My husband, Cameron Miller, had a strange, specific ritual. Every time we made love, he would first take off his hearing aids. He said he needed to see my expression clearly. To watch the truth in my eyes. And then, just as he was about to come, he would always slip them back on. He said he needed to hear my voice clearly. To listen to the confession of my pleasure. For seven years, this was our nightly script. Everyone called us the perfect couple, a seven-year marriage where the passion only deepened. On the day of our seventh anniversary, I secretly took that old hearing aid to a specialist. I wanted to have an identical one custom-made—a surprise gift for him. The doctor, a kind older man, informed me. “Mrs. Miller, this old unit has a stored voice memo. Would you like me to sync it to the new device?” Before I could answer, the doctor played the recording for me right there. The sound instantly plunged me into an ice-cold horror. I recognized it immediately: The voice of The Myth he worshiped—his unattainable first love. She was trembling, breathless, whispering at the height of her passion: “Cam, I love you…” … 1. The moment I heard that voice memo, the blood in my veins seemed to turn to solid stone. The doctor was fumbling with apologies. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Miller, I didn’t realize it was a… I’ll turn it off immediately!” But the woman’s breathless moans and declaration of love were already looping in my brain, a permanent, agonizing echo. I stumbled out of the clinic, numb and disoriented. The next second, my phone vibrated. It was Cam. I swiped to answer, and his voice, that familiar blend of possessive affection and urgent concern, came through. “Alisa, where did you disappear to? I came home and didn’t see you. You scared the hell out of me.” I opened my mouth, but my throat was too dry to form a sound. He instantly noticed my silence. “Why aren’t you talking? Your voice sounds tight. Who upset you? Tell me. If the sky falls, your husband is holding it up.” The sky falling? My sky had already collapsed. And the man who pushed it over was him. “I’m fine,” It took all the strength I had to squeeze the words out. “Just running an errand. I’m heading back now.” “Running what errand? The sun is blazing out there, you’ll burn. Stay put, I’m coming to get you.” He hung up. In less than ten minutes, his car pulled up beside me. Cam rushed out, opened the passenger door, and pulled me into a fierce hug, his hand immediately checking my forehead. “No fever, but why is your face so pale? Are you feeling unwell?” He retrieved an elegant paper bag from the passenger seat, presenting it to me with a proprietary grin, like a boy showing off a prized possession. “Look, that triple-layer mousse cake you mentioned yesterday. I drove all the way to the West Side for it.” I stared at the warmth in his eyes, at the open, undeniable love and worry reflected there, and a terrible, tight knot formed in my chest. Seven years. This man had used this flawless, relentless tenderness to wrap me up in a cocoon of my own foolish, self-satisfied belief. Back at home, the dining table was a vision of celebration: flickering candlelight and a perfectly decanted bottle of Cabernet. Our seventh anniversary. The atmosphere was strangely suffocating. I couldn’t taste the food. Cam tried to speak several times, only to be shut down by my cold, rigid expression. After dinner, he came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. His warm breath tickled my ear. “Alisa, did I mess up? Did I do something to make you angry?” I remained silent. He sighed, turned me around, cupped my face, and kissed my forehead. “If you’re unhappy, I’ll clear my schedule tomorrow. We can fly to the coast and relax, just the two of us. How does that sound?” “You know, in my heart, nothing is more important than you.” Looking into his earnest eyes, I felt a flicker of doubt. My resolve was wavering. Sensing the shift, Cam walked to the bedside table and picked up the old hearing aid. Just like he had on over two thousand nights before. As he was about to put it in, I grabbed his hand abruptly. “Cam,” I forced a smile, looking him straight in the eye. “That thing is so old, it’s about to break down. Let’s get you the new version I ordered, okay? Let me just throw this old one out.” Cam’s movement froze. The gentle smile on his face wavered, then solidified into an expressionless mask. He quickly recovered, smoothly withdrawing his hand. His tone was firm but soothing. “Why the sudden change? It’s been this way for seven years, Alisa.” He held the hearing aid, stroking it as if it were a rare, priceless artifact. “You don’t understand, Alisa. This isn’t just a piece of technology. It’s been with us since the beginning, since that awful rental apartment. It’s a testament to everything we’ve built.” A testament? A testament to seven years of lies and manipulation? A sudden, white-hot fury flared up inside me. I snatched the device from his grasp. “I am the person who stood by you! Cam, your focus should be on me, not on a cold, inanimate machine!” “I said, I’m throwing it away!” Clutching the hearing aid, I spun around, heading for the trash bin. “Don’t you dare!” Cam’s face completely darkened. For the first time, those eyes that were always filled with soft affection now held a sharp, terrifying intensity. He lunged forward, grabbing the hearing aid out of my hand. He clenched it tightly in his palm, guarding it like a sacred, irreplaceable treasure. His voice was a low, unprecedented warning, edged with ice. “Alisa Wells. Do not touch that again!” Then, without so much as a glance at me, he spun on his heel and strode out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut with a violent BANG. I stumbled backward from the force of his exit, collapsing onto the floor. I sat there, staring at the closed door, cold to the bone. In seven years, this was a first. He had left me alone. 2. Cam never came back that night. The next morning, I came downstairs, my eyes raw and swollen, only to find him in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, busy making breakfast. He heard me and immediately turned, a cajoling smile on his face, though the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his sleepless night. “Alisa, you’re up? Come eat.” He walked over to me, carefully took my hand, and his voice was the familiar, comforting tone of a loving husband. “I was an ass yesterday. I shouldn’t have yelled about the hearing aid. It just… it holds so many memories of when we had nothing. I was overly sensitive. Please, don’t be mad at me, okay?” He lowered his head and pressed a light kiss to the back of my hand. “You know I can’t function without you.” Looking at his sincere, slightly exhausted eyes, I almost allowed myself to believe that the previous night had simply been a terrible nightmare. My heart, shamefully, softened. What if the recording was truly just a misunderstanding? The idea, once planted, grew frantically. We had spent seven years together, climbing from a cramped rental to the top of a publicly traded company. We’d weathered real storms. What could a misunderstanding be that we couldn’t talk through? I took a deep breath, deciding to break the awful stalemate. He was looking at me, his eyes pleading. “Alisa, I messed up. Please talk to me.” I nodded. “I’ll bring you lunch at the office today.” Cam’s eyes instantly lit up, as if he’d been granted a full pardon. “Perfect! I’ll finish up my morning meetings and wait for you. What do you want? I’ll have my assistant pre-order something.” “Don’t bother. I’ll make it.” That afternoon, carrying a stainless steel thermos, I walked into Cameron’s company for the first time. He always insisted that corporate life was too stressful and messy, and he wanted me to remain a worry-free princess. The receptionist was surprised to see me, but politely led me toward the CEO’s suite. The door wasn’t fully closed. As I was about to push it open, a melodic, overtly flirtatious female voice floated out. “Cam, the Q2 earnings report looks sketchy. Why don’t you come look at it over here?” This was followed by Cam’s voice, a familiar tone of exasperated indulgence. “You’re just too lazy to use your own brain, Teresa.” I pushed the door open, freezing in the doorway. The woman was a dazzling, striking beauty—a stark, vibrant contrast to my own quiet elegance. But I recognized her instantly. Teresa Sabrina. That face—the one I’d only seen on the old campus forums seven years ago, the one universally revered as the Art Department’s untouchable goddess. She was draped across Cam, practically sitting in his lap. They were bent close, heads nearly touching, intimately reviewing the same document. Hearing the door, Cam reflexively looked up, and his face instantly drained of color. He tried to pull away from Teresa, but she tightened her grip on his arm, leaning even closer, her full chest intentionally brushing against his bicep. She raised her head, giving me a slow, assessing look, her eyes holding a glint of genuine contempt. “Well, hello there. You must be Mrs. Miller. I thought you were the catering staff.” She laughed, a bright, brittle sound. “Cam is hard of hearing, you know. I have to be close so he can follow. You don’t mind, do you?” I ignored her, my eyes locked on Cam, waiting for his reaction. I waited for him to shove her away, to step in front of me and shield me, to offer the quick, practiced explanation I was used to. But he just stood there, frozen. His gaze was shifty, his face a miserable portrait of guilt and helplessness. “Alisa, please don’t misunderstand. Teresa is our new financial consultant. We were just… going over work.” Going over work? Did their “work” involve being intimately wrapped around each other? A sudden buzz filled my head. Everything fractured. The whispered gossip from college, the judging eyes, they all flooded back. “Did you hear? Campus King Cameron Miller is dating Alisa Wells now.” “Everyone knows he loves Teresa Sabrina. Alisa is just a rebound, a desperate fallback.” “Teresa didn’t want the poor guy back then, so Alisa got the sloppy seconds.” The thermos clattered from my hand, the noise swallowed by the thick carpet. Hot soup splashed across the floor. I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked out. And again, just like the night before, Cameron did not follow me. 3. I don’t know how I made it back to the house. It wasn’t until well after dark that Cam finally returned. He tiptoed into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He smelled of Scotch and a faint, cloying scent of another woman’s perfume. Teresa’s scent. He reached out to hold me, but I pulled away. In the dark, he sighed, his voice low and placating. “Alisa, don’t be like this. Teresa just got back from overseas. She’s naive, she doesn’t know corporate protocol. I was just taking care of her a little extra.” “We’ve been together for seven years. Do you really not trust me?” He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me tight against his body. “Okay, stop being upset. I promise you, I’ll keep my distance from her. It’s over, okay?” His embrace, once my most cherished sanctuary, now felt like a cold, suffocating cage. I didn’t struggle. I let him hold me, trying to absorb the illusion of warmth. His kisses became frantic, scattered along my neck, and his hands began to wander beneath my silk pajamas. Everything was exactly as it had been for the past seven years. In the heat of the moment, his breathing grew ragged, and his hand instinctively reached for the bedside table. That action—that unconscious reflex—was the final, crushing weight that broke the fragile dam of my suppressed anger and humiliation. The instant he picked up that old hearing aid, ready to put it on, I lunged and sat bolt upright. “Cameron Miller!” My voice was sharp, a hysterical tremor that didn’t sound like my own. “In your mind, do I even measure up to a strand of her hair?!” My reaction startled him. He froze, the hearing aid half-raised to his ear. “Tell me! These seven years—was I nothing but her replacement? Her stand-in?” He opened his mouth, perhaps to lie, but the look of genuine shock, mixed with undeniable guilt, was all the answer I needed. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I ripped the hearing aid from his grip, raised my hand, and brought it down with every ounce of force I possessed! CRACK! The device he treated as a sacred relic shattered into a dozen irreparable fragments on the hardwood floor. Cam’s eyes flew wide open, staring at the destruction in pure disbelief. He threw himself onto the floor, scrambling on his hands and knees, frantically trying to piece the shards back together. His fingers were sliced by the sharp edges, tiny beads of blood welling up. He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot, glaring. “Alisa! Have you lost your mind?!” He roared, his voice distorted by fury. “Haven’t I been good enough for you for seven years?! I treated you like a damn princess! Do you know the hell I went through building this company? The discrimination I faced?!” He rose to his feet, stepping closer, his eyes cold and sharp as knives. “We could have coasted through this life! We could have acted happy forever! But you just had to go after Teresa! You just had to force me to say the words!” He gritted his teeth, pushing the words out through a narrow opening. “Fine! You want the truth? I’ll give it to you! Yes! I never got over her!” He turned, ready to slam the door on me again. As his hand closed around the doorknob, I used the last of my strength to ask the question that had suffocated me for seven years. “If you love her, why did you marry me?” Cam’s footsteps halted. He didn’t turn around, but the sentence he left hanging in the air was enough to cast me into eternal darkness. “Because I didn’t want her to suffer.” The door crashed shut. I started to laugh, a horrible sound that quickly dissolved into blinding tears. He didn’t want her to suffer? Teresa Sabrina was a society heiress. And what was I? To be with him, I had cut ties with my family, giving up everything that was easily handed to me. He didn’t know that when clients made him drink himself sick, I was the one who went in his place, downing hard liquor until my stomach bled, just to secure that contract. He didn’t know that when he crossed the wrong people in the city and was blacklisted, I went and knelt at the feet of my ex-fiancé, licking the dirt off his bespoke shoes, just to buy Cam a sliver of hope. I was willing to suffer for him, so he wouldn’t have to. And he? He didn’t want her to suffer. Therefore, all the suffering was reserved for me. The irony was blinding. 4. Cam returned the next morning. He came bearing an unprecedented avalanche of material compensation, as if to apologize for his brutal loss of control. A stack of documents lay before me: the deed to the city’s newest luxury high-rise property, and an official transfer of 49% of his company’s shares to my name. His face was contrite. “Alisa, I was a bastard yesterday. I said terrible things. The hearing aid… it’s just a thing. Forget about it.” He produced a velvet box from behind his back, opening it before me. Inside lay a massive pink diamond, perfectly cut, its fire dazzling. “We were broke when we got married, and all I had was a soda can tab to propose with. I swore I’d give you the world’s best one day.” He slipped the colossal pink diamond ring onto my finger, gripping my hand tightly. “Tonight, after the company’s IPO launch party, I’m going to give you the most spectacular wedding the city has ever seen. What do you say?” I looked up at him and gave him the most brilliant, radiant smile I could muster. “Yes.” That night, the IPO launch party was the talk of the town, streamed live on every major platform. Every significant figure in the city was there. In the glittering ballroom, Cam, in his bespoke tuxedo, moved with the confident swagger of a man on top of the world. He was, without a doubt, the centerpiece of the evening. Meanwhile, escorted by my closest friend, Brooke, I was in a black town car, speeding toward the airport. The car’s screen was tuned to the live broadcast of the gala. The camera focused on Cam—handsome, assured, fielding one interview after another. He was running the show, so wrapped up in the glory that he hadn’t even noticed his co-star, the woman he was about to propose to, was gone. Finally, the event reached its crescendo. Cam walked onto the main stage, standing under the spotlight, facing thousands of guests and the national audience. He took the microphone, his voice ringing clearly across the venue. “Tonight, standing here, there is one person I need to thank. Without her, there would be no Cameron Miller today.” “Seven years ago, I owed her a ceremony. Tonight, I intend to give it to her, in front of the entire world.” In the car, Brooke excitedly grabbed my arm. “The jerk finally grew a conscience! He’s about to profess his love to you in front of the world!” Before she could finish, Cam’s heartfelt voice sounded again. “Teresa Sabrina, thank you.” My heart stopped beating. “Thank you for the push, the motivation, that drove me here today. Everything I owed you from the past, I will repay in double, starting tonight.” “I’m going to give you the most beautiful thing in the world.” The entire hall erupted in a thunderous applause and cheering. Teresa Sabrina, wearing a pristine white gown, looking like a sanctified princess, walked onto the stage, surrounded by adoring guests. Cam pulled a different velvet box from his pocket and dropped to one knee. Inside the box was a teardrop-cut Ocean Heart Sapphire ring. I looked at that sapphire, then at the massive pink diamond on my own finger, and I laughed. Years ago, when we were poor, we saw them at an auction preview. The pink diamond was the most expensive, most obvious piece. The Ocean Heart Sapphire was a global one-of-a-kind, unique and impossible to attain. I slowly pulled the immensely valuable pink diamond from my finger, rolled down the window, and tossed it into the night without a second thought. Almost simultaneously on the live feed, a uniformed staff member rushed onto the stage and handed Cam a beautifully wrapped gift box. Cam, eyes full of tearful gratitude, thinking it was Teresa’s returning gesture, took the box and opened it in front of the crowd. Inside, resting on the velvet lining, was an old, identical model of the hearing aid I had just smashed. He smiled, his eyes softening with that familiar, possessive affection. He picked it up, put it on with practiced ease, and looked at Teresa with smoldering affection. “You little minx. You remembered this. What secret message did you record for me this time?” The smile was wiped clean from his face in the next second. As he registered the recording, his expression froze, instantly replaced by a look of profound horror and terror. He shoved Teresa aside and scrambled to the edge of the stage, screaming into the microphone, his voice raw and desperate. “Alisa! Where is my wife! Where is Alisa Wells!” “Turn this city upside down! Find her for me!”

