was resentful. If my parents had actually divorced, I might not have been so bitter. After all, divorced couples usually don’t want to support the child living with the ex. But my parents weren’t divorced. They just separated because of some conflicts. The conflict was simply that my mom wanted a life where the couple shared chores and decisions equally. My dad felt that since he made big money doing business outside… Why couldn’t he rest at home? Why did he have to do chores? He had money; he could just hire a maid. But my mom exploded. She felt my dad looked down on her, etc. It was a huge fight back then, and my dad said some really nasty things. So, a small matter turned into a big one. And I stood by my mom’s side without hesitation. But really, if they had decided to separate long ago, why not divorce? Why just separate? Why make me live like a fatherless child? What I wanted to know most was: “If Chloe had gone with Mom back then, Dad, would you have ignored her like this?”

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The day after I gave birth, everyone denied it ever happened. The hospital said I had no delivery record. What baby? My husband said he was unmarried, that it was impossible for me to be pregnant with his child. Even my parents cried and begged me. “Audrey, you were never pregnant. Please, stop this.” I called the media, forced my way into the neonatal unit to find my son, and was dragged away like a lunatic. They sent me to a psychiatric hospital. The last time I tried to escape, I died under the wheels of a truck. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Today was my due date. A sharp pain ripped through my abdomen. My water broke. I was in labor again. … I gasped for air. The familiar ache in my belly, the familiar, heavy pressure. “Audrey? Audrey, what’s wrong?” Mark’s face was a mask of worry. I looked up at him. That was the face that had, in my last life, used the gentlest voice to invalidate my entire existence. “It hurts… the baby…” I managed to choke out. “It’s time? Oh my God!” Mark leaped to his feet, fumbling to help me up. “Come on, we have to get to the hospital!” The hospital? Yes, we had to go to the hospital. The last time, the hospital was where I lost everything. “Wait!” I couldn’t just walk in unprepared like before. “My ID… and yours…” I pointed toward the bedroom. “There’s no time for that! We need to go!” Mark was genuinely panicked, sweat beading on his forehead. “No, I’ll get them!” I forced myself up and pulled our marriage certificate from the back of the drawer. Mark Peterson and Audrey Thorne. Our names, printed in black and white. I glanced at the wedding photos on the wall. Every single one was real. The contractions came again, stronger this time. I lay in the back seat while Mark drove. At a red light, he called my parents. “Mom, Dad, Audrey’s in labor…” “Yeah, we’re on our way to the hospital now…” I pictured my parents’ faces. Their love for me had always felt real, too. So why had they also told me I was never pregnant? Between waves of pain, I shakily pulled out my phone. I snapped a picture of the street sign outside the window, then a candid shot of Mark’s anxious profile. Finally, I aimed the camera down and took a close-up of my swollen belly. Mark noticed. “What are you doing?” “Documenting… an important moment…” I forced a weak smile and uploaded the photos to my cloud storage. These images, time-stamped and geotagged, had to be undeniable. Finally, we reached the hospital. I was rushed to a delivery room, and a nurse checked me. “You’re fully dilated. Let’s go!” Everything was happening exactly as I remembered. But this time, through the blinding pain, my mind was crystal clear. “Waaah!” With a sharp cry, my child was born. The midwife held up the tiny, red body, bringing him close to my face. “Look, a beautiful baby boy.” Tears streamed down my face. As I reached out to touch my son, I used the last of my strength to pluck a few strands of hair from his head. The baby wailed in pain. My heart ached, but I had to have proof. If they tried to tell me I never had a child, or that this child wasn’t mine, I would have his DNA. The midwife was already cutting the cord, weighing him, and swaddling him in a blanket. They moved me to a private room. I was so exhausted, I closed my eyes, just for a moment. When I woke up, the first thing I did was reach for the bassinet beside my bed. It was empty. The space where my son should have been was vacant. I slammed the call button. A young nurse hurried in. “You’re awake! How are you feeling? Is the incision painful?” “My baby?” I demanded. “Where is my baby?” The nurse’s smile faltered. A flicker of confusion crossed her face. “Baby? What baby?” “The baby I just delivered! My son! I had him last night!” My voice rose with panic. The nurse walked to the foot of my bed, glanced at the chart hanging there, then looked down at her clipboard, frowning. “Ma’am, are you sure you’re not mistaken?” “This room was on standby yesterday. You were admitted for observation late last night. The chart says you came in for acute abdominal pain. The diagnosis is still pending.” BOOM. My world tilted. “That’s impossible!” I grabbed her sleeve. “I had a baby! How can he be gone? Where is my husband, Mark? MARK!” He was supposed to stay with me, but he was gone, too. The nurse, startled, tried to pull away. “Ma’am, please calm down! There is no record of a newborn. You were admitted alone. There are no family members on your record.” “You’re lying!” I screamed. The tearing pain between my legs flared up with the sudden movement. “Get your supervisor! Check the security footage!” My shouting brought more people. The head nurse rushed in, her words a soothing but empty echo of the first nurse’s. No delivery record. No baby. “Mark… I’ll call my husband…” My hands trembled as I found his number. The phone rang for a long time before he answered, his voice thick with sleep. “Hello? Audrey?” “Where are you? Where’s the baby? The hospital says he’s gone! They’re saying I never even had a baby!” The words tumbled out in a frantic, tearful rush. There was a two-second pause on the other end. Then, a weary sigh. “Audrey, did you have another nightmare? Is your stomach hurting again? Just listen to the doctors and let them run their tests.” “I told you yesterday, I have an early meeting at the office this morning. I’ll come see you as soon as it’s over.” “What are you talking about?” I shrieked. “I just had a baby! You’re supposed to be here with