Just before our wedding, Ryan and I got into yet another blowout fight over whether my name should be on the deed to our future house. Not long after, he posted a picture of a brand-new car on Instagram with the caption: “Some people need to stop being so calculating. Trying to divide my assets before we’ve even walked down the aisle? Sorry, not sorry—I used the house down payment to buy this baby in full!” The comment section was a sea of his bros hyping him up, calling him a “legend” for not letting a gold-digger win. I was about to call him to ask what the hell he was thinking when a stream of live comments suddenly floated before my eyes: [Ugh, the male lead is just being led astray by his toxic friends. Deep down, he really wants a family with her.] [The female lead is being too much. Her parents have the money to buy them a house anyway, why force him to use his hard-earned savings and still insist on her name being on the deed?] [If she just promised that her parents’ future house would have his name on it too, he wouldn’t be this angry.] I thought those comments were full of crap. I asked for my name on that deed because my parents weren’t asking for a single cent in wedding traditions, and they were giving us a $30,000 gift to start our lives. The next second, my phone buzzed. It was a text from the very “bro” who had been cheering the loudest in the comments. “Downtown penthouse, paid in full. I’ll put it in your name before we sign the papers. Will you marry me instead?” 1 The text was from Lucas Miller, Ryan’s supposed “best friend.” I stared at the words until the screen felt like it was burning my eyes. The live comments continued to scroll: [DON’T REPLY! This is a trap! Ryan’s best friend is just testing your loyalty!] [If she replies, Ryan will never forgive her. He’s just being stubborn right now!] I didn’t reply—because at that moment, Ryan walked through the front door. He tossed a set of car keys onto the entryway table with a heavy clack. “I’m tired, Winona. I don’t want to fight anymore.” He walked straight to the sofa, burying himself in the cushions without a single glance in my direction. I forced down my rage. “Ryan, what the hell is this? The car?” He let out a sharp, mocking snort. “Can’t you read? It means we aren’t buying the house. I bought the car instead.” I clenched my fists. “That money… my parents contributed to that. We saved together for years. What gave you the right to spend it all on your own?” He finally looked up, his eyes dripping with venom. “That $30,000 gift from your parents? We both know it was just a bribe to snatch half the equity of my home. You’re a sharp one, Winona. I’ll give you that.” “But let me be clear: this car is my property. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t need your family’s pathetic handouts.” I felt the blood drain from my face. My parents had been nothing but supportive. And in his mouth, it was a “calculated scheme.” The comments flashed again: [See? He’s just hurt. He’s terrified that if he gives you everything, you’ll leave him.] I looked at his cold face and realized I didn’t recognize him anymore. “Fine. You bought the car,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “So, when do you plan on paying me back my share of the savings?” He looked at me like I’d just told a hilarious joke. “Your share? Winona, we’ve lived together for three years. Who paid for the steaks? The rent? The utilities? If I actually kept a ledger, you’d owe me a fortune.” “I’ll give you three days to get your stuff and get out.” “I need some space to re-evaluate if this relationship is even worth the headache.” He put his noise-canceling headphones on and closed his eyes. Communication over. 2 I started packing immediately. Ryan watched me with a smirk, convinced I was just putting on a show. On the third day, his mother called. The second I picked up, she started screaming. “Winona, how can you be so selfish? So he bought a car—so what? A man needs a decent vehicle to be respected! It’s an investment in his image!” “A girl like you shouldn’t be out there alone. It’s dangerous. Just go back, swallow your pride, and fix this.” I spoke up then. “Mrs. Sterling, we broke up. I’m moving out today.” There was a stunned silence, then her voice came back twice as sharp. “Break up? You wouldn’t dare! You’ve wasted five years on my son. Who else is going to want you now? You’re damaged goods!” Click. She hung up. That evening, Ryan came home with his entourage. Lucas was among them. They hauled in crates of beer, laughing as if they’d just won the Super Bowl. Ryan walked over and kicked my suitcase. It hit the wall with a dull thud. “Still playing house, Winona? You actually packed.” His friends started jeering. “Ryan, man, looks like she’s trying to give you an ultimatum.” “Women… just let her walk around the block. She’ll be back by midnight.” I ignored them and reached for my suitcase. A hand stopped me. It was Lucas. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he looked at Ryan. “Ryan, cool it. This is getting out of hand.” Ryan shoved him away. “Mind your business, Lucas!” I stood up straight and looked Ryan dead in the eye. “First of all, don’t call me Winnie. It’s Winona to you.” “Second, you kicked my property. You damage it, you pay for it.” “Third, I’m not apologizing. You are.” The room went dead silent. Ryan’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it against the floor. “You ungrateful bitch!” he roared. Lucas moved instantly, grabbing Ryan’s arm. “Ryan! You’re losing it!” I pulled out my phone and dialed my father. “Hey, Dad. Is the moving crew here? Give them the gate code.” “Yeah, it’s a little loud. Just saying goodbye to some trash.” My father’s deep, calm voice filled the room via speaker. “I’m right outside, honey. The guys are coming up now. Dad’s got you.” Lucas looked at me, and for a split second, I saw respect in his eyes. 3 The movers arrived and cleared my things in under an hour. Ryan stood in the middle of the living room, watching my life being carried out in boxes. “Winona, you think you’re so tough, huh? You leave this room today, don’t you ever think about crawling back!” I ignored him. I added up the total of our shared savings on my phone, including the $30,000 gift, and messaged it to him. “Ryan, the total is $37,860. I want my share back within three days. Otherwise, I’ll see you in small claims court.” I blocked him on everything instantly. As I walked out, Lucas called out, “Winona.” He stepped forward and draped a jacket over my shoulders. “It’s cold out,” he said softly. “You’re doing the right thing.” Downstairs, my dad opened the car door for me. “Let’s go home, Winona.” When we got home, after dinner, my dad handed me a leather folder. “This is the deed to a condo downtown. Paid in full. It’s in your name.” “We are your safety net, honey. Always.” The next day, I moved into my new place. I pulled up Lucas’s text message and replied: “ID card, brought it?” My phone buzzed instantly. “In the car. I’ve been downstairs at your place.” I pulled back the curtain. Downstairs, Lucas was leaning against his SUV, looking up at my floor. The live comments exploded: [NO!!! Winona, how can you do this! What about Ryan?!] [It’s a trap! Lucas and Ryan are definitely in on this together!] I ignored the noise. I had spent five years listening to other people’s voices. It was time to listen to my own. 4 The next day, I met Ryan at a coffee shop. He showed up looking smug. “So? Regrets? Ready to apologize?” I didn’t say a word. I just slid a manila envelope across the table. Inside were the rental agreement for the “new car” he claimed to have bought, and a stack of betting slips. His face turned paper-white. “How… how did you get these?” “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Give me my money back. Also, you handle the $50,000 debt you took out co-signing my name illegally. It has nothing to do with me.” “I can’t!” he hissed. “It’s all gone!” “Then that’s your problem. You have three days before these documents go to your parents and your boss.” Ryan collapsed into his chair, looking like a ghost. Over the next two days, I got a dozen calls from his mom screaming at me, but I blocked them all. On the third afternoon, my phone pinged. $37,860. To the cent. A moment later, a text from Lucas: “Done.” Lucas picked me up for dinner. Over wine, he told me the rest. Ryan had to sell his parents’ house to pay me back. He lost his job, and collectors were at his door. I looked at Lucas. “Why are you doing all this?” He put down his fork. “Winona, I’ve known you longer than Ryan has.” 5 “Sophomore year. The spring gala. You were the emcee,” Lucas said. “I was the guy running the soundboard. I never forgot you.” “Later, Ryan said he was going to ask you out. I stayed quiet because back then, I didn’t have much to my name.” He laughed, a bit bitter. “I had to watch him win you over. I had to watch him treat you like a queen, and then watch him treat you like garbage.” “I wanted to tell you the truth a thousand times. But I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.” I listened, my heart aching. “So, that text… you really want to marry me?” He nodded firmly. “I do. I’ll wait as long as it takes.” When he drove me home, we saw Ryan huddled by the building entrance. Ryan snapped. “WINONA! I knew it! You were cheating on me!” Lucas stepped out, blocking him. “Watch your mouth, Ryan.” Ryan pulled a small pocketknife out. He held it to his own arm. “You go home with him, and I do it right here!” I looked at Ryan and felt nothing but disgust. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Yes, I’m at the corner of 5th and Main. There’s a man with a weapon threatening self-harm. Please send an officer.” Ryan froze. He clearly didn’t expect me to actually call the cops. “Stop the act, Ryan,” I said. “If you want to throw your life away, don’t do it on my doorstep.” 6 The police arrived in minutes. Ryan was tackled and cuffed, screaming my name as they put him in the car. His mother arrived, lunging at me, but Lucas caught her. “You witch! You destroyed my son!” she screamed. My father walked right up to her. “Ma’am, if you continue to harass her, I have a team of lawyers who will make sure you lose the little you have left.” The drama was finally over. For the next few weeks, things were quiet. Lucas messaged me every day. Morning and night. He shared books he liked, music, funny things that happened at the firm. We were friends, but a spark was growing. A few weeks later, Ryan was sentenced. Lucas had found records of Ryan’s illegal gambling—millions of dollars through offshore accounts. Ryan was looking at ten years. My parents adored Lucas. They officially transferred the condo into both our names as a wedding present. Lucas tried to refuse, but my dad told him: “This is for Winona’s security. Take it.” 7 Our wedding was small. Lucas looked at me with eyes so full of love it almost hurt. My father placed my hand in his. “Take care of her.” “With my life, sir.” As we exchanged rings, a final line of text flashed across my vision: [Congratulations, Winona. You found the real one. 🌸] And then, the text vanished forever. We went to the Maldives for our honeymoon. Lucas was so attentive. He treated me like I was the most important person in the world. Sometimes I wonder… what if I had stayed with Ryan? I’d probably be hiding from debt collectors right now. When we got back, we moved into our new home. “Wait,” I said one night. “Did you really buy that penthouse in full?” He turned around, looking innocent. “Of course not. I didn’t have that kind of money back then. My savings would have barely covered a down payment on a garage.” “So you were bluffing?” “I had to get your attention, didn’t I?” He kissed my neck. “But don’t worry. I’ve got the money now. You want a house on the moon? I’ll find a way.” 8 Finally, he arrived! I went straight to Ryan’s desk. He was casually sipping a latte. When he saw me, he put on a wide, fake smile. “Winona! Missed you!” I didn’t smile back. “Where’s my money?” “Tough luck, Winona. Your request was denied. Credentials error.” Looking at the smug glint in his eyes, I knew he was messing with me. “Dr. Miller needs this immediately,” I said. Ryan’s eyes flared. “Stop throwing a tantrum. I follow company policy.” “Mr. Sterling, you are confirming this process cannot proceed? Fine.” I turned and walked out. Ms. Lee, from Finance, complained behind me: “Ryan! Dr. Miller signed it! What protocol are you talking about?” I resubmitted everything through the official portal and updated Dr. Miller. He replied: [Is Finance giving you a hard time? Unbelievable. They spend the company’s money like it’s their own!] Before the workday was over, the process cleared.

