One in the morning, and my phone rang. It was my mom. “Honey, the Evans boy downstairs… his parents died in a car crash. It’s just awful. He’s all alone. Can’t you do something to help him?” I yawned. “Mom, I only make five thousand a month. How am I supposed to help him?” A few minutes later, she called back. “He’s got that limp, he can’t find a job. Why don’t you talk to your boss, see if they can give him a position at your company?” Drowning in sleep, I mumbled a few noncommittal words. Half an hour later, the ringing jolted me awake again. “No, I just can’t bear it. My heart aches for him. You know what? You should marry him. That way, you can take proper care of him.” I fought back a surge of anger. “Mom, you need to let go of this savior complex and respect other people’s lives. Besides, I already have a boyfriend!” I figured that was the end of it, turned off my phone, and went back to sleep. The next morning, I turned it on to a flood of notifications: 99+ missed calls. 1 My stomach dropped. Worried something had happened to my mom, I immediately called her back. She picked up on the first ring, and her voice exploded through the receiver. “Clara! What do you think you’re doing, turning off your phone like that?!” “Have you no conscience? You think you’re all grown up now, too good to care about your own mother?” I held the phone an inch from my ear, rubbing my throbbing temples. “Mom, I have to be at work early. It’s normal to turn my phone off when I sleep.” “Normal? The Evans boy’s parents just died! He’s all alone in the world! I was so worried about him I couldn’t sleep a wink, and you were sleeping soundly?” Caleb Evans. Again. Ever since his parents died in that car crash a week ago, his was the only name on her lips. “I want you to go to his apartment right now,” she commanded. “Check on him. Comfort him! It’s what any decent human being would do!” “Mom, I’ve told you,” I said, my patience fraying. “I have a boyfriend. His name is Marcus. It’s not appropriate for me to go visit a single man alone.” I’d never liked the quiet, withdrawn Caleb. There was something dark in his eyes, a brooding intensity that made me want to keep my distance. “Boyfriend? What boyfriend? Without my approval, he’s just some random guy!” Her tone turned sharp and venomous. “He’s not from around here. Do we know anything about his family? Can you trust him? I’m telling you, Clara, I will never approve of this relationship. You can forget about it right now.” “Caleb is a good boy. I’ve known him since he was a baby! And now, after this tragedy… if you marry him, he’ll worship you like a saint for the rest of his life. He’ll be eternally grateful!” Her logic was so twisted it was almost laughable. “It’s my life, Mom. If you keep talking like this, I’m hanging up.” “You wouldn’t dare—” I was already late for work. I ended the call and rushed out the door. I had just reached the lobby of my office building when my phone vibrated again. I answered, exasperated. “Mom, I’m at work! Whatever it is, it can wait until I get off!” But it was an unfamiliar man’s voice on the other end. “Hello, is this Ms. Clara Reed?” “Yes?” “I’m a community outreach officer. Your mother is here at our office. She’s extremely agitated. She’s claiming that you’re abusing her, that you don’t feed her and you’ve kicked her out of the house.” “I need you to come down here immediately.” My head felt like it was splitting in two. I had no choice but to call in late to work and race over to the community center. I could hear my mom’s wailing before I even stepped inside. “You’re here to serve the people, you have to help me! You have to be the judge of this!” “My daughter… she has no conscience! I’m a good mother, a kind person. People say I’m a living saint! How could I have raised such a cold, heartless child?” “That poor Caleb Evans downstairs, his parents gone, his leg crippled… All I wanted was for her to help him, to marry him, and she turns on me! Says she wants to disown me!” She twisted the facts, painting me as an ungrateful, monstrous daughter. The young officer looked completely overwhelmed. “Ma’am, marriage is a serious decision. We really can’t interfere. It has to be Ms. Reed’s own choice.” “I don’t care! She’s been brainwashed by that boy from out of town!” My mom slapped her thigh and began to make a scene. “If you don’t solve this for me today, if you don’t make her agree to marry Caleb, I’ll be back here every single day! I’ll sleep on your doorstep!” The room spun. I had to grab the doorframe to steady myself. I walked in, forcing myself to sound conciliatory. “Mom, stop it. I never said I wouldn’t help Caleb. If he’s really in trouble, I can help. But marrying him is out of the question.” I turned to the officer. “I’m so sorry to trouble you. My mother just has… an overabundance of empathy.” While I was talking to the officer, my mom lunged, snatching the phone right out of my hand. “Let’s just see what kind of poison that boy has been feeding you!” “Mom! Give it back!” I cried, lunging for it. She dodged me, her fingers flying across the screen. She’d known my password for years. She opened my messaging app. My chat with Marcus was pinned to the top. All of our sweet, sometimes intimate messages were laid bare for her to see. “Disgusting! You have no shame! So cheap!” she spat, her body trembling with rage as if I’d committed some heinous crime. The next thing I knew, she had pressed the call button, video calling Marcus. He answered. My mother shoved her face up to the screen. “Hello! You must be that Marcus character. I want you to stay away from my daughter! Clara is going to marry Caleb! A poor nobody like you from out of town doesn’t deserve her!” “Are you crazy?!” I screamed, tears finally breaking free. I lunged again and managed to wrestle the phone away from her. The call had already disconnected. I stared at her, my whole body shaking as I sobbed. “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you trying to ruin my life?” Her eyes were red too, but her justification plunged me into an icy abyss. “Because my heart aches for him! I can’t stand to see Caleb suffer! He’s been through so much, I just want him to have a better life!” There it was again. That damned, twisted, suffocating “empathy.” When I was in elementary school, my mom had just gotten paid. On her way home, she saw a beggar kneeling on the sidewalk, claiming his child was sick and needed money for treatment. Without a second thought, she emptied her wallet, handing over her entire month’s salary. The man didn’t even say thank you. He just grabbed the cash and ran. Our family ate plain rice porridge and pickles for a month. Years later, my dad got pneumonia. He needed surgery, and we were short on money. My grandmother told my mom to ask our neighbor to repay a loan. But my mom just wrung her hands. “They’re not well-off either,” she’d said. “How could I ask them for the money back?” My dad died in a cold hospital bed because we couldn’t afford the surgery. His death was a wound in my heart that never healed. My hands trembled as I tried to call Marcus back, to explain. The phone rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up. Looking at this unreasonable woman, lost in her own self-righteous martyrdom, my heart felt like a dead thing in my chest. “Mom,” I said, my voice numb. “Go home. Let me think about it.” I was on edge for days. Marcus never returned my call, and my messages went unanswered. With a knot of dread in my stomach, I left work and headed home. As I approached my apartment building, I glanced up at my window and my blood ran cold. The light was on. I crept up the stairs, my keys in hand, only to find the door was unlocked. The scene inside made me gasp. My mother was helping a man move a pile of shabby luggage into my bedroom. That man was Caleb Evans. He moved awkwardly on his bad leg, but the smile on his face was chilling. “What are you doing?!” I demanded. My mother saw me and showed not a shred of guilt. “Oh, you’re back. Perfect timing. Give us a hand.” “I asked you, how did you get a key to my apartment!” My voice was shaking. “I had a copy made last time I was here,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I saw black spots. “Even if you wanted to stay, you should have at least told me!” “It’s not for me,” she said, pointing at Caleb. “It’s for Caleb.” Her face glowed with a saintly light. “Caleb is all alone, and with his leg, it’s hard for him to manage. I figured you have plenty of space here, so he could move in with you. That way, you can look after him.” “Besides,” she added brightly, “you’re going to marry him sooner or later anyway.” Caleb stopped what he was doing and turned to face me. His dark, unsettling eyes raked over my body, as if he were inspecting a piece of property that already belonged to him. My skin crawled. I vaguely remembered his parents as quiet, humble country folk. I couldn’t imagine how they had produced a son so different. I swallowed down my fear and disgust. “I said I would think about it! I never agreed to anything! I want you both out of my apartment, now!” My mother’s face hardened. “What has gotten into you?” “Don’t push it, Clara. A daughter is supposed to listen to her mother. I’ve already made the decision for you! You two will be married by the end of the year!” “You have no right to make my decisions for me! I am your daughter, not your pet!” My control finally snapped. “Get your things and get out! If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!” “You dare!” she shrieked, pointing a finger in my face. “You’d call the cops on your own mother, for a stranger? Clara, has your conscience been eaten by a dog?!” “Yes! I have no conscience! I’m not a saint like you!” I screamed, pulling out my phone and dialing 911 without hesitation. My mother froze, shocked that I’d actually done it. The police arrived quickly. After hearing the story, they looked exhausted by the sheer absurdity of the forced matchmaking. They gave my mother and Caleb a stern lecture. Under their supervision, my mother and Caleb reluctantly began to move the luggage back out. As she left, my mom stood in the doorway and screamed a torrent of vile, unspeakable insults at me. As Caleb limped past me, he paused. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper only I could hear. “You’re even prettier up close. I like that.” His voice was a cold, sticky thing, like a snake’s tongue flicking against my ear. A violent shudder went through me, and I stumbled back. He just smiled, a cruel, possessive smirk that promised he would get what he wanted. As I watched them leave, I sank to the floor, my clothes soaked through with cold sweat. I couldn’t stay here. I had to move, immediately. I had to get as far away from them as possible. I found a new apartment with frantic speed, packed through the night, and moved out the very next day. For two weeks, there was peace. My mom didn’t find me. Caleb seemed to have vanished from my world. Marcus finally called back. After I tearfully explained everything, he just said, his voice warm and gentle, “You silly girl. Why would I ever listen to those words? I just had something important come up that I had to deal with, I didn’t have a chance to call back.” What could be so important he couldn’t even answer his phone? A sliver of unease pricked at me, but I chose to trust him. Friday afternoon, I was in a meeting at work. Halfway through the presentation, the conference room door was thrown open with a bang. My mother stood there, dragging Caleb behind her. The entire room fell silent, every head turning to the door. The moment I saw them, my mind went blank. The blood froze in my veins. “Clara Reed!” My mother’s voice boomed through the room, capturing everyone’s attention. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice breaking with crocodile tears. “Everyone, look! Look at my wonderful daughter! She’s a social-climbing gold digger who abandoned her disabled fiancé and abuses her own mother!” Caleb stood meekly in the doorway, the picture of innocence. Fiancé? A wave of murmurs swept through the room. Everyone was staring at me, their eyes filled with morbid curiosity. I was shaking with rage. I shot to my feet. “Mom! What are you talking about? Since when is he my fiancé?” “I’m not lying!” Seeing she had an audience, my mother hammed it up even more. “My daughter and Caleb were promised to each other as children! All our neighbors know! But now that his family has fallen on hard times, she’s trying to back out of it!” “My conscience wouldn’t let me stand by and do nothing, so I had to come here today! I hope you, her bosses, will help me talk some sense into her!” “If she doesn’t have a sense of responsibility, she certainly can’t handle her work!” I never imagined my own mother would publicly slander and humiliate me like this. She wasn’t just trying to ruin my reputation; she was trying to destroy my career. Caleb stood behind her, his head bowed, his leg bent at an angle, playing the part of the long-suffering victim to perfection. “Wow, I never would have guessed Clara was that kind of person.” “You really can’t judge a book by its cover. Abandoning your family… that’s cold.” “I just hope this doesn’t reflect badly on the company.” My mother, completely ignoring the professional setting, pointed at my boss. “Sir, I came here today to ask the company to step in. Order my daughter to see reason and marry Caleb! If she refuses, you should fire her! Our family can’t afford this kind of embarrassment!” The room was tilting. I felt faint. “Clara, would you care to explain what’s going on?” My boss’s face was as dark as thunder. I was trapped, speechless, about to be drowned in a sea of shame. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the chaos from the doorway. “This wedding… I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.”