me!” “A baby?” Mark’s voice was filled with genuine confusion. “Audrey, we’re not even married. Where would a baby come from?” Not married… where would a baby come from… The exact same words as last time. I froze. I had expected it, but hearing it again was still a physical blow. “Let’s call security,” the head nurse murmured to someone beside her. “This patient is emotionally unstable.” Two uniformed guards appeared at the door. They didn’t enter, but their presence was an implicit threat. Just then, I heard frantic footsteps in the hallway. “Audrey! My baby girl!” My parents burst into the room. My mother, her face etched with worry, threw her arms around me. “Why did you come to the hospital? You scared me to death! You were so incoherent on the phone…” I clung to her like a lifeline. “Mom, I had the baby! But he’s gone! They won’t admit it!” My mother’s body stiffened. She pulled away, her eyes clouded with concern. “Audrey, honey, you weren’t pregnant.” “Have you… have you been working too hard? Are you seeing things?” My father stepped forward and sighed. “Audrey, your mother has a weak heart. Don’t frighten her. Let’s just cooperate with the doctors, get a check-up, and go home.” Hallucinations? Again with the hallucinations? A cold dread washed over me. “I’m not hallucinating! I have proof!” I opened my cloud album and showed them the photos from the car, especially the close-up of my belly. “Look! I took these on the way to the hospital last night! Look how big my stomach was!” My mother glanced at the phone, and her eyes welled up with tears. “Oh, Audrey. You can do anything with photo editing apps these days. Why are you torturing yourself like this?” My father’s brow furrowed. “We know you want to start a family, but you have to take things one step at a time. You can’t just… invent things because you’re desperate to marry Mark.” I stared at them in disbelief. The evidence was right there, but they refused to see it. “I want to see my husband! He drove me here! Let him tell you what happened!” I swung my legs out of bed, staggering as a sharp pain shot through me. My mother rushed to steady me while my father blocked my path. “Audrey, stop making a scene! Haven’t you caused enough embarrassment?” The security guards stepped into the room. “Ma’am, please remain calm. If you continue to disturb the other patients, we will have to take necessary measures.” No matter how much I cried or pleaded, no one believed me. Just as the chaos reached its peak, Mark appeared. He was dressed in a crisp shirt and trousers, holding a briefcase, looking like he’d just stepped out of an important meeting. “Mark!” I cried, all my pain and fury erupting at once. “Tell them! Tell them we’re married, that I was pregnant with your child, and that you brought me here last night to give birth!” Mark walked to my bedside, his expression a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Audrey, we are dating, and I care for you deeply. But marriage… we never did. And a child… that’s simply not possible.” He turned to my parents and the hospital staff. “She’s been under a lot of stress from work, and I think our recent breakup hit her harder than I realized… she’s developed some unhealthy fantasies. I’m so sorry. This is my fault.” Breakup? Fantasies? I watched his performance, my blood turning to ice. “You’re lying!” I ripped open the document folder I’d brought from home. “This is our marriage certificate!” I held the two red booklets high. Inside were our names, our photos, and a wedding date from one year ago. Mark just sighed. “Audrey, aren’t those the fake certificates we bought online for April Fool’s last year? We posted a picture on social media, remember? Our friends and family were all so shocked.” My parents nodded. “Yes, we told you two to stop messing around!” Fake? How could they be fake? Mark pulled out his phone and opened his online shopping history. And there it was: a purchase record for two replica marriage certificates. I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “No, we went to City Hall. Look, it has the official seal.” Mark’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “If you still don’t believe me, I can check the state’s official records portal right now.” He logged in and entered his own name. His marital status: Unmarried. Then he entered mine. The same result: Unmarried. I was stunned. I snatched the phone from his hands, checking and rechecking, but the result was the same. Mark gently touched my forehead. “You must want to marry me so badly that you’ve started to imagine things.” My parents looked at me with pity, shaking their heads. But no matter what they said, I refused to believe it. “No! None of this is a hallucination!” I screamed, thrashing against their grip. “You’re all lying to me! Why? WHY?” My struggles were futile. I was easily overpowered. History was repeating itself in the most suffocating way possible. They injected me with a sedative. It left my body limp, but my mind was wide awake as they transferred me from the maternity ward to the psychiatric ward. Just like before. My parents stayed with me. My mother cried silently while my father paced outside, chain-smoking. I closed my eyes and forced myself to remember every detail of the previous night. That’s right. The strands of baby hair. I shakily retrieved them from my pocket. They were still there. I really, truly had a baby. When my parents weren’t looking, I called my best friend, Linda. “I need you to take something for me and get a DNA test done at a different lab. Don’t tell anyone. Especially not Mark or my parents.”