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He realized I had stopped consulting him about everything. When the company offered an overseas assignment, I signed the papers before I even thought to ask his opinion. When a best friend invited me to her wedding with a “plus one,” I went alone and gave a generous gift. Even when it came to surgery and hospitalization, I booked the appointment and the bed myself. Caleb Thorne, being a surgeon, frowned when he found out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Give me your medical records; I’ll make the arrangements for you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” The moment those words left my mouth, we both froze. After all, only half a month ago, I was still the “clingy giant infant” he complained about—the girl who would text him just to ask which outfit to wear on a date or what to have for lunch. 1 “You’re in a hurry for surgery tomorrow?” the attending physician handed me the records, his voice tinged with confusion. “I recall Dr. Thorne is coming back from his business trip soon. You could totally wait for him to accompany you…” I interrupted softly, “It’s my own business. I can handle it.” The doctor looked surprised. After all, I was famously “delicate” in this hospital; even for a minor headache or a slight fever, I used to insist that Caleb stay by my side. Just as I stepped out of the clinic, I bumped into a familiar figure. Caleb was pushing a suitcase with one hand, looking like he had just rushed from the airport back to the hospital. Lydia Vance followed him as usual, wearing a black cashmere coat over her white lab coat—a coat I had given Caleb for our third anniversary. Caleb frowned. “What are you doing here? … Are you sick again?” Again. That familiar note of impatience made it sound as if I were a troublesome chore that needed handling. He snatched the medical records, scanned them briefly, and commanded: “I have things to do tomorrow.” “This isn’t serious. Move the surgery to next week, and I’ll go with you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” That excessive politeness and distance made Caleb freeze. After all, the old me would cry and act spoiled if I just got a paper cut. I used to bomb his phone with messages just to have him pick an outfit for a date. From my three meals a day to major life decisions, I used to consult him on everything. Now, I was facing surgery alone without batting an eye. If we hadn’t bumped into each other by chance, my own boyfriend wouldn’t even have known. I snatched the records back, accidentally knocking a pillbox out of Caleb’s hand. The name on the box caught my eye clearly—a pack of… birth control pills. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” Caleb leaned down to pick it up, his voice carrying a businesslike detachment. “Lydia has severe dysmenorrhea. This is a common medication to relieve it.” Lydia pulled the coat tighter around her, explaining in a small, panicked voice: “I’m so sorry, Piper. Caleb was supposed to go home, but I was so useless—the pain was so bad I couldn’t stand, so I bothered him to help me get the prescription.” She paused, her tone full of sincere envy. “If only I could be as independent as you, Piper. Then Caleb wouldn’t have to work so hard running around for me.” Once, I had abdominal pain and asked Caleb which department I should go to. What did the youngest deputy head of neurology at this prestigious hospital say? He said, “I don’t know.” When I complained about his dismissiveness, he pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, looking at me like I was a troublemaking child. “Can’t you just Google something that small?” “You’re an adult. Can’t you be a little more independent? Stop relying on me like a giant infant.” “I’m not your parent. I’m not obligated to teach you basic life skills.” How hilarious. He was a man of few words for his girlfriend, yet for his “junior colleague,” he personally accompanied her to the clinic. An outsider would have thought Lydia was his actual girlfriend. If this were the past, I would have lost my temper and started a fight right there. But now, I just said, “Oh,” my voice flat. “Pills aren’t enough. You should also massage her stomach, hold her while she sleeps, and keep her hands and feet warm.” Lydia’s face flushed deep red. “Piper, I didn’t mean it like that…” My well-meaning advice was interpreted by Caleb as a tantrum. His voice turned cold. “Are you still angry? Just because I didn’t report to you before my business trip?” Half a month ago was his birthday. I had worked crazy overtime to finish a project so I could take time off. I cooked a whole table of food and picked up a custom-made gift, waiting to celebrate with him. I waited until midnight, and Caleb never came home. Only through Lydia’s Instagram did I find out he had left for an overseas exchange program. Caleb brushed it off later. “It was just a business trip. There was no need to consult you.” “Birthdays happen every year, but project opportunities don’t. I thought you’d be able to distinguish between what’s urgent and what’s not.” “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” My accumulated disappointment was like a bursting tsunami. I couldn’t help questioning him: “Caleb, is it because in your ‘urgent and important’ list, I am always the least urgent and most unimportant one?” Compared to my near-hysteria, Caleb just said one thing before hanging up. “You’re not being rational right now. We’ll talk when I’m back.” 2 Once I calmed down, I signed the transfer papers. My boss hesitated. “Transferring means moving to another city! You should consult your boyfriend about something this big. You’re a person with family; don’t be so reckless.” I signed my name briskly. “No need.” The last time I changed jobs, I held two offers and asked for his opinion. Caleb just glanced at them. “This is your life. You shouldn’t let me decide.” Yet, he patiently helped Lydia fill out her grad school applications, helping her get into the best medical program in the country to become his junior. Caleb always said I wasn’t independent enough and complained about me being too clingy. He would put on headphones to listen to medical podcasts while I was excitedly sharing a story, acting as if I didn’t exist. He would refuse to drive me when I was running late, emphasizing that his schedule couldn’t be disrupted for me. I wanted to join his gatherings with friends, but he said I should establish my own social circle. I used to think Caleb was just naturally distant. And that I, through hard work, could be the exception. Until Lydia appeared. She was the daughter of Caleb’s parents’ old friends, and he was entrusted with looking after her. I thought he would find it a chore, but he agreed readily. I didn’t expect that she would be the exception. Caleb responded to every single one of her complaints about her roommates. When she wanted a trendy dessert for her birthday, he drove across town to get it. During her internship at the hospital, he actively introduced her to friends: “This is my junior; take care of her.” Whenever I fought with Caleb about this, he would frown with disappointment. “She’s a kid. Are you a kid too?” “I’m looking after her out of responsibility. You’re actually jealous of this?” “How old is she, and how old are you? Why don’t you just compare yourself to a newborn?” But his “kid” was only three years younger than me. All the excuses I had made for him—it’s just his personality, he’s too busy, he hates clingy people… They all shattered in the face of the patience he showed another person. That’s fine. After I have my surgery and leave tomorrow, Caleb will have nothing to do with me anymore. 3 My best friend Chloe knew I was having surgery and took time off to stay with me. “Get the guest room ready and prepare to welcome the gold-standard nurse!” I laughed and said: “I’ve cleaned the room twice and bought new linens for you. I guarantee you’ll love—” The moment I opened the door, my words stopped. The brand-new linens I had prepared were bunched up on the floor. The guest room was filled with strange belongings, and a half-human-sized teddy bear was sprawled on the bed. It was a blatant declaration of ownership. The sound of the front door opening rang out again. Soft laughter floated in. “Dr. Thorne, thank you for taking me to that restaurant. It was delicious.” “My bad mood from being ignored by my roommates is totally cured by that dessert!” Caleb saw me and explained calmly. “Lydia had a falling out with her roommates and can’t stay in the dorm. She’s planning to move out.” “She hasn’t found a place yet, so she’s staying in the guest room for now.” I sneered. “Caleb, I told you a week ago that Chloe was coming to stay here.” Caleb paused. The expression at that moment said everything. He had forgotten. When I had asked him, his voice had been full of impatience: “Decide that yourself. Don’t ask me about every little thing. It’s annoying.” Caleb pursed his lips, his voice dropping slightly. “Sorry…” He lifted the dessert bag in his hand, his tone softening. Like someone coaxing a cranky child: “The restaurant we went to today is the type you like. I’ll take you there this weekend.” I glanced at the logo on the bag. It was a restaurant I had repeatedly begged Caleb to take me to. He had always said he was too busy. I took the bag and tossed it into the trash. The breath Caleb was about to let out hitched again. Lydia stepped forward, her voice thin and airy. “Piper, it’s all my fault. I can squeeze in with your friend. I don’t mind.” I let out a cold laugh, grabbed Lydia’s sheets and her teddy bear, and kicked them out into the hallway. Lydia froze, her eyes filling with tears. “Piper, I need those for tonight. What am I going to do now?” I glanced toward the master bedroom and smiled. “You can squeeze in with Caleb. I don’t mind.” Lydia’s face flushed. “Piper! If you don’t want me here, just say so! Why humiliate me like this?” As if she had suffered a grand insult, her eyes turned red, and she ran off. Caleb frowned at me, though he didn’t chase after her. “Piper, she’s just clumsy and a bit childish. She didn’t mess up your things on purpose.” “If you don’t want her staying here, just say so. I can book a hotel for her. There’s no need to target her twice in a row.” I stopped smiling. “This is our home. Shouldn’t you consult me before bringing an outsider back?” Caleb’s frown deepened, as if I were being unreasonable. “Lydia is being isolated at school; she’s very low right now. I thought you’d at least have some empathy, but your first reaction is to calculate whether I consulted you.” “Besides, it’s just for two days. Does a minor arrangement like that really need a formal consultation?” “It’s like Chloe coming to stay—you don’t need to consult me for that, either.” The old me would have been impulsive enough to call a male friend to stay over that night just to see his reaction. But now, I just nodded calmly. “You’re right. There really is no need to consult.” Tit for tat. Then moving out of this city and breaking up with Caleb probably didn’t need a consultation, either. 4 “Go book the hotel for Lydia then.” I politely opened the door for Caleb and then laid out my suitcase to pack my clothes. He didn’t seem satisfied with my reaction. He grabbed my wrist. “She’s an adult; she can book it herself.” “But what about you? Why are you suddenly packing? Where are you going?” I shook him off. “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” Caleb paused. He likely remembered those were his own words to me. He fell silent for a moment. “I was wrong not to tell you about the trip. I’ll report my movements to you from now on.” “I have to go to the university tomorrow. Lydia’s conflict with her roommates escalated. The advisor wants to see the ‘parents,’ and her actual parents can’t make it, so I’m going in their place.” “Move your surgery to the day after tomorrow. I’ll go with you.” It seemed that in Caleb’s list of priorities, I was still at the bottom. I spoke calmly. “No need. It’s the same whether you’re there or not.” Caleb seemed to think I didn’t understand the difference. He explained patiently: “I can help you contact specialists and interpret the reports. At the very least, I can wait in line for you.” My second refusal was interrupted by his ringtone. Lydia’s tearful voice came through: “Caleb… it sounds like someone is picking the lock on my door… I’m scared…” Caleb’s face changed. He turned to leave in a hurry. I called out, “Wait.” Caleb stopped, his expression impatient. “Piper, do you think I need to report to you before I go save someone? I need to go now.” “This isn’t the time for a tantrum. she might be in danger. Can you please stop targeting her?” He sighed. “I’ll be there for your surgery. But right now, I need you to understand what’s urgent.” Caleb clearly misunderstood. I just wanted to emphasize that I didn’t need him there for the surgery. But he didn’t wait for me to speak and rushed out.