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My mother, Carol, always prided herself on being the picture of impartiality. Whatever my older sister, Tiffany, had, I was required to have, too—no more, no less. It was her personal mantra, a suffocating, twisted form of equity. I wasn’t planning on going home for the holidays this year; I was in the middle of closing a multi-million-dollar deal. But then the text came. “Jenna, I bought you a ticket for tonight. Remember to be on time.” “You know how hard it is to get seats for Christmas. I was up for days trying to snag this one for you!” I was about to text back a polite refusal, but she preempted me, sending the ticket information: an interstate bus ticket, 19 hours and 53 minutes, non-stop. The accompanying voice memo dripped with martyrdom: “Your sister has a ticket. If you didn’t, I’d look like a mother who plays favorites! If you don’t come home, you’re ungrateful!” I had no choice but to agree. The very next second, my sister, Tiffany, posted in the family group chat. “OMG, look how much Mom adores me! She booked me a first-class flight a whole month ago!” If this was what Carol Perkins called “fairness,” I really didn’t want it anymore. … The words “a whole month ago” burned a bitter acid behind my eyes. I must have been frozen in that position for too long, because my colleague, Mark, leaned over, his expression a mixture of pity and disbelief. “Jenna, a bus ticket? Nineteen hours? That’s brutal. And I thought your mom was chartering a car for you?” I tasted ash. “A chartered car?” I hoped. Mark’s mother was a neighborhood friend of mine, so he was a reliable source of uncomfortable information. “Yeah, my mom was telling me all about it. Carol was worried you were overworked and was going to hire an executive car service to drive you cross-state. She went on and on about how much she cared. She really dotes on you!” The blood ran cold in my veins. I immediately checked the family chat again. Tiffany’s message about the first-class flight had been swiftly deleted. The screen was now filled with Mom’s generic, shareable posts—the kind that looked like a bad life-coach’s feed: “The most important thing about ‘filial piety’ isn’t obedience, it’s making peace!” “Only a perfectly balanced scale makes for a harmonious family!” My aunts and uncles chimed in, seeking advice: “Carol, you’re a saint. Two daughters, no favoritism!” “It must be why both your girls are so successful!” My throat tightened. Shaking, I typed a message: “Mom, I heard you were going to charter a car to pick me up?” The group chat instantly went silent. Before Carol could reply, Tiffany launched her attack: “Jenna Perkins, how can you be so entitled? You’ve been working for years! Mom was nice enough to even book you a ticket at all!” “A chartered car? Seriously? Who do you think you are?” My question was instantly deflected. The group erupted with praise for Tiffany’s “maturity,” throwing thinly veiled insults my way. “Well, I’d say a little favoritism is natural. You can’t expect five fingers to be the same length.” “Tiff is so thoughtful. If she were my daughter, I’d favor her too.” “Honestly, Tiffany has been the one suffering all these years.” My fists were clenched so tight my nails dug crescents into my palms. I was shaking, unable to defend myself. Should I post the picture of my standing-room-only bus ticket? But Tiffany had already painted me as the spoiled one demanding luxury. And her flight message? Only I had seen it before she deleted it. Just then, my mother’s chat box popped up. A $50 Venmo transfer appeared with the caption: “Did my little girl get her feelings hurt? Here’s a little something, sweetie. Don’t worry about your sister.” “I did want to charter a car, but it was too last-minute. You know how busy I am.” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. The unaccepted $50 mocked my fleeting, self-pitying moment of hope. I finally found the courage to send the question I needed answered: “Why did you book a first-class flight for Tiffany?” It was a long time before Carol replied: “Don’t be ridiculous, Jenna. I would never be so unfair. You two are treated exactly the same.” “A bus ticket, a plane ticket… tickets are hard to get at Christmas. You need to be understanding.” I slumped in my office chair, defeated. Her texts continued: “Oh, and your sister gets carsick easily on buses. Remember to pick her up some motion sickness meds. And she loves those expensive cherries; they help her nausea.” “Since I sent you the $50, that makes it fair.” Mark’s phone nudged my elbow. He pointed to a new text from his mother: “My mom just sent me this. Carol couldn’t figure out the app, so she had my little brother help her book it.” I read every word. The messages detailed Carol’s sincere concern for her daughter’s well-being: Driver, my daughter gets nauseous, please drive smoothly. She’s a quiet girl, please don’t try to make conversation. I’ll be waiting downstairs an hour early, please be punctual. The newest chat log, dated a month ago: “Driver, we won’t be needing the car. My daughter decided to fly home instead.” The name on the booking? Tiffany Perkins. Never Jenna. I fought back the tears, refusing to let them fall. It had always been like this. Bread had to be measured with a ruler and sliced in half. Milk had to be dated and checked for evenness. Our bedding, our backpacks, our clothing—all the same color and style. As a child, I, like everyone else, believed my mother was the epitome of fairness. As an adult, I knew the truth. I hated cream-filled bread and loathed milk, but Tiffany loved them. I didn’t want a pink backpack or frilly dresses, but Tiffany did. I wanted to attend a university three states away, but Mom insisted I stay here, with Tiffany. The sight of my manager, Sarah, coming toward me snapped me out of my haze. “Jenna, are you coming home for the holidays?” I instantly replied, “No, Sarah, I’m staying. I’m going to power through the Ramsey account.” Just then, the family group chat exploded with photos. My aunts were showing off their Christmas gifts: “Thank you, Tiffany, for the amazing holiday gifts!” The photos showed boxes of gourmet fruit baskets, high-end artisanal beer, and imported seafood. “Thank you, Jenna.” In that second photo, casually tossed into the corner, was a single, generic case of store-brand juice boxes. My eyes blurred with tears of shock. Because I had bought all of it. The gourmet baskets, the beer, the seafood, even the cheap juice boxes—they were all from my account, my card. Tiffany hadn’t contributed a thing! Rage seized my brain. I didn’t care about their twisted game anymore. I typed a furious retort: “These were all bought with my money. How did they become Tiffany’s gifts?” The moment I sent it, my Aunt Brenda jumped in: “Jenna, you really are just like your mother said you were!” It was as if she’d been waiting for me to take the bait. A cold dread washed over me. Next, Aunt Margaret scolded me: “Last year, you claimed you bought us that expensive necklace, too! I praised you for months, only for your mother to tell us afterward that Tiffany had paid for it all!” Her voice memo dripped with scorn. “This year, the boxes clearly have Tiffany’s name on the shipping labels. And now you’re trying to take credit for them again? Get real!” I couldn’t breathe. My body was shaking uncontrollably. I didn’t care about face or courtesy anymore. I had spent the money, and I deserved the credit. But the message I tried to send next bounced back with an unmistakable exclamation mark. “You are no longer a member of this group. Please submit a request to rejoin.” I stared at the group admin’s profile picture. My mother. A moment later, Carol texted me privately, her tone sickeningly gentle: “Jenna, are you mad at Mommy? Let me explain. I’m doing this to maintain fairness!” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. What kind of fairness was this? “You two are sisters. You work in a big-city firm; your sister is barely making minimum wage. Everyone praises you. Who praises Tiffany?” “So, I decided to let her take credit for the holiday gifts. That way, things are fair, aren’t they?” Her tone subtly shifted to one of slight annoyance: “Look at you, airing our private business in the chat. Do you want to embarrass me or your sister?” “Forget it. When you get here, take Tiffany to the mall and buy her a nice gold bracelet. It’ll be your compensation to her.” I couldn’t speak. Tears streamed down my face. She was calling me unfair, and demanding I compensate the one who was robbing me? As I reached for my keyboard to unleash hell, Mr. Evans, my division manager, stormed over. “Jenna, with me. Now!” My heart sank, a sickening feeling washing over me. “Do you know your mother just called to quit for you? Are you serious? What are you, a child playing adult? Get out of my office!” My head felt like it had been hit by a bomb. I scrambled for my phone. The last message from my mother was waiting: “Your sister was just fired. Since that’s the case, I’ve quit your job for you. To make things fair!” I took a deep breath, bowed to my manager, and offered my sincerest apologies. After a brutal dressing down, Mr. Evans delivered the final order: “Don’t come back until your family drama is completely sorted out!” My humiliation was a suffocating weight. I walked out of the building, my anger finally reaching a boiling point. I called her. “Tiffany is a waitress who takes advantage of your monthly allowance! She works two days and skips three! Of course, she was fired!” “When I was doing that crushing internship, making minimum wage, barely able to afford rent, did you ever give me a penny? Never!” “Is that fair? Is that what you call fair?” “I’m not coming home for Christmas. I’m not coming home ever again. As far as I’m concerned, you only have one daughter: Tiffany!” I hung up without waiting for her reply. Within half an hour, my phone was besieged by calls from relatives. I ignored them all, letting them pile up as texts and voice memos. Aunt Brenda and Aunt Margaret were the first: “Jenna Perkins, you have some nerve! How can you talk to your mother like that? You’re an ingrate! The city turned you into a monster!” “Do you know how much your mother is crying? Get home and apologize right now!” Accompanying the texts were photos of my mother, Carol, looking pale, collapsed on the sofa, sobbing hysterically. The sight made me feel numb, yet a fresh wave of white-hot anger surged inside me. Aunt Brenda’s voice memo included my mother’s choked-up whisper: “Jenna, Mommy knows. If you want the gifts to be yours, they are, okay? They’re yours.” They were already mine. My hand dropped uselessly to my side, my body trembling. Just before my screen locked, a message came through from Tiffany: “Jenna, you treat Mom like this, you’ll get what’s coming to you.” I blocked them all. I wiped my tears. A sudden, intense sense of self-preservation guided me to my apartment’s spare room. I needed something to guarantee my safety. The next morning, I texted Mr. Evans that the situation was handled and reported to work on time. The minute I walked in, I noticed the disgusted glances from my coworkers. “That’s her, the one who abandoned her mother,” I heard. “Her poor mother worked so hard to raise them both, and that’s how she repays her?” “I saw the video. She’s a monster.” “How can someone like that work for us? It’s a disgrace!” My hands shook as I checked my phone. Top of the local news feed: “Ungrateful Daughter Disowns Mother Over Budget Flight Ticket?” The video showed my mother weeping dramatically, surrounded by relatives who took turns recounting Carol’s “fairness” over the years. They claimed she stayed up for nights trying to buy me a plane ticket, and out of desperation to see me, she bought the bus ticket. Now, I had cut her off. My head swam with fury. I wanted to scream the truth. But Mr. Evans appeared, his face thunderous. “Jenna Perkins, before you say a word, look outside.” I stumbled down the stairs. Outside, a crowd was gathered, holding banners that blocked the company entrance: “Boycott Ungrateful Daughter Jenna Perkins! Support the Fair Mom!” “Find Jenna Perkins—She Needs to Learn a Lesson!” I flinched. Taking a deep breath, I was about to rush out and tell the truth when someone pointed at me. “There she is! That’s Jenna Perkins!” The crowd surged. In the second I froze, a stinging blow landed across my face. “You dare treat our mother like that? I’ll teach you respect!” It was Tiffany. Her face was contorted with fury, but her eyes held a spark of undisguised triumph. I reeled, my vision blurring. I couldn’t speak. The surrounding crowd saw my silence as guilt and began to jeer. Then came the projectiles—rotten eggs and old lettuce leaves—pelting me. “That’s Jenna! Folks, hit the like button! Watch me punish this monster for all of you!” Tiffany held up her phone. She was live-streaming the attack. In the corner of the video feed, my mother was visible on a couch, looking weak, her voice a desperate plea: “Jenna, Mommy knows you were just upset. It’s okay. Just come home today, and you’ll still be my good daughter.” Her words sliced through the last thread of my attachment to her. I started to laugh, a wretched, cynical sound. “Mom,” I choked out, “one last time. Is the truth what the internet is saying?” My mother’s eyes went instantly red, but she didn’t speak. The crowd’s anger intensified. “She has no remorse! She wants to drive her own mother to her grave!” “How can a big company like this hire someone with zero morals? Fire her!” I watched the live stream and saw it—a fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk play across my mother’s lips as the comments rolled in. Just then, Mr. Evans and Mr. Harrison walked out, their faces grim. “Following an internal investigation,” Mr. Evans announced loudly, “Jenna Perkins was found to have engaged in fraudulent expense reporting. We have terminated her employment.” “And we will be pursuing criminal charges.” The termination notice was slapped against my face, the paper leaving a thin cut on my cheek. “Expect a subpoena from the court.” I froze, a thought clicking into place. Because she lived nearby, Tiffany constantly dropped by my apartment, always trying to sneak into my home office. My expense reports were filed and organized there. I looked up, meeting Tiffany’s smug, triumphant gaze. Then I looked at the phone video. My mother lowered her head, avoiding the camera’s focus. She was in on it. I smiled, a cold, empty feeling in my chest. “Well,” Tiffany crowed, “now you’ve lost your job and you’re going to jail. Why don’t you apologize to Mom? We might still give you a handout!” “You’re supposed to be so smart! Write her a letter of apology right now. Kneel and beg for forgiveness!” I reached into my bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. My voice was steady, betraying no hint of fear or defeat. “I do have something to give Ms. Perkins.” “But it’s not an apology.” Someone held a camera up to the paper in my hand. Gasps erupted from the crowd. “What is that?” My mother, unable to see the paper, felt a surge of panic. She instantly perked up. “Jenna, what are you doing? Mother and daughter have no grudges! Even without an apology, Mommy won’t blame you!” She tried to start crying again. Tiffany sobbed: “Jenna, Mom sacrificed everything for us! And you won’t even apologize! You’re waving some stupid piece of paper around just to upset her!” But they were too late. The surrounding crowd was looking at the paper, their jaws dropping. No one was rushing to their defense. Someone finally broke the silence with a shocked exclamation: “Are you kidding me? This woman calls herself a ‘Fair Mom?’ This is disgusting! Look at this list!”