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My long-distance husband, Cameron, claimed he had to work through the holidays, so I decided to fly out and surprise him. The only seats left were business class. I stared at the five-figure price tag, swallowed hard, and wiped out a year’s savings. Naturally, when I finally settled in, I couldn’t even figure out how to pull out the tray table. The impeccably dressed woman next to me sneered. “First time in business, honey?” I managed an awkward smile. “I’m sorry. You must be an executive. You look incredibly successful.” She scoffed, running a hand over her custom-tailored jacket. “Me? No. My sugar daddy is the CEO. If a plane doesn’t have business class, he charters a private jet for me.” I blinked. “A sugar daddy? That must be a rare arrangement.” “Not really. I’m his junior employee. I make mistakes all the time—cost him a fortune, actually. He’s always yelling at me and making me cry. Then I cry, and then… you know.” “How ironic,” I murmured. “My husband also has a female co-worker who’s always messing up.” “You’re married?” She looked me up and down, a look of casual disdain. “My Daddy has a wife around your age. He says he’s been over her for years—that she’s got zero novelty. Nothing like when I just flip my hair, you know? I told him I wanted to see him for the New Year. Poof—he tells his wife he has to work overtime.” My eyes locked onto the diamond on her ring finger. It was the exact duplicate of the wedding band I’d lost years ago. A cold, sick dread seized me. Wait. Cameron was a mid-level manager, scraping by. When did he become a CEO? … I stared at her ring finger. “That ring… it’s a wedding ring. Did you and your… Daddy… get married?” “This?” Kaia examined the solitaire, turning it slowly. “Oh, I made him take it from his original wife.” I froze. “I hadn’t planned to give the old broad a hard time,” Kaia continued, her voice light and careless, “but then she had the audacity to lose the baby and need him at the hospital right on my birthday. I spent my birthday completely alone.” I instinctively placed my hand on my stomach, the memory of that cruel winter flooding back. I was three months along. The black ice on the sidewalk outside our tiny rented apartment. Cameron was earning so little back then, an e-bike was a luxury. I fell hard. The baby, just blood on the ground. Cameron had stayed with me for three days and three nights, but when I woke up, the wedding ring was gone along with the child. “It’s okay, Grace,” he’d whispered, holding me tight. “We’ll have another baby. I’ll buy you a new ring.” I shook my head, tears blurring everything. “No, you said the company was doing layoffs. We need to save. When you make it big, then you can buy me a new one.” He’d looked at me, his eyes red, on the verge of crying. “I’m sorry, I failed you.” Kaia’s voice pulled me back. “So, you just asked him to take his wife’s ring and give it to you?” “Yep. He actually refused at first, said he’d buy me a more expensive one. But that old woman was so arrogant just because she was his wife. If I didn’t punish her, she’d be walking all over me, right?” I clamped my jaw shut. “Honestly, this diamond is cheap compared to what else he buys me. But it’s the wedding ring.” Kaia leaned back and gave me a smug smile. “A woman who lets herself get to that point—she deserves nothing better.” I squeezed the fabric of my dress until my knuckles were white. I forced a small, sickly smile. “Your Daddy is so generous. His wife must be getting quite the payoff to keep her quiet, right?” Kaia laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell you a secret: the old woman still doesn’t even know he’s a CEO.” “Why?” Kaia admired her diamond-studded manicure. “Because what’s the point? She spent all her best years struggling with him. If you were a man, once you got rich, would you spend money on a wife who’s past her prime? Can money bring back her youth?” The reflection in the window glass showed my own slightly drawn, exhausted face. Kaia nudged me. “Sister, you’re older than me, but you still have potential. We have a connection, so let me give you some advice. Women need to invest in fillers and skincare. Your skin looks a little dry. I bet your husband isn’t interested in you much anymore, is he?” I simply stared at her. Her skin was flawless, taut. I used to look like that. Maybe even better. Ten years of poverty and hard work in rented apartments—when I see old photos, I barely recognize myself. “Skincare… is expensive.” “So what?” Kaia shrugged. “My Daddy gives me a $50,000 monthly allowance, and he covers all my beauty treatments.” I watched the way her perfectly winged eyeliner caught the light, a tiny shard of glitter fixed at the corner. My hands were shaking. “How long have you been his… trophy?” “Since June 12th, 2023. Why?” My trembling intensified. June 12th, 2023. The day my mother died. My mother needed 150,000 for surgery. I remembered Cameron begging everyone. He gathered all his savings, all his earnings, scraping together 100,000. It was everything he had. I found eight thousand more. It wasn’t enough. My mother was gone. He held me, tears pouring down his face. “I failed you, Grace. I’m a bastard. I couldn’t even earn enough for your mother’s medicine! You suffer so much being with me…” My heart was a raw wound, but I wiped his tears away. “You did your best. Mom knew it. I know it. I’m the one who couldn’t find the rest of the $50,000.” His tears fell onto my hands. He gripped me tightly. “Just wait. Just wait. I promise, we won’t struggle like this anymore.” I nodded through my grief. $50,000. He could have gotten it. “Sister, you know what? That month, his wife’s mother also needed $50,000 for her care.” Kaia winked. “He was going to give it to her.” I stopped breathing. “Did he give it to you for your allowance instead?” “No. He’s rich, $50,000 is nothing to him. I told him if her mother died, the wife would be totally alone, without any family. Then, even if she found out about me, she wouldn’t dare leave him.” My teeth were about to shatter. “Plus, I really had my eye on a new Chanel that month. It was exactly $50,000.” I glared at her. “Aren’t you afraid his wife will find out what you did?” “Please. I’m smarter than that.” Kaia laughed. “I told him to give his wife $100,000—to pretend it was every penny he had. That way, she’d think her husband tried his best and she’d never look into his bank accounts!” Her face soured momentarily. “The only thing that sucked was his reason for agreeing to it. He said it was because he wanted to prevent the old woman from leaving him if she ever discovered me. Ugh. She’s luckier than she knows.” SMACK! A stinging slap landed unexpectedly across Kaia’s face. Her drink overturned. A flight attendant rushed over to clean the mess. Kaia was furious. “Are you insane! What the hell was that for!” “That,” I spat, “is for being a brazen home-wrecker!” The flight attendants hurried to separate us, moving Kaia to an empty seat farther down the row, soothing her with soft voices. Kaia finally settled, drying her hands with a napkin from the flight attendant, and looked at me with pure contempt. “I hate sanctimonious busybodies like you. Always harping on about mistresses. Honestly…” She scoffed. “It just means you’re old and you can’t hook a man anymore. Back in your prime, you would have begged for this life!” “You—” The flight attendant grabbed my arm, stopping me from lunging. I bit down on my retort and sank back into my seat. I didn’t want to cause trouble for the crew. Kaia eyed me again. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re past your expiration date. Your husband is definitely cheating on you, too. Go home and check his phone. A woman like you… men don’t want to come home to.” SPLASH! The new drink the flight attendant had just given me sailed through the air and hit Kaia full in the face. She shrieked. Attendants rushed between us again. The Purser approached me, smiling apologetically. “Ms. Jones, this woman is a valuable client of ours. Please, calm down. May I get you some fruit?” “Valuable client?” I hissed. The Purser leaned in, lowering her voice. “She is with Mr. Coleman, the new CEO. I’m advising you for your own good, Ms. Jones. Mr. Coleman is very protective of her.” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. The plane landed at the connecting airport. Neither of us was disembarking yet. I switched off airplane mode. I sent a text to Cameron: Where are you? He replied instantly with a photo of himself at a desk: Earning money for my wife. For me, or for someone else? No reply. I sent a question mark. The familiar voice came from Kaia’s direction a moment later. “You got juice thrown on you? Who would dare do that to my Sweetheart?” “Some old woman! It’s your fault! If you were here, she wouldn’t have touched me! You ruined my trip!” “Okay, okay… Daddy’s fault.” [Zelle Transfer: $50,000] Kaia’s phone chimed with the automated voice notification. Cameron’s voice was warm. “Go buy some little things you love.” I gripped my armrests. Kaia’s scowl vanished, replaced by a pout. “Hmph! No use. You said you missed me and wanted to spend New Year’s with me! I wouldn’t have been on this flight if it weren’t for that lunatic! No amount of money will fix this!” Cameron didn’t sound annoyed. He sounded amused. “And what about the new villa Daddy bought you?” Kaia’s eyes widened slightly. “My Sweetheart smiled. Are you happy now?” “No, I am not!” She pouted again. “But… fine. I’ll give you a chance. Only because I love you.” “Good. Daddy will make it up to you tonight, okay?” “Three hours. Not a second less!” “The whole night, if you want.” My body shook violently beneath my dress. I thought of our last few visits after he’d been transferred to the city. We barely went beyond hugging and kissing. Every time I tried to initiate sex, he would sigh. “I’m too stressed from work. Let me recuperate, okay?” And he’d leave before he had the chance. Kaia blew a kiss to the camera and ended the video call. It was then that Cameron’s text came through. Wife, why don’t you trust me? Are you sad I have to work through New Year’s? When I get back, I’ll take you to that little rotating hot pot place you love, okay? The plane started its taxi toward the runway. A flight attendant approached Kaia’s new seat with a black, embossed box. “Ms. Rhodes, this is a gift a gentleman asked us to deliver to you.” “Oh! A Prada necklace! How did he know I wanted this one?” The attendant smiled and handed her a card. “Mr. Coleman also asked us to relay a message: ‘He hopes Ms. Rhodes won’t be troubled by any noise, that you remain brave and true to yourself, and that you regard all obstacles as nothing. Mr. Coleman will always stand behind you, and he will always love you.’” I closed my eyes, staring at Cameron’s text about the cheap hot pot place. “Ms. Jones, this diamond is from Mr. Coleman for you.” The Purser handed me a loose stone. I frowned. “For me?” The Purser nodded. “Mr. Coleman knows you and Ms. Rhodes had an unpleasant exchange. He said Ms. Rhodes has high blood pressure and the doctor said she mustn’t get upset. So, Ms. Jones, Mr. Coleman asks that you apologize to Ms. Rhodes. A sincere apology.” I looked at the diamond and laughed—a sound utterly devoid of humor. “Just an apology? Isn’t this a bit much?” “Ha ha, don’t worry about the cost. Mr. Coleman can earn several of these in a single day.” A diamond that cost six figures. He could earn several a day? I rolled the small stone between my fingers. I smiled. A stranger was getting more than I ever did. I nodded. “Fine. An apology it is.” “Ms. Rhodes, Mr. Coleman has sent her to apologize to you!” I bowed slightly. “I’m sorry for striking you. Please forgive me, Ms. Rhodes.” “Oh, I will.” Kaia rose from her seat. “Let me slap you twice, and I’ll forgive you.” The Purser quickly interjected. “Ms. Rhodes, she is older than you. Please be the bigger person and don’t stoop to her level.” “So what if she’s older?” Kaia’s smile was vicious. “This face is already a lost cause anyway. A few slaps won’t make a difference—no man will like her either way. I’ll slap her, she gets a diamond, and she should be grateful.” An attendant tugged my sleeve. “Ma’am, maybe just let her. The whole thing will be over. She is Mr. Coleman’s guest.” “Yes, Ms. Jones. It’s a six-figure diamond. It’s not a loss for you.” Six figures. I would have to struggle and save for a decade to get that much. This tiny stone could buy ten years of my life. I twisted the diamond one last time. CLATTER. I tossed it onto Kaia’s tray table. It rolled and dropped to the floor. “I don’t want it.” SMACK! A slap landed hard on my cheek. Kaia hadn’t hesitated. “How dare you refuse my charity?” The blow was fully intended to hurt. I staggered back two steps. An attendant rushed to steady me. “Ms. Jones, let it go. Ms. Rhodes has always been volatile.” “We’ll find the diamond for you, ma’am.” SMACK! My hand whipped out, catching Kaia across the face with devastating force. She crumpled back into her seat. “You… You hit me back!” “You bet your ass I did!” I moved to strike her again, but the flight crew intervened, pulling us apart. For the rest of the flight, we were monitored closely by the cabin crew. The plane landed. Kaia, red-eyed and enraged, was the first one off the aircraft. I watched her hurry through the jet bridge and rush through the exit. She collapsed into a man’s embrace. Her face was still blotchy from the slap. “What happened?” Cameron’s eyes held more panic than they had on the day of my miscarriage. “Did she hit you again?” “She did! And it’s your fault! That cheap diamond only made her bolder! Nobody has ever dared to hit me before, boo-hoo!” Kaia was an expert crier. No man could resist that sound. “Where is she? I’ll go talk to her.” “Right here.” I stepped out of the jet bridge. Cameron’s body went rigid. I lifted the brim of my cap. “Hello, Mr. Coleman.”