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At eighteen, Caleb Thorne shielded me in his arms. He took a brutal beating from a gang, leaving him bloodied and barely clinging to life. As he lay on the gurney, someone asked if he regretted it. Barely conscious, he let out a reckless, wild laugh: “Regret? Hell no. What are two broken legs compared to this?” “I’ve got myself a wife for life now!” At twenty-eight, I slipped off my wedding ring. Along with a pink hair tie I’d found in his pocket, I handed it all back to him. He took the hair tie—the one his little college mistress had used to provoke me. He leaned against the wall, watching me with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes: “Honey, you don’t actually think this little stunt is going to make me have a change of heart, do you?” 1 I didn’t answer. I just kept packing my things. The hair tie was a soft baby pink, the kind that looks cute and playful on a college girl. Caleb slid it over his wrist, let out a dry chuckle. His gaze lingered on the pink band as if he were seeing someone else through it, and the curve of his mouth softened into something sweet. If this were the old me, I would have been triggered. I would have screamed, cried, and hysterically demanded to know if he was thinking about that brat. But now, I just pushed the wedding ring closer to him across the table. “Let’s get a divorce, Caleb. I’m serious.” Caleb didn’t respond. He maintained that same casual, indifferent posture, though his smile gained a sharp edge of mockery. I knew he didn’t believe me. Because “divorce” was a word I had thrown around a hundred times over the last few years. The first few times, he actually panicked. He’d get bloodshot eyes, making promises, swearing oaths. He’d do anything and everything to beg me to stay. Until that one time. His little side-piece caught a high fever. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I told him if he dared to go to her, we were done. That day was my birthday. Caleb never came home. When the girl sent me a voice clip of her moaning his name, I actually considered ending it all. I stood by the open window, the night wind chilling my skin to the bone. In the end, I didn’t jump. I just slumped onto the floor and sobbed like a broken animal. When Caleb finally came home, he knelt in front of me and laughed mockingly: “Wifey, weren’t we getting a divorce?” “Why are you still guarding the house like a loyal dog, hm?” 2 “Caleb, this time is for real.” I finished packing the last of my things and took a deep breath. Caleb was starting to look impatient. But then, a specific ringtone—one reserved for her—chimed through the room. Caleb stood up straight, and as he answered the phone, his features softened instantly. He let out a low chuckle, flirting as if I wasn’t even in the room: “What is it now, my little troublemaker?” “Oh, you’re asking me? It’s Valentine’s Day!” “Every other girl has her boyfriend with her, and my boyfriend is stuck at home with an old woman.” The girl’s voice was young, vibrant, and undeniably sweet. Caleb couldn’t resist her pouting. He surrendered immediately: “Alright, alright. I’m coming to find you right now.” He hung up, the doting look still in his eyes. But when he turned back to me, his voice was cold as ice. “Honey, you aren’t hitting menopause early, are you?” “Why all the drama today?” I watched his retreating back and sighed softly. I had loved him too desperately, too pathetically. So much so that when I finally meant it, no one believed me. 3 After Caleb left, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from a contact saved as “Lily.” [Hey Auntie, want to bet Caleb still spends Valentine’s with me?] [Hehe, looks like I won.] The girl’s provocations were childish but effective. Usually, they were enough to send me into a spiral. But I knew exactly where she got her confidence from. When Caleb first started cheating, he wasn’t this blatant. Back then, he hid Lily’s texts. He coaxed me, begged me, told me he’d cut it off. My heart was ripped open. I couldn’t believe the man who loved me so fiercely in our teens could stab me like this. Like every other betrayed wife, I went to his office. I screamed about his betrayal in front of everyone. I tried to drag out the woman who was destroying my home. But Caleb protected Lily perfectly. He kept her hidden. Until the day Lily lost her patience and came to me herself to brag. I didn’t even have room to fight back. She slammed down photo after photo of them in bed together. “Auntie, Caleb told me it was love at first sight, but he wouldn’t touch me until I graduated college.” “So, the moment I finished school, he took me. He even cleared his schedule to take me on a trip abroad.” “Oh, right. That was while you were back in your hometown for your father’s funeral.” “See? That’s how much he loves me.” Lily stood there with her high ponytail, gloating about Caleb’s devotion. I lost my mind. I grabbed a glass and smashed it against her. Then, in a fit of rage, I used a shard of glass to slice her face. Caleb arrived in a panic and pulled a sobbing Lily into his arms. He looked at me, his voice freezing. “I’ve spoiled you too much over the years, Winona.” “I’ve let you think you actually have the right to touch what’s mine.” 4 After that incident, Caleb stopped hiding her. He took Lily to every gala, every event, acting intimate in front of everyone. He turned me into a complete laughingstock. No matter how much I raged or cried, he remained a cold observer, like an outsider watching a play. During that time, I lived like a zombie. My nerves were stretched to the breaking point. I was a madwoman. When did I finally decide to give up on him? Maybe it was when my mother was hospitalized for a major surgery. I was exhausted, falling ill myself. Caleb, meanwhile, had the audacity to bring Lily to our house for a party with his friends. I dragged my sick body downstairs and overheard his friends talking about our past. “Caleb really used to love Winona, didn’t he?” “Yeah, man. Caleb was a star athlete. He had scouts from the pro leagues looking at him. His future was set.” “No one expected him to throw it all away to protect her. Getting both his legs smashed by those thugs. He’s carried those scars for life.” Lily, clearly annoyed, pressed for more details. She didn’t want to believe he had ever been that devoted to me. Since she was unhappy, Caleb’s expression soured too. One guy laughed, sounding crude: “It was simple. Those thugs had their eyes on Winona.” “They were trying to drag her into a bar to take turns on her. When Caleb got there, they’d already stripped her. They’d touched her everywhere.” “She was a total mess, crying like a baby.” Lily covered her mouth, let out a giggle. She leaned into Caleb’s chest and spoke with pure malice. “If I were her, being stripped and touched by all those men, I’d just die.” “And you know what they say—flies don’t swarm an egg unless there’s a crack. Who knows if she was the one who lured them in?” “She deserved it.” The moment those words left her mouth, Caleb told her to shut up with a cold face. Lily looked shocked, then her eyes turned red. She started a scene, demanding to go home. “I only said it because I feel bad that you lost your career for her! How could you be so mean to me?!” Caleb couldn’t stand her crying. He started coaxing her. Lily was stubborn, wiping her tears, refusing to give in. She grabbed Caleb’s tie, pouting. “Tell me you regret it then. Tell me if you could go back, you wouldn’t save that old woman. You’d let her rot!” Caleb sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I wouldn’t save her. I wouldn’t.” In that moment, my sick, broken body felt like it finally dissipated. My heart felt a suffocation and despair I’d never known. It was also in that moment that I woke up from the dream. I finally realized. Caleb was no longer the boy who loved me. I needed to let him go. And I needed to let myself go. I gave myself one week to process it all. Today was the last day.

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Caleb Sterling realized that I had stopped consulting him about everything. When the company offered me an overseas assignment, I signed the papers before I even thought to ask for his opinion. When my best friend invited me to her wedding with a “plus one,” I attended alone and gave a generous gift. Even when it came to surgery and hospitalization, I handled the appointments and booked the bed myself. Caleb, being a doctor, frowned when he eventually found out. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Give me your records; I’ll make the arrangements for you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” The moment those words left my mouth, we both froze. After all, only half a month ago, I was the “clingy giant infant” he complained about—the one who messaged him to ask which dress to wear on a date or what to eat for lunch. 1 “You want the surgery tomorrow? That’s sudden.” The attending physician handed me my chart, his voice tinged with confusion. “I recall Dr. Sterling is coming back from his seminar soon. You could wait for him to accompany you…” I interrupted softly, “It’s my own business. I can handle it.” The doctor looked surprised. After all, I was notoriously “delicate” in this hospital; even for a minor headache or a slight fever, I used to insist that Caleb stay by my side. Just as I stepped out of the clinic, I bumped into a familiar figure. Caleb was pushing a suitcase with one hand, looking like he had just rushed from the airport back to the hospital. Lydia Vance followed closely behind him, wearing a white lab coat with a black cashmere coat draped over it—the very coat I had given Caleb for our third anniversary. Caleb frowned. “What are you doing here? … Are you sick again?” Again. That familiar note of impatience made it sound as if I were a troublesome chore that needed handling. He snatched the medical records from my hand, scanned them briefly, and commanded: “I have things to do tomorrow.” “This isn’t an emergency. Move the surgery to next week, and I’ll go with you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” The excessive politeness and distance made Caleb freeze. After all, the old me would cry and act spoiled over a paper cut. I used to bomb his phone with messages just to have him pick an outfit for dinner. From my three meals a day to major life decisions, I used to consult him on everything. Now, I was facing surgery alone without batting an eye. If we hadn’t bumped into each other by chance, my own boyfriend wouldn’t even have known. I snatched the records back, accidentally knocking a small box out of Caleb’s hand. The name on the box caught my eye—a pack of… birth control pills. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” Caleb leaned down to pick it up, his voice carrying a businesslike detachment. “Lydia has severe menstrual cramps. This is a common prescription to help.” Lydia pulled the coat tighter around her, explaining in a small, panicked voice: “I’m so sorry, Piper. Caleb was supposed to head home, but I was so useless—the pain was so bad I couldn’t stand, so I bothered him to help me get the prescription filled.” She paused, her tone full of sincere envy. “If only I could be as independent as you, Piper. Then Caleb wouldn’t have to work so hard running around for me.” Once, I had severe abdominal pain and asked Caleb which specialist I should see. What did the youngest deputy head of neurosurgery at a top hospital say? He said, “I don’t know.” When I complained about his dismissiveness, he pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, looking at me like I was a nagging child. “Can’t you just Google something that small?” “You’re an adult. Can’t you be a little more independent? Stop relying on me like a toddler.” “I’m not your parent. I’m not obligated to teach you basic life skills.” How hilarious. He was a man of few words for his girlfriend, yet for his “junior,” he personally accompanied her to the clinic and filled her prescriptions. An outsider would have thought Lydia was his actual partner. If this were the past, I would have lost my temper and started a scene right there. But now, I just said, “Oh,” my voice flat. “Pills aren’t enough. You should also massage her stomach, hold her while she sleeps, and keep her hands and feet warm.” Lydia’s face flushed deep red. “Piper, I didn’t mean it like that…” My well-meaning advice was interpreted by Caleb as a tantrum. His voice turned cold. “Are you still throwing a fit? Just because I didn’t report every detail of my trip to you?” Half a month ago was his birthday. I had worked crazy overtime to finish a project so I could take time off. I cooked a whole dinner and picked up a custom-made gift, waiting to celebrate with him. I waited until midnight, and Caleb never came home. Only through Lydia’s Instagram did I find out he had left for an international exchange program. Caleb brushed it off later. “It was just a business trip. There was no need to consult you.” “Birthdays happen every year, but career opportunities don’t. I thought you’d be able to distinguish between what’s urgent and what’s not.” “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” My accumulated disappointment was like a bursting dam. I couldn’t help questioning him: “Caleb, is it because in your ‘urgent and important’ list, I am always the least urgent and most unimportant one?” Compared to my near-hysteria, Caleb just said one thing before hanging up. “You’re not being rational right now. We’ll talk when I’m back.” 2 Once I calmed down, I signed the transfer papers for the new job. My boss hesitated. “Transferring means moving to another city! You should consult your boyfriend about something this big. You’re a person with a partner; don’t be so reckless.” I signed my name briskly. “No need.” The last time I changed jobs, I held two offers and asked for his opinion. Caleb just glanced at them. “This is your career. You shouldn’t let me decide.” Yet, he patiently helped Lydia fill out her internship applications, helping her get into the best hospital program in the country. Caleb always said I wasn’t independent enough and complained about me being too “needy.” He would put on headphones to listen to medical podcasts while I was excitedly sharing my day, acting as if I didn’t exist. He would refuse to drive me when I was running late, emphasizing that his schedule couldn’t be disrupted for me. I wanted to join his gatherings with friends, but he said I should establish my own social life. I used to think Caleb was just naturally distant. And that I, through enough patience, could be the exception. Until Lydia appeared. She was the daughter of Caleb’s parents’ old friends, and he was entrusted with looking after her. I thought he would find it a chore, but he agreed readily. I didn’t expect that she would be the exception. Caleb responded to every single one of her complaints about her neighbors. When she wanted a trendy dessert for her birthday, he drove across town to get it. During her residency at the hospital, he actively introduced her to his colleagues: “This is my junior; take care of her.” Whenever I fought with Caleb about this, he would frown with disappointment. “She’s a kid. Are you a kid too?” “I’m looking after her out of responsibility. You’re actually jealous of this?” “How old is she, and how old are you? Why don’t you just compare yourself to a newborn?” But his “kid” was only three years younger than me. All the excuses I had made for him—it’s just his personality, he’s too busy, he hates clingy people… They all shattered in the face of the patience he showed another woman. That’s fine. After I have my surgery and leave tomorrow, Caleb will have nothing to do with me anymore. 3 My best friend Chloe knew I was having surgery and took time off to stay with me. “Get the guest room ready and prepare to welcome your personal nurse!” I laughed and said: “I’ve cleaned the room twice and bought new linens for you. I guarantee you’ll love—” The moment I opened the door, my words stopped. The brand-new linens I had prepared were bunched up on the floor. The guest room was filled with strange belongings, and a half-human-sized teddy bear was sprawled on the bed. It was a blatant declaration of ownership. The sound of the front door opening rang out again. Soft laughter floated in. “Caleb, thank you for taking me to that restaurant. It was delicious.” “My bad mood from being ignored by my classmates is totally cured by that dessert!” Caleb saw me and explained calmly. “Lydia had a falling out with her roommates and can’t stay in the dorm. She’s planning to move out.” “She hasn’t found a place yet, so she’s staying in the guest room for now.” I sneered. “Caleb, I told you a week ago that Chloe was coming to stay here.” Caleb paused. The expression on his face at that moment said everything. He had forgotten. When I had asked him, his voice had been full of impatience: “Decide that yourself. Don’t ask me about every little thing. It’s annoying.” Caleb pursed his lips, his voice dropping slightly. “Sorry…” He lifted the dessert bag in his hand, his tone softening. Like someone coaxing a cranky child: “The restaurant we went to today is the type you like. I’ll take you there this weekend.” I glanced at the logo on the bag. It was a restaurant I had repeatedly begged Caleb to take me to. He had always said he was too busy. I took the bag and tossed it into the trash. The breath Caleb was about to let out hitched again. Lydia stepped forward, her voice thin and airy. “Piper, it’s all my fault. I can squeeze in with your friend. I don’t mind.” I let out a cold laugh, grabbed Lydia’s sheets and her teddy bear, and kicked them out into the hallway. Lydia froze, her eyes filling with tears. “Piper, I need those for tonight. What am I going to do now?” I glanced toward the master bedroom and smiled. “You can squeeze in with Caleb. I don’t mind.” Lydia’s face flushed. “Piper! If you don’t want me here, just say so! Why humiliate me like this?” As if she had suffered a grand insult, her eyes turned red, and she ran off. Caleb frowned at me, though he didn’t chase after her. “Piper, she’s just clumsy and a bit childish. She didn’t mess up your things on purpose.” “If you don’t want her staying here, just say so. I can book a hotel for her. There’s no need to target her twice in a row.” I stopped smiling. “This is our home. Shouldn’t you consult me before bringing an outsider back?” Caleb’s frown deepened, as if I were being unreasonable. “Lydia is being isolated at school; she’s very low right now. I thought you’d at least have some empathy, but your first reaction is to calculate whether I consulted you.” “Besides, it’s just for two days. Does a minor arrangement like that really need a formal consultation?” “It’s like Chloe coming to stay—you don’t need to consult me for that, either.” The old me would have been impulsive enough to call a male friend to stay over that night just to see his reaction. But now, I just nodded calmly. “You’re right. There really is no need to consult.” Tit for tat. Then moving out of this city and breaking up with Caleb probably didn’t need a consultation, either. 4 “Go book the hotel for Lydia then.” I politely opened the door for Caleb and then laid out my suitcase to pack my clothes. He didn’t seem satisfied with my reaction. He grabbed my wrist. “She’s an adult; she can book it herself.” “But what about you? Why are you suddenly packing? Where are you going?” I shook him off. “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” Caleb paused. He likely remembered those were his own words to me. He fell silent for a moment. “I was wrong not to tell you about the trip. I’ll report my movements to you from now on.” “I have to go to the university tomorrow. Lydia’s conflict with her roommates escalated. The advisor wants to see the ‘parents,’ and her actual parents can’t make it, so I’m going in their place.” “Move your surgery to the day after tomorrow. I’ll go with you.” It seemed that in Caleb’s list of priorities, I was still at the bottom. I spoke calmly. “No need. It’s the same whether you’re there or not.” Caleb seemed to think I didn’t understand the difference. He explained patiently: “I can help you contact specialists and interpret the reports. At the very least, I can wait in line for you.” My second refusal was interrupted by his ringtone. Lydia’s tearful voice came through: “Caleb… it sounds like someone is picking the lock on my door… I’m scared…” Caleb’s face changed. He turned to leave in a hurry. I called out, “Wait.” Caleb stopped, his expression impatient. “Piper, do you think I need to report to you before I go save someone? I need to go now.” “This isn’t the time for a tantrum. She might be in danger. Can you please stop targeting her?” He sighed. “I’ll be there for your surgery. But right now, I need you to understand what’s urgent.” Caleb clearly misunderstood. I just wanted to emphasize that I didn’t need him there for the surgery. But he didn’t wait for me to speak and rushed out.