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When Hank was diagnosed with ALS, our family empire fell. I left college, shouldering his life and crushing debt. For five years, I bled for him. Beaten by debt collectors, I bought no painkillers. Collapsing between five jobs, I took no breaks. Every cent kept Hank alive. Tonight, serving drinks at a lounge, I saw him—not in a wheelchair at home, but laughing in a tailored suit. “Hank,” a friend said, swirling his drink, “you’ve played sick for five years. Stella’s worked herself raw for your ‘treatment.’ Isn’t that enough?” Hank scoffed. “Almost. If she hadn’t made Ivy cry with one selfish remark, I wouldn’t have faked bankruptcy and this illness to teach her.” He sipped his whiskey, looking perfectly healthy. “Ivy’s been abroad and is finally ready to forgive. I’ll stage a recovery, and Stella can return as our princess—her atonement.” “But ALS is terminal,” his friend objected. “Will she believe a recovery?” Hank laughed. “That naive girl believes every word I say. She’ll learn Ivy, as our adopted sister, needed kindness. I did this for her own good. I’ll make it up to her later.” I lowered my head, tears falling silently. But Hank, there is no “later” for us. Your illness was a lie. Mine is real. 1 A phantom wind sliced through the corridor, chilling me to the bone. I stood frozen, a puppet with its strings cut, enduring the slow, agonizing collapse of the world I had built for the last five years. It was a death by a thousand cuts, each slice carving away the faith that had been my only anchor. Hank’s friend, Ryan, sighed. “I gotta say, man, you’re ruthless. That’s your own sister. The genius from Westwood University. She threw it all away for you without a second thought. She’s barely in her twenties and she looks like she’s aged a decade. A few days ago, she was short three hundred bucks for your medicine. She even came to me for it.” Hank’s face instantly darkened. “Did you give it to her?” Ryan shook his head, looking weary. “You gave us all a direct order. You think I’d dare?” He paused, then added, “The poor kid knelt on my doorstep for a whole afternoon. She passed out from low blood sugar, but I couldn’t even take her to a hospital. When she came to, she just… picked herself up and walked away.” What Ryan didn’t say was that I had been truly desperate that day. I had offered him the only thing I had left to sell. I would have done anything for that money. Hank had been without his imported medication for a week, and I was terrified he would get worse. But Ryan had looked at me like he’d seen a ghost and practically threw me out of his house. Now I knew why. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help me. He wasn’t allowed to. Hank let out a cold snort. “All of you, listen up. Until I bring Ivy home, nobody helps Stella. I don’t care if she’s kneeling, begging, or dying at your feet—you ignore her. Ivy is sensitive, she has depression. I’ve spent five years carefully managing her recovery while she traveled. If Stella’s punishment is cut short by even a single day, Ivy might get upset and have a relapse. And if any of you make my precious baby sister unhappy, I’ll make your entire family miserable.” The men exchanged uneasy glances, the absurdity of the situation hanging heavy in the air. Someone awkwardly cleared their throat. “Hank, aren’t you afraid that if Stella finds out the truth, she’ll… leave you?” At that, Hank burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? We’re family. This is just a little spat, a domestic issue. Stella would die for me. You could put a knife to her throat and she wouldn’t leave my side. This is just a small lesson. Ivy, on the other hand, is different. She already feels like an outsider because she isn’t related to us by blood. It’s my duty to treat her better.” He fixed them all with a hard stare. “But remember this. What was said in this room tonight, stays in this room. If a single word gets back to Stella, our friendship is over.” I leaned against the wall, my limbs numb. So my five years of hell… they were nothing more than a joke. My life, my freedom, even my health… all of it was meaningless, easily discarded the moment Ivy shed a single tear. I wanted to laugh, but the only thing that came out was a stream of unstoppable tears. A phone rang inside the room, and footsteps headed for the door. I tried to scramble away but turned right into the path of the approaching manager. A tray of vintage champagne, worth tens of thousands, crashed to the floor. The manager’s face turned thunderous. With a vicious slap, she sent me sprawling to the ground. Just then, the door opened. Hank strode out, his eyes sweeping past us without a second glance as he opened his arms to a woman who fluttered toward him like a butterfly. It was Ivy. “Why did you come back on your own?” he cooed, wrapping her in a protective embrace. “I told you I’d come pick you up. Are you tired? I’ve arranged for a full spa team at home. They’ll take care of you.” Ivy giggled, her voice sickly sweet. “I missed you, Hank! I wanted to surprise you!” I was still on my knees less than a yard away from them, wearing a cheap mask, too terrified to move or speak. The dazzling diamonds on Ivy’s heels blinded me, each brilliant stone a sharp stab in my heart. A single one of those gems could have paid for a year of Hank’s “medicine.” The manager stammered, interrupting their reunion. “Mr. Vance, my deepest apologies. Your champagne… this clumsy idiot ruined it.” 2 A pair of polished black leather shoes stopped right in front of me. The manager, recognizing his status, was desperate to appease him. “Mr. Vance, I’m so sorry this idiot disturbed your reunion with your sister. She can’t even hold a tray steady. I’ll have someone bring you a new selection right away.” She grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh with a sharp, twisting motion. The pain was nothing compared to the agony of a broken rib from a debt collector’s boot, but I flinched anyway, my insides coiling into a tight knot of shame. Hank frowned, his voice sharp with impatience. “That’s enough.” The manager pointed a trembling finger at me. “Since you’re the one who broke them, you’ll pick up every last shard of glass from this hallway with your bare hands. If my sister steps on a single piece, you’ll swallow one.” The hallway was carpeted with a thick, plush runner that muffled all sound. The tiny, sharp fragments of glass were embedded deep within the fibers, nearly invisible. I got onto my hands and knees and began to feel my way through the carpet, my palms pressing down, searching for the sharp edges. Ivy watched me for a moment, her eyes narrowed, before turning to Hank and pouting. “Hank, I’m tired.” “My little princess,” he murmured. “Let’s get you out of here. It’s too dangerous.” The black leather shoe stepped onto the back of my hand, pressed down, and ground into my skin before moving on, its owner completely oblivious. I remained on my knees, staring at the tiny shard of glass now embedded in my palm. The tears finally stopped, replaced by a raw, broken laugh. The manager recoiled, her eyes wide with alarm. “What’s wrong with you? Your nose is bleeding!” I staggered to my feet, wiping the blood away with the back of my sleeve. “I guess… I’m just about to die.” Without a backward glance at her shocked face, I walked away, leaving a trail of blood drops on the expensive carpet. When I got back to our tiny apartment and pushed the door open, a crash echoed from the kitchen. Hank was on the floor, struggling to pull himself up from his overturned wheelchair. He saw me standing in the doorway, and his eyes reddened with shame, like a child caught doing something wrong. “Stella… I just wanted to make you something to eat…” His voice was thick and slurred. “I’m so useless, just a worthless cripple!” His words were garbled, saliva mixing with tears as they streamed down his face. He looked every bit the part of a helpless, broken man who had been paralyzed for years. A distant memory flickered in my mind. Before the ‘diagnosis,’ Hank had been a severe germaphobe. He was a man who washed his hands twenty times a day, who couldn’t tolerate a single speck of dust on his clothes. Yet, for Ivy, he had endured this filthy, undignified existence for five whole years. Five years. I had been trapped in the web of his masterful, deceitful performance, a clown in his private circus. In that moment, I wanted to rip open his chest and see what lay inside. Was it flesh and blood, or cold, hard stone? Seeing my silence, Hank’s head drooped. “Stella… are you starting to hate me?” he whispered. “You should. I’m just a burden. I can’t keep dragging you down like this. Just go. Leave me here. Let me just… rot.” He sat there amidst the mess on the floor, stubbornly gripping the armrest of his wheelchair, veins popping on his arms as he tried and failed to get up. I walked over in silence, righted the wheelchair, and helped him into it. Then I went to the bathroom, wrung out a washcloth, and came back to clean his face and hands. I had performed this routine for five years. The motions were so familiar they felt etched into my very bones. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes falling on the cut in my palm. “What happened? Who hurt you?” I stared into his eyes, at the flicker of concern that seemed so genuine it made my heart ache. A bitter taste rose in my throat. “I did. I was hurt by someone who looks a lot like you.” I held his gaze, my voice steady. “It was at the Starlight Lounge.” 3 I watched the muscles in Hank’s jaw tighten. A small, sad smile touched my lips. “But I know it wasn’t you. My brother would never lie to me. Right?” My stare made him squirm. He looked away, his voice strained. “Of course not. You’re my only family, Stella. I would never, ever lie to you.” I swallowed the suffocating grief in my throat, turning away before he could see the tears welling in my eyes. I pushed his wheelchair out of the kitchen. When I finished cooking and came out, the living room was empty. I walked to his bedroom door and heard his hushed voice on the phone. “Be good now. I’ve planned the biggest birthday party for you. I’ll be there tomorrow to celebrate with you personally.” Ivy’s voice on the other end was laced with mock concern. “But tomorrow is Stella’s birthday too. If you don’t spend it with her, won’t she be upset?” “You silly girl,” he murmured. “You’re my only precious sister. Your happiness is all that matters. Stella hasn’t celebrated her birthday in five years; she’s used to it. One more year won’t make a difference.” Ivy’s squeal of delight was sharp enough to cut through the door. “I knew you loved me best, Hank!” I stood there for a long time before quietly taking off my apron and walking out of the apartment. When Hank emerged from his room, I was gone. On the table was a bowl of soft-boiled noodles, easy for him to swallow, and one of his imported pills. He knew I had a night shift to get to. But the image of my wounded hand, my unnaturally pale face, and my painfully thin frame as I cooked for him flashed in his mind. A sudden panic seized him as he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen me smile, couldn’t recall the bright, vibrant girl I used to be. Something sharp and cold pierced his chest. A disquieting mix of unease and guilt began to creep in, silent and suffocating. He snatched his phone and quickly dialed a number. The next day, I took Hank for a check-up. His doctor was practically buzzing with excitement. “Ms. Vance, we’ve just received incredible news! A private research facility in Switzerland has developed a new experimental drug for ALS. The clinical trials have been extremely successful, and they’re only accepting two more participants. I’ve managed to secure a spot for your brother.” In contrast to his enthusiasm, I was calm. “What are the chances of a full recovery?” “Eighty percent.” Playing his part perfectly, Hank began to weep with joy. “Stella, I can get better! I can really get better! I’ll be able to stay with you forever!” I forced a smile. “If only one of us could live, Hank, I would always, always want it to be you.” He froze, taken aback by my solemn tone. The act seemed to fall away for a second. He frowned, his words sharp and clear. “Don’t say such foolish things. We’re both going to be fine. When I get better, I’ll rebuild the Vance Group, and you’ll be our family’s princess again.” But that’s a crown I no longer want. And a brother… I’m willing to give to Ivy. The doctor ushered me out of his office, claiming the preparatory tests would take a long time. In the past, I would have believed him, using every precious minute to rush off to one of my part-time jobs while Hank was being ‘treated.’ Now, I knew it was just an excuse to get me out of the way. I stood in the empty corner of the hallway and watched as Hank, no longer needing his wheelchair, changed into a fresh set of clothes and strode confidently into the elevator. Down below, a luxury car was already waiting for him. I numbly turned away and walked into a different doctor’s office down the hall. “Ms. Vance, the tumor is too large for surgery now. If you had come in even two weeks ago, there might have been a chance.” The doctor sighed, his expression grim. “You have a few days, at most. It’s time to say goodbye to your family.” I was silent for a long moment before giving a small nod. “After I die, please have me cremated. Deliver my ashes to the Vance estate and give them to the CEO of the Vance Group, Hank Vance.” I left the little money I had on his desk and walked out of the hospital. My phone buzzed with a text message. “Come to the villa. You should see this.” It was from Ivy. I took a taxi to the city’s most exclusive gated community. After five years, the home I thought had been sold off long ago was now ablaze with lights and life. A lavish party was in full swing, guests dripping with wealth, a world away from the lonely figure standing outside the ornate iron gates. Ivy, wearing a sparkling tiara and a custom-made gown, stood beside a six-tier cake, her arm linked possessively through Hank’s. She was surrounded by a mountain of presents. She closed her eyes and made a wish. “I wish I could be my brother’s only sister, and be his little princess forever.” Hank reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. The moment he opened it, the blood in my veins turned to ice. 4 It was the family crest pendant. When we were born, our parents had a master artisan craft two identical ones. They were blessed for a full year, inscribed with our names, and placed around our necks. They were our parents’ hopes and blessings, a symbol of the Vance legacy. After they died, it was the only thing I had left of them. Even in my most desperate moments, I had never considered selling it. Now, I saw that Hank had replaced my name with Ivy’s. In front of everyone, he solemnly fastened the chain around her neck. “My little princess,” he said, his voice full of warmth. “Congratulations. Your wish has come true.” I don’t know how I managed to walk away. My phone started vibrating relentlessly. A string of messages from Ivy. “I recognized you at the lounge the other day, you know.” “Did you get a good look tonight?” “The pendant is mine now. Hank is mine, too. You’re like a pathetic stray dog that nobody wants.” “You’re such a failure. Why don’t you just die, big sister? Tee-hee.” When I didn’t respond, a final message appeared. “Oh, and by the way, I had Hank send you a little birthday present. I hope you enjoy it.” I wandered the streets like a ghost for hours, finally making my way back to the cramped apartment in a daze. Only then did I discover what Ivy’s “birthday present” was. The door was wide open. The room was ransacked. And Hank was on the floor, pinned down by several large men. He was thrashing like a cornered animal, a sight so horribly familiar it made my whole body tremble. The ghost of pain from my once-broken ribs flared up again. “Well, well, look who it is,” the lead thug sneered, picking his teeth. “When are you paying this month’s debt?” My face was pale. “What are you talking about? I paid everything off.” He spat on the floor. “I say you still owe, so you still owe. Don’t wanna pay? I wonder how many hits with this pipe your brother’s brittle bones can take.” He tapped the iron pipe against Hank’s back for emphasis. “Stella, it’s my fault!” Hank cried out, his voice choked with fake despair. “Don’t worry about me! Just run! I’m just a cripple! If they kill me, they kill me! I don’t want to be a burden on you anymore!” The exact same words I had heard a hundred times over the past five years. I looked at the men, then at my brother on the floor—disheveled and pathetic, yet his eyes were sharp and clear. And I finally understood. It was laughable that I hadn’t seen it before. In all the times they had come for their money, they had never once laid a hand on him. But me? To protect my deceitful brother, I’d had my ribs broken, my leg fractured. I was covered in scars. Swallowing the painful lump in my throat, I asked in a raw voice, “What do you want?” The leader looked me up and down, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “You know, I really don’t like your stubborn attitude. So here’s the deal. We’ve got about a dozen guys here. You crawl through each of our legs and bark like a dog three times, and we’ll call it even for today. Just a bit of fun.” “NO!” Hank roared. “Stella, don’t you dare do it!” A hollow, lifeless laugh escaped my lips. The last flicker of warmth in my heart died out. “If this is what you want,” I whispered, my words meant for only one person, “then consider us even.” Though I was speaking to the thug, Hank flinched as if I’d struck him. He looked panicked, opening his mouth to say something, but then he remembered his promise to Ivy. This was the last time. The final punishment. After this, he would restore my identity as the Vance heiress. He would never let me suffer again. He clung to that thought, confident that he had a lifetime to make it up to me. He looked away, pulling out his phone to secretly take a picture of my humiliation to send to Ivy.

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Before signing, the client asked for coconut pastries. I sent my boyfriend Todd to get them. Unexpectedly, the client bit into one and collapsed from an allergic reaction. Upon waking, he canceled our contract and awarded the million-dollar deal to Anna—the intern who rushed him to the hospital. Seeing months of hard work handed to someone else was devastating. Todd comforted me, saying it was just bad luck. Later, though, I overheard him bragging: “The client’s allergic to peaches. Good thing I added peach juice. Now Anna gets the job, a bonus, and her condo down payment.” His friend hesitated. “But Sarah visited 28 cities in 30 days for that project, even with a fever, to pay for her dad’s surgery…” Todd frowned impatiently. “She has my love. Isn’t that enough? Besides, she owed Anna.” My fists clenched. So, it wasn’t bad luck—it was his trap. He thought his fake love could mend my broken life and ease his guilt. Sorry, Todd. This ungrateful snake is no longer wanted. … I refreshed my social media feed, and a new post popped up. “La la la! My very first home, and it’s all mine!” The picture was of Anna, a smug grin on her face, holding up the signed deed to her new property. The comments were a flood of congratulations, but Todd’s was the most prominent. “Congrats, Machine!” A bitter smile twisted my lips. That was the nickname my colleagues had given me. In five years, I hadn’t taken a single day off. I was working on my laptop right up until the moment I was wheeled into surgery once. At my most exhausted, I had to take a video conference while hooked up to an oxygen tank. They all saw the woman who worked herself to the bone. They didn’t see the girl holding a family together on her own. After my father got sick, the responsibility of raising my younger siblings fell squarely on my shoulders. The six-figure medical bills were a weight that threatened to crush me. To raise the money, I worked day and night, blurring into one long, exhausting shift. I’d drunk so much with clients I’d thrown up blood, and I’d collapsed from exhaustion more times than I could count. Todd saw it all. When I couldn’t get a cab, he would be there in minutes to pick me up. When I came home late from a networking dinner, he’d have a bowl of soothing soup waiting for me. When a client gave me a hard time, he would find a way to step in and smooth things over. But it was this same man who stabbed me in the back when it mattered most. He knew how terrified I was of losing my father, yet he handed the fruits of my labor to Anna without a second thought. In his mind, Anna had nothing, and this condo was everything to her. But did he ever stop to think that not only did I not have a home, but I was about to lose the only father I had? Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. A moment later, my phone rang. It was my father’s doctor. “Your father just passed away.” His voice was heavy with regret. “I’m so sorry. If we had been able to operate sooner, there was still a chance he could have been cured.” I don’t know how I got through the funeral arrangements. Todd called several times during those days. I would just stare at his name on the screen, my heart numb, and let it ring. It was the first time I’d ever heard real panic in his voice. He cornered me the moment I stepped into the office. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “You never take time off.” He didn’t sound concerned. He sounded angry. Afraid, even. As if I’d slipped from his control. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. The old me would have poured my heart out to him. Not anymore. As I tried to walk past him, he grabbed my arm, his hot breath on my neck. “What’s wrong with you? It’s only been a few days, but you’re like a different person!” Before I could answer, Anna appeared, sidling up to him with a practiced pout. “Todd, sweetie, could you do me a huge favor?” His attention shifted to her instantly. “What is it? Take your time.” Anna bit her lip, her voice a mix of guilt and distress. “You know I just made the down payment on my new place last week? I thought I had enough for renovations, but I went way over budget. Now the contractor is demanding payment before they’ll start, and I don’t have a cent to my name.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. “I’ve asked everyone I know, but nobody can help me. I had no one else to turn to. Could you possibly…” “Yes.” He cut her off, his answer firm and immediate. He pulled out his phone and dialed, his voice unwavering. “I need you to list the house in Southwood. Right now. I don’t care about the price; I need it sold today.” He paused, listening. “That’s right. I don’t care how much of a loss we take. I need the cash. The faster, the better.” Anna dabbed at her eyes with a theatrical flair, her voice choked with emotion. “Oh, Todd, you can’t! That house is in a great neighborhood, its value is only going to go up. It’s a terrible time to sell.” She shot a timid glance in my direction. “Besides, that’s the house you bought to get married in! Sarah would never agree to this.” Todd stepped in front of Anna, shielding her as if I were a threat. His dark eyes bore into me. “What does it matter if she agrees? It’s not her house.” He looked at me, his expression hard. “Sarah, be reasonable. Anna’s all alone in this city, trying to make it on her own. We should be supporting her.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Besides, it’s not like we can’t get married if we’re renting. I’m still willing to marry you. What more could you possibly want?” I stood frozen, the blood turning to ice in my veins. In his eyes, I was the one desperate to marry him. His willingness to go through with it was a gift he was bestowing upon me. He seemed to have forgotten that he was the one who had begged me to be his girlfriend in the first place. And now, he was selling the house he’d bought for us, for Anna. The irony was almost too much to bear. I remembered my father lying in the ICU. The doctor had handed me a form, telling me to sign, that they’d have to stop treatment if I couldn’t pay. I had sobbed, begging Todd to lend me the money, offering to sign an IOU, to work for him for the rest of my life. And what had he said then? “The market is still rising, it would be a huge loss to sell now. And it’s our future home. It’s bad luck to sell it before we’re even married.” But now, for Anna’s renovation costs, he was selling it without a second thought, casually saying he didn’t care about the loss. Apparently, my father’s life was worth less than the cost of new cabinets for Anna’s condo. I stared straight ahead, my face a blank mask. “Sell it if you want. I don’t have an opinion.” A flicker of panic crossed Todd’s face. He started to say something, then stopped. I turned and walked away. I’d only taken a few steps when a warm hand closed around my wrist. Todd’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ll… I’ll clear my schedule this week,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ll make time to go see your dad. His biggest wish was to see us get married. We can talk about the wedding details then.” I looked at his earnest face and thought about how, in all the time my father was in the hospital, he had never once visited. Even when my dad had a moment of lucidity and asked to see him, Todd was always busy. Busy helping Anna move. Busy taking Anna’s dog to the vet. My father died without ever seeing him again. And now he was offering a visit like it was some grand gesture. The words felt like swallowing broken glass. “Don’t bother.” My voice was flat. “There’s no need.” I pulled my wrist free and walked away without looking back. Back in my empty apartment, my aunt called. A company down south was interested in me. They were offering triple my current salary. She wanted to know if I was interested. I accepted without a moment’s hesitation. There was nothing left for me in this city. The next day, I went to the office to hand in my resignation. As it happened, the boss was treating everyone to a farewell dinner for me. During the meal, someone suggested a game of “Truth or Dare.” Anna got dared to kiss someone in the room. Her eyes flickered toward me before she raised a finger and pointed it directly at Todd. “I choose Todd! It’s just a game, Sarah, hope you don’t mind!” The room went silent. Once, another girl had confessed her feelings to Todd right in front of me. Unwilling to be rude, he had awkwardly accepted the flowers she offered. The next second, I had snatched them from his hands and thrown them in the trash. Anyone who knew me knew I had zero tolerance for that kind of thing. I didn’t share. Now, all eyes were on me, waiting for the explosion. But I just lifted my water glass, drained it in one gulp, and started clapping enthusiastically. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” I chanted with a wide smile. “It’s just a game, don’t be a buzzkill!” My colleagues stared at me, dumbfounded, as if they were seeing me for the first time. Todd’s expression shifted from guarded curiosity to outright disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but my applause drowned him out. Anna, clearly not expecting this reaction, had a flicker of confusion cross her face before her coy smile returned. She stood on her toes and pressed a long, deep kiss to Todd’s lips. He froze, his eyes locked on me, a war of hesitation and guilt playing out on his face. Then, after a few seconds, he wrapped his arm around Anna’s waist and deepened the kiss. The two of them became more and more lost in the moment, their movements growing more passionate. Cheers erupted around them. But all I could hear was a dull ringing in my ears. I remembered a long time ago, a girl had snuck a kiss on Todd’s cheek when he was drunk. When I found out, I cried all night, my eyes swollen shut. Todd had held me and comforted me for an entire day. He bought me my favorite strawberry cheesecake, knelt in front of me, and swore, “Baby, I know how much trust means to you. I promise, I will never so much as touch another woman’s finger.” His eyes had been so sincere then, his voice so firm. He had made me feel so safe. But now, he was kissing another woman in front of me, all his promises forgotten. Even though I had already decided to let him go, the pain was still sharp enough to take my breath away. After three minutes, they pulled apart, their faces flushed. Anna wiped her lips. “Sorry about that, Sarah. Just a game, you know!” she said, her tone humble but her eyes glinting with triumph. Todd’s knuckles were white as he clutched the fabric of his shirt, bracing himself for the fight he was sure was coming. I calmly put down my chopsticks, picked up a napkin, and dabbed my lips. My voice was perfectly steady. “No problem at all. It’s just a game. The important thing is that everyone has fun.” I offered a gentle smile. The light in Todd’s eyes died. The tension drained from his body, replaced by an unmistakable wave of disappointment. He looked at me like I was a stranger. After my resignation was finalized, I packed my bags for the move south. I remembered there was one thing left behind: a wooden rocking chair, still at Todd’s house. It was the wedding gift my father had spent three months building for me. Now, it was the only thing I had left of him. I had to get it back. I went to the house and entered my birthday, our usual passcode. Error. I tried again, thinking I’d made a mistake. Still error. I didn’t try a third time. I switched to the fingerprint scanner. My print had been deleted. I was about to call Todd when I remembered Anna’s date of birth from her resume. On a whim, I punched it in. The door clicked open. I stepped into the living room and froze. Todd and Anna were both there. A romantic candlelit dinner for two. Champagne, cake, steak, and a trail of rose petals leading to the bedroom. They stared at me, stunned. Then, a slow, triumphant smirk spread across Anna’s face. She looked at me with such open provocation that for a second, I felt like I was the one who had been caught doing something wrong. Todd composed himself, but he couldn’t hide the panic in his eyes. “How… how did you get in?” The question was laughable. Deleting my fingerprint, changing the code—wasn’t it all to prevent this exact scenario? He didn’t need to go to such trouble. All he had to do was say the word “breakup.” It’s not like I would have clung to him. “I typed in a certain someone’s birthday, and the door just opened.” I let my gaze drift pointedly to Anna. She immediately shifted in her seat, forcing a smile. “Oh, that! I was just messing around with the code for fun, Sarah. Don’t mind me.” She glanced nervously at Todd. I ignored her. “And I suppose you deleted my fingerprint for fun, too?” “Sarah!” Todd’s roar was like a clap of thunder. I couldn’t tell if he was defending his new love or just lashing out in shame. “Is that enough? Do you always have to be so aggressive?” I looked at his face, twisted with a rage I had never seen before, and suddenly felt very, very tired. I turned to Anna. “Get up.” She looked at me, confused. I repeated myself.

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The seventh time Maya stood me up at City Hall, I decided to cut her out of my life for good. If she was at a party, I wasn’t. When she was invited to perform at our university reunion, I left before she took the stage. When my company decided to partner with hers, I quit on the spot. Even on New Year’s Eve, when she came to my parents’ house, I made an excuse about visiting friends and walked out the door. I blocked her number, unfriended her on everything, and went completely scorched earth. No contact from me, no access to me. A clean break. For the better part of the last thirty years, my life had revolved around loving her, taking care of her, obsessing over her. It wasn’t until she left me waiting for our marriage license for the seventh time that I finally woke up. I didn’t want this life anymore. Being alone was better than spending my nights in an empty house, waiting for someone who would never truly be there. … I sat at the marriage bureau in City Hall, waiting for Maya, until the last employee started packing up to leave. At first, when I called, she just said she was busy and told me to wait. Two hours later, her phone went straight to voicemail. A constant, busy tone. The marriage application in my hand was crumpled into a tight, wrinkled ball. “Sir,” a clerk said gently, seeing me still sitting there, “we’re closing now. Did you still need to file for a license?” I snapped back to the present and shook my head. “Thank you, but no. Not anymore.” As I walked out, I overheard a few of the clerks whispering as they passed. “I think I’ve seen that guy a few times. Always comes in alone to get married.” “Now that you mention it, I remember him too. Always waiting for someone who never shows up, right?” My face was a mask of indifference, but inside, my heart felt like it had been shredded. I couldn’t look up, my shame a physical weight. I just walked faster. This was the seventh time. The seventh time I had come to City Hall to marry Maya. Just as I stepped outside to hail a cab, she appeared. She was jogging toward me, slightly out of breath, a practiced look of apology on her face. “Leo, I am so, so sorry. Something came up at work last minute. I’m not too late, am I?” I let out a silent, bitter laugh. The last time, it was work. The time before that, it was also work. It was always work. She couldn’t even be bothered to come up with a new excuse. I just shook my head. “You’re too late. They just locked up.” Maya’s expression shifted to one of indignation. She glanced at her watch and then gestured angrily toward the building. “Can you believe these people? They have to leave the second the clock strikes five. Can’t even wait one extra minute.” She stepped forward and took my hand, placing it on her chest, which was rising and falling dramatically. “The traffic was a nightmare. I had to run the last few blocks. Look, I’m exhausted.” I stared at her, a lump forming in my throat. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew whether she had been running or not. Biting my lip, I asked her the question I’d never dared to ask before. “If you really ran all this way, why isn’t there a single drop of sweat on you?” Her forehead was perfectly clear. Not just dry, but completely untouched by any hint of exertion. The moment the words left my mouth, her face changed. Her brows knitted together, her eyes flashing with anger. Her voice rose. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m lying? That I’m intentionally avoiding marrying you?” She pulled her hand back. “I ran all this way, and this is what I get? Disbelief? Leo, I never knew you could be so cruel!” She was a master at turning the tables. But her hysterical rage just screamed guilt. I rubbed my temples, suddenly tired of the fight, tired of her. “Maya, you and I both know the truth.” I turned to leave. Her voice, cold and sharp, cut through the air behind me. “Fine. Be that way. But don’t you dare come crying back to me. Don’t you dare crawl back and beg me to marry you again!” She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Let’s just see how long you last this time!” I didn’t turn back. I just kept walking, my lip bleeding from how hard I was biting it. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a text. [Leo, did you strike out again? What a shame. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be back for an eighth try soon!] I read the message three times. Even I wasn’t dense enough to miss the taunt. I’d suspected the reason for Maya’s no-shows, but seeing the text from Julian still felt like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. Maya and I were childhood sweethearts. From the time we were kids, I had sworn I would marry her. Our parents had laughed and encouraged it. She had always treated me with a unique closeness. That is, until college, when she brought another guy home for the first time. Julian. Seeing them together, the way they interacted, I realized with a dawning horror that what Maya felt for me might not be love. I panicked. The day we graduated, I half-jokingly suggested we go get married. Our parents were thrilled, but Maya turned me down flat. Over the next eight years, I must have asked her dozens of times. She only agreed on seven occasions. And every single one of them ended like this. And every single time, without fail, a taunting message from Julian would arrive moments later. My phone buzzed again. Assuming it was him, I was about to decline the call when I saw the name. It was my best friend, Chloe. She was inviting me to a party tonight. The first words out of my mouth were, “Is Maya going to be there?” “Don’t worry, Leo. I know how things are. I already told her about it, and she said she’s coming!” “Then count me out. If she’s there, I’m not. Maybe next time.” Chloe went silent on the other end of the line, completely stunned. Everyone knew. For years, I was the one who chased after Maya. I was the one who showed up at her graduation with a ridiculous bouquet, who agonized over finding her the perfect job, who cleaned her apartment and cooked her meals like a devoted lapdog. Once, at a friend’s birthday, someone joked that Maya must have saved a country in a past life to deserve me. Maya just scoffed. “He’s like a stray dog that won’t go away. It’s annoying. Who cares?” Back then, I didn’t. I thought I could change her. Now, I did. After hanging up, I sent a group text to all my close friends. [From now on, if Maya’s going to be at a get-together, please don’t invite me.] With that done, I finally hailed a cab home. I showered and then began gathering everything in my apartment that belonged to Maya. I packed it all into a suitcase and called a courier to have it delivered to her place. Just as the courier arrived, Chloe showed up, having heard the news. She saw the packed suitcase and her eyes widened. “Leo, you’re not leaving, are you?” I laughed and opened the suitcase for her. “What are you talking about? This is all Maya’s stuff. I’m sending it back.” Chloe stared for a moment, then watched the courier leave. She turned back to me, her expression one of disbelief. “But Leo, you were supposed to get married today. What happened…?” She trailed off, the realization dawning on her. She knew about all the other times. Her eyes narrowed. “Did she stand you up again? That text you sent… it has to be Julian behind this, doesn’t it? Come on, we’re going to go find her and get this sorted out, right now!” I tried to refuse, but she dragged me out of the apartment and all the way to the bar where the party was being held. We were just outside the private room when we heard Maya’s voice, loud and clear. “Oh, stop it, you guys. How many times has Leo thrown a fit and sworn he’s done? He always comes back. He can’t live without me.” She laughed. “He’s just sulking right now. Give him a day or two, and he’ll be back at my feet like always.” I bit the inside of my cheek, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. All these years, I had poured my heart and soul into caring for her, and this is what she thought of me. Worthless. Chloe saw the tears welling in my eyes and squeezed my shoulder. She was about to shove the door open, but I stopped her. At this point, I didn’t even want to see Maya’s face. I pulled Chloe away. As we rounded the corner, the door to the room opened, and Maya and Julian stepped out. Julian spoke first. “Maya, you’ve had too much to drink. You shouldn’t say things like that. What if little Leo hears you? You’ll break his heart.” “Isn’t his broken heart exactly what you want?” Maya slurred, leaning against him. “Making me agree to marry him, then making me stand him up at the last second. Julian, you’re so wicked!” The words hit me, and the tears I’d been holding back finally fell. So that’s what I was. A clown. A pawn in their twisted game. No wonder she’d never seemed happy or excited any of the times she’d agreed to marry me. I was just too blinded by my own joy to notice the contempt in her eyes. Julian wrapped an arm around her, playfully tapping her on the chest. “What do you mean, I’m wicked? This whole thing was your idea in the first place!” “Well, I was just trying to make you happy! It was the only thing I could think of!” They were laughing now, and then, right there in the hallway, they started kissing. I felt like my soul had left my body. I numbly pulled Chloe out of the bar and into the cool night air. The wind felt like it was freezing my heart solid. “Leo, you’re just too good,” Chloe seethed. “That’s why those two monsters think they can play with you like this!” She was still fuming, but I just managed a weak smile. When I opened my mouth to speak, the taste of blood was overwhelming. “It’s over. From now on, Maya and I have nothing to do with each other.” After finally convincing Chloe to go home, I went back to my apartment. On the way, the courier called. He was at the designated address, but the recipient wasn’t answering her phone. I’d forgotten—Maya never answered calls from unknown numbers. I