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I was halfway through a work trip when a message suddenly popped up in the condo owners’ group chat: “My kids have finals this week. Could the unit above us please keep it down? And for God’s sake, stop playing that ‘Daddy’ game.” Another neighbor chimed in: “Seriously. ‘Daddy’ this, ‘Daddy’ that, day and night. Are they that desperate for attention?” But I had been out of town for over a month and a half. Who was playing games in my apartment? 1 I tried to check the CCTV on my security camera, but the connection kept failing. After several attempts, I called my fiancé, Holden Blackwood, hoping he could swing by and check the setup. No answer. I tried to rationalize it. The soundproofing in our building, The Heights, was notoriously bad. Maybe the noise was traveling from another unit, and the downstairs neighbor, Carol Perkins, had just misidentified the source. I quickly messaged the group: “There is no one home in my unit. You should check elsewhere for the source of the noise.” The group chat fell silent. I tried to focus on my itinerary, but a low, insidious anxiety had begun to coil in my stomach. Even if Holden had been busy when I called, he should have at least texted me back. He never did. I scrolled through our message history. The screen was a long ribbon of my vibrant green bubbles—photos of local cuisine, complaints about bizarre clients, and long, detailed inquiries about his day, his meals, his schedule. Sandwiched between my effusive paragraphs were his clipped, blue replies: “K.” “Got it.” “Fine.” “I know!” I hesitated for a moment, then sent another text: Are you busy right now? Could you swing by the apartment? I can’t connect to the camera. I’m worried it’s unplugged or broken. As soon as I hit send, I regretted it. Holden’s research lab at the university was demanding. When I’d told him this current work trip would last nearly three months, he’d packed a duffel bag and moved straight into the campus dorm. “Tracy,” he’d said, using my first name, “you’re going to be gone. It’s a waste of time and gas to commute back and forth every day.” The day I left, we’d walked out of the apartment building at the same time. I’d expected him to offer me a ride to the airport. Instead, he simply got into the SUV—the one my parents had bought for me—and peeled out, leaving me standing alone with my luggage. I hailed a rideshare, trying to soothe the stinging feeling. He’s just a classic academic, a genius with no social skills, I told myself. His mind is only on his thesis. We’re looking at houses. We’re getting married. It’s fine. It’s fine. But over the past six weeks, he hadn’t initiated a single call or text. Everyone said three days of silence was the end of a relationship. How many three-day stretches had we blown past? 2 That night, back at the hotel, I had just finished reporting to headquarters and was settling in for the night when my phone vibrated. The group chat again. It was Carol Perkins, the same downstairs owner. This time, she posted a video. It was recorded from her balcony, and you could clearly hear a man and a woman laughing. The wind distortion made the audio scratchy, but the words were horrifyingly clear. The man’s voice, a low chuckle: “Got you. Call me Daddy.” Then the woman’s cooing, theatrical voice: “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…” What followed was a sharp, drawn-out shriek, then a series of breathless, unmistakable sounds. The video cut off abruptly with the sound of Carol screaming an obscenity. The group chat exploded. [CarolPerkins]: Still going to tell me no one is home? What’s this, then? A ghost? [Mr.Singh]: Kids these days are wild. [BrodieJ]: I’ve heard this for days! It’s driving me nuts! So obsessed with being a “Daddy”? Go adopt ten kids from a foster home! [Mrs.Kim]: Call the police. Say someone’s running an illegal business up there. Let the cops teach them a lesson. Defeated, I posted my live location to the group, adding: “I promise, I am still out of town. I’m having a friend check the unit immediately.” That seemed to calm the other owners, but Carol was still furious. “If I find out who you are, I’m putting this on YouTube. I’ll make you famous.” I called my best friend, Kira Ashford. “Kira, can you do me a favor? Can you check my apartment? See if Holden is there.” Kira sounded winded, probably out on one of her late-night runs. “Sure, I’ll head over now. What is this, a post-mortem check? Worried Holden’s cheating?” I didn’t know how to answer. I couldn’t say it aloud. Kira paused, then laughed. “Relax. I’ll keep an eye on him. Don’t worry.” Half an hour later, Kira called back. “Holden’s definitely not there. But, Tracy, does your downstairs neighbor have a screw loose? When I was leaving, she was practically glued to your front door, trying to look through the peephole. She scared the hell out of me.” She scoffed. “She even muttered something at me—called me some kind of cheap tramp. Honestly, people are insane. Watch out for her, Tracy. She’s unhinged.” After Kira hung up, I realized I’d forgotten to ask her to check the camera plug. 3 Still, my work was going well, and I was going to be home ten days early. I decided not to bother her again. Holden and Kira had always had a tense relationship. Early in my courtship with Holden, he’d stood me up a few times for lab emergencies. I had complained to Kira, and she, fiery and protective, had tracked Holden down and ripped into him. It caused a huge fight. Since then, Holden would scowl whenever I mentioned her name, so I learned to keep them separate. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked Kira to go over tonight. What if they had run into each other and fought again? But the audio recording… Call me Daddy. Who was that? That voice sounded terrifyingly familiar. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep, my phone buzzed again. A private message request in the owners’ group. It was Carol Perkins. She was persistent. The second I accepted the request, she aggressively sent me several clips from the elevator security footage. “It is you! I checked the building security. Don’t try to deny it. You’re messing with my son’s education, and I’m going to ruin you.” “You said no one was home. Then what is this?” “You’re the only unit on the eleventh floor right now, right?” In the grainy footage, a man and a woman hit the eleventh-floor button, then immediately began to embrace, their hands already exploring. The video quality was poor, but I knew those bodies. I knew that slouch. It was Holden. And Kira. I took a deep, shaky breath, then started a video call. Carol answered immediately. She looked at my face and gasped, eyes wide. “Oh, my. It really isn’t you! Who… who are those people? How do you not know who is in your own apartment?” My voice tasted like metal. “That’s my fiancé and my best friend.” “Oh, honey. Oh, no. I am so sorry. What are you going to do?” “Carol,” I said, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “Help me. Keep an eye on them. I’m rushing back home now.” She immediately dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You want to bust them? Done. The minute they show their faces, I’ll text you.” 4 I threw myself out of bed, called my partner, requested two days of emergency leave, and booked the first flight home. My partner looked at my pale face and offered a final warning as he drove me to the airport. “Tracy, whatever it is, think about the consequences. Don’t do anything that will create more trouble for yourself.” Just before boarding, I called Holden. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Where are you? I’m coming home a few days early. Can you pick me up at the airport?” “The lab is swamped. I’ll see what I can do.” His voice was flat, distant. “Okay. You focus on your work then.” He waited, likely for me to coax him, to sweet-talk him into it. When I didn’t, he simply hummed and hung up. I stared out the window at the black night sky. My reflection stared back, my mouth a downturned arc of misery. I covered my face with my hands. When did it start? According to Carol, Holden and Kira had been playing the “Daddy” game in my apartment for nearly a month. Sometimes, even during the day. They were moving in and out together. With winter coats on and a lack of neighborhood interaction, the building staff and guards had simply assumed Kira was me. Holden wasn’t on the deed or in the group chat, so he had no idea the entire building was gossiping about him. I never would have known that the quiet, hyper-intellectual Holden was into role-play. I certainly never would have guessed that the rough-and-tumble tomboy, Kira, would be cooing “Daddy” in that sickeningly sweet voice. As the plane lifted off, I leaned back, pulling my sunglasses down. I was afraid I might start crying, and I didn’t want the flight attendant to see. When did they get together? How could they do this to me? 5 I met Holden during freshman orientation. He was two years ahead of me—tall, lean, and classically handsome, with an intense, quiet demeanor. He helped me haul my suitcases, got me my meal card, and helped me with all the orientation paperwork. I wanted to thank him with dinner, but he politely refused and rushed off. Later that evening, while eating with Kira and my other new roommates, I saw him again—working a shift at the campus cafeteria. Even in his simple uniform, his bookish air was unmistakable. A lock of hair fell over his clean, defined features, reminding me of a French New Wave actor, all silent longing. My heart pounded. In that single moment, I fell for him. I pursued Holden for two years, my crush a campus-wide joke. After graduation, he stayed for his Master’s. Everyone said he stayed for me. But Holden remained aloof. He was always busy with his research, always hustling to earn money. I couldn’t feel the love everyone else insisted he felt for me. He simply didn’t reject me. He didn’t refuse the movie tickets, the meals I brought him, or the clothes I bought. Feeling defeated, I broke up with him just before graduation. I told him I was moving back home. My parents had set up a job for me. He broke down. He held me and cried. “Tracy, please. Can you stay here, for me?” That day, he told me everything—about his difficult childhood, the father who abandoned him and his sick mother, and how his mother died in poverty. He talked about how he relied on charity to get through college. “Tracy, I have nothing. I’ve been afraid to accept your pursuit,” he choked out. “But the thought of you leaving me… I can’t bear it. Please, stay. For me.” Looking at his tear-drenched, pleading eyes, I made a terrible decision. I kissed him. I wasn’t all that different from him. I had an absent biological father, too. But I was lucky. My mother was an independent, successful woman, and my current father was wonderful. I convinced my parents to let me stay. They bought me an apartment. “A good foundation gives you leverage, Tracy. If you two separate, you’ll always have your own space.” My mother had urged caution. She didn’t want me to repeat her mistakes. “Even though I’m happy now, healing from that separation nearly destroyed me. They say men who can’t empathize with their mothers carry a certain type of damage, Tracy. That toxicity… it can be hereditary.” I had been so sure. I argued that Holden was nothing like his father. He would be loyal. I believed true love conquered all, and I wouldn’t follow my mother’s path. 6 Only a few years later, Holden had cheated with my best friend, using my apartment while I was away. My face was burning with shame. I had been blind. I had misjudged Holden and misjudged Kira. I had trusted them, giving them the perfect privacy to plot against me. Holden knew how much I despised my birth father. My mother’s experience had taught me a harsh lesson: cut your losses quickly. Dragging it out only causes more pain. I clenched my fists. A double betrayal. I would make them pay tenfold. When the plane landed, dawn hadn’t fully broken. Snow was beginning to fall. I quickly checked in with Carol Perkins while waiting for a taxi. Realizing I wouldn’t find a cab in this weather, I stopped a large, black car that had just pulled up to the curb. A tall, impeccably dressed man was putting luggage into the trunk, looking at me with an air of sophisticated curiosity. I looked up at him and pleaded, “Could you give me a ride? I’m rushing to catch a cheating fiancé.” “Excuse me?” The man’s driver, a friendly-looking guy named Dustin, jumped out. “Busting a cheater? Get in, get in! Where are we going? I’ll take you.” The tall man, Leland Shaw, let out a soft tsk, took my suitcase, loaded it, and then opened the passenger door, gesturing for me to sit in the front. I mumbled my thanks, embarrassed but grateful, and climbed in. Dustin started the car. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. I got you. You need me to swing a punch? You wanna key his car? I’ll be your brother-in-arms.” Leland coughed from the back. Dustin scoffed. “Lee, what’s with the cough? Look at this city girl. Her eyes are red. She’s heartbroken. Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m your witness.” I couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Thank you, but I’m not married yet.” I gave them the highly condensed version of the story. Dustin was furious. He turned to Leland in the back. “Lee, you gonna let her get pushed around like this?” “Look, sweetie, you trust me, I’ll help you teach him a lesson. You point, I hit.” 7 Leland let out a soft, amused laugh from the back seat. My cheeks flushed. I hadn’t just stopped any car. I had screened my targets. The value of the Rolls-Royce, Leland’s cashmere coat, the high-end luggage—a man this wealthy wasn’t likely to be a scammer. I was using them, and they were treating it like a piece of high-stakes entertainment. A mutually beneficial transaction. The goal wasn’t just to catch them. It was to ensure Holden and Kira suffered total public humiliation—social death. The thought of them playing that game, chasing each other in my space, made me physically ill. One of them destroyed my love, the other destroyed my trust. I wouldn’t stop until I had stripped them bare. The car pulled up to my building. I spotted Carol Perkins waiting in the lobby. Dustin grabbed my small carry-on bag, and Leland followed, hands deep in the pockets of his coat. Carol rushed over and nodded at me, eyes wide. Leland glanced at me, a slight, knowing smile on his lips. I pulled out my phone and called Holden. Unsurprisingly, no answer. I called Kira. It rang for ages. When she finally answered, her voice was slurred, thick with sleep. “Kira, where are you? Can you come over to my place right now?” “I’m asleep at home. Why would I come over this early? What’s going on?” “Holden’s cheating. I brought people back to catch him. Get over here and help me.” A strangled yelp came over the line. “What?! You’re back? Is this for real?” “I’m here. Just got off the elevator. Hurry up.” Hurry up and hide. Don’t waste the chance I’m giving you.