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The moment Sasha replaced the wedding photo above our bed with that enormous oil painting—a piece her lab colleague, Blake, had gifted her—I felt an utter, bone-deep weariness settle over me. When I finally put the signed divorce papers in front of her, she kept her expression perfectly cool. “Am I really not allowed to redecorate the bedroom, Ronan?” she snapped. “And divorce? You’re willing to walk away from your little princess, the one you’ve practically molded with your own two hands?” I simply nodded. Yes, I was walking away from both. After all, my precious daughter was just like her mother. They both had already put another man first. … 1 Sasha sat across from me, her face blank as she flipped through the divorce papers I’d presented. She didn’t read them closely, giving them a cursory glance before snapping the file shut. “All this because I changed a painting? You want a divorce over something this trivial?” “Think carefully, Ronan. I don’t have time for a tantrum. Are you really giving up custody of the daughter you adore?” I glanced at Gwen, who was still camped out on the sofa watching TV, long past her bedtime. “I am.” Sasha signed the agreement without a moment’s hesitation, as if I were the one acting unreasonably. Her gaze on me was detached, almost bored. Just this afternoon, I’d cooked dinner as usual. Roasted short ribs—their favorite. I watched the clock tick past, but the front door remained silent. I called Sasha. It rang twice, then switched to a ‘user busy’ signal. She’d obviously declined the call. It was after ten when the two of them finally came home, cautiously carrying a heavily wrapped canvas. It was the third time I’d reheated dinner. Yet, mother and daughter were in silent agreement, gliding past the kitchen as if the table didn’t exist, rushing straight to the master bedroom. I walked to the doorway and watched Sasha preparing to swap out the framed wedding photo. “Why the sudden change?” I asked. Sasha didn’t pause in her work. “Am I not allowed to hang a piece of art in my own home?” she countered. Gwen stood beside her, stretching onto her tiptoes to help her mother steady the painting. Her eyes sparkled. “Mom, when can we go get Five Guys with Uncle Blake again?” Sasha quickly put a hand over Gwen’s mouth, then shot me a fleeting, defensive look. “I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want you to misinterpret things.” Blake was Sasha’s mentor from her graduate program, and also, technically, a former colleague of mine. He’d recently transferred jobs and was now working in the same research lab as Sasha. I lowered my gaze, the image of the cooling ribs and mashed potatoes on the kitchen table burning in my mind. I spoke softly. “Next time, don’t take Gwen to eat fast food. Her stomach is sensitive.” “Fine,” Sasha conceded dismissively. She hung the new canvas above the headboard, replacing the spot where our smiling faces had lived for eight years. After adjusting the position to her satisfaction, she smiled, took a photo, and immediately checked her phone. “Wow, Mom, Uncle Blake is so talented. He painted that?” Gwen stared at the wall in awe. The painting was a lush, romantic oil landscape. So, Blake was the artist. Sasha’s attention was completely fixed on her screen, her face alight with an unfamiliar, almost giddy joy. Gwen, impatient, clambered onto the bed and peered over her shoulder at the phone. “Mom, what are you and Uncle Blake talking about? I want to text him too!” After Sasha had signed the divorce agreement, I planned to leave that very night. But looking around the house we’d shared for nearly eight years, I felt stuck. Where do you even begin? Sasha watched me. “It’s late. You can leave tomorrow, if you want.” I shook my head. “No. Tonight.” I packed a carry-on with only the essentials. The wedding ring went back into the jewelry box; I took nothing else. As I dragged my suitcase to the door and went to change my shoes, Gwen walked up to me, silent and timid. Seeing this tiny creature I had dedicated six years of my life to, my chest tightened, an involuntary surge of paternal affection. “Your mother and I are getting divorced,” I told her. “You need to listen to her, and remember to cut out the junk food. And you’re allergic to shellfish—don’t forget that.” Gwen simply rolled her eyes. She sounded utterly unconcerned. “Hmph. Mom said you’ll come back in a few days anyway. You don’t have any friends here; only me and Mom care about you.” Then she stood on her toes, whispering into my ear, her voice a poisonous dart. “Dad, you should just stay gone forever. I don’t like you. I like Uncle Blake. If you don’t come back, Uncle Blake can be my dad.” Gwen’s words annihilated the last shred of tenderness I held. They say children are honest, and it’s true—only a child would bypass all social filters and speak her rawest thought. The daughter I had held in my heart and pampered since birth, never actually liked me. I said nothing more. I picked up my suitcase and walked out the door. 2 Gwen was right, in a bleak, undeniable way. I truly had no friends here. I had been in a long-distance relationship with Sasha back then. Desperate not to lose her, convinced we had a future, I left my familiar hometown, resigned from a job I loved. I was young, burning with a lover’s conviction, believing the ‘right person’ was waiting for me at the end of the road. And for a time, we were deeply in love. We even had our beautiful daughter, Gwen. When Gwen needed full-time care, Sasha refused to put her own career on hold. “Marriage doesn’t have to mean only the woman makes sacrifices, right?” she’d said. I heard the implied plea. Coupled with the fact that the new job I’d found in this city was objectively less significant than Sasha’s high-stakes research position, I decided to become her ‘support system’—her stay-at-home husband. I was content, believing that our happiness mattered more than my title. That was, until Blake was transferred to Sasha’s lab. That’s when I watched our connection erode, day by day. It faded, it fractured. Even Gwen joined in, more than once asking me to step aside so Blake could be her father. I stood on the curb of the empty street at 1 AM, waiting for a cab, dragging my suitcase behind me. The late-night breeze felt less desolate than my own heart. I rented a small studio apartment. It was bright and faced the sun. Before, I would work on research materials and papers from home in the evenings. Just today, I’d received good news—I’d won a small, prestigious grant. The funding wasn’t life-changing, but it was enough to sustain me for a year or two. I woke up this morning to a rare, delicious feeling of leisure. No immediate leap out of bed to the alarm clock, no mad dash to get Gwen ready for school. I looked in the mirror, shaved carefully, and styled my hair. I instantly looked healthier, more energized. I even signed up for a fitness class. While running around the house and playing with Gwen kept me moving, I’d lost significant muscle mass. Other men were rushing to catch the morning subway to their corporate jobs; I was riding the city bus, fighting with retirees over the best produce at the market. Outsiders had whispered that I was ‘eating soft rice’—a gold-digger. I never cared. I knew the truth: Gwen wouldn’t have lived such a pampered life on Sasha’s salary alone. I cleared my head of those thoughts and started working on my résumé. I wanted to go back to work, to stand in a real lab, not just sit in front of a computer screen. That afternoon, I treated myself to my favorite food: spicy fried chicken. Because I was always catering to their mild palates at home, we rarely had anything spicy. Now, biting into the tender chicken, it hit me like a rush. This was another small piece of my old life, gradually returning. That night, Sasha called. Her voice was flat, typical of her professional tone. “Listen, I’m calling about a box of sealed things of yours. I haven’t opened it. Give me an address, and I’ll mail it to you.” I thought for a moment. “You can open it. It’s just useless junk I kept from when we were together. I don’t need it. Throw it out.” Sasha hesitated on the line. “Actually,” I added, cutting in, “if you find anything else of mine, just dispose of it. Don’t bother calling again.” I hung up. That box held old ticket stubs, notes, and silly gifts—all those insignificant things you keep when you’re building a life. They were just garbage now. After a few successful interviews, I landed a position at a respected research corporation. They offered me a private lab for my own studies. I was at the grocery store that afternoon after my shift. At home, I spent hours trying to invent new dishes to satisfy their picky tastes. Now, I needed to satisfy my own stomach. As I pushed my cart, my phone rang. It was Gwen’s school. “Mr. Ronan,” the teacher’s voice was strained, “I was wondering if you might have forgotten to pick up Gwen today? All the other children have gone home, and she’s the only one left.” 3 I checked the time. Gwen had been out of school for over an hour. But I kept pushing my cart. I had no intention of changing my plans. “Teacher, this is the situation: Sasha and I are divorced. She has full custody now. I’m going to give you her number. Please call her.” “Oh, I see. My apologies. It was just always you who came, and Gwen insisted I call you first. Sorry to bother you.” The teacher sounded genuinely apologetic. I was about to say, ‘No problem,’ and hang up, but Gwen snatched the phone. “You’re so petty, Dad,” she said into the receiver. “Mom is busy. You have nothing to do; can’t you just get me? Humph, if it were Uncle Blake, he’d definitely come get me.” Her words barely registered. They carried no sting. “Gwen,” I stated clearly, “Your mother and I are divorced. I won’t be picking you up anymore. If no one comes for you, you must tell the teacher to call your mother. Or, yes, you can call your Uncle Blake.” I hung up. I couldn’t recall how I had raised her to be this way. When she was little, and Sasha was working non-stop, I’d always told Gwen that her mother was working hard and we needed to be understanding. But children quickly internalize the care and devotion of the adult who is always there, viewing it as an inalienable right. I rubbed my forehead. Whatever. Let her deal with the consequences. But my phone didn’t stop. After dinner that evening, Sasha called again. Her voice was the same as always, cool and even. “Ronan. Gwen’s stomach bug is back. I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t find her medication. Where did you hide it?” I gripped the phone, forcing my anger down. “In the cabinet under the TV.” “Oh. Found it. Listen, did Gwen’s teacher call you today? I was in a meeting and ran late. Did I… inconvenience you?” I didn’t know what she was driving at—she sounded clumsy, like she was trying to start a conversation with thin air. “Yes, you inconvenienced me,” I said flatly. “So, can you please stop calling me?” In the past, my calls were rejected; she never called me. Now, in just a few days, the calls were stacking up. I changed my number. Over the next few weeks, Sasha didn’t call. I immersed myself in the lab, often staying an entire day. Here, I reconnected with my earliest ambition. It felt like college again. I used to be a student who lived and breathed research. At some point, my dreams, my core, had been subsumed by the demands of a life I had willingly chosen to abandon myself for. The department head walked in to tell me I had a new project I needed to take over. I pulled off my gloves and stepped out. In the waiting area, I saw two familiar figures. Sasha. And beside her, Gwen. Through the glass, Sasha was awkwardly explaining to the department head why she had brought her daughter to the office. I walked into the room. Sasha’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly at the sight of me. “Dad…” Gwen muttered, tugging on Sasha’s jacket. “Ah, here he is,” the department head said, pointing to me. “This is the head of the project; he’ll handle the transition.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and offered a faint smile. “Director, no need for introductions. This is my ex-wife. I’ll take it from here. You can go back to your work.” The director offered an uncomfortable laugh and left the room. I looked at the file in my hands. “By my count, your team should have one more person.” Just as I spoke, a knock came at the door. Blake walked in. “Sorry, I’m late.”

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The night my husband, Spencer, said, “We’re done,” I didn’t cry. The next morning, I woke at the usual hour. The pitcher on the counter was empty, so I took the bucket out to the spigot in the yard to draw water. The winter water was bone-numbingly cold. When I came back, I lit the electric kettle and reheated last night’s leftovers. The door to his study was still closed—he always slept until the late morning sun hit the window. I wiped the breakfast table until the surface was free of even a hint of grease and set out the simple jarred preserves. Then, I took the spare key I usually kept hanging by the door and placed it gently on the floor beside his slightly worn leather wingtips. I never went back. 1 If I have one skill in this world, it’s endurance. Marrying Spencer Ashworth was the biggest news on our street. I was a worker at The Redwood Canning Facility, perpetually smelling of processed tomatoes and steam. He was a newly hired junior associate at the prestigious Harrington Foundation for the Arts—clean, refined, and his shirt collar was always perfectly starched. Everyone said I’d caught a falling star. My parents agreed, constantly reminding me to cater to his needs, to keep up appearances, and not to lose this dignity he had bestowed upon me. And so, I served. He liked sweets, so I learned to bake delicate, fussy pastries. He complained the house was noisy, so I moved my sewing machine into the hallway. He preferred silence, so I learned to hold my tongue. We’d been married for three years, and he’d never once touched the laundry or dealt with the bills. His mother, a retired elementary school principal, never failed to lecture me during dinner. “Our Spencer is destined for great things. Alice, you must be supportive. You cannot be a weight dragging down his future.” I’d nod and place the choicest, most tender pieces of pot roast in her bowl. Be supportive. I had been supportive for three long years. It wasn’t until the water had gone completely cold that I realized if I stayed submerged any longer, I would freeze to death. Spencer changed after the Foundation’s annual gala. He started coming home later and later. The familiar scent of old paper and ink on his clothes was replaced by a strange, cloyingly sweet designer cologne. At first, I told myself it was just from the party guests. That was until the day I went to drop off a crucial document he’d forgotten. Outside the entrance to the Foundation’s main building, I saw him. He was bent over, holding open the door of a brand-new, charcoal-gray Audi for a woman. She had a stylish, dark, shoulder-length bob, was wearing oversized sunglasses, and had an air of casual wealth about her. It was Vanessa Harrington, the Councilman’s daughter, recently returned from a stint in Europe. The smile on Spencer’s face was one I had never seen directed at me. It was eager, deferential, and radiant. I stood by the gate for a long time, the forgotten papers fluttering in my hand in the sharp breeze. I didn’t go in. I was afraid the smell of tomato paste and steam on my clothes would somehow stain his perfect new picture. I held the documents tight and walked home. That night, when he finally came back, he yelled at me for the first time. “Where are the financials? Don’t you know how urgent that was? You couldn’t even handle one simple thing! What good are you?” I just looked at him, saying nothing. He gave me a look of pure disgust: “You reek of the kitchen. Stay away from me.” He slept in the study that night. 2 From that day on, the study door never opened for me again. Humans, I guess, are a pathetic lot. The more he ignored me, the cleaner I kept the house. I scrubbed the floors three times over. I washed his white dress shirts, meticulously ironing them until they were stiff and immaculate. I thought that if I was good enough, perfect enough, he would eventually come back. Until Mrs. Ashworth came over again. This time, she didn’t bring the usual store-bought pound cake she liked. Her hands were empty. She sat down at my small kitchen table with a face set in stone. “Alice, marrying Spencer was a sacrifice for you.” My heart dropped. That was not her usual line. “Spencer, well, he’s an ambitious boy,” she sighed. “Councilman Harrington sees his potential. He wants to mentor him, and he intends to offer his daughter… Vanessa… to him.” The cup of water I was pouring wobbled in my hand, and the hot liquid spilled onto my wrist, leaving a stinging red welt. “Mom, what are you saying? Spencer… he’s married.” “Married people get divorced!” she suddenly shrieked. “Alice, you need to think about Spencer’s career! What is the Harrington family? They’re royalty! If Spencer connects with them, he’ll be a king. And you?” She looked me up and down: “You’re from a canning facility. You can’t help him. You can only hold him back!” “Our Spencer cannot be ruined because of you.” I looked at this cruel, aging woman. She had eaten my dinners, worn clothes I had washed, and slept in a bed in a home I had cleaned. Now, she was asking me to vacate my life so her son could become a “king.” I said nothing, but placed the water glass heavily on the table. “Mom, your water is cold. I’ll get you fresh.” I turned and walked into the kitchen. That day, I cooked a full, four-course meal—everything Mrs. Ashworth loved. She ate until she was satisfied, and as she left, she reverted to her usual patronizing tone. “Alice, you’re a good girl. You’ll see the sense in this. Don’t worry, the Ashworths will take care of you. Just… name your price.” I smiled and walked her to the door. “Mom, be careful. The sidewalk is slick.” 3 The moment I shut the door, I threw up. I retched violently, as if trying to expel three years of suppressed rage, self-pity, and bitterness along with the bile. Spencer confronted me three days later. He was wearing a brand-new, expensive navy suit, and his hair was slicked back, gleaming. He didn’t look at me. He stared at the framed family photo hanging on the wall—the one taken at my parents’ house after we had just moved in. “Alice, we… we need to end this.” “You’ve heard about Vanessa. She… she can open doors for me.” “It’s not that I look down on you,” he lit a cigarette, the smoke curling and obscuring his face. “It’s that we want different things. I’m looking for the stars and the sea. You… you can only see the four walls of this kitchen.” “Don’t worry,” he pulled a white envelope from his pocket. “Here is five hundred dollars. Consider it compensation. You can stay in the house for now, and then… then you can move out once I’m settled.” Five hundred dollars. Three years of my youth, my dignity, my entire life, valued at five hundred dollars. I laughed. “Spencer Ashworth, have you forgotten? This house was my parents’ inheritance. You are the one who needs to move out.” He froze. He had probably forgotten how he had stood on my doorstep all those years ago, a shy young man with a cheap duffel bag, saying, “Alice, I promise I’ll always take care of you.” His face instantly flushed beet red. “Alice! Don’t be difficult! You think you’re still some pristine maiden? You leave me, and who’s going to want a divorced woman like you?” “I’m telling you, don’t try to cause a scene! If you go to the factory, or worse, the Foundation, I… I have ways of making sure you can’t get a job anywhere in this city!” He slammed the envelope on the table and stormed out, the door shaking the entire house. I looked at the five hundred dollars, slowly sank to the floor, and cried. Not for him, but for the death of those three lost years. The next day, I went to The Redwood Canning Facility. In the packing room, my coworkers were looking at me strangely. Patrice, my closest friend, pulled me aside. “Alice, is it true? About Spencer…” I nodded. Patrice sighed: “I knew it! Yesterday, someone from the City Planning office came by. They were asking about you, dropping hints that you were… quote, ‘emotionally unstable’ and ‘a poor fit for a man of Mr. Ashworth’s caliber.’” “They told the floor manager they were concerned you might hurt the plant’s reputation!” A cold numbness spread through me. Spencer, you are truly ruthless. You didn’t just want my spot; you wanted to destroy my reputation and ensure I had no escape route. I took a deep breath and walked to the manager’s office. “Mr. Davis, I need to quit.” He looked startled: “Alice, you’re one of our best. Why?” “Family matters. I need to go back to my cousin’s farm for a while.” He tried to argue, but I cut him off: “Please, just sign it. I don’t want to cause any trouble for the facility.” He looked at me for a long time, then sighed and stamped the paper. Holding the thin piece of termination paper, I walked out of The Redwood Canning Facility. 4 After working there for five years, I didn’t look back. I didn’t go back to the house. I went to my cousin Georgia’s place. She ran a small, struggling organic farm on the edge of town. She was cash-poor, but big-hearted. After I told her everything, she was furious, slapping her hand repeatedly on her thigh. “That weasel! Alice, you can’t let him get away with this! Come on, I’ll go with you to that fancy Foundation, and we’ll tear his face up!” I pulled her back: “It won’t work, Georgia. He’s the Councilman’s pet project now. We’ll lose.” “But… but you can’t let him push you around! That house is yours! Why should he stay?” “Georgia, I’m done wasting my time on him.” I took out my life savings—a bank book with the $1,500 I’d secretly squirreled away over the years. “Georgia, I want to go South.” She stared at me: “The Coastal Crescent? That far away! You’ll be alone, you don’t know anyone…” “If I stay here, I won’t survive.” If I stayed, I would be the woman people whispered about. Spencer and Vanessa would be two mountains crushing me, blocking out the sun. Seeing my resolve, Georgia stopped arguing. She pressed two hundred dollars and a basket of fresh eggs into my hands. “Take this. When you get settled, send me a postcard.” My eyes stung, but I took the money. I didn’t sleep that night. I made a list. The next day, I put on my oldest clothes, a baseball cap, and went back to my house. Spencer wasn’t there. I packed only my essentials with furious speed: a few changes of clothes, the silver locket my mother left me. Then, I went next door to Mrs. Gina’s house (I localized the name to Mrs. Bell). Mrs. Bell was my kind, nosy, long-time neighbor. I gave her my remaining pantry staples—canned goods, a bag of dried beans, and the jars of homemade pickles I’d prepared. “Mrs. Bell, I’m going to stay with my cousin for a while. These things will just spoil. Please use them.” Mrs. Bell, unsuspecting, happily took them. “Alice, you’re too good for that Spencer. Never home, always expecting you to wait on him.” I smiled vaguely, not responding. Before leaving, I casually mentioned: “Mrs. Bell, all the furniture in my living room was my parents’ inheritance. I’m worried about Spencer’s family coming over and helping themselves to things. Would you… would you keep an eye out? If anything happens, maybe call a few of the boys on the block and help me move it into your garage for safekeeping?” Mrs. Bell thumped her chest: “Don’t you worry, honey! No one touches your things in this neighborhood!” I thanked her, grabbed my small duffel bag, and walked away without a backward glance. Spencer, you wanted your “stars and the sea”? Well, I just smashed your kitchen.