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On the night of my twenty-third birthday, I was ready to confess my feelings to Caleb Thorne. But he beat me to it, falling in love at first sight with my roommate, Lydia. I watched them for years—breaking up, making up, and caught in an endless, toxic cycle. Finally, I gave up. I found someone else. The day I went Instagram official with my new boyfriend, everyone showered us with sincere congratulations. Caleb was the only one who didn’t show up. Until the next day, when someone brought it up right in front of him. “Did you see the post? What do you think of Nina’s new guy?” Caleb leaned back on the sofa, his eyes flicking toward me for a split second. After a long silence, he spoke with a slow, indifferent drawl. “Eh. He’s average.” 1 The moment Caleb’s words hit the floor, the room went dead silent. Every eye in the place turned toward me. Some were looking for drama; others were genuinely worried. In this day and age, everyone loves a good “soft launch” on social media. When two people stand shoulder to shoulder, smiling and clearly in love, who doesn’t want to hear that they’re a perfect match? But Caleb? He just sat there and threw out a casual, “Eh, he’s average.” Caleb Thorne was many things—moody and arrogant, mostly—but he was usually a man of impeccable social standing. To say this now felt like a deliberate attempt to humiliate me. I swallowed the fire rising in my chest and looked him in the eye. “And what exactly is wrong with him?” The truth was, Grant was handsome. Even my mother, who is notoriously impossible to please, couldn’t help but praise him when they met. “He’s definitely on par with that Thorne boy you know,” she’d said. I glared at Caleb, my expression tight with displeasure. But he just let out a weary, jaded laugh. He flicked a glance at me. “Just a passing comment. Don’t take it to heart.” “Bring him around sometime. Let’s see what he’s really about.” With that, he stood up and walked away without looking back. He didn’t spare me a single glance. Someone tried to comfort me, whispering, “Tsk, ignore him, Nina. He just broke up with Lydia again. He’s probably just in a foul mood.” “You know how they are. They’ll be back together in a week.” The person looked at me for confirmation. “Right, Nina?” I drifted for a second. “Yeah. That’s usually how it goes.” They had been entangled for so long. People like that don’t just part ways easily. Over the past few years, I had hoped and been disappointed more times than I could count. I should have known better by now, right? 2 After leaving the lounge, I spotted Caleb smoking a cigarette not far off. He rarely did that. Lydia hated the smell. Tonight, he was acting completely out of character. I was still fuming over his comment, so I didn’t say a word as I tried to walk past him. I hadn’t taken two steps before a hand clamped firmly around my wrist. I turned around to meet a pair of cool, indifferent eyes. Ever since I first met him, I’d heard the stories. Caleb Thorne, the legendary heir to the Thorne empire, groomed for the throne since he was in diapers. People threw themselves at him in droves, but he never looked at anyone. When I became close with him, everyone told me I was the luckiest girl alive. For years, I was the only girl in his inner circle. People used to whisper behind my back. “Who knows? Maybe one day the ‘best friend’ will become the ‘Mrs. Thorne.’” It’s not that I never had that dream. But then Lydia appeared, and I realized she was his “soulmate.” He had stayed single for twenty years just to wait for her. As for me? I was just lucky enough to be an acquaintance. Under the dim lights, he stared at me, his expression lazy. He said, “How did you meet him?” I didn’t process the question at first. I froze. He repeated it, his patience wearing thin. “I asked… how did you meet that guy?” 3 The winter wind was biting. Caleb instinctively shifted his body to block the cold draft for me. I looked at his face and remained silent for a moment. “We met while traveling. I liked his vibe, so we started dating.” There’s a phrase for it: right place, right time. That was me and Grant. Caleb’s eyelids fluttered. “Traveling? When did you go on a trip? I didn’t know about this.” I gave a small, bitter smile. “Last month.” He probably didn’t remember. One night last month, he called me in the middle of the night, panicking because Lydia had picked a fight and hopped on a flight to London in a rage. He said, “You’re her closest friend, you have to help me talk to her. She’s alone in a foreign city, she’s going to get hurt.” I packed my bags overnight and flew across the ocean with him. But shortly after we landed, he got a tip that she had already left for Paris. A round trip, sixteen hours of travel. I came down with a high fever and couldn’t keep going. He left me in the hotel and went to find Lydia. After he left, I stood by the window overlooking the Thames, watching the cold moon, and suddenly felt a profound exhaustion. For the sake of staying by his side, I had turned down stable jobs in my hometown. Even last year, when my father was hospitalized, I couldn’t be there. Time is heartless. No one knows what I gained or what I lost. Snapping back to the present, I looked at Caleb and spoke calmly. “Are you done? I have to go.” He was stunned. After a long silence, he spoke again. “Let me borrow your phone. Lydia blocked me.” I really wanted to ask—there were a dozen people in that room, did it have to be my phone? But the words stayed in my throat. After all, the joy, the pain, the despair… from start to finish, I was the only one who knew. In his eyes, I was the perfect friend. Nothing more. I pulled out my phone and handed it to him. He took it and walked off to make the call. They talked for a long while. When Caleb came back, the tension had left his face. He smiled and handed the phone back to me. Just as I took it, a message popped up on the screen. Grant: [I’ll be back next month, babe.] In an instant, the smile on Caleb’s face vanished. He narrowed his eyes, his voice turning cold. “You two seem pretty serious.” 4 Since I had decided to let go, I began to intentionally distance myself from Caleb’s circle. I stopped initiating contact and avoided the places where they hung out. One day, Caleb messaged me. [Your birthday is in two days. Want to come check out the venue I booked?] He was always generous like that. Whenever a friend had a birthday, he’d go all out to organize it. I wasn’t the first, and I wouldn’t be the last. But I still remember my twenty-third birthday. Caleb had pointed at Lydia, who was standing across the room, and asked me, “Is that your friend? Send me her contact info.” A perfect match. I suppose they should thank me for being the matchmaker. Later, Caleb went through hell to win Lydia over. I heard someone ask him, Why her? At the time, he was texting her. He looked up, smirked, and said, “She wore a red dress that night. I’ve never seen anyone look that good in red.” But who remembers that I was wearing red that night, too? In the years following, I never touched that color again. I typed back: [I’m busy. Don’t worry about it.] It took a long time for a reply to come. [Busy dating?] I replied: [Yes.] He didn’t respond after that. Instead, his best friend, Leo, sent me a voice note, sounding amused. “Impressive, Nina. Caleb spent so much time planning this party. We were up half the night for days, and you just blow it off? You really pissed him off, haha.” I sent a casual reply. Just then, a red dot appeared on my email icon. It was a job offer. I smiled, feeling a genuine spark of joy, and messaged Grant. [Once I finish the handover here, I can resign. When you get back, we’re moving back to Portland together.] It was a coincidence that we were both from the same city. He replied: [Good.] Grant was a serious man, a man of few words. But looking at that one word, I couldn’t help but smile.

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I happened to swipe across a street interview video from a popular influencer. “What would you say to yourself five years ago?” In the video, Caleb Sterling was holding his young girlfriend. His voice was steady, his tone doting. “I’d hope the Caleb Sterling of five years ago could have met Lydia sooner.” The girl in his arms blushed, covering her mouth as she chimed in. “Me too.” Netizens gushed over how sweet they were, flooding the comments with blessings. No one knew that five years ago was the day Caleb and I got married. Even he seemed to have forgotten. Until a week later. The same influencer posted another street interview. In the frame, I looked directly into the lens and spoke earnestly: “If possible, Winnie, don’t marry Caleb Sterling. You’ll regret it.” This time, Caleb swiped across it. 01 The day I agreed to the divorce was just another ordinary afternoon. I called Caleb, but Lydia answered. “Hello?” “I’m looking for Caleb.” “He’s in the shower. If it’s anything important, you can just tell me.” Her voice was as chirpy and fearless as ever. There was a faint scent of territorial triumph in her tone. In the past, I would have screamed, hysterically demanding Lydia to get lost, demanding to see Caleb. But now, I understood clearly that Lydia was the only way to reach him. I couldn’t let her hang up like before, leaving me alone like a madwoman. “He mentioned a divorce earlier. I’m agreeing to it.” I conveyed my message calmly. There was a second of silence on the other end before Lydia repeated, disbelief in her voice. “You’re agreeing to the divorce?” “Yes.” The moment the word left my mouth, I heard a rustling sound. Caleb must have taken the phone. His deep, indifferent voice soon rang in my ear. “It’s me.” I knew. Hearing his voice made me feel a bit dazed. After all, since he moved out of our villa six months ago to live with Lydia, we hadn’t been in contact. The last thing he said to me was: “Winnie, let’s divorce. If you don’t agree, I’ll file for separation and then take it to court.” Six months later, I was giving in. “Lydia says you want to divorce me?” Seeing that I was silent, Caleb asked first. I could imagine him frowning as he spoke, his tone laced with a hint of confusion. I didn’t even understand where his confusion came from. Wasn’t the divorce his idea? But I didn’t want to argue with Caleb over “who initiated it” anymore. “Yeah,” I replied. “When you have time, let’s meet and sign the settlement.” With that, I hung up. 02 That was the first time I had hung up first since I discovered Caleb’s affair. Before, I was the one bombarding him with calls and texts. I had used the most vicious words to curse him and the most heartbroken voice to beg him. But every time, Caleb would say impatiently: “Can you stop acting like a lunatic? Talk to me when you’re emotionally stable.” Then he would end the call without mercy. No matter how many times I called or messaged after that, he ignored me. I wanted to stop, but whenever I thought about how our years of history were ending like this, I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to demand why he betrayed me. I wanted to beg him to come back, promising I’d forgive him. But the more I waited, the more I resented. Caleb remained the same. And I gradually became insecure and fragile, exactly as he said. Like a lunatic. I lived in that haze for a long time, drowning in a relationship that only brought me torment. Until three days ago. I came across a street interview video from an influencer called “Time Capsule.” The question was: “What would you say to yourself five years ago?” Some said study harder. Some said spend more time with family. Some said the version of themselves seven years later is great and hasn’t failed their expectations. … In that series of answers, I saw Caleb and his young girlfriend, Lydia. It made me believe this wasn’t scripted. Given Caleb’s status now, even top-tier journalists need an appointment to see him. But this influencer truly seemed to have caught him randomly as a passerby. At the start of the clip, Caleb looked slightly annoyed by the interview. It was Lydia, standing beside him, who looked surprised and full of interest. “This looks fun, Caleb. Let’s do it.” She tugged on Caleb’s arm, acting cute. Caleb looked helpless but gave in with indulgence. The influencer briefly introduced himself and then asked the universal question. Lydia fell into thought. Seeing her struggle, Caleb answered for her. “If possible, I’d hope the Caleb Sterling of five years ago could have met Lydia sooner.” As he said it, he pulled her closer. His voice was cool, but the protective intent for the girl was unmistakable. Lydia looked at him in surprise, then blushed and covered her mouth as she agreed. “Me too.” 03 By the time I saw the video, it already had tens of thousands of likes. The comments were flooded with people gushing over them. [Damn! This couple is so attractive! I ship them!] [Oh my god, a pure love trope! Finally, my faith in humanity is restored!] [So sweet! You two will definitely be happy! 99!] I stared at the video, dazed. Did Caleb really love Lydia that much? Did he forget? Five years ago, we had just gotten married. That was when our relationship was at its peak. Even though we were struggling financially, we felt incredibly happy. And now, in the video, he said he wished he had met Lydia five years ago. I thought I would be as furious as usual, filled with uncontrollable rage. I thought I’d rush to my phone to bomb Caleb with questions. And if he didn’t pick up, I’d smash everything in the villa and scream to vent. But strangely, this time, I just sat there, motionless. The comments that should have stung me and triggered my emotions just scrolled past like lines of code. Suddenly, it felt as if something had been pulled out of my mind and dissipated. I was surprised to find that I no longer felt anything toward Caleb’s behavior. Persistence happens in an instant; moving on happens in an instant, too. That was why I made that phone call. 04 Caleb sent me a message. Against a backdrop of red exclamation marks in our chat history, that white bubble with black text was glaringly obvious. I guess Caleb had unblocked me. I thought to myself with self-mockery. Caleb told me to come to his office on Monday morning. He’d have his lawyer draft the terms. Once we agreed on the terms, we could sign and wait for the mandatory cooling-off period to end. [Okay.] On Monday, I arrived at Caleb’s company as scheduled. Since I didn’t have an appointment, the front desk called up to ask. “Yes, a Ms. Winnie Lane.” After hanging up, the receptionist told me to go to the executive floor; a secretary would receive me. I said thank you and headed straight for Caleb’s floor. The person who received me was a young girl I didn’t recognize. I suppose she was a new hire. After all, I hadn’t been here for six months since Caleb and I separated. “Ms. Lane, please wait here. Mr. Sterling is in a meeting.” The girl didn’t recognize me either. She called me Ms. Lane and led me to a standard waiting room. In the past, I used to go directly to Caleb’s office to wait. His meetings usually lasted at least an hour. I hated waiting. Caleb knew this. Afraid I’d be bored, he kept a lot of books and movies in his office. “You can read or watch a movie. If you’re tired, go wait in the lounge.” That’s what he used to tell me. Until the last time I came. The things in Caleb’s office that belonged to me had all been replaced. The person who could freely enter his private lounge had become someone else. Now, if I wanted to see him, I could only stay in a generic waiting room. But I truly had no heart or energy left to argue over such trifles. So I waited quietly. I had enough time. But what I didn’t expect was that I would wait for two hours. Still, no one came to tell me Caleb was available. “Excuse me, is Mr. Sterling’s meeting over yet?” I couldn’t help but ask the girl who had brought me in. She was evasive. “Mr. Sterling is still in a meeting…” I frowned, about to speak. Suddenly, the sound of laughter and chatting drifted over. “Then let’s go to that restaurant for lunch together.” “Sure.”