told him to wait, hung up, and dialed her number myself. I could hear the loud music of a bar in the background, but her smug tone was unmistakable. “Well, well, look who came crawling back. Where’s all that courage you had when you stormed off and left me on the street earlier?” The old me would have apologized profusely, groveled, said anything to make her happy. The new me just said, flatly, “I had your things sent to your apartment. They’re at your door. You should probably go get them.” Her voice became even more triumphant. “Oh, Leo, what did you buy me this time? Trying to get back in my good graces?” She laughed. “Weren’t you the one who sent that dramatic text to all our friends? The one who wouldn’t even be in the same room as me? And now here you are, already trying to suck up.” I didn’t say another word. I just hung up. As the call disconnected, I thought I heard her ask what I’d sent her, saying she’d have to see if she liked it before she decided whether or not to forgive me. I just shook my head and smiled. After all those years of being her doormat, she really did think I had no dignity left. That was fine. She would learn. After that night, I had no more contact with Maya. Her number, her social media—all of it deleted. When friends invited me out, I always asked beforehand if she would be there. Eventually, they got the message and would only invite one of us at a time. Soon, it was the day before our university’s anniversary celebration. Chloe had already called to make plans. As a distinguished alumnus, I had received a formal invitation. I hadn’t expected Maya to be there too. But it made sense. She was always a top student, and her company had provided a lot of support to the university after graduation. Of course they’d invite her. When Chloe and I arrived, the campus was packed. I glanced at the program and saw her name immediately. She was the seventh performance. After the sixth act, I made an excuse and left. As I was walking out of the auditorium, I thought I heard someone call my name, but I didn’t look back. A moment later, I got a text from my old college advisor. [Leo, why did you leave in such a hurry? I called out to you a few times. Your girlfriend’s performance is next, aren’t you staying to watch?] [Thank you, Professor, but I had to leave for an emergency. And I’m single. I don’t have a girlfriend!] I sent the text and shook my head. I had been so obsessed in college that even my advisor knew our story. What I didn’t know was that my advisor was standing right next to Maya when he sent that text. And that she saw my reply. In the dim light of the auditorium, her expression was unreadable. After leaving campus, I headed to my office. I’d been in such a rush to leave the reunion that I’d forgotten my bag. When I got there, I saw a new project proposal sitting on my desk. The name of the partner company on the proposal was Maya’s. I immediately called my boss, confirmed the partnership, and then resigned. “Boss, I need to resign for personal reasons.” “Leo, this is so sudden! I was about to put you in charge of this new project.” “Thank you, sir, but I can’t. I don’t get along with that company.” After the call, I typed up my resignation letter. If the company was going to work with Maya, the best way to avoid her was to leave. I left the letter on my desk and walked out. When I got back to my apartment building, I noticed the light in the hallway was on. My floor only has two apartments, and the one next to mine was vacant. The light was almost never on. As I got closer, I saw her. Maya was standing in the stairwell, smoking. The floor around her was littered with cigarette butts. She must have been waiting for a long time. Luckily, I was quiet. She didn’t see me. I immediately turned and hit the elevator button. Just as the doors were closing, she must have heard the sound and stepped out of the stairwell. I could faintly hear her yelling. “Leo, is that you? I know you’re back! You’re in that elevator, aren’t you!” As the elevator descended, to buy myself some time, I pressed the button for every single floor on my way down and then hopped out, letting it ascend on its own slow journey. It was a jerk move, but it worked. With Maya camping outside my apartment, I went to a nearby hotel for the night. I had just checked in and was heading up the stairs when she burst through the front door. She was panting, sweat dripping from her forehead, her face flushed from exertion. “Did someone just check in?” she demanded of the front desk clerk. “Was it a man named Leo?” “Answer me! You have to tell me!”

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“The match is confirmed. Thank you, Mark. Toby is saved.” A text from the contact saved as “Sister-in-law” flashed across my husband’s phone screen. Mark’s expression froze. He snatched the phone out of my hand. I stared at him, the blood in my veins slowing to a crawl. Our son was lying in a hospital bed, comatose after a hit-and-run, and here he was, busy taking care of someone else’s child. After a long moment, he finally stammered, “It’s my nephew. He has end-stage kidney disease. He desperately needs a kidney.” A sickening premonition washed over me. “Whose kidney? Mark, whose kidney did you use for the tissue matching?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Mark! Whose kidney?” After a long, suffocating silence, he choked out the answer: “…Our son’s.” 1 The world began to spin. I staggered backward, my body giving way beneath me. “Alina!” Mark lunged forward, grabbing me, his arms digging painfully into my flesh. “Listen to me, my nephew is on the brink of death!” he pleaded. “His creatinine levels are through the roof, even dialysis isn’t working anymore…” His voice was a desperate rush of excuses. “After my brother died, she had to raise the kids all by herself, with no help from her family. She’s had it so hard, Alina, she’s so pitiful…” He held me, but his words were just a buzzing in my ears. Hard? Who wasn’t having it hard? I shoved him away, planting my feet on the ground. “She’s pitiful? What about our son? Mark! What about our Eric? Isn’t he pitiful?!” My voice broke. “He was a brilliant student! He was sleeping four hours a night, cramming for his college entrance exams. He wanted to get into the best medical school, to save lives…” Tears I had held back for so long finally broke free. “And then, just three days before his final exams…” The despair was a physical weight, crushing me. “Now he’s just lying in that hospital, kept alive by machines! And the bastard who hit him is still out there!” I grabbed the front of his shirt, my nails digging into the fabric. “And you? His father? While he’s lying there unconscious, what have you been doing?” My voice rose to a scream. “You’ve been busy playing savior to someone else, busy trying to carve up your own son!” Mark’s face was ashen. He looked away, ashamed. I let him go, stumbling back against the sofa. I took a few deep breaths, forcing a sliver of calm into my shattered mind. “The surgery hasn’t happened yet, right?” My voice was eerily steady. “Call them. Right now. Cancel it.” I stared at him, my eyes burning. “Tell the hospital that the donor’s family does not consent. Tell them the procedure is illegal.” Mark flinched. He swallowed hard, hesitating. “But… it’s so hard to find a match… and the surgery is scheduled for tomorrow… My sister-in-law, she…” “Mark!” I cut him off, my voice like a whip. “That is a part of my son! No one touches him without my permission!” Just then, the phone he was clutching lit up again. The buzzing vibration was deafening in the silent living room. The screen was facing up. I could clearly see the messages popping up, one after another. The words were intimate, desperate, and cloying. They read like a private conversation between a family fighting for survival, and I, along with my son in his hospital bed, was nothing more than a footnote. 【Mark, I know I wronged you in the past, and with my situation now, I shouldn’t be getting so close to you.】 【But Toby just woke up… he was delirious, but he kept asking for you…】 【If it’s not too much trouble, could you come see him one more time? Think of it as… granting a child’s last wish…】 2 “Wronged you? How did she wrong you?” Mark flinched as if struck, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. “Answer me! What did she do that was so terrible you have to pay her back with our son’s life?” Blood rushed to my head, my vision swimming. His silence was his answer. A guilt-ridden, deafening silence that was worse than any lie. “Fine,” I spat. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask her myself.” I spun around, grabbed my keys, and ran for the door. “Alina! Let me explain!” I didn’t listen. The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the sight of his panicked face. To hell with his explanations. I was going to get the truth from the woman who sent that text. I raced to the hospital, stumbling my way to the pediatric ward. I threw open the door to the room and found her there. Cora. She was sitting by the bed, gently helping the small boy drink some water. She looked up, startled, then quickly composed her face into its usual soft smile. “Alina? What are you doing here…?” She stood, instinctively blocking the bed from my view. I stared at her, my voice low and shaking with rage. “Cora, have you no shame?” “What gives you the right to send those kinds of messages to my husband? And what gives you the right to my son’s kidney?” Cora’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Alina, please don’t misunderstand. I was just so desperate. Mark has helped us so much, I only wanted to thank him.” She was the perfect victim. “I know I shouldn’t bother him so much, but I have no one else…” A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. “If something happens to Toby, how will I ever face his father…?” There it was again. That look. As if she were the most pitiful, innocent person in the world. “Thank him? You thank him by preying on my husband? By trying to take an organ from my comatose son?!” I was shaking, wanting nothing more than to rip that phony mask of sorrow from her face. “Alina!” A sharp voice cut through the air. Mark stood in the doorway, panting, his forehead slick with sweat. He rushed into the room and planted himself directly in front of Cora. “Why are you yelling at Co—at my sister-in-law!” he snapped. “If you have a problem, take it up with me! Toby is sick, do you have to make a scene in here?!” He’d almost said her name. Cora. Not “sister-in-law.” My own husband was shielding another woman from me. The pain was a physical blow to my chest. “Take it up with you? Fine.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Tell me why you speak to her so intimately. What, exactly, is she to you?” Mark froze. Behind him, Cora began to sob softly. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have…” “It’s not your fault!” Mark’s voice was thick with a tenderness that was meant for me, for our family. He took a deep breath and finally turned to face me. “Fine! Cora… she was someone I used to love, okay?!” he burst out. “But that was a long time ago! My brother is gone now, and she and her son have no one. I’m just helping them out for my brother’s sake!” He glared at me, his voice filled with righteous indignation. “Can’t you be less narrow-minded? Why do you always have to assume the worst?” A roar filled my ears, and the world went silent. So that was it. In his eyes, I was “narrow-minded” for trying to protect my own son. I was “assuming the worst” for questioning their sordid affair. And his past love, his current over-the-top “help,” that was noble. That was a tragedy. Memories flooded back, sharp and painful. Ten years ago, he’d held my face in his hands. “Alina, I never knew what love was until I met you. You’re the first and only person I’ve ever truly loved.” Five years ago, when Eric was born, he’d held our son, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, my love. The three of us, together forever.” But now, all those vows, all that tenderness, was tainted. Was his love for me always second best to the one that got away? Were his promises to our family always conditional, ready to be discarded for another woman and her child? His so-called devotion might have been a lie from the very beginning. The sharp pain in my chest slowly faded, replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness. I looked at the man in front of me and realized none of it mattered anymore. I took a deep breath. “Mark,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” 3 “Alina, don’t say things you don’t mean.” He reached for my hand, his eyes pleading. “There’s nothing going on between me and Cora! I’m only helping her because my brother asked me to, right before he died.” He was still trying to justify himself. “The doctors said donating one kidney doesn’t have a major impact on a person’s health. Eric is young, he’ll recover quickly, it won’t…” CRACK. I slapped him with all the strength I had left. His head snapped to the side. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. Cora gasped. “Mark,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “that was for my son. For being the soulless bastard that you are!” I was screaming now. “No major impact? It won’t endanger his life? How dare you say that! I’m telling you, as long as I am breathing, no one will lay a single finger on my son!” I turned and ran from the room. I had to see Eric. I had to hold his hand and tell him that his mother was here, that I would protect him no matter what. But when I reached his room, I skidded to a halt. The door was wide open. The room was empty. Where was my Eric? Where was my son? “Nurse! Nurse!” I sprinted to the nurses’ station, grabbing the arm of the nearest person. “My son, Eric! Where is he?!” The nurse looked startled. “Mrs. Evans? You didn’t know? About half an hour ago, your husband and another family member came by. They said they had arranged for a transfer to a better hospital. All the paperwork was in order. They’ve already left with him.” My husband… and another family member… Mark! Cora! My vision went black. A wave of pure, cold terror washed over me, threatening to pull me under. They had taken my son. Where were they taking him? 4 “A transfer? Where? Which hospital?” The young nurse quickly checked the records. “Your husband, Mark Evans, signed the papers himself. The destination is the Organ Transplant Center! The ambulance just left…” The Organ Transplant Center! The words were like daggers in my heart. This wasn’t a transfer for better treatment. They were taking him straight to the operating room! For Cora’s son! “You bastard! You absolute monster!” I ran out of the hospital and threw myself in front of a taxi. “The Organ Transplant Center! Go! Please, hurry! They’re going to kill my son!” The terrified driver floored it. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely dial, but I called Mark’s number again and again. Once, twice, ten times… Straight to voicemail. I called Cora. No answer. They were intentionally avoiding me, trying to get the surgery done before I could stop them. Outside the operating room, a red light glowed ominously. Mark and Cora were sitting on a bench, side by side. She was leaning against him, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He had his arm around her, patting her back, whispering words of comfort. They looked like a husband and wife, facing a crisis together. “Mark!” I screamed, launching myself at him. “You bastard! Stop this surgery! Now!” He stumbled, his face a mixture of panic and grim determination. “Alina, calm down! Eric’s already in there. They had to move the surgery up. It’s for Toby’s sake!” “Move it up? Who gave you permission?! I’m his mother! I didn’t sign anything! This is murder! This is organ theft!” I raised my hand to slap him again, but this time, he caught my wrist. “Alina, stop making a scene! The surgery has started. It’s too late!” “It’s not too late!” I struggled against his grip, screaming at the closed doors. “Stop the surgery! It’s illegal! I do not consent!” Tears streamed down my face. “My son has hemolytic anemia! He can’t survive a major operation like this! He’ll die!” “Hemolytic anemia?” Mark froze, his brow furrowed in confusion. But before he could process what I’d said, Cora clutched her chest, fresh tears streaming down her face. “Mark, my heart… I can’t breathe. If they stop the surgery… does that mean Toby won’t make it?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with manufactured grief. “And if something happens to Eric because of this… I could never live with myself…” Her voice broke. “But Toby… he’s only twelve…” Her performance was flawless, a direct hit to Mark’s wavering conscience. He took a deep breath and turned to me, his voice devoid of all warmth. “Alina, I know you’re worried about Eric. But the doctors said the chances of him waking from this coma are almost zero.” He was pleading, but his words were monstrous. “He’s already gone, but Toby is still alive! He still has a chance! Isn’t it more meaningful to trade a hopeless situation for a life that can be saved?” He even had the audacity to reach for me, to soften his voice. “Alina, we’re still young. We can have another child…” He was trying to soothe me, as if I were a hysterical child. “I promise, I’ll be better to you. We’ll give all our love to the new baby, okay? Just think of Eric as a hero, saving a life…” CRACK. Another slap, delivered with every last ounce of my strength. “You are not human,” I hissed, my eyes filled with a hatred so pure it burned. I shoved his hand away and threw myself at the operating room doors. I beat on them with my fists, my body. “Open the door! Stop the surgery! OPEN THE DOOR!” Cora let out a faint cry. Mark, his face a mask of fury, grabbed me, trying to pull me away. And then, from the other end of the corridor, came the sound of urgent, rhythmic footsteps. “Police! Nobody move!”

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On my birthday, my parents gave the princess dress meant for me to my adopted sister. When I cried and threw a tantrum, begging for another, my parents got into a car crash. My brother, Liam, broke down and slapped me across the face. “You’re a curse! Your selfishness killed them!” He immediately shipped me off to a disciplinary boot camp to “fix my attitude.” Eight years later, on New Year’s Eve, I was working as a clown at an amusement park to make ends meet. And there I saw him. My brother. And with him, my parents, who were supposed to have been dead for a decade. Liam gestured magnanimously to the park manager. “Two hundred grand. I want it all spent on fireworks for my sister’s eighteenth birthday.” Scarlett snuggled into their arms, beaming. Suddenly, my mother’s brow furrowed. “I wonder how Mia is doing. Her birthday is coming up soon…” Liam scoffed. “She gets what she deserves! Crying over a single dress, trying to take it from Scarlett.” “We can just tell her the truth in ten days.” The fireworks exploded, a shower of light so bright it brought tears to my eyes. So, my parents weren’t dead after all. And the blood money I’d slaved to earn, my penance, was being turned to smoke and ash to delight Scarlett. But it was too late for me. I was already dying. There was no going back. … The boom of the fireworks still echoed in my ears. But the image seared into my mind was the adoring smile on my parents’ faces as they hugged Scarlett. “Mia! You’re on!” Someone jabbed me sharply in the arm. “Snap out of it! The young Mr. Sterling booked the whole park for his sister’s birthday. We can’t screw this up!” I was shoved onto the stage. My old leg injury gave out without warning, and the juggling balls in my hands scattered across the floor. The manager stormed over, his face purple with rage. “Mia! What the hell are you doing?” His shout drew the attention of the family below the stage. I ducked my head in panic, instinctively raising a hand to hide my face, but a powerful grip clamped down on my wrist. It was Liam. He had rushed the stage, his eyes bloodshot. “Mia?” “You got out? Why didn’t you come home?” Then he froze. “What happened to your face? Those burns…” My fingertips were numb with pain, but my gaze shot past him to the crowd. I saw my parents. The moment they heard my name, they spun around, melting into the throng of people, desperate to disappear. They couldn’t even bear to look at me. A dull blade twisted in my heart, and for a half-second, I forgot how to breathe. “Sister? Is that you?” Scarlett appeared at Liam’s side, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “After all these years… you still don’t like me, do you? Is that why you came to ruin my special birthday performance?” At her words, Liam’s expression turned to ice. He let go of my wrist, flinging my hand away as if it were something filthy. “Some things never change, do they?” “Do you really have to compete with Scarlett for everything? You even had to come and ruin her birthday?” I wanted to explain. That my leg had been broken at the boot camp. That’s why I couldn’t stand properly. But before I could form the words, Liam let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a clown, right? Then perform. Clean up the mess you made.” He turned to the manager. “She performs alone. Until my sister is satisfied.” The manager wiped sweat from his brow. “Mia, your little puppy act is always a crowd-pleaser. Get down on all fours, now!” “If you don’t perform today, you’re not getting a single penny!” A day’s wage. Fifty bucks. That was half a month’s worth of food. It was enough to buy a box of painkillers. Without hesitation, I slowly lowered myself to the stage. The crowd erupted in jeers and whistles. “Crawl, you little clown dog! Crawl!” “Let’s hear you bark!” I dragged myself forward one step. My left leg was useless, making my posture twisted and pathetic. A memory pierced through the haze of pain. A night just like this, before Scarlett came into our lives. Liam was on his hands and knees on the living room floor, grinning back at me. “Come on, Mia, giddy-up! Big brother will give you a ride!” I had giggled and climbed onto his back. “Hold on tight! The princess is ready for takeoff!” Mom and Dad watched from the sofa, their eyes full of love as they watched us play. But now, in my peripheral vision, I saw them again. They were huddled in the crowd. Mom frowned and turned her face away. Dad put a protective arm in front of her, and they both shrank back, terrified I might spot them. Seeing me humiliated didn’t break their hearts. It just embarrassed them. A sharp, drilling pain shot up my leg, and I shuddered. “Wait!” A voice cut through the noise. “You can’t humiliate a girl like this, no matter what. And I think there’s something wrong with her leg…” Liam frowned, his gaze falling to my trembling leg. But Scarlett stepped in front of him. “Oh, my sister has always been good at playing the victim, getting everyone to feel sorry for her…” Of course, he believed her. He glared at the man who had spoken up. “Humiliate her? Do you have any idea what kind of person she is?” “She’s a spoiled, selfish brat who killed her own parents! When Scarlett lost her parents and came to live with us, she tormented her relentlessly, without a shred of compassion.” His words were daggers in my heart. The truth was, I had never tormented her. It was Scarlett who would snatch the hairclips Mom gave me, only to break them. She would demand the music box Liam bought for me, then smash it to pieces. When I cried and begged her to apologize, they all said I was overreacting. I cried. I screamed. I tried to explain. But no one ever believed me. The louder I got, the more frantic my tears, the more they saw a spoiled child throwing a meaningless tantrum. Mom would just shake her head in disappointment. “Mia, why are you becoming so difficult?” Liam would snap, “Can’t you just give your sister a break? Her life is so much harder than yours! She doesn’t have parents!” Then came my eighth birthday. The princess dress they had promised me was on Scarlett. I finally broke. I sobbed and demanded they buy me a new one. And for that, for my one and only act of defiance, my punishment was ten years of believing my parents were dead. The crowd went silent for a moment, then exploded. “So that’s the story! She killed her parents and she’s still walking around?” “People like that should spend their whole lives atoning!” Every word was a white-hot poker twisting in my gut. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. “No, that’s not true! Mia is a good person!” “Don’t you bully Mia!” It was Noah, barreling through the crowd and shoving Liam aside. He threw his arms out, shielding me. Liam stumbled back, his eyes landing on Noah’s, which had the distinct, unfocused look of someone with a developmental disability. “Mia,” he said, his voice like frost, laced with disgust. “You’re hanging out with idiots like this now?” Noah turned to me, his big hands clumsily wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Don’t cry, Mia.” He was so gentle. My vision blurred. It was just like ten years ago. After Liam signed the papers and walked away, they threw me through an iron gate. The people inside descended on me, kicking and punching. I curled into a ball in the corner, head in my arms, crying for my brother over and over. They just laughed. “Your brother doesn’t want you anymore!” Then came a sickening crack as my left leg broke. Later, someone started a fire in the storage closet while I was locked inside. The flames licked at my skin, searing it. It was Noah who dragged me out. From that day on, he was the one who protected me, not Liam. I remember my hands shaking as I dialed Liam’s number again and again. “Liam, help me.” “They’re going to burn me alive…” His voice on the other end was cold, detached. “You’re at a boot camp. You should learn to behave. I’m out shopping with Scarlett, don’t call again.” Terrified of making him hate me even more, I never bothered him again. When I finally got out, with a crippled leg and a ruined face, the only job I could get was playing a clown. Half of the money I earned, I wired to Liam as penance for my sins. The other half I saved for Noah. Then, three months ago, I started coughing up blood. A deep, aching pain settled into my bones. It was bone cancer. Terminal. Back then, my only thought was, My atonement… it isn’t finished yet. But now, it seemed it didn’t matter anymore. … “Mia, I’m talking to you!” Liam’s voice snapped me back to reality. Scarlett covered her mouth with a delicate hand. “Sister, you’re… you’re still in contact with people from the boot camp? Isn’t that dangerous?” Liam took a deep breath and turned to the onlookers. His voice was glacial. “From this day forward, anyone who hires Mia Sterling will be making an enemy of my family.” He looked back at me. “You can stay out here and keep suffering to atone for what you did to Mom and Dad!” With that, he wrapped an arm around Scarlett’s shoulders and walked away. His back was so familiar, yet so alien. That same back used to bend down so I could climb on, carrying me home step by step when I was tired from playing. After Scarlett arrived, he never carried me again. Then I saw them. My parents, who had been hiding in the shadows, rushed forward to embrace Scarlett. Through the crowd, I watched my mother gently stroke her hair while my father handed her a beautifully wrapped gift box. The four of them, a perfect family, walked toward the brilliant fireworks display. Not one of them looked back.