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When Julian Vance and Wendy’s bed photos hit the headlines again. Everyone was speculating how I would go crazy this time. Julian even abandoned a multi-million dollar business deal he was negotiating to explain to me. “About the bed photos, Wendy is also a victim, don’t you…” I touched my pregnant belly, didn’t argue or make trouble. “Rest assured, I understand.” Julian sat down satisfied, but I thought to myself. He is not a qualified husband, fortunately, I am not a perfect wife either. Chapter 1 [Your appointment for prenatal checkup will start in one hour.] Phone ringtone broke the dead silence in the living room. After I turned off the phone, Julian asked me. “Who sent the message?” I vaguely explained, “Just a physical examination message from the hospital.” “I have something to deal with, won’t be back tonight.” Just as I was about to go out. Julian hugged my waist from behind. “Scarlett, why did you suddenly become so sensible?” Julian had a strong smell of Cologne on him. Before, I was always deeply addicted to this smell, unable to extricate myself. Now, I find it exceptionally unpleasant and disgusting. I gently pushed him away, eyes lazy. “I hate the smell on you.” Julian’s face turned gloomy, he pressed me against the wall, leaned down. “You really should learn from Wendy, how to please your husband.” His breath sprayed on my neck, words ambiguous. “How about one day, I let Wendy teach you some tricks, so you can keep me longer.” I turned my head away not wanting to look at him, Julian touched my chin. “You being so obedient is somewhat novel.” He wanted to kiss me, pushed away by me, he wasn’t angry either. “Aren’t you going to the hospital, I’ll send you.” I frowned looking at Julian opening the car door for me, still got in. Opened the door, the passenger seat cushion turned pink, even the seat belt was in the shape of a bear. Julian chuckled indifferently, “Little girls love these pink things, unlike you.” I looked at that passenger seat, eyes a bit sore. Which girl doesn’t love pink? I also wanted to decorate the passenger seat of Julian’s car in pink once. But Julian directly rejected me. He said, “Pink is tender, how old are you now?” That year, I was only twenty-five. Perhaps my face was indeed not good, Julian promised me. “Tomorrow I’ll have someone remove these things.” I closed the car door, got into the back seat, “It’s okay, little girl, understandable.” Julian’s lips almost pressed into a straight line, silent all the way. Just entered the hospital gate, Wendy pounced towards Julian. Even subtly pushed me, luckily I was guarded against her. Otherwise very likely would fall. Julian held her, even lifted her butt up a few times. “Stop it.” Although his words were blaming, the tone was exceptionally gentle. Turns out he didn’t specially send me to the hospital. Just on the way. I didn’t want to watch them flirt anymore, turned and walked towards the hospital interior. Julian wanted to chase me, but was pulled by acting spoiled Wendy. “Brother Julian, I also feel a bit uncomfortable.” Such means, I have seen often. Last time, was at a charity gala. Wendy bid against me on the same stage, but failed due to insufficient financial resources. Julian thought I bullied her. So in front of all power holders in New York, he made me lose face. Let me lose face completely in the circle. Even if I took out evidence, but Wendy just casually acted spoiled and silly. Julian unhesitatingly favored her. Thinking of this, I shook my head self-mockingly. Agreed not to care about him anymore, why think about these. I met the doctor, she said the fetus development is all good. So, first time I got the checkup report. I sent a message to the child’s dad. [Doctor said the child is all good, see you at Sky Restaurant tonight.] Phone rang, the other side replied a “Kiss” emoji. I couldn’t help laughing. Chapter 2 I prepared to leave, familiar voice came from the next consulting room. My steps involuntarily stopped, looked inside. Wendy was crying in Julian’s arms. “Great, Brother Julian, we finally have a child.” Julian’s voice soft enough to kill, “Have a child then raise well.” Wendy’s voice timid with probing, “Then what about Mrs. Vance?” Julian’s face changed a few times, “Your child is also Mrs. Vance’s child.” I heard this, only felt a burst of numbness in heart. Julian doesn’t love me anymore, but he refuses to divorce. Even now wants me to raise his illegitimate child. But, based on what? I didn’t want to waste time here, so went out. Not far away a couple happened to come out with me. Husband carefully supported wife’s waist, wife coquettishly complained. “Just pregnant, not that delicate.” Husband said firmly, “I can’t share the pain of pregnancy, but I will do my best to take care of you.” Two looked at each other and smiled, affection between each other. Scene in front was so warm, I couldn’t help thinking of the past. First time learned pregnancy, I excitedly couldn’t sleep all night. Next day Julian worked overtime back home, I told him first time. I searched from memory, what was Julian’s reaction then? He held me spinning in the living room, like a fool. I thought that was my happiest time. But, Wendy came back not long after. My relationship with Julian went back to before. Later, that child was gone. Screech, a car stopped in front of me. Passenger window slowly lowered, Wendy smiled very proudly. She touched her belly looking at me, “Mrs. Vance, afraid have to wrong you sit in the back.” “Brother Julian said I just got pregnant, can’t bump in the back.” Julian frowned looking at Wendy, then looked at me. “How was your doctor visit?” I put away the report, face already returned to calm. “Fine.” Not waiting for Julian to speak, I rejected him first. “I told you before, not going back tonight, we are not on the way.” Wendy pretended “Oh”. “Mrs. Vance said right, not same road indeed can’t walk together, forcing won’t be happy.” I looked at Wendy with a smile yet not a smile, “Me and Julian haven’t divorced yet, not your turn a mistress to lecture me.” Wendy lowered eyes, tears about to fall, grievance on body almost couldn’t cover. Julian immediately distressed hugged her to comfort, then glared at me. “Scarlett, apologize.” I sneered, “Why should I apologize, which sentence did I say wrong.” Wendy instantly burst into tears crying extremely sad, Julian eyes sank. He let people pull me into the car, suddenly in some alley, Julian stopped the car. I watched him kiss Wendy’s lips in front of me, tsk tsk saliva sound constant. What is this? Julian hugged panting Wendy teasing, “Wendy body soft like water, not hurry teach Mrs. Vance how to serve man?” Wendy laughed strangely, leaned down. Julian hand pressed Wendy’s head, eyes dead staring at me. I looked at the scene in front, only felt disgusting terrible. Car door locked, I bent over constantly retching. Stomach violent spasm made me painful tears flowed full face. Don’t know how long passed, Julian sighed comfortably. I wiped a tear, sat in back seat closing eyes. Julian satisfied touched Wendy’s head, “You are much better than her, some people in bed like wood, boring to extreme.” I had to admit, even if I already completely gave up on Julian. But hearing Julian’s disgust, I still would feel a little heartache. It’s okay, as long as time is long enough. I definitely can walk out. I touched my belly, felt much better in heart. Chapter 3 Afterwards, Julian let Wendy get off the car. All the way, we looked at each other speechless silence. Finally he couldn’t bear it, fiercely stepped on brake. I subconsciously covered my belly, he didn’t see. He smashed steering wheel eyes scarlet, “Scarlett Lane, when will you torture me until?” My face appeared sarcasm, “What did I do?” “Even you guys doing in front of me, I endured, what else you want me to do?” Julian suddenly cold face, “Wendy’s child, is I didn’t handle well, I apologize to you.” “Her first pregnancy, crying begging me keep the child, so…” Her first pregnancy so Julian reluctant, then does he still remember how our first child was gone? When I was three months pregnant, because fetal position unstable raising fetus at home. But accidentally received Wendy’s provocation video. In video, she was doing with Julian in front of French window. That French window I recognized at a glance, that was when we just married. Wedding gift Julian gave me, is a hotel exclusively under my name. That room even not open to public, but now. Julian actually messing with Wendy in that place. I received video first time killed over. I smashed whole hotel, even stripped Wendy naked threw on street. I hysterically roared at Julian. “Julian Vance, I loved you sixteen years, you also swore never fail me, why you treat me like this?” “Especially this woman, is still a chicken (prostitute).” I thought I could wake up Julian, but Julian just slow orderly buttoning buttons. “Chicken also better than you, at least she knows how to please people.” That sentence directly beat me into abyss. Warm hotel four seasons like spring, I however freezing trembling all over. Also that time, let me lose first child. From that day, Julian and Wendy completely moved to table surface. They in pairs attend major banquets balls, Julian even personally help Wendy integrate into Elite Circle. With his help, Wendy step by step stood firm in circle. Even, company Wendy established faintly compete market with my company. All this, Julian saw in eyes, but never stopped. People in circle all laughing at me, licked dog licked ten years gain nothing. Julian lit a cigarette, in smoke his words came over. “And I plan, this child born give you raise.” I lowered eyes cover sarcasm in eyes. Who rare your child? I not no child. “No need, I…” My words not finished, Julian already changed face. “I already guaranteed like this, why you still cold face?” I dumbfounded laugh, “Julian, how about we just calculate like this?” My voice very light, Julian suddenly sneer. “Scarlett Lane, you changed what new trick again?” No trick, I just tired. Julian suddenly answered a call. “What? I come immediately.” Then he looked at me, eyes forest cold. “Don’t regret.” I understood warning in Julian words. But I don’t want care, got off car. Almost my foot just land, car roared away. I looked at car back thinking. How anxious is he ah, to even ignore traffic lights. Clearly before, Julian was a person carved rules into bones ah. Still remember I just married into Vance family, because midnight stomach pain need family doctor. But Julian refused me with excuse family doctor on vocation, shouldn’t disturb. If not I dialed emergency call myself before coma. Afraid then I would die in Vance family. Even next day, Julian came hospital see me. Also just a light sorry then ended. That time me, actually took this sentence as Julian introverted love. I shook head, hailed taxi on roadside went to Sky Hotel. But at hotel door received father’s message. Chapter 4 [Lane Group recently funds somewhat difficult, I found Julian several times, he refused see me.] I looked at message frown, what is he making trouble again? Vent anger for Wendy? I replied message. [Dad, you go back first, I go find him talk.] I took out phone sent message to child’s dad. [Home accident, tonight date cancel.] Phone soon rang, a message popped out. [Need my help?] I somewhat tangled, finger hovered on screen long time then reply. [Okay.] I returned Vance house. Villa brightly lit. Second floor window projected two tightly snuggled figures. That is bedroom direction. I quietly approached, heard Wendy acting spoiled. “Brother Julian, this dress indeed very good, just a bit small.” Julian laughed dull, “You be careful, this is Scarlett mother’s relic.” Boom a sound, my brain a burst sky spin earth turn. Julian actually gave my wedding dress to Wendy wear. That dress was my mother hand made, to collect diamonds on it. She personally went South Africa mines, one by one picked for me. More for embroidering this wedding dress, tired bad eyes. Julian he clearly knew significance of this wedding dress. Suddenly, inside Wendy screamed. “Brother Julian, this dress torn, what do?” I couldn’t bear anymore, directly pushed door enter. Wendy scared hid into Julian arms, I directly gave her a slap. Wendy instantly wuwuwu cried up, Julian frown. “Just a wedding dress, as for throwing such big temper?” This sentence let my numb heart pain again. Just a wedding dress? My eyes too sorrowful, Julian let Wendy take off wedding dress. Wedding dress already deformed, no longer look of back then. I held wedding dress went guest room, prepared good collect. Wendy however don’t know when touched over. She hooked lip smile, “How you so cheap, all entered room by me to this step, still dead rely not go.” I sneer, “I rather want divorce, but Julian not allow.” “You so capable, you go find him ah.” I turned want leave, Wendy suddenly fell on ground. “Brother Julian, save my child.” Almost instant, Julian rushed over. He look furious staring me. “Scarlett Lane, my previous warning you didn’t put in heart a bit.” I retreated half step, “I didn’t push her, she fake fall herself.” Julian however distressed hugged Wendy in arms. “Wendy nature gentle kind, absolutely won’t frame you.” Wendy also cry, “All my bad, I shouldn’t appear in front of Mrs. Vance.” This sentence let Julian ruthless. “Mrs. Vance brain not clear, help Mrs. Vance sober up.” I wanted flee, bodyguards behind blocked. They put full a pool of water. And pressed my head into water. I childhood once drowned water, so very fear water. Julian knew, I struggled shout. “Julian, I will die.” I thought, he somewhat would care old feeling. But he just gently frown. “Scarlett, not give you a lesson, you won’t learn behave.” “My people have measure, won’t really hurt you.” Just like this, turbid water soaked my head. I desperately struggled, mind flashed look of falling water back then. Panic and despair wrapped me. My abdomen also came a burst sharp pain. “Stop!” Just when I despair, I heard that familiar voice. Soon, I was pulled up hugged in arms. “Scarlett, are you okay?” I crazy coughed, body couldn’t help trembling. But my heart settled down. Because I realized, Xavier Sterling came. Julian saw Xavier first time was confusion. “Why you came?” Xavier brows eyes like ice, peach blossom eyes all killing intent. “You want kill my wife and child, of course I have to come!”