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They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but for me, it was worth a broken marriage. On my daughter’s fifth birthday, a post popped up on my feed. It was a photo of a cozy bedroom, captioned: “The little guy was crying for Daddy, so Super Dad dropped everything to tuck him in.” In the photo, the man lying on the bed wasn’t just any “Super Dad.” He was my husband, Harrison Reed. Ten minutes prior, I had received a text from him: “Stuck at the office tonight, honey. Give Mia a kiss for me.” I liked the post, then called my divorce lawyer. 01 Harrison didn’t stumble through the front door until 2:00 AM. The harsh hallway light cut through the dark of the bedroom. I immediately shielded my daughter’s eyes with my hand. Harrison leaned against the doorframe, smelling of cold air and guilt. “Hey, I’m home. Wake Mia up. I want to celebrate with her before the day is totally over.” In the past, I lived for these family traditions. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, anniversaries—I insisted Harrison be there. I didn’t want Mia growing up like I did, only seeing her father through a FaceTime screen. But now? I pulled the duvet tighter around us. My voice was flat. “Don’t bother.” An flash of impatience crossed Harrison’s face. “Sarah, look. I only went over there because Toby was having a meltdown. It’s not what you think. Don’t make this a thing.” “It’s because you’re always so paranoid that I can’t even tell you the truth anymore.” I wasn’t paranoid. Not anymore. I just didn’t care. “If you’re done, go to the guest room. Mia has preschool in the morning. Don’t wake her.” Harrison let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Fine. Suit yourself. Just don’t come crying to me later saying I’m missing out on her childhood.” I turned my back to him and switched off the lamp, gently patting Mia as she stirred. Missing out? It didn’t matter. Because Mia’s birthday wish this year had been: “I wish I didn’t have to see Daddy anymore.” The next morning, Harrison didn’t rush out after breakfast like usual. He sat at the island, scrolling through the news. As we headed for the door, he grabbed his keys. “I’ll drive her to school today.” He was looking at me, but speaking to Mia. Two years ago, when Mia started preschool, Harrison drove her every day. But after Vanessa moved back to town, his “morning meetings” started earlier and earlier. He was always too busy. Until three months ago. I was dropping off a forgotten lunchbox when I saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a boardroom was at the school across the street, lifting a little boy out of the backseat of his SUV. He wasn’t busy. He just had a “priority” family. We had fought like hell that night. Since then, Mia stopped asking for him. I hesitated, then stepped aside. He was still her father, legally. Harrison smirked, thinking he’d won, and lifted Mia into his arms. But when he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was cluttered. An Avengers water bottle. A wooden toy bow. A silk scarf draped over the headrest. And hanging from the rearview mirror was a “Family Portrait” charm. It featured Harrison, Vanessa, and Toby. Harrison saw my gaze. His expression tightened. “Vanessa put that there. She said it makes Toby feel safe when they borrow the car.” “Don’t start a fight over a piece of plastic.” Old Sarah would have ripped it down. I would have screamed, asking what Mia and I were to him. New Sarah just nodded. “It’s a nice photo.” Harrison stared at me, confused. “You’re not… mad?” Mad? Maybe I should have been. But looking at his pathetic attempts to play both sides, I felt nothing but a dull urge to laugh. “We’re going to be late, Harrison. Drive.” He gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set. Just as I was about to buckle Mia in, his phone blared through the car’s Bluetooth. A child’s voice wailed through the speakers, heart-wrenching and loud. “Daddy! Daddy, where are you?” “Are you leaving me and Mommy again?” Harrison didn’t even look at us. He shifted into gear immediately. “Toby’s having an anxiety attack. I have to go. Take the Uber, okay?” The black Mercedes sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. I knelt down to comfort Mia. “Daddy has an emergency, baby. Next time—” Mia looked at me with eyes far too old for a five-year-old. “There won’t be a next time, Mommy. He belongs to Toby now.” 02 That evening, Harrison called. “Sarah, I’ll be late. Toby’s got a fever…” “Okay.” I cut him off so fast he choked on his next excuse. He took my indifference for an attitude. “Sarah, stop being a brat.” He hung up. Ten minutes later, the “apology” texts from Vanessa started rolling in. [So sorry, Sarah! Toby is just so attached to his ‘Dad’ lately.] [I told him he shouldn’t have ditched you and Mia, but he just couldn’t stand to see Toby cry.] [I’ll scold him for you! Don’t be mad! 😉] It wasn’t an apology. It was a declaration of war. I didn’t have the energy to fight over a man I no longer wanted. I blocked her. Harrison called back instantly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Vanessa tries to apologize and you block her?” I could hear the faint sound of a woman sobbing in the background. “Sarah, I’m so disappointed in you,” he hissed. “When did you become so bitter?” It was always like this. Vanessa would poke the bear, and the moment I reacted, Harrison would label me the villain. I went home and started packing. While I packed, I talked to my lawyer. Since Harrison had built his firm during our marriage, I was entitled to at least 30% of the equity. And with his documented neglect, custody was a shoe-in. I packed the clothes, the jewelry, and Mia’s toys. In the back of the closet, I found a dust-covered cedar box. Letters. Hundreds of them. From the Harrison who was 17, to the Harrison who was 22. I opened the one on top. “To the Sarah of the future: This is Harrison at 17. By the time we open this, we’ll be married. We’ll probably have a beautiful kid. I promise to love you forever.” My phone buzzed. It was the Harrison of the present—the 27-year-old version. “Sarah! Vanessa took Toby and left because of your attitude! If anything happens to them, I’ll never forgive you!” I looked down at the letter. “Signed: Your Harrison, forever.” Something inside me finally snapped. Not with a bang, but with a quiet, hollow crack. I hung up and tossed the box into the fireplace. 03 Harrison didn’t come home that night. I didn’t call him. I didn’t beg. A week later, I needed a parental signature for Mia’s school field trip—an electronic ID verification. I called Harrison. He had blocked me. I had no choice but to go to his office. I hadn’t been there in a year. As I waited in the lobby, I saw a familiar silhouette walk straight into Harrison’s private suite without knocking. The receptionist looked at me guiltily. “Mrs. Reed… Mr. Reed gave Vanessa ‘all-access’ privileges.” I had been the one to start that tradition. I used to bring him lunch every day. We’d sit and talk for an hour. One day, Vanessa showed up to “talk business” and was made to wait in the hall. Harrison had been furious—at me. He said my lunches were a distraction. He fired the assistant who made Vanessa wait. Everyone in the building knew who the real “Mrs. Reed” was now. I walked into the office. Harrison was in a meeting with several executives. He looked up, startled. “What are you doing here?” Vanessa was perched on the edge of his desk, her hand dangerously close to his. “Sarah, don’t get the wrong idea,” Harrison sighed. “Vanessa is consulting on the new acquisition.” I didn’t blink. I handed him the tablet. “Mia needs a signature for her trip.” “You came all this way for a signature?” “What else would I come for?” The air in the room turned cold. Harrison looked annoyed—likely because I wasn’t making a scene. Vanessa chimed in with a smirk. “Oh, Harrison, she’s just using the kid as an excuse to see you. You’ve been staying at my place for days; she’s lonely.” Harrison leaned back, a mocking glint in his eyes. “Apologize to Vanessa for blocking her, Sarah. Do that, and I’ll sign.” The old me would have been heartbroken. The new me just looked at the clock. Mia would be disappointed if she couldn’t go. I looked at Harrison, then at Vanessa. Without a word, I turned to leave. I’d tell the teacher Mia didn’t have a father. “If you need a signature, I’d be happy to help,” a deep, cool voice said. A man who had been sitting in the corner of the office stood up. Everett Vance. One of the city’s most powerful venture capitalists. “I’ve seen enough of this ‘family drama’ to know who the adult in the room is,” Everett said, taking the tablet from me. The verification cleared instantly. He was listed as an emergency contact—my mother must have added him. He was an old family friend I hadn’t seen in years. He signed his name in a bold, elegant script. 04 The divorce papers were ready. I invited Harrison home one last time to end the cold war. When I went to pick up Mia from school, his Mercedes was already in the loading zone. Vanessa was in the passenger seat, wearing a designer coat I recognized from our joint credit card statement. “Still wearing last year’s North Face, Sarah?” she chirped. “Don’t want the other moms to think you’re struggling.” I ignored her. Harrison stared at me from the driver’s seat. “It’s freezing, Sarah. Get in the car.” “I’ll walk.” Near the school gate, a scuffle broke out. Two kids were fighting. One of them was Mia. The other was Toby. I rushed over to pull them apart. Toby immediately fell to the ground, wailing. “She hit me! It hurts!” Harrison and Vanessa came running. Vanessa scooped Toby up. “Sarah! If you hate me, take it out on me! Don’t touch my son!” Harrison looked at me with pure disgust, completely forgetting that Mia was his own blood. The teacher looked flustered. “Mrs. Reed, the kids… they both claimed Mr. Reed was their dad. They started arguing about who was lying, and it turned physical.” The surrounding parents began to whisper. “Is that the mistress?” “The little girl is delusional, claiming that rich guy is her dad.” “So young and already a gold-digger. Terrible parenting.” Toby was clinging to Harrison’s neck, screaming “Daddy!” Mia stood frozen, her eyes locked on Harrison, waiting. A boy from her class asked, “Mister, whose dad are you? You have to tell the truth.” Harrison opened his mouth. “I’m Mia—” Vanessa grabbed his sleeve, her eyes filling with tears. In that second, I knew. I was the second choice. Again. “Think very carefully, Harrison,” I said, my voice like ice. “Your answer will change Mia’s life forever.” Harrison’s face went numb. He looked down at Toby, then out at the crowd of influential parents. “I’m Toby’s father,” he said clearly. Then he looked at Mia. “Kid, you must have me confused with someone else.” The world tilted. My heart felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. The parents began to jeer. “Poor kid, lying about her dad. No shame.” “Look at the mother. Probably taught her to do it to get child support.” I moved to scream at him, but a small, cold hand squeezed mine. Mia’s eyes were dead. “It’s okay, Mommy,” she whispered. She turned to Harrison and gave a polite, shallow bow. “I’m sorry, sir. I made a mistake.” 05 In the ice cream shop later, I held Mia close. “Mia, he is your father. I won’t make you love him, but I don’t want you to grow up with hate.” “I don’t have a father, Mommy,” she said tonelessly. “He said so himself.” I booked two one-way tickets to the West Coast for that night. A text from Harrison arrived: [Sarah, I’m sorry. But Toby doesn’t have a dad. I had to lie in that moment. I’ll explain it to the teacher tomorrow. Don’t let Mia be upset.] Too little, too late. I went back to the house to grab our passports. I thought the house would be empty. It wasn’t. Toby was jumping on Mia’s favorite chair. Vanessa and Harrison were in the kitchen, cooking dinner together. “What are you doing here?” I asked. Harrison looked up. “Vanessa wanted to apologize. She’s making your favorite pasta.” “I wouldn’t eat anything she touched.” Harrison sighed. “Kids, go to the playroom. Mommy and I need to talk.” The second the door closed, Vanessa started her act. “Sarah, it’s all my fault. If it makes you feel better, I’ll take Toby and leave town. I won’t ruin your marriage.” She started sobbing. I remembered when she first showed up. Her husband had passed away, and she was “struggling.” Harrison took her in as a “charity case.” I pulled out the divorce papers. “You don’t have to leave. I am.” “Harrison, sign. Then you can be the ‘Super Dad’ Toby deserves.” Harrison’s face turned purple. “You’re threatening me? Over a childhood friend? I told you, I promised Toby’s father I’d look after them!” “Then look after them. Just don’t look after us.” He grabbed the pen and scribbled his name, throwing the papers at my feet. “There! You happy? You think you can survive without me?” Before I could answer, Toby ran out of the room, crying. “Daddy! Mia hit me!” He had a tiny scratch on his face. Harrison lunged toward the playroom. “Sarah, look at what you’ve raised!” Mia stepped out, calm. “I didn’t touch him. He tripped.” “Stop lying, Mia! Apologize now!” Harrison roared. “Harrison,” I said. “We have cameras in the playroom. Want to check the cloud footage?” Vanessa’s face went pale. “It’s fine, really! Kids will be kids!” “No,” I insisted. “My daughter isn’t a liar.” We watched the footage. Toby had clearly scratched himself on a toy and then started screaming. Vanessa tried to backtrack. “He’s just a child… he was scared…” But Harrison wasn’t looking at Toby. He was staring at the top left corner of the screen. The footage from last night. He watched me throw the box of his old letters into the fireplace without a single tear.