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My mother, Deb, was frail, a delicate china doll who told everyone within earshot that she suffered from depression and couldn’t handle any kind of stress. At our annual Thanksgiving family dinner, I refused the king lobster leg she’d painstakingly cracked open for me. It wasn’t spite; it was a severe shellfish allergy. She burst into silent tears, her voice trembling as she asked why I was trying to cut her out of my life. My father, Rich, his face already a thundercloud, sharply reprimanded me: “You know your mother can’t handle stress, Cassidy. Why are you always so difficult?” I remembered forcing it down last time, my throat closing, my skin erupting in painful, grotesque hives that left me looking like I’d wrestled a beehive. Then, she dragged over the man my Aunt Carol had set me up with—Garrett Cole—and cheerfully insisted we go on a remote hike the next day. My breathing hitched. I managed a strained, “No, thank you. I can’t.” My mother started to wail—not just cry, but a theatrical, gut-wrenching sob—claiming I wanted to be a spinster, that I was driving her to take a handful of pills. The table of relatives, half-coaxing and half-bullying, shoved me into his car. Up on that isolated trail, I was assaulted, then pregnant, then forced to marry him, the shame of the situation weaponized against me. After the wedding, the emotional abuse quickly escalated to physical beatings that left me with permanent, life-altering injuries. When I finally pressed for divorce, my mother came to my hospital bedside. “You file those papers, and I’ll jump off the parking garage roof.” Utterly broken and without hope, I chose the only escape left. I stepped off the rooftop myself. Now, I was back. I opened my eyes to the exact moment my mother was pushing that lobster leg toward me. “Cassie, this one’s packed with meat.” “Your mother wouldn’t dream of eating it herself! I save all the best things for my girl!” My mother deliberately raised her voice, ensuring everyone heard. I slowly turned my head, my neck stiff, and met her gaze. It was that familiar look: cloying expectation mixed with thinly veiled martyrdom. The bone-deep realization hit me: I was back. I was home. Last lifetime, I’d refused the king lobster due to my allergy. She had instantly burst into tears in front of everyone, twisting the knife. “Are you blaming me because I couldn’t give you a rich girl’s life?” she’d wept. “You’re too good for this food, is that it? Are you trying to cut ties with me?” My father, the ever-enabler, had scolded me for being inconsiderate. Too humiliated to fight, I choked down the lobster, nearly suffocating in the process. Yet, even as I was struggling to breathe, she was busy cramming me into Garrett Cole’s car. That monster, that domestic terrorist, had destroyed the only life I had. I remembered my own funeral. Lying unrecognizable in the morgue, she had played the distraught, grieving widow, weeping until she “fainted.” But the first thing she did after “recovering” was arrange for me to be buried in the Coles’ family plot. I would never forget it. The sick, triumphant glint in her eyes as she forced me into the repulsive, itchy yellow burial shroud—the color I’d hated since I was a child. “I was doing what was best for you, honey. Why wouldn’t you just listen to me?” Hatred seared through every nerve ending. I balled my fists under the table, tasting the metallic tang of rage. I reached out, picked up the lobster leg, and with absolute finality, placed it back in her bowl. “I have a severe shellfish allergy, Mom. I can’t eat it.” The rehearsed smile on her face froze, then shattered. Her eyes welled up, but this time, the tears looked real—the tears of a performer whose cue was missed. “Seriously? The minute your own mother says something you don’t like, you try to embarrass me in public?” “Am I going to hurt you? You will eat this lobster, or I swear to God, I’ll—” I cut her off, my voice steady and cold, staring straight into her calculating, needy eyes. “Or you’ll pitch a fit? Throw a tantrum? Maybe threaten to take a cocktail of meds?” “Mom, if you have a genuine illness, go to a doctor and get medication. You won’t cure it by using me as your punching bag and emotional hostage.” The sudden, brutal honesty hung in the air. The other relatives exchanged uncomfortable, disapproving glances. My mother stared at me, dumbfounded, before slamming her fork and plate down. “I’m sick because you make me sick! You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” she screeched. My father immediately put his arm around her, soothing her while glaring at me. “Cassidy, enough. Stop this right now.” With her audience validated, my mother became bolder. She stood up, pointing an accusatory finger at me, her voice shrill. “I’m her mother! I know her better than anyone! She is doing this on purpose just to undermine me!” She dissolved into frantic, muffled sobs, covering her face. I almost laughed. It was her signature move: the performance of self-sacrifice designed to drown everyone in guilt and force immediate compromise. This time, I felt nothing but a hollow emptiness. Aunt Carol quickly scooped up the lobster and dumped it into my clean plate. “It’s a holiday, sweetie. Just apologize to your mother, eat the lobster, and don’t upset her. Young people are tough; it’s not a real allergy. You’re just picky.” The other relatives chimed in with awkward placations. “She’s right, Cassie. You know how sensitive your mother is. Just go with it.” In the last lifetime, I would have eaten it silently, my skin already itching in anticipation. This time, I calmly pulled out my phone and held the screen up for the whole table to see. “I’m not being picky. I have a severe, life-threatening allergy.” My voice was quiet, but it held the authority of undeniable fact. “A single bite could put me into anaphylactic shock. This is the discharge paperwork from the last time my mother insisted I just ‘try’ the shrimp.” I looked pointedly at Aunt Carol. “Are you suggesting I risk my life again just to prove I’m a ‘dutiful’ daughter?” The table fell completely silent. Aunt Carol swallowed hard, her face draining of color. “Well,” she stammered, looking away. “Kids these days are so dramatic. Liz, don’t you worry about it. If she doesn’t want it, forget it.” Seeing her control slipping, my mother grabbed a fruit knife from the dessert platter. She began waving it wildly, tears streaming down her face. “You think I don’t deserve to be your mother? Fine! I’ll just end it! I’ll die right here!” She held the blade against her throat, her eyes red, but clearly waiting for my capitulation. The relatives’ faces contorted with manufactured panic and fury—all directed at me. I was the villain for refusing to be emotionally blackmailed. I stood up, expressionless, and looked from her frantic face to my father’s condemning one, and then to the pitying-yet-judgemental relatives. One compromise now would only set the stage for an infinite cycle of abuse. I was done with this life. I was done with her. I strode purposefully toward the door, shoving the heavy oak panel open, desperate to escape the suffocating air of the private dining room. But the sight of the man standing on the other side of the threshold froze the blood in my veins. Garrett Cole. My husband. My rapist. My abuser. His eyes slid past me and into the room, a picture of polite concern. “Mrs. Miller? Is everything alright in here?” I remembered the hike, the assault on a deserted patch of trail. When I wanted to call the police, my mother had stopped me, her voice a chilling whisper. “If this gets out, how can I face anyone? Your poor mother has depression, she can’t handle the shock. I taught you to be pure, Cassidy, and you wouldn’t listen.” Her words, rank and corrosive, washed over me like a tide of sewage, extinguishing the last flicker of hope and self-preservation. After the wedding, his true self had emerged. Every day, a fresh excuse for a beating or a verbal assault. When I finally showed my bruised face to my mother, she only worried about the neighbors. “Divorce? Don’t be ridiculous. We’d be a laughingstock. I can’t handle that stress. If he’s hitting you, it must be because you’re not trying hard enough. I told you: be gentle, be supportive, always put your husband first.” I remember staring at the seemingly fragile woman, wondering, with a cold horror, Did she ever actually love me? Then came the final escalation. Garrett had seen me talking to the security guard in the parking lot. He locked me in the bathroom, using a steel needle to pierce my fingers. He cut out my tongue and spent seven agonizing hours beating me to within an inch of my life. When I was finally found, the police charged him with aggravated assault. I was categorized as having Level Two permanent injuries. My mother’s arrival at the hospital was delayed, but her first request wasn’t to see if I was conscious. It was to sign a statement of non-prosecution and drop the divorce. She cried until her face was swollen. “If you divorce him, I’m jumping off the building.” Garrett, on bail, had smiled the most chilling, victorious smile I’d ever seen. “As long as your mother is alive, you are stuck with me, Cassidy.” The memories of that absolute despair—the rooftop, the jump—left me utterly hollowed out. Garrett was the killer, but my mother was the accessory, the co-conspirator. Why did she hurt me so much? The question used to haunt me. Now, I simply didn’t care. I tried to side-step him and get out, but my arm was caught. My mother’s voice, sickeningly sweet now, wafted from behind me. “Cassidy, where are you going? I’m sorry, alright?” She had dropped the knife and was standing just behind me, her eyes still red, but a saccharine smile already in place. “My little girl. Going to get married, and still acting out. Now, this is Garrett. Aunt Carol set you up. He graduated at the top of his class—he’s ten times the catch you are. You need to grab him. Take his number. You two are getting married tomorrow!” Garrett extended his hand, his expression a picture of gentle, modest charm. A primal sense of dread flooded me. Only I knew the vicious demon hiding behind that handsome, wholesome facade. My mother cleared her throat, realizing the room was still a mess of shocked relatives. “A mother is a fool, isn’t she? No matter how you treat me, my heart is only for your well-being.” “Now, I’m not going to hold a grudge. You two kids go sit down and chat.” She was forcing us together, finalizing the deal she’d already made with my life. I yanked my arm free from her grasp, cold sweat prickling my face. “I have nothing to say to him!” My mother’s face tightened into a furious grimace, but she grabbed my arm, her grip vise-like. Aunt Carol quickly pulled Garrett into the room. “Cassidy’s just shy, dear. You two can catch up later.” Garrett nodded, that polite smile never wavering. My mother leaned in, a low, savage warning hissed in my ear. “Stop reading those videos online about not getting married and having children. Wait till you’re old and lonely—then you’ll regret it.” I scoffed, shaking my head. “I’m not getting married. I don’t need a man to validate my worth.” “And I’m certainly not having children. I don’t have the compulsion to control another human being’s life the way you do.” The temperature in the room plummeted. My mother reacted like a startled animal. She shrieked, her hand flying up. “Look at yourself in the mirror! What on earth makes you think you’re good enough to find someone better? You should be grateful Garrett even looked at you!” I saw the swing coming. I caught her wrist in mid-air and, with all the residual strength of my rage, I shoved her away. She was completely off-balance. CRASH! She stumbled backward, hitting the floor in a heap of fabric and fake tears. My father’s reaction was immediate and volcanic. He surged across the room and delivered a vicious, open-handed slap across my face. The force was staggering. The room went dark for a split second, and I reeled backward, hitting my head on the sharp corner of a wooden cabinet. Warm, sticky blood immediately trickled down my temple. The intense pain brought with it an icy, terrifying clarity. I wiped the blood from my cheek and stared, cold-eyed, at every person in the room. There was no fear, no submission. Only resolve. Garrett raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something