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I bought an RV and parked it right below the office building just so I could get a decent nap during my lunch break. One of my male coworkers from the department walked up to me and stuck out his hand for the keys: “Look, you’re working all afternoon anyway. Leaving the van sitting there is just a waste of resources. Why don’t you give me the keys?” “My girlfriend and I have nowhere to go for some privacy. We’re colleagues, right? You wouldn’t say no to a small favor like this? People who are too selfish don’t last long in this industry.” I was so angry I actually started laughing. I paid for that van in full with my own money. I pay for the gas. And now, suddenly, it’s supposed to be the company’s public lounge? I’m about to find out exactly who isn’t going to “last long” around here. 1 Looking at my phone screen, I smirked. I re-read the text. Caleb was the “old grease” of our department—a guy who lived for petty handouts. He’d piggyback on your Starbucks order to get the discount but never pay you back, or ask you to carry his heavy Amazon packages up because “you were going that way anyway.” I texted back: “Do you even know how much that rig cost? You’ve got a lot of nerve asking.” Caleb’s reply came instantly. “Oh, come on, Avery. Don’t be like that. We’re friends, aren’t we?” “A vehicle is just a tool for transportation. It depreciates whether you use it or not.” “I’m just trying to help you maximize your resources.” “Besides, me and my girl just want to lay down for an hour. It’s not like I’m driving it away.” “We sit in the same office every day. You’re really not going to give me this much face?” I slammed my phone face down on the desk. Less than two minutes later, Caleb sauntered over to my cubicle. He held a Yeti tumbler with the company logo on it and gave me a crooked grin. “Hey, Avery. About what we talked about on text… what do you think?” He raised his voice, making sure it carried. A few coworkers nearby lifted their heads to watch. “My girlfriend’s been feeling under the weather lately. Slumping over a desk at noon is killing her back.” “Think of it as a good deed. What’s the harm in letting us use the keys for two hours?” I spun my chair around and stared him down. “Caleb, your girlfriend’s health is your problem. What does it have to do with me?” “If I’m going to do a ‘good deed,’ it won’t be for someone like you.” “The van is my private property. The answer is no. Do you understand English?” The smile on Caleb’s face froze. He slammed his tumbler onto my desk with a loud thud. “Avery Smith, don’t be so stuck-up. We’re coworkers. We have to see each other every day.” “You think you’re better than everyone just because you could afford an RV? You think money gives you the right to look down on us?” “Everyone, listen to this! I just asked for a place to nap at lunch, and she’s acting like I asked for her kidney!” “Her van just sits there empty. Why is it so hard for her to be a decent human being?” A few colleagues started whispering. “Honestly, Avery, it wouldn’t hurt to let him use it. You’re working anyway.” “Yeah, Caleb’s not a stranger. It’s just so everyone can be more refreshed for work.” “Young people should be more generous. Don’t ruin the office vibe over something small.” I pulled out my phone, opened the photo of my purchase contract, and shoved the screen in Caleb’s face. “Look closely. $85,000 cash. With the interior mods, it’s over $100k.” “Every cent of that came from my parents because they didn’t want me exhausted at work. It has zero to do with this company.” “You want a place to sleep? Great. Go buy your own rig. Sleep however you want.” “And stop trying to guilt-trip me with this ‘colleague’ crap. It’s not working.” Caleb pointed a shaking finger at my nose. “Fine, Avery. You’re rich, you’re the boss. Whatever.” “We’ll see how long a selfish person like you lasts in this office!” He grabbed his tumbler and stormed off, kicking a trash can on his way out. 2 As soon as the afternoon shift started, I was called into the office by the HR Manager, Brenda. She sat there with a cold face, tapping a pen on her desk. “Avery, I’ve had reports from staff. Apparently, you’ve parked a large recreational vehicle downstairs.” “People are saying it’s too big, it’s ruining the company’s professional image and messing up the parking flow.” “And napping in a van during the day… it doesn’t look good for us.” “Even though lunch is your own time, you need to think about the optics.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a document. “Brenda, first of all, the parking lot downstairs is managed by the building’s property management, not the company.” “This is a long-term lease I signed with them. I have a designated, private spot.” “I specifically chose a corner spot so I wouldn’t block anyone. And where I sleep at noon is my business. The Department of Labor doesn’t mandate that employees have to sleep face-down on their keyboards, does it?” Brenda took the contract. The official notary stamp was hard to miss. Her expression shifted. “Well… the contract is fine, but this is a workplace…” “Caleb mentioned that your van is causing ‘internal friction.’ People feel like you’re flaunting your wealth, making yourself out to be special.” “How about this? Move the van, or hand the keys over to HR for safekeeping.” “That way, if a colleague has a special need to rest, they can apply to use it.” I almost laughed out loud. “Brenda, that van is my personal asset, not a company perk.” “You want me to turn my private vehicle into a communal asset? Does that sound legal to you?” “If you think I’m flaunting wealth, are the executives downstairs going to donate their Porsches and Teslas too?” “If Caleb feels it’s unfair, tell him to go rent a spot and buy a tent. I don’t care.” Brenda was speechless. She finally waved me out. “Fine, fine. If the paperwork is legal, I can’t stop you. Just… try to be a team player.” I walked out of HR and ran into Caleb at the coffee station. He dodged my eyes for a second. I stood next to him and fixed a coffee. Caleb scoffed. “Think you’re hot stuff because you have a key?” “Everyone’s been in a nice car before. Let’s see how long you can keep up this act.” “A van sitting out there in the sun… it’d be a shame if it got scratched or dented.” “The repair bill would probably cost more than your monthly salary, right?” I turned, looked him dead in the eye, and dropped my spoon into the cup. “Caleb, if you so much as touch my van, I’m calling the cops.” “I’ll settle every old score and new grudge at once. We’ll see who ends up in the dirt.” Caleb pulled his neck back like a turtle. But he wouldn’t back down. “Who wants to touch your trashy van? Psycho.” He scurried back to his desk. 3 Caleb didn’t confront me again. But I felt his eyes on me constantly. Every time I looked up, he’d snap his head back to his monitor, pretending to work. Wednesday at noon, I went down to the van as usual. Shortly after I lay down, I heard movement outside. I peeled back the curtain a fraction of an inch. Caleb was circling my van. He was on the phone, his voice hushed. “Yeah, babe, just hang in there. I’m working on it.” “The girl is too stingy. Won’t budge.” “It’s fine. The locks on these things aren’t that great. I’ll figure it out.” He walked to the driver-side door and tugged the handle. When it didn’t open, he pressed his face against the glass, his fingers picking at the trim. I grabbed my key fob and hit the Panic button. The alarm blared through the parking garage. Caleb jumped back a good five feet, looking around wildly. I pushed the door open and stood on the steps, looking down at him. “Caleb? What are you doing lurking around my car?” “Planning to boost it? There are cameras everywhere. You really want to do a stint in county jail?” Caleb froze, then his face turned a deep, blotchy red. He squared his shoulders. “Who’s stealing? Don’t go throwing accusations around!” “I was just walking by. Can’t a guy look? Do you own the pavement now?” “Besides, you’re the one trying to give me a heart attack with that alarm!” I hopped down, crossing my arms. “Walking by? You were pulling that handle pretty hard for a ‘passerby.’” “What, were you hoping for a miracle? That it would just pop open for you?” “I’m warning you, stay away from my van. If I find a single scratch on it, it’s coming out of your hide.” Caught red-handed, Caleb’s face turned even darker. He pointed at me, stuttering. “Fine. You think you’re so tough.” “You think you can guard this thing 24/7? Good luck.” He turned and bolted. 4 Back at the office, he started playing the victim. He was sighing loudly among a group of female coworkers. “I don’t know what to do. My girlfriend has such bad cramps today, she can barely stand.” “I just wanted a place for her to lie down and have some hot tea.” “Avery is just so cold-blooded. She watches people suffer and does nothing.” “It’s not like I wouldn’t pay. Am I the type of guy to take advantage of people?” The women started chiming in. “Wait, her cramps are that bad? Poor thing.” “Avery really is being a bit much. It’s a huge van. One hour wouldn’t hurt.” “Exactly. We’re all women here. Where’s the empathy?” I walked in and felt the daggers in their eyes. One woman spoke up. “Avery, we heard about your RV. Must be nice.” “But we shouldn’t be so selfish. Caleb’s girlfriend is really struggling.” “Just do a good deed for once. Let them use it. Everyone would appreciate it.” I threw my bag on the desk and scanned the room. “Are you the parking police? Or my accountant?” “If his girlfriend is in that much pain, he should take her to the ER, not my van.” “Is my van a hospital now? Does lying down in it cure medical conditions?” “If you guys are so empathetic, why don’t you let her lie down at your desks? Or better yet, why don’t you all chip in and get her a suite at the Four Seasons? I won’t stop you.” Silence. Caleb walked over and pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “Avery, I know you think I’m a free-loader.” “Fine. Here. Take it. Consider it rent.” “Ten bucks for a ‘cleaning fee.’ Me and my girl just need one hour.” “Now you have nothing to complain about. We’re colleagues. Don’t push things too far.” I swiped the bill off my desk and let it flutter to the floor without looking at it. “Caleb, take that ten dollars and go buy yourself some Gatorade. You clearly need to hydrate your brain.” “The van is not for rent. Not for any price.” “If you harass me one more time, I’m asking the boss for a desk move.” Caleb stared at the money on the floor. His expression turned ugly. He knelt down, picked it up, and hissed under his breath. “Stingy bitch. Someone’s gonna wreck that trashy van of yours eventually.” It was quiet, but I heard it. 5 That evening, I found a pile of trash dumped next to my front tire. And there it was—a long, jagged scratch across the door. It caught the light perfectly. I knew it was him. I took a deep breath. I didn’t blow up in the group chat. Instead, I went on Amazon and ordered a high-end hidden camera system. I installed it inside the cabinet trim, angled perfectly toward the door and the bed area. I even hooked it up to a backup battery. As I checked the live feed on my phone, I let out a cold laugh. “Caleb, if you’d stayed in your lane, I would’ve let this go.” “But if you really put your hands inside my home… I’m going to ruin you.” Friday afternoon, just before clock-out, I “accidentally” dropped a package. Caleb practically sprinted over to help me pick it up. “Oh, Avery, let me get that. You shouldn’t be doing the heavy lifting,” he said, beaming. “Listen, I’m sorry about my attitude the other day. Let’s not let it get between us, okay? We’re all here to work. No need for bad blood.” Looking at his fake smile, my heart sank, but I nodded. “Sure. Let’s move on.” Caleb’s eyes flickered with a strange glint. “By the way, we have a huge client coming in Monday. The boss wants you to prep the materials. You’ll probably have to run out to the industrial park in the suburbs to drop off some samples. I saw the admin sent the itinerary to your email.” I checked my inbox. There it was: a delivery task at an industrial park on the outskirts of town. It was a remote area, at least a three or four-hour round trip. The timing was tight—right in the middle of the Monday lunch hour. I caught Caleb out of the corner of my eye. He was looking at his phone, a tiny, triumphant smirk tugging at his lips.

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My best friend, Chloe, spent her entire life devouring billionaire romance novels. She was convinced that one day, she’d marry into high society. I used to think she was just talking big. But to my absolute shock, she actually managed to hook up with Arthur Sterling, the wealthiest man in the city. Their romance was a whirlwind, ending in a surprise wedding. For two weeks straight, the news was plastered with clips of their extravagant ceremony. When she FaceTimed me, she was on her honeymoon in Hawaii, lounging in Arthur’s arms with a beaming smile. “Babe,” she giggled, “Arthur and I talked it over. Next month, as soon as we get back from the honeymoon, you’re moving in with us!” Arthur chimed in from the side, “My wife’s friends are my friends. We’re family now.” A month later, I stood in front of the Sterling estate, luggage in hand. I smiled at the butler and said, “Hi! I’m Chloe’s best friend. I’m moving in to stay with her!” The butler froze. “Chloe? Who is Chloe? Mr. Sterling has always been single.” 1 The smile on my face instantly vanished. “You’ve got a great sense of humor, sir,” I let out a dry laugh. “Chloe! Arthur Sterling’s wife! I met you at the wedding reception—I even handed you a pack of expensive cigarettes. Stop teasing me.” The butler looked at me with a completely stone-faced expression. “I don’t have time for jokes. There is no Chloe here. Only Mr. Sterling and I live in this house. If you keep making a scene, I’m calling the police.” With that, he moved to shut the gate. “Wait! Don’t close it!” Panic set in. I grabbed the iron bars of the gate with one hand and frantically pulled out my phone with the other. “I have proof! It was a massive wedding—how could you just forget? Are you suffering from dementia or something?” I pulled up Instagram, scrolling through my saved folders for the livestream of the wedding. I remembered taking screenshots and sending them to Chloe, crying happy tears of envy. But as soon as I clicked the link, a pop-up appeared: [This content has been deleted or does not exist.] My head started spinning. How was that possible? Refusing to believe it, I opened my browser bookmarks to several news articles: “City’s Top Billionaire Spends $100 Million to Marry Cinderella” and “Chloe: The Girl Kissed by God.” The moment I clicked them, every single link went dead. “How… they were working last night…” The butler watched my every move with cold indifference. “Miss, faking news and spreading rumors is a crime. Are you that desperate to climb the social ladder?” “I’m not making this up!” I screamed, my fingers trembling as I switched back to WhatsApp. “I have our chat logs! Look! Just one minute ago, she sent me a message!” On the screen, the chat box with Chloe’s selfie as the profile picture was clear as day. [Babe, I just put on a face mask… the butler will let you in…] “Just you wait! I’m calling her right now!” My voice cracked with desperation. “When she comes down to get me, you’re fired!” The next second, a cold, robotic female voice came through the speaker: “The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again…” I went numb. Out of service? I looked at the WhatsApp screen again. She was literally just talking to me a second ago. A terrifying chill crept up my spine. Instant replies on chat, but a dead number on the phone? What kind of horror movie was this? The butler’s expression didn’t shift an inch. He gave me one last look, full of pure disgust. “Get lost. If you stay, I’m calling security to throw you down the hill.” BAM! The gate slammed shut. I stood there in the blistering sun, yet I felt like I had fallen into an ice cellar. What was going on? Chloe was clearly inside—why was the butler denying it? Why did all the news vanish? Had something happened to her? Was Arthur Sterling keeping her prisoner, erasing her existence so he could pretend to be single again? My scalp felt tight with fear and rage. No, I couldn’t leave. If I left, she’d be truly alone! Gritting my teeth, I dragged my suitcase to the center of the driveway and sat down. I didn’t believe for a second that Arthur wouldn’t come out eventually. Sure enough, ten minutes later, a black Maybach slowly approached. I recognized it—it was the same car Arthur used to pick Chloe up on their wedding day. In a moment of blind heat, I lunged forward, spreading my arms wide to block the car! “Arthur Sterling! Get out! Where are you hiding Chloe?!” The driver turned pale and was about to hop out to curse me out when the rear window slowly rolled down. It was him—Arthur, Chloe’s new husband. I rushed to the window and roared, “Mr. Sterling! Your butler says you’re single and that Chloe doesn’t exist! We FaceTimed two weeks ago while you guys were in Hawaii! What the hell is happening?!” Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Chloe? Hawaii?” I thought he was playing dumb and was ready to explode, but he simply signaled his staff to open the gate. “Since you’re here, come inside and explain yourself. I’d very much like to know…” “Exactly who this ‘Mrs. Sterling’ is that you’re talking about.” 