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In this society, the Government’s Genetic Matching Program assigned me two Beast-kin brothers as life partners. Every night, I used to prepare two glasses of warm milk. Caleb, the older brother, was stoic and distant, but he would always accept the glass politely and offer a quiet thanks. Silas, the younger one, had a volatile temper. He would often smash the glass or lash out at me with biting words. I prided myself on being impartial. I balanced my attention between them perfectly, trying to be the perfect peacemaker. Until my best friend witnessed it one day. She looked at me with a pained expression and said: “Don’t you think that by being ‘fair’ to both, you’re actually being incredibly unfair to the one who actually treats you with respect?” I thought about her words all day. She was right. That night, I walked out of the kitchen with only one glass of milk in my hand. 1. Caleb was the first to notice the change. He didn’t say a word. He simply took the glass as usual and thanked me softly. Silas, sitting on the sofa nearby, was mindlessly playing a video game. It wasn’t until I stood up, said goodnight, and started walking toward the bedroom that he realized something was wrong. “Hey,” he barked, not looking up. “Did we run out of milk? Or are you too broke to afford two glasses now?” Unlike Caleb’s quiet reserve, Silas was like a prehistoric predator—loud, arrogant, and sharp. He tossed his controller aside, his eyes narrowing with a familiar cruelty. “If you’re going blind, just say so. Can’t you see I’m sitting right here?” He never spoke to me with an ounce of kindness. Any desire I had to explain myself evaporated. My smile faded, and I gave a curt reply. “We have milk.” “Then why the hell did you only bring out one glass? Who are you trying to spite?” Spite? I thought back to a few nights ago. Caleb and Silas had been called out on an emergency tactical mission for the Special Forces. They didn’t get home until 1:00 AM. I had waited up so long that I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. When the door opened, I jumped up to reheat the dinner I’d kept warm for them. Like always, I prepared two glasses of milk. Silas looked exhausted. I noticed a gash on his shoulder and stepped forward, worried, reaching out to check on him. He shoved me away with an impatient snarl. Beast-kin strength is no joke; I was sent stumbling, and the glass of milk shattered across the hardwood floor. Silas froze for a split second, then his face contorted back into a scowl. “Damn it, are you blind? Can’t you see I’m checking my messages? Stop hovering over me. You’re pathetic.” He leaned back, his voice dripping with disgust. “The constant ‘doting wife’ act was annoying enough before. I’m exhausted, I just got home, and I have to deal with you acting like a desperate puppy. It’s draining.” In his eyes, my concern was nothing more than a desperate performance. I felt the sting of shame rise in my chest. My face burned. Without looking up, I stumbled back to my room. I heard a muffled grunt from the living room—Caleb had punched Silas. A moment later, Caleb came in with a first-aid kit and knelt before me. It was only then I realized a shard of glass had sliced my calf, and blood was trailing down to my ankle. 2. I’ve always known how the Sterling brothers felt about me. To the outside world, I was the one who hit the jackpot. They were the golden boys of the Beast-kin Academy—elite soldiers, stunningly handsome, and incredibly powerful. They were the apex predators of high society. I, on the other hand, was plain, quiet, and unremarkable. A weed growing in the shadow of giants. If it weren’t for our freakishly high genetic compatibility score, the Government would never have matched us. We would have lived in different universes. At first, I was thrilled. Having grown up in the foster system, all I ever wanted was a family. I naively thought Caleb and Silas were the family the universe had finally granted me. No matter how cold they were or how much they looked down on me, I acted like I didn’t feel it. I remained warm, doting, and eager to please. Every time they ate a meal I prepared, I felt a surge of worth. I felt needed. But the first six months were brutal. Both of them resented the match. Their rivals in the military teased them for being paired with a “nobody.” For two men with egos as high as theirs, it was a humiliation. They took that frustration out on me. Caleb was at least stable; he treated me like I was invisible, maintaining a cold, professional distance. Silas, however, was a firestorm. He criticized everything from my looks to the way I walked. In his mouth, I was a “useless waste of space.” But then, slowly, things seemed to change. Caleb stopped treating me like a ghost. He began to thank me for the milk. Sometimes, he would reach out and ruffle my hair, a gesture of affection common among Beast-kin couples. I was so starved for it that I was practically overwhelmed. Even Silas started mocking me less. He’d occasionally drag me into his video games, yelling at me for being a “noob” while simultaneously headshotting anyone who tried to kill my character. I thought I had finally reached them. I thought my hard work was paying off. Until the glass shattered. All those months of effort and hope were condensed into three words: A desperate puppy. 3. I didn’t sleep well for days after that. The shame followed me everywhere. I began to avoid them both, moving through the house like a shadow. When my best friend heard about it, she was livid. I stared at my sleeves, picking at a loose thread. “It’s fine. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll just keep my distance. We’ll be civil, and that’s it.” The match was a legal contract. I provided the emotional stability they needed during their “heat” cycles, and they provided the status and security I needed. It was just an exchange. “Are you still going to bring them milk?” she asked. I thought about it. “I suppose. I should maintain some level of decency.” She hesitated, then said, “Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair if you keep giving them both the same thing?” Fair? Because Caleb and Silas are identical twins and our compatibility is so high, the social workers at the Matching Bureau emphasized one thing: Balance. “In a multi-Beast household, the Human partner must be the anchor,” they told me. “You have to be perfectly fair. Any favoritism will trigger their instincts, cause jealousy, and break the balance of the home.” I took that to heart. I measured everything. Two glasses of milk. Two sets of gifts. Even when I packed their lunches, I counted the pieces of shrimp to make sure they were identical. “But Silas was the only one who treated you like trash,” my friend pointed out. “Caleb didn’t say a word. In fact, he defended you.” I looked down at the bandage on my leg. Caleb had knelt on the floor that night. He had been so serious while cleaning the wound. He gave me a piece of chocolate from his pocket, wiped my tears, and stayed until I fell asleep. He even apologized for his brother. “Exactly,” she continued. “They treat you completely differently, yet they get the same reward. If I were Caleb—the ‘good’ one—I’d feel like my kindness didn’t matter. Is that fair?” I wanted to argue, but I didn’t know how. That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about a time at the orphanage. A volunteer asked for help moving boxes. Everyone else went to play, but I stayed and worked all afternoon until my hands were red. At the end, we all got the same backpacks as a reward. Even the kid who spent the whole afternoon chasing butterflies got one. But as the volunteer was leaving, she pulled me aside and pressed two small hair clips into my hand. “The backpack is for everyone,” she whispered. “But these are for you. A well-behaved child deserves an extra reward. That’s what’s actually fair.” The volunteer’s words fought with the social worker’s instructions in my head. Finally, the volunteer won. 4. The milk was just the beginning. In the evenings, I stopped sitting exactly in the middle of the sofa. I sat closer to Caleb, leaving a clear gap between me and Silas. I stopped saying “Good morning” to Silas. I only offered a soft smile to Caleb. If I had a question, I asked Caleb. If we went to a party, I only took Caleb’s arm. Even at dinner, I was blatantly biased. If there were ten shrimp, eight went onto Caleb’s plate. At first, I was terrified. Breaking the “balance” felt like walking a tightrope. But the change wasn’t what I expected. Caleb, though quiet, never made me feel small. When I sat near him, he would naturally rest a hand on my wrist or ask if I wanted a snack. When I said good morning, he’d ask how I slept. He ate every bite of my food and thanked me sincerely. By stopping my attempts to win over Silas, I stopped being pushed away. I wasn’t ignored anymore. I wasn’t embarrassed on the street by a partner who was ashamed to hold my hand. I didn’t have to listen to my cooking being called “trash.” I hid behind Caleb’s quiet strength and enjoyed the peace. But the atmosphere in the house turned… weird. Several times, I felt a gaze burning into my back. But when I turned around, Silas was just staring at the TV, looking bored. If he caught me looking, he’d sneer. “What? You want to play a game? You’re going to lose anyway.” In the past, I would have taken that as an invitation and jumped at the chance to spend time with him. Now, I just shook my head and went back to what I was doing. One afternoon, Caleb and I were heading out to play badminton—my new favorite hobby. As we reached the door, a loud crash came from the living room. I turned back. Silas had smashed his controller against the floor. He looked at us with dark, narrowed eyes, his gaze landing on where my hand was tucked into Caleb’s arm. “Brother,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “This is getting pathetic. You’re actually enjoying the ‘good guy’ act, aren’t you? Acting like you actually like this loser.” 5. “Loser.” “Ugly.” “Waste of space.” I hadn’t heard those words in a while. When we were first matched, Silas’s hatred was public. He had even fought with the Bureau staff to have the match overturned. It wasn’t until the first time I helped them through their “heat.” That’s the only time I see their Beast forms. The fierce, terrifying snow leopards of the military become like giant housecats. They purr. They nuzzle me. They call me “Wife” and fight over who gets to sleep with their head in my lap. I used to blush at the affection. My friend told me that during these moments, even the coldest Beast-kin softens. After those cycles, Silas stopped attacking my looks. I thought I had finally won him over. But it was just a physical reaction. I told myself that Silas was just young and spoiled. I had hurt his pride by choosing Caleb, so he was lashing out. But even with that logic, the “loser” comment stung. I couldn’t sleep. I got up to get a glass of water. The balcony light was on. Caleb and Silas were out there. One was standing by the railing, the other leaning against the wall. The glow of a cigarette flickered. I stood in the shadows of the hallway and listened.