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Days before Christmas, I quietly wired fifty thousand dollars to my daughter, Liv, who was pregnant and living far away. I told her to take a solo trip, clear her head, and enjoy the peace. Liv sounded grateful and promised to go. It wasn’t until a few days later that my old college friend, Sandy Miller, sent me a message. Sandy had recently moved to Liv’s city for retirement. Just last month, she’d mentioned meeting a particularly boastful woman at her community center fitness class. The woman’s name was Joyce. She constantly bragged that her son had married a wealthy city girl whose family was so loaded, they’d practically paid for the marriage. I’d dismissed it as harmless chatter. Now, Sandy’s text popped up: “Cate, didn’t you say your son-in-law’s last name was Cole?” Following that were several screenshots. They showed a grid of selfies taken by Joyce on a tropical beach, palms swaying in the background. The caption was a slap in the face: “My darling son took the whole family to the Caribbean for the holidays! My amazing daughter-in-law was sweet enough to stay home to watch the house so we could relax! #FamilyFirst #Blessed” I stared at the screen and booked the soonest available flight. Some answers you can’t get over the phone. I had to see for myself the life my daughter was truly living. 1 The silence in the apartment was unnerving when I unlocked the front door. A haphazard pile of shoes lay scattered by the entrance: men’s running shoes, chunky walking sneakers, a child’s brightly colored Crocs… But the pair of faded beige flats my daughter always wore was missing. I dragged my suitcase over the pile, and the scene in the living room made me freeze. The sofa was buried under a heap of garish kids’ toys. Dirty clothes were strewn across the area rug. On the dining table, unwashed plates and silverware sat beside congealed grease on leftover takeout containers. “Liv?” I called out. No answer. I dropped my bag and walked toward the master bedroom. The door was ajar. Pushing it open, I was hit by a complex stench: stale air, unwashed fabric, and the faint, sour smell of old food. A frumpy, floral housecoat belonging to the mother-in-law was thrown on the pillow. On the nightstand sat Ryan Cole’s smartwatch charger. The delicate jewelry box I’d painstakingly picked out for Liv was gone from the vanity, replaced by a stack of prescription bottles and an open bag of sunflower seeds. I backed out and opened the door to the spare room. Cartoon stickers covered the walls, and a child’s play mat was on the floor. A queen bed was piled high with strangers’ clothes—clearly a young couple’s. Finally, I opened the door to what used to be Liv’s office. In the cramped ten-by-ten space, Liv’s laptop sat on a folding table, surrounded by her professional textbooks. Her packed suitcase stood unopened in the corner, draped with a few of her familiar, wash-faded sleep shirts. A small pull-out sofa was covered in an old, faded sheet—the same one she’d used in her college dorm room. My breath started to come heavy and fast. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. It rang for an agonizingly long time before she picked up. “Mom?” Liv’s voice was strained and low, the background noise a muffled cacophony. “Where are you?” I heard the tension in my own voice. “Oh, Mom, I… I’m just out! The scenery here is gorgeous…” Her tone was instantly panicked: “Mom, why did you call so suddenly?” “Liv,” I looked at the offending floral housecoat tossed on the master bed. My voice was eerily flat. “Tell me the truth. Did you ever go on that trip?” Silence hung on the line for two seconds, broken only by the background sound. I heard what sounded like an announcement, but it was too unclear to make out the words. “Mom, I… I’m just taking a walk nearby. Going on a solo trip felt lonely and exhausting, so I thought… I’d just stay close to home.” Her words rushed out: “I’ll be back soon. Just sit down, Mom, I’ll just—” Just then, a clear, automated female voice cut through the background noise: “Dr. Rodriguez, Physical Therapy, report to Exam Room Three. Dr. Rodriguez…” Physical Therapy? “Liv,” the hand gripping my phone started to shake. “Where exactly are you?” “Mom, I’m—” Her voice started to tremble. In the background, a loud, gruff voice yelled: “Family of Bed Three! Get some hot water! Where’s the aide?” My brain went numb. All the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head. “The hospital?” My voice was a choked whisper. “Are you at the hospital? What happened? Are you okay?” 2 By the time I rushed into St. Jude’s Regional Medical Center, the elevator was just ascending. I couldn’t wait. I turned and took the stairs, two at a time. The seventh-floor hallway reeked of disinfectant. Doors were open, giving me glimpses of various patients lying in their beds. Outside Room 704, Liv had her back to the hall, bent over, sorting something by the bed. She wore a faded gray sweater and was carefully holding a plastic urinal. I walked up quietly. She didn’t hear me. Lying in the bed was Ryan’s father, George Cole. Three months ago, when Ryan called to say his dad had a stroke and was paralyzed, I’d wired him the fifty thousand dollars, explicitly for a home health aide. Now the old man lay with tubes in his nose, eyes closed. Liv was gently wiping his arm with a damp washcloth. The woman in the adjacent bed saw me first. She paused: “Are you?” Liv spun around. The washcloth slipped from her hand and splashed into the basin. “Mom…” Her face instantly went white. I didn’t answer her. I just nodded to the woman: “I’m her mother.” “Oh, thank God you’re here!” the woman exclaimed, standing up. “You need to talk to your daughter! She’s pregnant, and she’s here every single day, scrubbing, changing him, helping him use the bathroom—day and night! We all feel terrible for her!” I looked at Liv. “Where is their family?” Liv kept her head down. The neighbor woman jumped in: “I’ve only seen two of them twice! One old woman, the mother, she just sits in the chair and barks orders at your daughter. And one man, the son, he stood here for less than ten minutes and said he had to leave for work. We thought they were distant relatives just visiting!” A knot of ice formed in my chest. I grabbed Liv’s arm and pulled her into the hall. “Look at me,” I said. “Where is the fifty thousand dollars I gave you? You said you were taking a trip. Did you take a trip to the hospital?” “My mother-in-law said that flying while pregnant was too dangerous. She said we could go as a family after the baby was born.” Liv sniffled. “She said she’d worked hard all year and deserved a break, so she just took… took the whole family.” “What about the money for the health aide?” I pressed, my voice low and dangerous. “The extra money I send every month was for professional help!” Liv’s voice was a mere whisper: “She said a stranger wouldn’t do a good job, and it was a waste of money. She kept the money, for now, to save for the baby’s college fund…” My hands were shaking with rage. “So you came yourself? You’re four months pregnant, Liv! You’re here holding a bedpan for a man who isn’t your father!” I gripped her shoulders. “My sweet, stupid girl! Does Ryan know about this?” She silently nodded. Just