2 The moment the gate opened, I didn’t even wait for Arthur to get out of the car. I bolted toward the villa with my suitcase. The butler tried to stop me, but I shoved him aside. “Don’t touch me!” I knew the layout of this place perfectly. On the wedding day, I had spent hours in the master suite on the second floor with Chloe. “Chloe! Come out!” I kicked the bedroom door open. I rushed in, my eyes frantically scanning the room. Nothing. No Chloe. There wasn’t even a single trace of a woman living there. “How…” Refusing to accept it, I threw open the walk-in closet. “The closet! Yes!” I remembered it clearly! On the wedding day, there were two entire walls of Hermès bags behind this door! I had hugged a Himalayan Birkin and screamed while Chloe laughed, telling me she’d give me one. Whoosh— I pulled the closet doors open with sheer force. My hands froze in mid-air. Empty. Only a few dark, custom-tailored suits hung there, lonely and cold. No Hermès. No Chanel. “Impossible… this can’t be…” I knelt on the floor, my hands frantically feeling the bottom of the wardrobe, trying to find a single long strand of hair or a stray earring. But there was nothing. The place was as sterile as a model home. Arthur leaned against the doorframe, his voice flat. “Have you seen enough, Miss Woods?” I slumped on the floor, my mind a mess. Was this a long con? Was the Arthur Sterling that Chloe met an imposter? But… this villa was real. Could a con artist be so powerful that they could rent out the wealthiest man’s estate just for an act? And if it was a scam, why was the real Arthur Sterling living here now? “I don’t believe you!” I scrambled up, pointing at Arthur. “You’re the scammer! You hid everything, didn’t you? I’m calling the police! I have video evidence! You were on a honeymoon in Hawaii two weeks ago!” Arthur looked at me like I was an incurable lunatic. He took out his phone and dialed 911. “Hello, this is Arthur Sterling. I have a trespasser at my residence. Please send someone over.” Ten minutes later, the police arrived. “Officers! I want to report a missing person! Chloe Sterling is gone! He did something to her! I have proof! They were in Hawaii two weeks ago!” The officers looked at me, then at Arthur. Arthur looked purely exasperated. “Officer, I’ve been in the city for the past two weeks handling a corporate merger. I haven’t been to Hawaii in over a year. You can check my travel records.” The officer checked his terminal immediately. Two minutes later, he turned the screen toward me. “Miss Woods, the system shows that Mr. Arthur Sterling has no record of leaving the country in the last three months.” BOOM! It felt like a lightning strike in my brain. No travel records? “Impossible! I saw it… the waves, the sand…” The officer put the terminal away, his expression stern. “Miss Woods, filing a false police report is a crime. Since you seem genuinely confused or perhaps scammed, I’ll give you a verbal warning this time. Leave now, or we’ll process you for disorderly conduct.” I stood there, frozen, my hands and feet ice-cold. A massive wave of terror swallowed me. Arthur stood to the side, his eyes as indifferent as if he were looking at a bag of trash. “Butler, show her out. If she ever sets foot on this property again, call the police immediately.” The butler stepped forward, roughly pushing my suitcase toward the door. “Miss Woods, after you.” I bit my lip so hard it bled, shaking with rage. I couldn’t accept this! Everything was real—why was it suddenly turning into my own personal delusion? I dragged my heavy suitcase out, looking back at every step. As I passed the large porcelain vase near the foyer, my suitcase wheel clipped the edge of the trash can. Clatter. The trash can tipped over. A pile of crumpled papers rolled out. The butler barked at me, “Stop playing games and get out!” But just then, a crumpled-up receipt caught my eye. Looking at it, the blood in my veins turned to ice. It was a convenience store receipt. Item: Orange Crush Menthol Cigarettes. Time: Yesterday, 2:30 PM. That was Chloe’s favorite brand of cigarettes. I secretly snatched the receipt and tucked it away, walking out of the villa without making another sound. 3 At dawn, I called Chloe’s former coworker, Maya. “Maya, it’s Avery! Where’s Chloe? Has she contacted you since the wedding?” There was a pause on the other end, followed by a sharp yell: “Avery, are you crazy? Chloe doesn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a husband!” My heart dropped. “The wedding livestream last month? Arthur Sterling? You didn’t see it?” “You’re delusional,” Maya interrupted impatiently. “She quit her job and moved back to her hometown last month!” Before I could react, she hung up. With trembling hands, I called Chloe’s mom. “Auntie! Something’s happened to Chloe! Arthur Sterling is denying everything! You have to come to the city!” Chloe’s mom was silent for five seconds. “Avery… what kind of nonsense is this? Since when did Chloe get married?” I froze. “The dowry! Didn’t he send you $1.5 million?” “What dowry? Child, do you have a fever?” Her voice grew urgent. “Chloe told me last month she was going to the countryside to clear her head. She even sent photos! What boyfriend? Don’t go ruining her reputation with this talk!” Click. The phone went dead again. I was completely stunned. Had even her own mother been bought off? I didn’t believe it. I took a cab straight to my own mother’s house. The second I walked in, I grabbed my mom. “Mom! Chloe’s in trouble! Everyone is lying to me!” I poured out everything that had happened. My mom listened, then touched my forehead. “Avery, when did Chloe get married? Why don’t I know about this?” My brain felt like it was exploding. “Mom! Stop joking! We watched the livestream together last month! You even said Arthur was handsome!” My mom frowned. “Last month you were working overtime, and I was watching my soap operas. When did we watch a livestream?” I pulled out my phone and shoved it in her face. “Look! Here’s the evidence! Chloe brags about her trophy wife life every day! Yesterday she even told me to come over!” My mom glanced at it and sighed. “Avery, this is just that ‘Marry a Billionaire’ roleplay game you girls used to play as kids. Stop it before you cause real trouble.” Roleplay? I stared at the screen. A massive question nearly drowned me. If it was roleplay, what was that wedding? If I was dreaming, how did I know the exact layout of the Sterling bedroom? More importantly, if Chloe didn’t hook up with Arthur, I wouldn’t even know who that man was! And the most critical question: Where was Chloe now? Suddenly, I remembered something. There was one more place that could prove it! I ran out and hailed a cab. “The Grand Plaza! Everlasting Weddings!” Chloe’s wedding was handled by the biggest wedding planning company in the city. I didn’t believe a company that size could just vanish into thin air! Ten minutes later, I stood in front of a door covered in official government seals. [Everlasting Weddings is closed for restructuring due to poor management.] The date on the seal was exactly two weeks ago. The day after Chloe’s wedding ended! I looked through the glass doors. The place was a wreck—chairs flipped, documents scattered everywhere. They ran? The city’s biggest wedding planner gets a $100 million contract from a billionaire and then goes bankrupt the next day? I pulled out my phone and dialed the owner’s number. “The number you have dialed is not in service…” Another dead number! A chill ran from my toes to the top of my head. Everyone and everything related to that wedding was being erased one by one. This only proved that something was definitely wrong. I refused to give up! There had to be something they didn’t clean up! “The spa! Yes!” I remembered! A week before the wedding, Chloe took me to a top-tier luxury spa for a treatment. To show off, she loaded $75,000 onto a VIP card for me! “Babe, keep this card. Use it whenever you want. It’s on Arthur’s black card anyway!” I rushed to the spa. “Check the balance on my membership card!” The receptionist tapped a few keys. “Miss Woods, your VIP card has a balance of $74,800.” I felt a surge of pure joy! Over 70 grand! I was a regular office worker making $3,000 a month—where would I get $75k to load a spa card? “Quick! Show me the transaction history! Who loaded it?” The receptionist turned the screen. “You loaded it yourself, Miss Woods.” I froze. “What do you mean I did? Chloe swiped her card! Arthur Sterling’s secondary card!” The receptionist looked confused. “Chloe? We don’t have a member by that name.” “Impossible!” I roared. “Check the security footage! Chloe and I came here together!” The manager came over, looking annoyed. “I’m sorry, Miss Woods, security footage involves client privacy. We can’t just show it.” “Oh, you won’t show it?” I sneered, pulling out my phone. “Then I’m calling the cops! I’m reporting suspicious funds of nearly a hundred grand. The police have the right to see it!” Twenty minutes later, the police arrived. And walking in behind them was Arthur Sterling. He had that same look of weary pity. “Miss Woods, how much longer are you going to keep this up?” “Shut up! Watch the footage!” At the officers’ request, the manager reluctantly pulled up the footage from that day. Everyone stared at the screen. On the screen, I walked through the door. I was… completely alone. I pulled a black card out and handed it to the receptionist, my mouth moving as if I were talking to someone. But by my side, from beginning to end, there was no one. The room went dead silent. The officers looked at me with a mix of sympathy and caution. Arthur sighed and stepped forward as if to pat my shoulder. “Miss Woods, go to the hospital. I’ll cover the bill.” I stood there, paralyzed, shaking. Was I really alone? Was I truly insane? Had I made all of this up in my head? But just as the police were about to take me away, I realized something. I looked up and stared at Arthur Sterling. “Arthur, stop acting. I know where Chloe is.” 4 Arthur’s hand stopped in mid-air. His eyes narrowed. “Miss Woods, do you even hear yourself?” The officer frowned and reached for my arm. “Miss Woods, let’s go to the station and calm down.” I shoved the officer’s hand away and pointed at Arthur. “You’ve all been tricked!” “The footage shows me alone, but that actually proves Chloe was there! Because that day, Chloe never got out of the car!” I talked fast, pinning Arthur with my gaze. “Chloe drove me here that day. She stayed in the car to take a call and told me to go in and load the card first! She gave me the black card and told me the PIN! If I’m crazy, if I’m delusional, how could I possibly know the PIN to Arthur Sterling’s secondary card?” Arthur’s face finally changed. That split second of stiffness was all I needed to see. The officer turned to Arthur immediately. “Mr. Sterling, explain. Why does Miss Woods have your card and your PIN?” Arthur was silent. He looked at me, his eyes turning dangerously dark. “Miss Woods, you stole my card, and now you’re playing the victim?” “Stole?” I sneered, pulling the crumpled convenience store receipt from my pocket. “What about this? Did I steal this too? Orange Crush Menthol Cigarettes! Yesterday at 2:30 PM, bought at the convenience store right outside your estate!” Arthur’s pupils shrank. He blurted out, “My driver bought those!” I laughed, now certain of my theory. “Really? Because yesterday at 2:30 PM, your driver was at corporate headquarters delivering documents for you! It’s on the HQ security cameras! So you tell me… who bought the cigarettes?” Arthur stepped forward, reaching for the receipt. “Avery Woods! You trespassed and dug through my trash? Give that to me!” “Why are you panicking?” I stepped back behind the officer. “Arthur, why do you think I lured everyone to this spa? It’s called a distraction!” I held up my phone, showing a call in progress with my mom. “While we were arguing here, I had my mom go to that convenience store! You’re a billionaire, you can control the news and buy off spa managers. But that convenience store is a national franchise with cloud-synced security. You can’t delete it!” Arthur looked genuinely panicked now. His high-and-mighty elegance vanished, and a thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Avery! Don’t you dare!” “Why wouldn’t I?” I yelled into the phone. “Mom! Send the footage! Let the police see who bought the cigarettes yesterday! Once the footage is out, we’ll know exactly where Chloe is!” Ping. A WhatsApp notification. My mom sent a video. My heart was racing. My hands shook. I won! The truth was coming out! I clicked the video and held the screen up for everyone. “Arthur Sterling, open your eyes and look! Is this Chloe?!” The next second, the smile on my face froze. A bone-chilling cold rushed from my feet to my skull. In the footage, the person buying the cigarettes… was me.

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I was a professional tour guide, leading a group through the mountains with my colleague, Miley, when disaster struck. Our van skidded off the road and plunged into the center of a frozen lake. Later, at the awards ceremony held by the Winter Rescue Team, Miley’s eyes were red from crying as she took the stage. “I want to thank Captain Miller. To save us, he deliberately put his own wife last in the rescue order. Such selflessness is truly rare.” I listened, dazed and confused. “Rescue has a strict priority protocol,” I muttered to the person beside me. “I was pinned against the window by the water pressure; I was just harder to reach.” The survivors nearby began to chime in, their voices filled with awe for my husband. “You don’t even know, do you? You were actually closest to the rescue hatch. But Captain Miller wanted to avoid any talk of favoritism. He didn’t want people saying he prioritized his wife, so he pushed you back and pulled us out first.” My heart skipped a beat. I looked up at Ethan Miller on the stage. My husband was frowning, his face a mask of stern righteousness. “Miley was already suffering from severe hypothermia,” Ethan declared. “I had to save her first.” “Avery is my wife. She, of all people, should understand and support the demands of my job. How can she be so selfish as to hold a grudge over personal feelings at a time like this?” I touched my lower abdomen—a place that would never carry life again. I thought of the three hours I spent waiting in that dark, freezing lake, and the baby I lost to the ice. “I see,” I whispered to myself. “So, being the family of a ‘hero’ means being the one person who is ignored.” “Well, I’m done being family.” 1 I stood up to leave. Ethan’s expression shifted instantly. “Avery! What are you doing? Sit down!” I looked at him, my eyes burning with a clarity I hadn’t felt in years. “Captain Miller, since everyone is here, I’d like to ask you one thing.” “I was the closest to the hatch. I was also pregnant. By every standard rescue protocol, I should have been the first one out. Why did you push me back? Why did you leave me for last?” Ethan’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. He clearly didn’t appreciate being challenged in front of his peers. He gritted his teeth, glaring at me. “Avery, you’re a rescue spouse! You should understand the concept of the greater good! I avoided rescuing you first to protect your reputation as much as mine! I did it for your own good!” I pointed at Miley. “And what about her? She’s your childhood sweetheart. Why didn’t you ‘avoid favoritism’ with her? Why was she the very first person you pulled to safety?” Ethan’s face went from red to a deathly pale. His hands balled into fists as he struggled to keep his temper. “Avery, have you had enough? Are you saying you’d be happy if Miley had died?” Beside him, Miley burst into fresh sobs. “Avery, I’ve been sickly ever since I had my son five years ago. If I had stayed in that water any longer, I would have died. I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you.” At the mention of “the son,” Ethan’s face darkened like a thundercloud. “Avery, you’re fine now. No one died in this rescue. Stop looking for trouble where there is none!” No one died? I let out a cold, hollow laugh. I touched my stomach. Was the life of my unborn child not a life? 2 Three days ago, when the van hit the water, panic erupted. As the senior guide, I immediately sent our GPS coordinates to Ethan and directed the passengers on how to break the windows. Miley, the intern guide who only got the job through Ethan’s connections, was useless. She just sat there whimpering, “We’re going to die… oh god, we’re all going to die…” When the water reached the waist-level of the seats, I saw Ethan dive into the water. I was about to climb out of the shattered window when a shadow pushed me back in. I swallowed a lungful of freezing lake water. By the time I regained my bearings, Ethan was gone. I bit my lip against the cold and started lifting the tourists out through the gap. One, two… The water reached my chest. A sharp, stabbing pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I looked down into the murky water and saw a faint, dark red cloud blooming around me. I was two months pregnant. Ethan knew. I found an emergency oxygen mask in the glove box and strapped it on. The sound of the rescue boats came and went. I heard Miley’s hysterical crying and Ethan’s calm, steady voice: “Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you!” The tourists were taken away, one by one. The water eventually topped the roof. I was the only one left. But after Ethan’s boat sped away for the third time, it never came back. By the time my oxygen ran out, I was certain I was dead. It was another rescue team that eventually found me. When they pried the van open, I barely had a pulse. When I finally woke up in the hospital, Ethan was by my bed, his eyes bloodshot. He squeezed my hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Avery, I’m so sorry. You were pinned in such a difficult spot… the rescue was too complex. I had to save the ones who were easier to reach first…” He cried so convincingly. He looked so haggard. I believed him. I even felt sorry for him. “It’s okay,” I had whispered then. “You saved so many people. It’s just… our baby…” I cried for days, drowning in guilt and grief. Then came the ceremony. Ethan had insisted I attend. “Avery, please come. You were the guide; you were part of the rescue. Having you there makes me feel at peace.” I had just finished two rounds of emergency treatment. I was physically hollowed out. But seeing the hope in his eyes, I agreed. I wanted to witness his moment of glory. Until today. Until Miley, in her “innocent” little voice, accidentally let the truth slip. I realized then that the shadow who pushed me back into the sinking van… was my own husband. 3 Ethan was still shouting at me in the hall. “Avery, stop being so unreasonable! Think about how this looks! Don’t forget, you were the guide. You’re legally responsible for this accident!” Speaking of responsibility, my eyes stung again. I hadn’t wanted to take Miley on this trip. She joined the company a month ago and was still on probation. She only got on my team by clinging to Ethan’s sleeve. “Avery, please, just let me shadow you!” If she had just followed orders, it would have been fine. But she loved playing boss. Before we left, she went behind my back and told the driver to change the route. “Take this shortcut,” she told him. “The tourists will get to the site earlier and have more time for photos. Avery said it’s fine.” The driver was hesitant, but she blocked him from calling me. “This is Avery’s call. Why would I lie to you?” By the time I realized we were off-course and passing the lake, it was too late to turn back. The weather had warmed, and the ice was thinning. Before we could retreat, the ice groaned and gave way. The driver and I had already told the truth to the company, the insurers, and the police. But now, Ethan was publicly pinning the blame on me to save Miley. The crowd began to mutter. “Yeah, the tour company hasn’t paid us our settlement yet.” “If it wasn’t for Captain Miller, we’d be dead.” “She doesn’t even think about her own mistakes, she just complains about being saved last? She’s lucky she didn’t drown!” Suddenly, I was the villain. Ethan looked at me with a spark of triumph, as if he had finally brought me to heel. “Avery, you should apologize to everyone on behalf of your company. Don’t try to ride my coattails just because I saved people. Learn some ‘professional distance’!” The crowd chanted: “Apologize! Apologize!” I looked at them—the people I had pushed out of the car while the water froze my bones. They had called me a saint in the water. Now, they were throwing stones. Finally, I spoke. “The company is investigating. The truth about whose fault this was will come out soon enough.” “But I, Avery Smith, have a clear conscience regarding my job and my soul.” I looked at Ethan one last time. “Congratulations, Captain Miller. You stepped over the blood of my miscarriage to become a hero once again.” I lifted my left hand, slid the wedding ring off my finger, and placed it on the table. “From today on, you don’t have to worry about ‘favoritism.’ I’m no longer your family.” I turned and walked out. No hesitation. Behind me, the room exploded into chaos, but Ethan’s voice was the loudest, roaring for me to come back. Miley’s voice followed, sweet and sharp: “That’s the sacrifice of a hero’s family! I guess some people just aren’t cut out for the role.” 4 Back at the house, I started packing. My phone buzzed—a text from Ethan. “I’ll let today go, but you owe Miley an apology. I’ll handle the media, just stop talking.” I didn’t reply. I blocked him. While gathering my documents, I found a manila envelope tucked at the very bottom of a drawer. It was worn at the edges. Inside were photos. The first: Ethan and Miley on a college campus, wearing matching outfits, heads pressed together, smiling. The second: Miley holding a newborn baby. Ethan stood beside her. They looked like a perfect family of three. My breath hitched. I kept digging. I found a copy of a birth certificate. Name: Leo Vance. Date of birth: Five years ago. At the bottom of the envelope was a DNA test result. Client: Ethan Miller. Conclusion: The DNA analysis supports that Ethan Miller is the biological father of Leo Vance. My world shattered. Ethan and Miley had a child? I never knew. We got married four years ago. That meant Miley had his child a year before we even wed. No wonder he took such good care of them. No wonder he was so desperate when she fell into the water. It wasn’t about “professionalism.” It was about ensuring his son wouldn’t lose a mother. My child and I were just props for his “Perfect Hero” persona. “Avoiding favoritism?” What a noble lie. 5 A week later, I moved into a small studio. I hired a lawyer and sent the divorce papers to Ethan’s office via overnight mail. Three days later, my phone rang from an unknown number. “Avery…” It was Ethan. “Come home. We need to talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “I’ll agree to the divorce,” he said, his voice deep and weary. “But we need to figure out the details.” I figured it was better to settle it once and for all than to let it drag on. When I arrived at the house, both Ethan and Miley were in the living room. Miley immediately ran up and grabbed my arm. “Avery, the company is firing me! They’re saying it was my fault! Please, you have to help me!” I looked at Ethan. “You tricked me into coming here to help her?” Ethan looked a bit embarrassed. “You wouldn’t have come otherwise. Miley loves being a guide. That accident… it was an accident. The company can fine her, but firing her is too much.” He pushed a document toward me. “Avery, you were the lead. Just sign this statement. Take the hit for her.” I glanced at it. It was an Accident Disclaimer. “I, Avery Smith, admit primary responsibility for the Frozen Lake incident, including the unauthorized route change…” Ethan looked at me sternly. “Avery, you’re the wife of a hero. You should have some dignity and take responsibility.” I smiled, picked up the paper, and tore it in half. Ethan’s face twisted. “Avery! What is wrong with you? I’m trying to be reasonable!” “The police have a record. The insurance company knows the truth. You think you can just pin a crime on me with a piece of paper? You’re dreaming.” I pulled out the Divorce Settlement. “I’m only signing this today. Nothing else.” Ethan looked at the papers and sneered. “You really want to leave? All because I didn’t save you first?” I looked at Miley cowering behind him. “Ethan, since you and Miley already have a son together, isn’t it better if I just step aside and let you be a family?” The room went dead silent. Ethan’s hand shook as he grabbed my wrist. “What… what do you know?” I pointed toward the study. “The birth certificate. The DNA test. I saw everything. No wonder you weren’t sad when I miscarried. You already had a son to carry on your name.” I felt a bitter laugh escape me. “Ethan, we’re done. Give the papers to my lawyer. Don’t contact me again.” 6 A week later, I was back at work. The company had given me one last chance despite the pressure. I designed a safe, reliable route through the West Mountain foliage. But the day before the trip, my coworker Leo rushed in, shoving his phone in my face. “Avery! Look!” It was the top trending topic on social media: #BlackHeartedGuideAverySmithBackOnTheJob The thumbnail was Miley’s pale, tear-streaked face. The title: “Frozen Lake Survivor Speaks Out: She used my career to buy her own innocence.” In the video, Miley sobbed into the camera. “That day, the lake wasn’t on the itinerary. Avery told me privately that the commissions were higher on that route… I trusted her. After the accident, I suffered from severe PTSD. I never expected her to tell the investigators it was my idea… I have no way to defend myself…” “I know Captain Miller saved everyone and left her for last… she must be bitter. But I did nothing wrong!” The comments were a bloodbath. “Poor Miley! A single mom being bullied like this!” “How is she still allowed to be a guide?” “Avoid her tours if you want to live!” Then, a second trending topic: #RescueCaptainConfirmsWifesMisconduct It was a clip of Ethan at the awards ceremony. “Avery, stop being unreasonable. You’re a guide; you’re responsible for this!” The two videos worked in perfect harmony. One played the victim; the other played the “righteous hero” willing to condemn his own wife for the truth. My phone exploded with death threats. The tour group canceled. My boss called me in, his face grim. “Avery, I can’t protect you anymore. Sign this resignation and get out before the mob burns this office down.” I didn’t argue. I signed. But as I walked out, I saw a notification: Miley’s Studio announces “West Mountain Safe Tour.” She had stolen my route, my plan, and my career. 7 I went straight to the Rescue Team training base. “Was that video your idea or hers?” I asked Ethan. He frowned. “Miley was wronged. She’s just telling her truth.” “Truth?” I almost laughed. “Ethan, you pushed me back into that car. You intentionally left me to die. Is that the truth?” “What do you think happens to your ‘Hero’ image if I call for a formal internal investigation? ‘Hero Captain Murders Pregnant Wife to Save Mistress.’ How does that headline sound?” He turned pale and dragged me to a corner. “Avery, are you insane? You can find another job! If my reputation is ruined, I’m finished!” “You did this to yourself!” “How much money do you want?” he hissed. “Just name it. Take the house, the car, whatever! Just stop this!” Money. That’s all it was to him. “Ethan, you didn’t save Miley because you love her,” I whispered. “You saved her because she has something on you. Something lethal. Right?” His eyes widened in terror. He actually took a step back. I had my answer.

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My mother dropped out of school as a teenager to work in a factory so she could put her three younger brothers through college. Thirty years later, my uncles are all highly successful professionals. My mother, however, was recently diagnosed with Stage II stomach cancer. The surgery costs $45,000. Case files in hand, I went to each of their homes to beg for help. My eldest uncle said, “My cash is all tied up in the stock market. Ask me again when it rebounds.” My second uncle said, “I just bought a new villa; money is tight. Go talk to the youngest one.” My third uncle simply blocked my number. Three months later, my mother’s condition deteriorated to terminal Stage IV. As I knelt in the hospital corridor, sobbing, a notification popped up in our family group chat: “Grandpa’s 80th birthday is coming up. Each household must contribute $7,000 for the banquet. No excuses, and no one is allowed to miss it!” I stared at my phone and laughed until I cried. 1 The family WhatsApp group was as rowdy as a wet market. The message was sent at 11:00 PM last night by my eldest uncle, Arthur. His tone was absolute. “Dad’s 80th is the top priority for the Miller family. We’ve booked the ballroom at the Kempinski. Every household contributes $7,000. Transfer it to my account by next Friday. Attendance is mandatory.” A string of “Received” followed immediately. My mother, Rose, stared at the screen, her fingers trembling. My name is Iris. I work in corporate communications; my mother is a grocery store shelf-stocker. Of the $45,000 needed for her surgery, we had saved $12,000 and borrowed $8,000. We were still $25,000 short. Over the last three months, I had practically worn out the doormats of my three uncles’ houses. Arthur Miller is a tenured professor living in a luxury condo downtown. When I visited, he didn’t even leave his study. “Iris, it’s not that I don’t want to help,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “But my portfolio is deep in the red. Selling now would be a massive loss. When the market turns, I’ll see what I can scrape together.” My second uncle, Ben, runs a successful renovation firm. His wife, Linda, poured me a glass of water and sighed. “Iris, we really can’t. We just upgraded to a detached villa, and the mortgage is suffocating us. Your youngest uncle’s business is booming—you should ask him.” My youngest uncle, Charles, deals in wholesale construction materials. He’s the wealthiest and the most heartless. I couldn’t even get a face-to-face meeting. I called him three times: the first two times he was “busy,” and the third time, he blocked my number. My mother lay on her hospital bed, trying to comfort me. “Forget it, Iris. We’ll figure something else out.” I looked at her gaunt face, and my heart twisted in a vice. Just then, the phone buzzed again. Linda tagged my mother in the group chat: “Rose, since it’s just you and Iris in your house, the $7,000 per household rule applies to you too. No objections, right?” followed by a smiley face. Something inside me snapped. I grabbed my mother’s phone and typed: “Aunt Linda, my mom is in the hospital with terminal stomach cancer. We are $25,000 short for her surgery. Can we sit this banquet out, or maybe contribute a smaller amount?” The group went dead silent. Then, Arthur’s wife, Martha, jumped in: “Rose is sick? Oh dear, you should have said something sooner. But the birthday banquet is a major milestone for the patriarch. Everyone has to show their heart. If you’re short on cash, just borrow some for now.” Charles’s wife, Sherry, followed immediately: “Exactly. Dad only turns eighty once. Besides, if Rose hadn’t put the brothers through school back then, none of us would be here today. Logically and morally, she owes this $7,000 more than anyone.” I stared at the words “back then.” Back then, my grandparents prioritized their sons over everything. My mother had the highest grades in her class, but she was forced to drop out to work in a textile mill. She earned a meager wage, kept just enough for bread and water, and sent every other cent home to fund her three brothers’ tuition until they all graduated from university. I laughed. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. “Iris, what’s so funny?” my mother asked worriedly. I wiped my eyes and looked down at the screen. “Nothing, Mom. We’ll pay.” I hit send. 2 Seven thousand dollars was nearly a year’s worth of my mother’s salary. I maxed out two credit cards and begged my best friend for a loan just to transfer the money to Arthur. When I posted the receipt in the group chat, a wave of “Rose and Iris are so filial!” messages flooded the screen. Not a single person asked if we had enough left for the surgery. At the Kempinski ballroom, my grandfather sat at the head table, basking in the spotlight. My three uncles, dressed in designer suits, stood around him with their families—a perfect picture of a happy, successful clan. My mother and I were seated at the very back, in the corner. After thirty minutes, my mother started breaking out in a cold sweat. I helped her toward the lounge. As we passed behind a decorative screen near the head table, I heard Arthur’s voice. “Dad, after paying for the banquet, we have about $30,000 left over from the contributions. I found a high-yield investment vehicle, 6% annual return. If we put it in for a year…” “Arthur, let’s hold on,” Charles interrupted. “My new project needs some bridge funding…” “Charles, don’t be like that,” Ben chimed in. “We agreed the leftover cash would go into Dad’s retirement fund.” I stopped in my tracks, peering through a gap in the screen. My grandfather, glowing with health, waved a hand. “You brothers figure it out. Just don’t fight. My only wish is that no one gets treated unfairly.” No one gets treated unfairly. My blood ran cold. I led my mother to the lounge. We had just sat down when Linda walked in. “Rose, you look terrible. Maybe you should head home?” she said, though her tone was anything but caring. “But then again, it’ll look bad if you’re missing from the family photo. Dad was just saying he hasn’t seen you in ages.” My mother forced a smile. “I just need a moment.” “Good.” Linda lowered her voice. “By the way, Rose, I heard you’re still short on the surgery money. Why don’t you just sell the old house? It’s small, but the location is prime. You could get $50,000 for it easily. Your health comes first, right?” I snapped my head up. That house was the only thing my father left us. It was sixty square meters of sanctuary—our final safety net. “Aunt Linda,” my voice was raspy, “if we sell the house, where is my mother supposed to live during her recovery?” Linda blinked. “She can rent. It was just a suggestion. It’s your lives.” She turned and left. My mother’s hands were shaking violently. “Iris… maybe the house…” “Mom!” I cut her off. “We are not selling the house. I will find a way.” Midway through the banquet, the emcee announced the next segment: the grandchildren’s tributes. My cousins went up one by one, presenting luxury gifts: designer belts, jade carvings, custom calligraphy. Finally, it was my turn. All eyes fell on me. I walked up to the microphone empty-handed. “Grandpa, I wish you a long and healthy life,” I said, my gaze sweeping over my three uncles. “I didn’t bring an expensive gift today. Instead, I’ve prepared a story I’d like to share in front of all our relatives.” The room grew quiet. My grandfather nodded, smiling. “Iris has a thoughtful heart. Go ahead.” I took a deep breath and gripped the mic. Mom, I’m sorry. But today, I’m tearing this mask off. 3 “Thirty-four years ago, there was a young worker at the Red Star Textile Mill named Rose Miller.” My voice amplified throughout the hall. “She started at sixteen, working triple shifts. The machines were so loud they made her ears ring; the cotton dust clogged her lungs. She made $200 a month.” “She kept $30 for food. The remaining $170 was sent home, without fail, every single month to her three brothers in college.” “Because her father told her: ‘You’re the big sister. You have to support them. Only if they graduate will the Miller family bring honor to our name.’” “She worked for eight years. She funded three degrees: one in Finance, one in Engineering, and one in Business.” “The brothers graduated. They got high-paying corporate jobs and married into wealthy families. She stayed a factory worker. When the mill closed, she became a grocery clerk, standing on her feet for ten hours a day.” “She married a simple blue-collar man. He died young, leaving her with a daughter and a tiny, old apartment.” “She never asked her brothers for a dime—until this year, when she was diagnosed with cancer.” I kept my voice steady, but the room was dead silent. Arthur’s face turned a deep, bruised purple. Ben was sweating profusely. Charles finally looked up from his plate. My grandfather’s smile was frozen. “The surgery costs $45,000,” I continued. “I went to my three uncles. Arthur said his money was in the stock market. Ben said he just bought a villa. Charles blocked my number.” “Last week, the family chat announced Grandpa’s 80th birthday. $7,000 per household. No excuses.” “While my mother lay in her hospital bed, I maxed out my credit cards to scrape together that $7,000.” “Today, I want to ask my three uncles one question on behalf of my mother.” I turned to them, enunciating every word: “Can we have some of that monthly $170 back? With interest? I don’t need $45,000. Just $25,000—enough to pay for the surgery.” The silence lasted for a heartbeat, and then the room exploded. The older relatives began to whisper and sigh. The younger generation looked on in shock. “No wonder Rose looks like a ghost.” “How could Arthur and the boys do that?” “I remember how hard she worked back then… it was brutal.” SLAM! Arthur slapped the table and stood up, pointing at me. “Iris! What are you talking about? You don’t wash your dirty laundry in public! Is this how your mother raised you?” “Dirty laundry?” I looked him in the eye. “Uncle Arthur, I think letting your sister die over a bill you could pay with your pocket change is the real ‘dirty laundry.’” Ben tried to play peacemaker. “Iris, let’s talk about this later. It’s Grandpa’s big day, let’s not make it unpleasant. We can discuss the money privately.” I smiled. “Ben, it’s been three months. Did you ever try to ‘discuss’ it with me? Other than telling me to sell my home, did you ever give us a second option?” Charles barked at the emcee, “Cut the mic! Get her off the stage!” But no one moved. All eyes were on them. My grandfather began to cough violently, clutching his chest. “Dad!” “Grandpa!” Chaos erupted around the head table. My mother, hearing the noise from the lounge, stumbled out. When she saw the scene, her eyes rolled back, and she nearly fainted. I rushed to catch her. Martha, Arthur’s wife, charged at me. “Iris! you ungrateful brat! The Miller family raised your mother, fed her, clothed her! It’s her duty to give back! How dare you come here and demand repayment! Have you no shame?” “Clothed her?” I held my mother upright, my spine straight. “My grandmother told me herself: Mom was cooking, cleaning, and raising those three boys by the age of ten! At sixteen, she gave every cent to this family! The Millers didn’t raise her—she raised the three Miller sons!” The truth was too sharp. Some of the older relatives who knew the history looked away in shame. “This is a rebellion!” Arthur screamed, shaking with rage. “From this moment on, you are no longer my niece! You and your mother are dead to the Miller family!” “Fine,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “We’re done. But pay her back first.” “Thirty-four years. $170 a month. Calculate the interest at a standard bank rate. Once we’re settled, we’ll walk out that door and never step foot in a Miller house again.” “Why don’t we do the math right here, in front of everyone?” The ballroom fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. My grandfather looked at me with a mix of disappointment and fury. My mother leaned against me, weeping silently. My phone buzzed with a text from my best friend: “Iris, that was savage. But how are you going to finish this?” 4 The banquet ended in a disastrous mess. The moment we got home, my mother collapsed. She curled up on the sofa, drenched in a cold sweat from the pain. I frantically got her medication, the fire in my heart growing hotter with every passing second. My phone began to vibrate incessantly. First, Aunt Linda: “Iris, you went way too far today! Grandpa’s blood pressure is through the roof! Is this how you talk to your elders? Apologize in the group chat immediately!” Then, Sherry: “Iris, let me tell you, this is extortion! Calculating interest? That money back then wouldn’t buy a pair of shoes today! Your mother gave it voluntarily. You’re the most shameless girl I’ve ever met!” Finally, a voice note from Arthur: “Iris, you have twenty-four hours to publicly apologize in the chat. Admit you were young, impulsive, and lying. Otherwise, don’t expect the Miller family to ever help you with a single cent again!” I didn’t reply to any of them. I silenced my phone and went to the kitchen to make conch for my mother. I was just putting the pot on the stove when there was a knock at the door. I looked through the peephole—it was Uncle Charles, his face grim. I opened the door just a crack. “Charles. Something you need?” “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” He looked me up and down. “Think you can embarrass us in front of the whole family and get away with it?” “I told the truth.” “Truth?” He scoffed. “Fine. Even if she gave us money, so what? She was the eldest sister—it was her job to help. Now that we’ve made it, she wants to come and pick the fruit from the tree she didn’t grow? Life doesn’t work that way.” I looked at his self-righteous face and felt an overwhelming exhaustion. “Charles, my mom doesn’t want to ‘pick fruit.’ She just wants to live.” My voice was flat. “The $25,000 for the surgery is nothing to any of you. You could find that in the cushions of your sofas.” “It’s our money! Why should we give it to her?” Charles snapped. “You think we don’t have expenses? Your cousin is going to study abroad next year—that’s sixty grand a year! Your uncle Ben has a massive mortgage! You think life is easy for us?” “So, my mother’s life is worth less than a semester abroad or a guest bedroom in a villa?” I asked. He flared up in anger. “Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me! I’m telling you, Iris, this isn’t over. You ruined Dad’s birthday and our reputation. I’ve got your number. You work at that marketing firm, right? I know your CEO.” I looked at him and smiled. “Uncle Charles, please, go ahead. Tell the CEO. Tell the whole city how the Miller brothers are letting the sister who raised them die because they’d rather buy a third car.” “You…!” Charles raised his hand. I stared him down. “Go ahead. Hit me. I’ll call the cops and get a medical report. We’ll see who loses more face then.” “Fine, Iris. You’re a cold one. We’ll see how this ends!” He slammed the door. I leaned against the door and slowly slid to the floor. If the “family” card wasn’t going to work, I had to change tactics. I pulled out my phone and opened the voice recorder. The conversation with Charles was crystal clear. I backed up all the threatening voice notes and messages. Then, I opened my laptop and logged into the city’s most popular local forum. I registered a new account: “Evening Breeze.” Title: A True Story: The Sister Who Dropped Out to Raise Her Brothers is Now Dying of Cancer, and They Are Letting Her Rot. I didn’t exaggerate. I laid out the timeline, the facts, the dollar amounts, and the conflict at the banquet. I ended with: “I’m not asking for donations. I’m asking for justice. I want to ask everyone: Is the ‘Elder Sister as Mother’ role just a death sentence to be sucked dry and discarded? Is family really this fragile when money is involved?” I hit post. The moment it went live, my palms were sweating. I knew this was the point of no return. But looking at my mother, clutching her stomach in her sleep, I didn’t regret it. Within ten minutes, the comments began to flood in. The first one read: “I’m in tears. These uncles are monsters! OP, we’re behind you! Expose them!” 5 The post went viral. In two hours, it had over a thousand shares and hundreds of comments. Several local news blogs reached out for permission to repost. I gave it to them. By the next morning, the topic “Billionaire Brothers Abandon Dying Sister” was trending locally. My phone was buzzing nonstop with media requests and messages from supportive strangers. The family group chat remained dead silent until 10:00 AM, when Ben finally broke. He called me, his tone uncharacteristically warm. “Iris, honey, it’s Uncle Ben. That post online… you wrote that, didn’t you?” “I did.” “Oh, Iris, you’re so impulsive! Family squabbles should stay behind closed doors. Why make it look so ugly for the world?” He sounded fatherly. “People are calling my office asking questions… it’s affecting the business.” “Ben, my mother can’t wait for ‘closed doors’ anymore,” I interrupted. “Everything in that post is fact. If it’s ugly, it’s because of what you did, not because I wrote it.” He choked for a second. “Iris, I know you’re upset. Look, I’ll figure out a way to get the surgery money. Just delete the post, okay? Uncle is begging you.” “How will you figure it out?” I asked. “Does Aunt Linda agree? What about your mortgage?” In the background, I heard Linda screaming: “Ben, don’t you dare! Why should we pay? She’s the one who started this…” The line went dead. Typical. At noon, Arthur showed up at our apartment complex. He called me from the curb. I went down but stood several feet away. “Iris, delete that garbage right now!” He was shaking with rage. “Do you have any idea what this is doing to me? The university board called me in! They’re talking about ‘professional conduct’ and ‘public image’!” “Uncle Arthur, you only care about your image,” I replied. “My mother’s life isn’t as important to you as a word from your dean, is it?” “You…!” He gasped for air. “Fine! You won’t delete it? I have ways to make you! Your mother still needs the hospital, right? I can make sure she’s blacklisted from every private clinic in this city!” I pulled out my phone and hit play on the recorder. “Uncle Arthur, I just recorded that. What do you think would happen if I sent this to your dean? Or posted it as an update?” Arthur’s face went white. He pointed a trembling finger at me but couldn’t find a single word. Finally, he turned, got into his BMW, and floored it. I knew they wouldn’t give up. First, the hospital called. My mother’s lead surgeon told me that the department had received a call from “above” suggesting we transfer to a different facility. Then, my boss called. The company had decided to give me a month of “unpaid leave” to “settle my family matters.” They were trying to use the weight of the world to crush me. They wanted to force me to bow, to delete the post, to admit defeat. I sat on a bench outside the ward, looking at the grey sky. On the forum, the post had over ten thousand comments. Most were supportive, and some people had even started “doxxing” my uncles. In the evening, an unknown number sent me a message. It was a photo of my mother’s old textile mill ID and a few blurry photos of her when she was young, standing with coworkers. The text read: “Iris, enough is enough. If you keep this up, I can’t guarantee that your mother’s ‘unseemly past’ won’t be made public.” Unseemly past? I zoomed in on the ID. It was just a young girl with a tired smile. I felt a chill in my bones. To save their money and their pride, they were willing to smear their own sister’s character. Uncles, I thought, you forgot one thing. A person with nothing to lose doesn’t fear the storm. You, however, have everything to lose.

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In my sales department, we had an unwritten rule: if you needed personal time, you didn’t file for leave. You filed an “Out-of-Office” field assignment. It was the only way to bypass the company’s draconian HR policy. Even a one-hour personal leave meant losing a $200 monthly attendance bonus, plus a pro-rated salary deduction. So, when my intern, Chloe Vance, came to my desk asking for time off, I didn’t even look up from my spreadsheets. “Just file a field report,” I said. At the end of the year, we were swamped. I finished my immediate tasks and looked up. To my surprise, Chloe was still standing there. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking—she was just staring at me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher. I rubbed my temples. “Is there something else?” Chloe frowned, her gaze lingering on me, before she shook her head. “No—” I didn’t give it a second thought. But moments later, when I opened our department’s Slack group, my phone erupted with a long series of voice notes from her. I tapped the first one. It was the sound of Chloe’s sharp, hysterical sobbing. “Avery Miller! You’re just a sales manager! Who do you think you are, denying an employee time off for an emergency?!” “Do you really think we’re just robots? Is your own family dead? Do you even have a soul—” My brain buzzed, blood rushing to my head. I immediately replied in the group chat: [Avery]: Didn’t I tell you to just file for a field assignment? 1 Chloe was the youngest girl in our department. With her sweet voice and the way she called everyone “Big Bro” or “Big Sis,” she was seen as the office’s harmless little lamb. Even when she made mistakes, people usually let it slide. I figured she had simply misunderstood. The “Out-of-Office” loophole was a localized secret; other departments didn’t have it. If they took leave, they lost their bonuses. Did she really not get the hint? I thought I had been obvious. But Chloe doubled down. “Field assignment? Who cares about a field assignment?!” “I told you I had a family emergency! Why couldn’t you just grant me leave?” “I’ve been here for a month! Why am I not allowed to have a life?!” “Just because your family tree is a stump doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have people we love!” “I can’t stand heartless, exploitative capitalists like you!” “You’re violating labor laws, do you even know that?!” The sharp, venomous voice notes exploded in my ears one after another. I was shaking with fury. I couldn’t believe these words were coming from a fresh college graduate. I gritted my teeth and tapped her final message: “Do you think everyone else likes you? You’re just a bitter, thirty-something single woman who can’t stand seeing other people have families, right?” The group chat went dead silent. No one defended me. I walked out of my glass office toward the main floor. Before I could push the door open, I heard the hushed tones of people comforting her amidst her sniffling. “Chloe, don’t take it to heart. This is definitely Avery’s fault.” “Why are you wasting tears on a woman going through a mid-life crisis?” “Exactly. Look at you, you’re a mess.” Chloe’s voice grew bolder. “Just wait. She thinks I’m some soft peach she can just squeeze? She’s got another thing—” I pushed the door open. 2 Everyone shut up instantly. I looked at the group huddling around Chloe. They knew perfectly well that “field assignment” was our code for “paid leave.” They knew that if you filed it, no one asked where you were. Yet here they were, fanning the flames. I scanned their faces. They looked away, guilt written all over them. My gaze landed on Chloe. I was trying my hardest to restrain my rage. “When did I ever say I wouldn’t give you the time off?” “And those things you said in the group chat? That’s more than enough for me to write ‘insubordinate and disrespectful’ on your internship evaluation.” I decided then that I needed to talk to HR. This girl was a liability. I wasn’t going to let her pass her probation. “If you’re so unhappy here,” I added, “you’re free to resign.” Chloe’s eyes widened, instantly filling with tears again. The other colleagues couldn’t help themselves; they started pleading for her. “Manager Miller, isn’t that a bit much?” “Yeah, Chloe is just in her early twenties. She was worried about her family. It’s normal to get emotional.” “She’s not entirely wrong, though…” I shot a look at the speakers, and they went quiet. I pointed at Chloe. “My office. Now.” I was still being too soft-hearted. I intended to explain it to her one last time, face-to-face. She was a kid just out of school; I wanted to help her. “Our company deducts the attendance bonus for leave,” I explained behind closed doors. “That’s why I told you to apply for field work. That way, HR won’t dock your pay.” Chloe bit her lip, saying absolutely nothing. I felt exhausted. I thought the explanation would settle it. I dismissed her. But after work, my best friend sent me a link. [Babe, is this girl at your company?] I froze. 3 I looked at the headline on the trending TikTok post: [Gen-Z Intern Fights Back Against Toxic Boss Who Denied Leave!] “I went to my boss this afternoon to ask for leave for a family emergency. Not only did she refuse, but she told me to fake a field assignment!” “I couldn’t take the abuse, so I stood up for myself in the group chat.” “The boss got scared and tried to backpedal, saying field work meant leave. She’s obviously just afraid of getting reported for labor violations!” “I hate these cold-blooded corporate ghouls!” The comments were a dumpster fire of support for her. Someone mentioned the office location looked familiar. Chloe had “accidentally” leaked our office’s GPS tag in the video. Then, the “insiders” started chiming in: “I know who you’re talking about! Everyone calls her the Dragon Lady!” “Watch out, she’ll try to block your career now.” “She’s in her thirties and a manager? Bet she ‘climbed’ the ladder using more than just talent. Stay safe, OP!” Moments later, Chloe posted a tearful follow-up: “My family worked so hard to put me through college. Jobs are so hard to find. If she blocks my career, what will I do? [Crying face emoji]” She included a selfie of her red, puffy eyes—angled perfectly to show off her figure. 4 That was the spark. The “internet heroes” took over. By midnight, someone had doxxed our CEO’s phone number. He was bombarded with harassment calls demanding he fire the “corporate parasite” (me). He called me in a fury. “Avery! What the hell is going on?!” The next morning, Chloe didn’t show up. My coworkers were looking at me like I was a leper. “Everyone,” I said, trying to clear the air. “Contact Chloe. Tell her the actual policy regarding leave in this department.” No one moved. “What is this?” I asked. Leo, the guy Chloe was rumored to be seeing outside of work, spoke up. “Manager Miller, Chloe isn’t wrong. Why should we help you explain?” The others nodded in agreement. “If you were just honest about the leave, this wouldn’t have happened.” “Chloe is just saying what we’re all thinking.” I nearly choked on my rage. When the attendance policy first came out, who was the loudest one crying? Who complained about how “inhumane” it was to lose $200 for a doctor’s appointment? They had begged me for a solution, citing their mortgages and kids. I had risked my neck to create a loophole for them. And now, I was the villain? Fine. 5 I turned and walked straight to the Legal Department. I began the process of documenting the defamation and preparing a lawsuit. During lunch, my phone rang. It was my mother’s number. But when I answered, it was our neighbor’s voice. “Avery! Someone has piled a bunch of funeral wreaths in front of your apartment door!” “Your mother saw them and fainted. She’s in the hospital—get here now!” The neighbor sent me a video. Our once-quiet hallway was filled with white funeral wreaths. The sashes on them read: In Memory of Avery Miller’s Entire Family. My mother has a heart condition. She just had a bypass surgery a few months ago. The doctor had been very clear: she needed absolute peace and quiet. I rushed toward the exit, but as I passed the breakroom, I heard Leo’s voice on speakerphone. Leo: “Chloe, are you sure this won’t get too big?” Chloe’s voice came through, smug and high-pitched: “What’s there to fear? It’s her fault anyway. Just watch—she’ll be crawling to me, begging me to delete the post. She thinks she can control me because I’m an intern? In her dreams.” “You guys are too timid,” she continued. “If that old hag falls, who do you think is next in line for her job? It’s you, Leo. Everyone will be thanking me later!” Leo sounded excited. “You have a point…” I stopped. The fury rising from my gut was cold and sharp. So, Leo was in on it too? Good. 6 In the taxi to the hospital, I calmed down. Why had this escalated so far? Because everyone hated the company’s rules, and I was the easy target. I had tried to be a “good boss” within the system. Since they didn’t appreciate the convenience, I was done being the nice guy. The company had been looking to “downsize” and cut costs for the end of the year anyway. I had been dragging my feet on the layoff list, trying to save as many people as possible. Not anymore. I opened the department group chat and posted a formal announcement: [Effective immediately, all attendance and leave for the Sales Department will follow strict HR protocols. ‘Field assignments’ must be logged every five minutes with GPS pings. Violations will result in immediate salary deductions and loss of bonuses.] The group exploded. “Every five minutes?! I can’t even talk to a client without my phone buzzing!” “Wait, this was between Chloe and Avery—why are we all being punished?” “Exactly! She’s the one who made the TikTok, why are we suffering?” “If I’d known she was going to be this much trouble, I never would have…” Chloe stayed silent. I didn’t reply. I sent her a private message: [Your internship is terminated. Do not come back.] An unethical employee is a ticking time bomb. It was time to cut the wire. 7 My mother was stable, but the doctor warned me she couldn’t take another shock. Over the next few days, my colleagues started to break. Many of them had families and used to sneak out early to pick up their kids—things I used to overlook. Now, with the five-minute pings, they were trapped. Every one of them came to me begging for “mercy,” claiming they were innocent. Then, Chloe finally showed up at the office. She burst into my room, screaming. “Avery Miller! You have no right to fire me!” “Just because I told the truth? You’re just a cold-blooded bitch who can’t handle being exposed!” Chloe was so worked up she didn’t realize her phone screen was still on—she was livestreaming. I could see the red “Live” dot. “You’re not saying anything? Guilty conscience?” she sneered. I shook my head. “Chloe, you made multiple mistakes during your internship. That alone is enough to fire you. But you also insulted management and disrupted company unity. And—” I pulled up the TikTok post. “You posted this.” She tried to deny it, but I didn’t care. “Sending funeral wreaths to my home, stalking, and defamation. Legal is already collecting evidence. Expect a summons from the court.” Chloe’s face went white. I showed her the door.

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