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My family didn’t just punish me for being too sharp, too honest. They erased me. For a decade, I was exiled to a locked-down industrial processing facility far out in the Arizona desert. It wasn’t enough to make me wear a chemical mask for fourteen hours straight, seven days a week. Even off the line, I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone. It was their definition of ‘tough love’: “Cure that venomous tongue of yours, and learn to shut up.” Day after day, year after year, I lived the same monotonous loop, not even allowed home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. In the tenth year, desperate for the bus ticket back East, I took a triple shift for the foreman’s son who had a fever—seventy-two hours straight on the line. The machinery’s roar was the last thing I heard before I collapsed. The fever, combined with the extreme exhaustion, permanently ravaged my vocal cords. The day I received the medical report, my brother found me. Spencer rolled up in a gleaming Rolls-Royce, looking pristine in a bespoke Italian suit. “Ashley,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ten years. Mom and Dad say the punishment is over. Are you finally rid of that temper?” “Come home with me, Sis. The family is having a proper reunion this year.” I stared at him, my mouth opening, but no sound came out. … I was wearing the factory’s threadbare canvas coat, permanently permeated with the smell of cheap oil and chemicals. “Get in. What are you standing around for?” Spencer frowned, his perfect features momentarily marred. “Ten years, and you’re still so… vacant? Can’t you even greet someone?” I looked at him, my throat feeling like a wad of ice-soaked cotton was lodged deep inside. I wanted to call out, “Brother,” but my vocal cords produced nothing more than a raw, hissing whisper of air. “Fine. I guess the ten-year fix worked. You finally learned to be quiet.” He gave a short, cruel laugh. “Your mouth used to be a toxic waste pump. Guess silence really is golden after all, huh?” I silently opened the door and curled up against the far corner of the back seat. Spencer caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Fasten the seatbelt. And please, don’t rub against the upholstery. I just had the car detailed.” I looked down at my hands—thick with calluses, the nails packed with black grime. They trembled as I reached for the buckle. Click. The sound was shockingly loud in the luxurious silence of the car. “Listen up. Mom and Dad invited all the relatives over for dinner tonight.” “You need to behave. Don’t bring that gutter attitude you used to have.” He paused, letting the silence fester. “This decade was your own doing, Ashley. Don’t come home playing the victim. We did this for your own good—to temper you, so you don’t embarrass yourself when you finally marry.” For my good? Throwing me into a sealed facility, confiscating my ID, cutting off all contact—that was for my good? Forcing me to breathe in caustic agents for fourteen hours a day—that was for my good? For ten years, I’d existed like a ghost in a machine. Because I was muted. Truly, completely muted. “Ashley! I’m talking to you!” His voice snapped. “Are you deaf and dumb? Can’t even let out a grunt?” I steadied myself, turned, and locked my dead gaze on him. “Fine. Play your little game.” “Let’s see how long you can keep the act up.” “You have another coming when we get home.” The Rolls-Royce glided into the familiar, exclusive Kensington estate. Spencer pulled into the drive and exited immediately, not bothering to wait for me. I pulled out my single piece of luggage—a tattered, canvas utility bag, a gift from a kind co-worker, holding everything I owned. “Oh, Spencer is such a success! I hear the company’s IPO is right on track!” “Richard is such a great father. Two accomplished children. What a fortunate man.” Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, saw me and her smile froze, replaced instantly by a look of undisguised disdain. “Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence. The eldest daughter is back.” That single, barbed announcement hit the living room like a power outage. The excited chatter stopped cold. All eyes swiveled to me. “Still remember the way back, do you?” My father, Richard, set his expensive china cup down. “Ten years. How was the reflection?” I stood in the grand marble foyer. My worn sneakers, still dusty from the industrial zone, stood out against the polished floor. I wanted to change shoes, but of course, there were no slippers waiting for me. Ten years. This house had long ago purged any trace of my existence. I simply kicked off my sneakers and stepped onto the cold marble. The chill shot straight up from my soles to my skull. “Ashley, come here and let your mother look at you.” My mother, Victoria, didn’t rise. She merely waved a hand, the gesture resembling one calling an errant stray. “A bit thin. But much calmer now.” “That wild look is gone. Good.” “I guess your brother was right. That place certainly knows how to whip someone into shape.” My brother? It was my beloved brother who suggested sending me to hell? “Mom, she’s perfectly docile now,” Spencer said, strolling over and resting a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t argue once on the ride. Quiet as a lady.” “Is that so? Good. Then our tough love wasn’t wasted.” “Since you’re fixed, you can stay home. Run errands for Spencer’s company. Do some low-level administrative work.” “Just don’t go out and embarrass the family.” Administrative work? I had been an honors student with a full scholarship to a top-tier university. In their eyes, ten years of suffering only qualified me to fetch coffee and file papers? Spencer leaned in, his voice a low warning in my ear. “Don’t push your luck. All the relatives are watching.” Just then, my Aunt Candace approached, a handful of mixed nuts clutched in her hand. “Oh, honey, is that Ashley? Why are you dressed like that?” “You look like you just stumbled off a freight train. When was the last time those clothes were washed?” She dramatically covered her nose and stepped back two paces. “What is that smell? It’s awful.” The surrounding relatives began to whisper, their eyes narrowed in judgment. “A lost cause, really.” “How did the Kensingtons produce a daughter like that?” “Thank God Spencer is the successful one.” I stood at the center of the glittering room. On the back of my hand, a blister from the day before, courtesy of a hot piece of machinery, had split open during my nervous fidgeting. Yellow pus mixed with blood seeped out, a white-hot agony. No one noticed. My mother, clearly sensing I was an embarrassment to her facade, stood up with an impatient sigh. “Alright, that’s enough. Go wash up and put on some clean clothes.” “Mrs. Gable, show her to the guest room.” The guest room? What about my room? I glanced up at the window on the second floor that used to be mine. “Oh, that room is Spencer’s private collection now,” my mother dismissed, waving a hand. “You weren’t using it, so it was just wasted space.” “The guest room is fine. It gets good light.” I had lost my voice, and now, even my last physical foothold in this house had been completely erased. I was shown to a small room next to the housekeeper’s pantry on the ground floor. Mrs. Gable tossed me a bundle of old clothing—her leftover cleaning uniforms. “Here, Miss Ashley. Make do. Your things were tossed ages ago.” “The Mistress says to help in the kitchen after your shower. We’re short-staffed for the New Year’s Eve party.” I took the clothes, which reeked of mothballs, and retreated to the bathroom. Hot water cascaded over me, stinging the small, unhealed cuts and scrapes. I looked at the person in the mirror. Straw-like hair, sunken cheeks, and dull, vacant eyes. A vicious red scar circled my neck—a result of clawing at my own skin during the delirious fever. I opened my mouth, facing the glass, and tried to force a sound. “Hhh—aaah.” After the shower, I left the work uniform untouched. Instead, I pulled my one decent item from the utility bag. It was a cheap, red synthetic sweater, bought for me by my co-workers. “Ashley,” they’d said. “Wear red for the holidays. It’s festive.” I put it on. It was scratchy and itched my skin, but it gave me a fleeting warmth. Mrs. Gable was directing a few temp staff in the kitchen. “If you won’t talk, then work,” she ordered. “Peel these. And be quick about it.” I silently squatted and picked up a peeler. This motion was second nature. On the assembly line, every movement had to be timed to the fraction of a second. Slow down, and the line supervisor would scream until your ears bled. I mechanically skinned potatoes, listening to the laughter and accolades echoing from the living room. “Spencer, I hear you bought your parents a seaside condo?” “Yes, well, they worked hard. It’s time for them to relax.” “Such a devoted son! Unlike that other girl—ten years and not a single call.” “Don’t mention her. Bad luck.” My father’s booming voice cut in. “It’s a good night. We won’t discuss that rebellious daughter.” “Come on, everyone, have some more champagne.” My knife slipped an inch. The sharp blade sliced a neat cut into my fingertip. Blood bloomed instantly. I didn’t pause. I lifted the finger, sucked the metallic tang of the blood into my mouth, and kept peeling. One, two, three… I didn’t stop until the entire basket of potatoes was done. My hands were wrinkled and ghostly white from the ice water, the cut on my finger weeping white. “Good. Now take this out.” Mrs. Gable pointed to a platter of glazed ham she had just finished. “Careful. Don’t drop that. The platter is an antique.” In the living room, the long dining table was laden with food. Everyone was seated except for one space—the tightest corner, where a backless, round stool had been placed. That was my spot. I placed the heavy ham platter in the center of the table. As I was about to sit down, Spencer’s voice stopped me. “Wait.” He swirled a glass of red wine. “Little Sis, since you’re back, don’t you think you should offer a toast to your elders?” “It’s tradition.” My father nodded approvingly. “He’s right. It’s respect. You might have been disrespectful before, but now that you’re reformed, you need to show some class.” “Pour the drinks.” Spencer slid a glass decanter of strong rye whiskey in front of me. I looked at the clear liquid. My stomach seized up. The facility’s poor conditions had left me with chronic, severe digestive issues. The doctor had warned me against even a drop of alcohol. I shook my head and pointed to my abdomen. “What? Too good for us?” Aunt Candace’s voice was venomous. “Back five minutes and already pulling rank?” “Your brother is honoring you. Don’t be rude.” Spencer’s face darkened. “Ashley, don’t make me lose my temper.” “It’s Christmas Eve. I don’t want a scene.” A scene. He’d always hit me when I displeased him as a child. My parents never intervened, only saying, “Your brother is teaching you discipline.” I took a deep breath and picked up the decanter. I poured a measure of the potent whiskey for every elder at the table. When I got to Spencer, he deliberately held his glass high. The whiskey sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the sleeve of his bespoke suit. “Smack!” He slammed his hand on the table and rose. “Are you blind?! You did that on purpose!” “You really do need a beating, don’t you?” He raised his hand, ready to strike. My mother quickly stepped in. “Stop it, stop it! It’s the holidays. Don’t lower yourself.” “Ashley, clean up your mess! Now!” I pulled a napkin from the holder and reached out to wipe his sleeve. Spencer roughly shoved me away. I stumbled back, hitting the corner of the small, backless stool with my lower back. A sharp, blinding pain shot through me, leaving me gasping for air. But I made no sound. Not because I chose not to. Because I couldn’t. Spencer tore off his jacket in disgust and threw it to the floor. “Useless, honestly.” “Worse than a waitress.” “Sit down and eat. Just looking at you ruins my appetite.” I quietly righted the stool and perched myself on the edge. The bowl in front of me remained empty. I watched them toast each other, revel in their perfect family moment. I was just a silent backdrop, there to make their happiness look brighter, their success feel more earned. The wine flowed, and the atmosphere peaked. My father, slightly drunk, his face flushed, raised his glass again. “To my relatives! I want to say a few special words.” His voice was loud and proud. “You all know ten years ago, Ashley was out of control. A venomous mouth, constantly offending people.” “To teach her a lesson, your mother, Spencer, and I made a difficult choice. We sent her away for some heavy-duty reform.” “These ten years have been hard on us, too, but for a child’s future, you must be ruthless!” The relatives nodded in unison. “Yes, Richard, you made the hard choice.” “A father’s sacrifice!” My father smiled, satisfied, and pointed at me. “Now, you see the result! Our method worked!” “Look at Ashley now! So quiet! So compliant! She does what she’s told, doesn’t cause a scene.” “As we say: The stone must be polished to become a gem!” My mother’s eyes watered with performative emotion. “Yes, Ashley. Stand up. Thank your father and your brother.” “Without them, you’d still be rotting in some ditch somewhere.” Spencer leaned back, idly playing with a lighter, a smirk of triumph on his face. “Little Sis, say something.” “It’s been ten years. We’d love to hear your voice.” “Even just ‘I’m sorry’ would be a start. Show some remorse.” “Come on, Ashley. Say a few words.” Every eye was on me again. Say something? I wanted to say: I despise you. I wanted to say: Where were you when I was being abused in the barracks? I wanted to say: What were you doing while I was feverish and desperate for that ticket home? I wanted to say: I hurt. My throat hurt. My heart hurt more. Spencer’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Ashley, don’t disrespect our father.” “He asked you to speak. Are you deaf? What is this, some kind of protest?” “I swear, I’ll send you back there for another decade.” Another ten years of that dark, dehumanizing existence? I instinctively flinched. “Speak!” My father lost his patience. “If you don’t open your mouth and apologize tonight, then get out of my house and never come back!” “The Kensingtons don’t house ungrateful filth!”