then, her phone rang. The screen flashed the name: “Joyce.” She tried to hit the ignore button, but I snatched the phone and hit speaker. “Liv! Where the hell are you?” A sharp, grating voice exploded from the speaker. “We made it to the duty-free shop! Hurry up and transfer another twenty thousand! What good is that little bit of money your mother gave you? It’s not even enough for a decent designer bag!” 3 Joyce was still talking: “And listen up! The house needs to be immaculate by noon tomorrow! The floors need three passes, and the windows need to be sparkling! We’ll be home at twelve sharp, and dinner needs to be on the table! Seven dishes and one soup, nothing less! If you dare to slack off again—” I slammed the hang-up button. Walking out of the hospital building, the cold winter air hit us. Liv shivered. I opened the car door. “Get in.” The drive was silent. Liv leaned against the passenger window, staring out. While stopped at a red light, I noticed her left hand resting gently on her belly. “How have you been spending the past few months?” I broke the silence. “Tell me everything.” She was quiet for a long time. “Seven in the morning, I go to the hospital. Come back for a quick lunch, then go back in the afternoon.” Her voice was flat, as if describing someone else’s routine. “I get home around eight or nine at night, clean the house. Ryan’s brother’s family is also staying here. Joyce said they were moving in to help me when the baby comes.” The light turned green. I pressed the accelerator, my grip on the steering wheel tight. “What does Ryan say?” I asked. “Does he just watch his mother treat you like this?” Liv didn’t answer. It wasn’t until I’d pulled into the building’s underground garage that she spoke, her voice small: “He said… to just hold on. He said it would get better after the baby came.” I turned off the engine but didn’t move to get out. “Liv,” I turned to face her. “Look at me.” She slowly turned her face. Her eyes were red and swollen. “You married him, not his entire family,” I said, each word distinct. “You are pregnant. This is the time you are supposed to be cared for. Instead, they take your money and turn you into a free health aide and maid. Does that sound normal to you?” “You are my only daughter, my darling girl. When have you ever had to suffer such indignity?” Her tears finally came. Her shoulders began to shake. “Mom… I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have hidden it from you… I was just afraid you’d be angry, afraid you’d be disappointed in me…” I reached over and pulled her into my arms. She cried hard against my shoulder, her whole body convulsing. “Oh, sweetheart.” I rubbed her back. “How could I ever be disappointed in you? I’m heartbroken for you.” When her sobs subsided, I let go and wiped her tears away. “Come on, let’s go home.” Inside, I didn’t turn on the lights. I walked straight into the master bedroom. Joyce’s clothes were still piled on the bed, and Ryan’s clutter was on the vanity. I pulled open the closet, which was crammed with things that didn’t belong to Liv. I grabbed a large plastic garbage bag and began tossing everything inside: the floral housecoat, men’s sleepwear, piles of socks and underwear. I dumped the full bag into the bathroom. Liv stood at the door, staring. “Mom, what are you doing…” I took her by the hand and led her into the master bedroom, making her sit on the edge of the bed. “You are sleeping here tonight. You will rest. Don’t think about anything.” “But the Coles are coming back tomorrow…” “We’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow,” I cut her off. “Tonight, you just sleep.” “The rest is up to me.” 4 The next day, it was four-thirty in the afternoon when I placed the last bowl on the dining table. There was only one meal and one drink . A burger meal and a simple vanilla milk shake. A stark, aggressive simplicity. Liv came out of the kitchen, holding a dust rag, looking anxiously at the table: “Mom, is… is this okay? Joyce is going to…” “Go to the office and stay there,” I took the rag from her hand. “No matter what you hear, don’t come out.” “But—” “Listen to me.” I ushered her into the small office, closed the door, and locked it. Then I walked into the master bedroom and locked that door behind me. Time crawled by. At twelve-ten, the sound of keys turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. Then came a cacophony of voices, the rattle of luggage wheels, and a child’s shrieking. “I’m exhausted! That horrible flight made my back ache!” That was Joyce’s loud voice. “Mom, slow down,” A young man’s voice, probably Ryan’s brother, Mark. “Liv! Where the hell is Liv? Get out here and grab the bags!” Joyce yelled. Footsteps stopped in the living room. Then, Ryan’s sister-in-law, Jessica, shrieked: “Mom! Look at the table!” A moment of silence. Then, Joyce’s voice spiked: “Liv! Get your sorry butt out here!” The office door opened. I heard Liv’s hesitant footsteps. “Mom, you’re back…” Liv’s voice was tiny. “What is this trash?” Joyce roared. “I told you seven dishes and one soup! Look at this! A plate of old vegetables and a bowl of dirty water? Are you mocking me?” “I… I wasn’t feeling well today…” “Not feeling well? I think you need a good slap!” A sharp crack echoed. It was the sound of a hand hitting a face. My hand tightened on the doorknob. Then the little boy screamed: “My toys! My toys are broken!” A crash, like toys being swept to the floor. “Liv! Did you touch my son’s toys?” Jessica’s voice was sharp. “I didn’t, it was already—” “You dare talk back!” Another slap, louder this time. The little boy was crying: “Bad Auntie! Pay for my toys! Hit her!” Then came the sound of punching and kicking, followed by Liv’s muffled cry of pain. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wrenched the doorknob open and walked out. In the living room, Joyce was yanking Liv’s hair, Jessica was screaming insults, and the five- or six-year-old boy was raising his foot to kick Liv in the stomach. Ryan’s brother, Mark, stood by the entrance, still holding a suitcase, watching the scene with a faint, amused smile. I walked over and shoved the little boy aside. He stumbled, fell, and wailed loudly. I brought my hand across the child’s face, a quick, hard slap. Joyce froze, releasing Liv’s hair. “Who are you? How dare you touch my grandson?” She didn’t wait for my answer. She whipped her head toward Liv, who was now huddled against the wall, and screamed: “Liv! We don’t need any more maids in this house! You’re enough. Who do you think you are? We leave for one week and you bring home a beggar?” I ignored her first insult, and with a swift, backhanded motion, I slapped Joyce across the face. CRACK. The sound was sharp and deafening. Joyce stumbled back two steps, clutching her face, her eyes wide with shock. Jessica shrieked: “Assault! Call the police! A maniac is attacking us!” Mark finally lifted his head, dropped his phone, and charged at me: “What are you doing!” Just then, the front door was pushed open again. Ryan Cole, a few steps behind the others, stood in the doorway with his suitcase, taking in the chaotic scene. His eyes landed on my face. “…Mom? What are you doing here?” His mouth hung open. He was completely frozen.

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