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The blood test for my brother’s school enrollment came back, showing an impossible blood type. My father threatened divorce. The DNA test results: my brother was actually my mother’s maternal half-brother. The boy I’d called my little brother for seven years was, in reality, my uncle. It turned out, when the only son became a family joke, the unwanted daughter could finally become a winning lottery ticket. 1 The year my mother, Denise, was pregnant with my brother, the desperation to have a boy was palpable. They’d even bought a special statue, a sort of desperate, last-ditch attempt at invoking fate. When the ultrasound confirmed it was a boy, my father, Robert Heather, paraded up and down the hallway, handing out cigars and announcing to every neighbor, “A son for the Heather line!” My room was emptied out and painted a sickly baby blue. The corner of the living room, partitioned by a worn, floral sheet, became my new bedroom. “Get rid of this junk,” Mom said, pointing at my faded stuffed animals and my third-grade spelling bee trophy. “It’s taking up space. This is for my son.” My brother, Brock, was born and instantly nicknamed “Champ.” I, on the other hand, was most often referred to as “the girl,” or simply, nothing at all. At the dinner table, Mom would scrape the brussels sprouts Brock didn’t like into my bowl. “Eat this. It’s the same nutrition,” she’d snap. If Brock threw a tantrum and knocked over a glass of iced tea, I was the one yelled at for not having cleared the table fast enough. When Brock was in kindergarten, they bought him the latest $250 PlayStation. They didn’t even blink. When I was in middle school and needed a $30 SAT prep book, I had to endure two weeks of Mom’s complaints. “Throwing money away! Why bother with all those books? You’re a girl, you’ll be fine after a couple years of high school. Mrs. Miller at the diner is hiring; you can learn a trade and start bringing home a paycheck.” Dad, Robert, rarely looked up from the television. “Your mother’s right, Vera. Three years of high school tuition is better spent getting a job. Find a nice, steady man in a few years, and our job will be done.” I stared at the only full family photo in the house—Brock’s first birthday portrait. I was standing on the very edge, my smile looking more like a grimace. In the future they had drawn up for me, I was a line sloping straight down: dropout, low-wage job, marriage, my brief value used solely to prop up the world built around my brother. 2 The uneasy peace lasted until the summer I finished eighth grade. Brock was getting ready to start elementary school. His entry medical report came out that Thursday morning. At lunchtime, Dad slammed the piece of paper onto the glass tabletop. Brock, startled, stopped demanding his grilled cheese sandwich. His spoon clattered into his bowl, splashing milk. “Our son is AB positive,” Dad said, his eyes drilling into Mom. “I’m A positive. You’re O positive. Tell me, Denise, how did we make an AB-type child?” “Stop yelling! You’re scaring our Champ!” Mom was already defensive. Having Brock was the only thing that had given her any power in the house, and she used it without reservation. “Was it the maintenance guy? The one who fixed the sink last month? You’ve been wearing makeup just to take out the trash since he moved in.” “That’s trash! The clinic must have made a mistake!” Mom snatched the paper, but her fingers were white, gripping the edge of the tablecloth. “I took him myself this morning,” Dad yanked Brock away, who was already starting to cry. He passed the kitchen where I was washing dishes. “You come too.” After the blood draw, Mom took Brock and soothed him into his room. As she shut the door, I heard his quiet, terrified sobs. Spoiled since birth, he had never seen our parents behave like this. I went to the laundry room to hang up the clothes. In the living room, Mom was cracking sunflower seeds, spitting the shells onto the rug. “When that stupid report comes back, I’m suing that clinic for emotional damages, fifty thousand dollars minimum,” she ranted. “And you, Robert Heather, don’t think this is going to be easy on you, either!” Dad didn’t reply. He chain-smoked, the ashtray quickly piling up with butts. 3 The follow-up DNA Paternity Test results weren’t due until Monday afternoon. The entire weekend was suffocating. Dad smoked constantly, filling the air with acrid smoke, and Mom had lost her patience with Brock’s constant whining. Saturday afternoon, my best friend from school texted, asking if I wanted to meet up at the library to look for used AP study guides. It was the only thing I had looked forward to all summer. I was about to leave when Brock, a little wrecking ball, charged over and hugged my legs. “Sissy, play with me! I want you to be the villain!” “I have to go out for a little while, Brock. How about I play with you all night when I get back?” “No! Now!” His mouth instantly crumpled, ready for a full-volume wail. Mom poked her head out of the kitchen, her expression sour. “Where are you running off to now? Your brother needs you. Stay home and watch him. Don’t you have any sense of responsibility as an older sister?” “Mom, you said I could go to the library with Emily, just for a little bit…” “I said nothing of the sort! Don’t you see what’s happening in this house? Stay here and look after him.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “You are to stay here and watch your brother.” The last flicker of hope I had for the afternoon extinguished. As Mom turned back to the kitchen, I sighed and knelt, trying to reason with the boy. He picked up a throw pillow and tossed it in my face. “Mess-maker!” “Brock Heather, stop that right now! I’m serious.” “You wouldn’t dare!” he shrieked back. He ran to the living room corner that was my “bedroom,” the floral sheet curtain flapping behind him. My heart seized. I chased after him. “What are you doing?” Too late. He darted behind the curtain and instantly spotted the thick Manila envelope tucked under my pillow. It was my acceptance letter to Northwood High—a scholarship offer, the proof of my countless late nights studying amidst the living room chaos and his crying fits. “What’s this?” He picked it up curiously. “Put that down! Don’t touch it!” My voice cracked. Seeing my panic, he was instantly energized. He held the envelope high, a nasty, triumphant grin on his face. “Daddy, Mommy, Sissy is hiding something!” “Give it back!” I lunged for it. “No! No! You’re a loser’s trash!” I watched in horror as he grabbed the envelope with both small hands and ripped it in half. RIIIP— The sound tore through my chest. The paper with my name and my future was split down the middle. He wasn’t done. He ripped it a few more times, the pieces fluttering down like cold confetti around his feet. I stared at the fragments on the rug, my mind ringing. Months of quiet endurance, injustice, and the faint, precious hope for a different future were shredded to dust in that moment. “Ah!” I made a sound I didn’t recognize, a low, guttural snarl. I flew at him, pushing him to the floor, pinning him down, my fists raining down. “I hate you! I hate you!” Brock was stunned silent for a second, then he erupted into an ear-splitting scream. “WAAH… Mommy! Sissy hit me! Mommy, help!” Mom rushed in and saw me on top of him. Her eyes went instantly red. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me off him. The force sent me staggering back, my head hitting the corner of my small footlocker. The back of my skull throbbed. “How dare you lay a hand on your brother! It’s just a stupid paper! So what if it’s ripped? Did you actually think you were going to some fancy high school? Never! You toxic little girl, how could you be so mean? He’s your brother!” Brock hid behind her, weeping theatrically, yet giving me a smug little smirk. Mom hugged him, checking him for bruises, cooing, “There, there, Champ. Mommy’s here, Mommy will get her! This bad luck charm, daring to hurt my son!” My arms hurt. My scalp felt raw. But none of it mattered compared to the hollow ache in my chest. Dad came in from the porch, took one look, and just barked impatiently, “What’s all this noise? Haven’t we had enough drama?” His gaze skimmed the shredded paper on the floor, didn’t pause, and he turned around to go back to staring out the window, lighting another cigarette. The smoke, curling around his back, blurred my last shred of hope for this family. I ignored Mom’s curses and Brock’s triumphant glare. I knelt, picking up the fragments, one by one, carefully taping my future back together with clear scotch tape. 4 Dad went to retrieve the DNA test results alone on Monday. After I finished tidying the house until it was spotless, I approached Mom. “Mom, school starts soon. Can you advance me the tuition and boarding fees for the first semester of high school?” “I told you, if you insist on going to that money pit of a high school, you’ll have to earn the money yourself.” I was about to offer to pay her back double next semester when the front door opened. Dad walked in, clutching a manila envelope. “Let me see that.” Mom swaggered toward him, brimming with anticipation. Dad avoided her, tossing the envelope onto the coffee table. He walked over to me and clapped me on the shoulder. “Good girl, Vera. Go wait in your brother’s room.” “…Okay.” A breath of relief escaped me. I was their daughter. But a strange sense of loss settled over me, too. I slowly closed the door, leaving a crack, a sliver of an opening. I had a bad feeling. Dad ignored Mom, walking straight up to Brock and squatting down. “You won’t call me Dad anymore.” WAAAH! Brock dissolved into tears. Mom picked up the report, her eyes scanning the text, then freezing on a specific line. “This is impossible…” Her lips trembled. “It’s in black and white,” Dad stood up. “He’s your mother’s son. Your maternal half-brother.” Brock’s crying intensified. For the first time, Mom screamed at him. “Stop it! Are you putting on a show for a funeral!” The room fell into a terrifying silence. Mom stared blankly at Dad, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to digest the seven words. Then, as if struck, she fixed her gaze on Brock, who was huddled on the sofa. Her eyes held no trace of the usual doting affection. She walked towards him, slowly. She knelt in front of him, her fingers roughly kneading his cheek, as if checking a strange, unfamiliar object. “Maternal… half-brother?” she repeated. “Then… where is my son? The one I carried for nine months?!” “Mommy, you’re hurting me.” Brock was terrified and tried to pull away, but she gripped his shoulder tightly. Her nails dug into his soft skin, drawing a bead of blood. “Where is my son?!” Her voice rose to a shriek, sharp and piercing. “I gave birth to a boy! Where did he go?!” “Shut up!” Dad threw the ashtray across the room. “Go over to your sister’s house and ask your brother’s real mother!” It was Aunt Marilyn’s turn to host Grandma Patty for the month. When she opened the door, Aunt Marilyn, or ‘Mel,’ was confused by the sight of us. Before she could speak, Mom strode past her, yanking Grandma Patty away from the vegetables she was prepping in the kitchen. Grandma Patty stumbled, sending lettuce leaves scattering across the floor. “Ouch, what’s going on? Are you trying to kill your old mother?” Mom dragged Brock to the ground in front of Grandma. Brock, his throat raw from crying, hugged Mom’s pant leg. “Mommy, don’t leave me…” “There, there, don’t cry, come to your Aunt Mel.” Aunt Mel had had several painful miscarriages and was always extra protective of Brock. “If your mom doesn’t want you, your Aunt Mel does.” Aunt Mel had always quietly hoped that if she couldn’t have a child, Brock would grow up to take care of her. “Sister, whether you want him or not, you’re stuck with him.” Mom sneered, clutching the crumpled report as she walked toward Grandma Patty. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Aunt Mel looked baffled. “He’s Mom’s son.” Aunt Mel almost laughed, holding Brock close and wiping his tears. “Champ, look at your mother. She’s just angry at Grandma. We’re not listening to her. I’ll take you out for pizza.” Mom gritted her teeth, trying to suppress her fury. “Mom, why aren’t you saying anything?” The color slowly drained from Grandma Patty’s face. 5 “Mom, say something!” Aunt Mel’s eyes darted between Grandma and Mom, finally realizing the gravity of the situation. “When I gave birth to him in the country, you were the only one there,” Mom’s voice started to tremble. “You said the baby had fluid in his lungs and needed to be rushed to a special clinic… you said he made it, but he was weak, and you told me to focus on resting, that you’d take care of him…” Grandma Patty avoided her gaze, her lips opening and closing, unable to offer an explanation. Aunt Mel held the struggling Brock close, taking out her phone. “Vera, quickly, call your Uncle Curtis. Don’t let them start fighting.” “No, no, no! It was you who insisted on staying at your sister’s farm for a few months! Dad was dead then—who did you sleep with to make this bastard?!” Mom grabbed Grandma Patty’s shoulders and shook her hard. “Where did you put my son?!” “I, I…” Grandma Patty squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks. “You what?!” Dad’s voice was a sharp roar. “If anything happened to my son, I swear I’ll kill you!” Grandma Patty’s knees buckled. She crumpled to the floor, curling into herself. “I… I left him… at the farm.” “Left him at the farm?” Mom repeated softly. “You gave my son away? You switched him with your… your bad seed?” Grandma Patty stayed kneeling, covering her face, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Mom lunged at her. “Where is my son?! Tell me!” Aunt Mel, seeing the situation escalating, forced a strained smile, trying to calm things down. “Sister, calm down. Mom, this must be a mistake. Mom is an old woman; this is absurd.” Aunt Mel’s voice was losing conviction fast. Then, she saw her husband, Curtis, finally arrive, her last hope.

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