that looked like excitement in his eyes. He quickly masked it with a pious frown. “Cassie, how can you speak to your mother like that?” That was it. That single sentence, that show of support, lit the fuse on my mother’s pent-up rage and desire for a dramatic performance. “I was only trying to protect my daughter’s future!” She hammered the floor with her fists, weeping hysterically. “What did I do wrong? Cassidy, if you don’t agree to marry Garrett, I’m jumping out that window right now!” She scrambled to her feet and rushed toward the massive bay window. We were on the tenth floor of this upscale steakhouse. I watched her, a dead calm settling over me. I knew she wouldn’t take the final step. I pointed to the blood still oozing from my forehead. My voice was low, cutting through the din of her fake sobs. It sounded like a thunderclap to everyone present. “Stop acting, Mom. If you were truly depressed, you’d have been dead a thousand times over already.” Her movements arrested mid-dash. Her crying caught in her throat for a second. It was the ultimate exposure, the piercing of her most carefully constructed lie. She exploded into an even more desperate, ear-splitting howl. The relatives surged forward, their shock turning into righteous fury. They were going to teach me a lesson. Punches and insults rained down on me. I curled into a ball, shielding my head. Amidst the chaos, my trembling hand managed to press the pre-dialed emergency button on my phone. The police arrived quickly. The moment the door swung open, my mother, ever the performer, found her anchor. She rushed forward, falling at the feet of the officer. “Officer, please, you have to help me!” she sobbed, tears flowing freely. “I have severe depression, I can’t handle stress, and I was just trying to find a good husband for my daughter. But she… she attacked me! She hit me and told me to jump off the building!” The relatives rushed to corroborate her story, pointing at me and calling me an ungrateful monster. Garrett Cole stepped forward, his face full of tragic concern. “Mrs. Miller’s condition is very fragile. Cassidy… she was truly out of line.” Suddenly, the entire focus of blame had shifted to me. I was taken into custody. However, aside from the obvious injury to my head—caused by my father—there was no other physical evidence of “assault” on my part. My mother, needing to preserve the image of her delicate mental state, was advised to go home and rest. After giving my statement, I walked out into the chilly night air, no longer caring about the consequences. I contacted an old friend out of state and began making arrangements to leave the country. But just before boarding the flight, I was intercepted by a small, hostile crowd. “Cassie! How can you look at yourself, doing that to your sick mother? Don’t you have a conscience?” I looked closer. My mother had connected with a major “Mental Health Advocacy” live-stream channel. She was weeping to thousands of viewers about how her “unfilial daughter” was trying to drive her to suicide. The carefully edited clips and her agonizing script had instantly ignited social media outrage. A wave of profound helplessness washed over me as I looked at the angry faces surrounding me. I noticed a reporter with a camera rolling, and a terrifying, cold calm settled over me. “Yes,” I said, my voice shockingly level. “Everything you read online is true.” “I, Cassidy Morgan, told my mother, who claims to have severe depression, to jump off a ten-story building.” The crowd erupted in shock. The news went viral immediately. My mother, sensing victory, rushed to the live-stream location. She clearly thought I was finally broken. She played the picture of the forgiving, heartbroken saint, tears welling in her eyes as she reached for my hand. “Cassidy, I forgive you. All you have to do is agree to marry Garrett Cole. We’ll put the past behind us and start a happy life together.” I looked at her, my expression serene. “Fine,” I said. The word was like a knife in the quiet chaos. “I agree to marry him. But first, you have to agree to an immediate, public psychiatric evaluation—a transparent check on both of us.” My mother’s face instantly went white. “Absurd! My depression is your fault! How dare you question me? You just want to twist things so you don’t have to do what your mother says!” I leaned in, my gaze intense and challenging. “Mom, is this genuinely about my well-being?” “Or is it just a performance, using the guise of illness to demand my absolute and unconditional obedience?” The crowd went silent. On the streaming platform, comments demanding a psychological test for my mother started flooding the screen. Finally, under immense public pressure, she gritted out a single sentence. “Fine! I’ll do the test. I am depressed. I have nothing to hide!” An hour later, my mother and I emerged from the testing facility. The tension was palpable. Everyone waited for the doctor to speak. The doctor, a serious, professional man, scanned the room before speaking. “Based on the comprehensive assessment,” he began slowly, “we have confirmed a diagnostic report of Major Depressive Disorder…” The live stream comments paused for a collective second, then erupted into a torrent of abuse, cursing me for being a heartless daughter. Then, the doctor continued, his voice calm and precise: “…but the diagnosis belongs to Miss Cassidy Morgan.” “As for her mother, Mrs. Deborah Miller, her psychological indicators are perfectly normal.”

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I was the rainmaker, the top-performing sales executive who brought in eight figures for the company. She fired me, flat out, just because I didn’t drop a “fire” emoji on her latest selfie in the all-hands Slack channel. Then she handed my territory—and my corner office—to her useless cousin. It wasn’t until the company’s sales revenue tanked to absolute zero that she finally showed up at my door. “Please,” she sobbed, “I’m begging you, come back. My fiancé says if you don’t return, he’ll dump me.” 1 Johnson—my boss, the company founder—had left for a month-long trip, leaving his new fiancée in charge. I should have known she’d be looking for trouble. A spoiled trophy like Tiffany is always searching for a new victim. I walked into the office right at ten, my usual time. My flex-time arrangement was an unspoken rule, a perk I’d earned a hundred times over. Reggie, one of my team leads, met me by the elevator. His face was tight. “Tiffany’s here. She wants you in Johnson’s office—now.” Tiffany. Her full name was Tiffany Grant, and she was notorious for her poisonous venom and over-the-top entitlement. She once made a female colleague’s life a living hell—spreading vile rumors after the poor woman spent an extra ten minutes briefing Johnson on a contract. She drove the colleague, Zoe, right out of the building. Johnson usually just let Tiffany vent, indulging her until her petty tantrums subsided. Now, she had set her sights on me. I put down my coffee and pushed open the door. Before I could even take a step, a heavy file hit me square in the forehead. “Do you have any idea what time it is, Blake? Office hours start at eight! Why are you strolling in at ten?” A sharp edge of the folder sliced my skin, leaving a thin line of blood above my eyebrow. I pressed my hand against it, staring at Tiffany, who was perched behind Johnson’s enormous mahogany desk like a bird of prey. Everyone in this building, including her, knew I came in at ten. It was a deal I’d negotiated years ago. Back when Johnson’s company was hemorrhaging money and facing bankruptcy, he had accidentally hired me. I had single-handedly hauled his business out of the red in the first three months. Since then, I’d been his unofficial co-pilot, the foundation of his operation. “Look at the swipe-in logs,” she snarled, slapping the desk. “You’ve clocked in at ten a.m. for a solid month! You think you’re above the rules?” She leaned forward, her face contorted into something vicious. “Company policy: three consecutive late arrivals is grounds for termination. Get out. You’re fired.” I couldn’t believe her audacity. “You’re firing me? Did you clear this with Johnson?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. I generated nearly eighty percent of the company’s profit. She was insane. Tiffany scoffed. “And what are you? A glorified order-taker? A pushy salesman? I can fire you if I want to.” She puffed out her chest. “This is my fiancé’s company. I’m the lady of the house here. I do what I please.” I genuinely liked Johnson, and I felt a sense of loyalty to the company I’d built. I didn’t want to leave on such a petty, destructive note. I sat down on the leather sofa. “Why don’t you call him and get his opinion first?” Tiffany rolled her eyes dramatically, then grabbed the phone. She dialed Johnson. “What is it?” Johnson’s voice sounded weary, even through the speaker. The shrew who had just been screaming at me instantly became saccharine-sweet. “Babe, I miss you. And honey, I just wanted to tell you I’m cleaning up the place.” Johnson sighed. “Just spit it out, Tiffany.” She shot me a smug look. “There’s a sales guy who constantly ignores the rules, always showing up late. I want to cut him loose.” “Whatever. Handle it. I need to get some sleep.” Johnson hung up. Tiffany slammed the receiver down and smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “You heard him. I can fire whoever I want. Now, get lost.” 2 I gave her a slow, cold smile. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” “Johnson might be upset when he finds out you’ve just destroyed his main revenue stream.” I genuinely tried to warn her. Headhunters had been calling me for years with offers that dwarfed my current salary. I’d stayed out of respect for Johnson. My departure wouldn’t hurt me one bit. It would annihilate her. Tiffany glared, her features pinched and ugly. “Who do you think you are? A salesman? I am Johnson’s future wife and the mistress of this company. Who do you think he’ll choose?” I shook my head. Fine. If that’s how she wanted to play it. I walked out of the office. The staff had heard the shouting, and all eyes were on me. “Boss, what happened?” Reggie asked, his face pale. I calmly started packing my personal items from my desk. “What happened? I got canned.” Reggie’s jaw dropped. “She’s lost her mind! You’re Johnson’s golden boy! Doesn’t she know he’ll end their engagement over this?” I tossed a framed photo of my dog into a box. “That’s her problem, Reggie. She made the decision; she gets to own the consequences. Honestly, I’ve had enough runway to take a long vacation. This might be the break I needed.” I’d been ready for early retirement for a long time but felt too guilty to leave Johnson in a lurch. Reggie was furious. “But why, Boss? What did you do to her?” I frowned, thinking back. “The last straw? Probably when I spoke up for Zoe after Tiffany smeared her. She’s been looking for a fight ever since.” I paused. “Oh, and yesterday she posted a glamour shot in the main communication channel, and I was the only person who didn’t reply with a heart-eyes emoji.” “A selfie? Are you serious?” Reggie groaned. “The ultimate sin, apparently.” “Look, I’m calling Johnson right now,” Reggie insisted. “You are the backbone of this company. You can’t just walk away.” I put a hand on his arm. “Don’t. If I come back, it’ll be after Johnson dumps that idiot. I can’t work under her. It’s time for a break.” I finished packing and headed to the finance department. My ten days of work this month, including pro-rated commissions, came to about eighteen thousand dollars. I told the payroll clerk I’d been terminated and asked her to process my final check. That’s when Tiffany stormed in. “Blake! I told you to get out! What are you doing in finance? These are sensitive company files! Get out or I’m calling the cops!” I tightened my jaw and pulled my arm free from her grasp. “Get your hands off me.” “I was fired. I’m collecting my wages. I’m not even asking for the severance package Johnson owes me.” Tiffany looked at the young clerk. “What’s his final pay?” “Eighteen thousand, five hundred dollars,” the clerk stammered. Tiffany’s eyes went wide. “What? That much?” She pointed a long, manicured finger at me. “You violated company policy! You were late! You forfeit your wages!” I gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Tardiness is a two-hundred-dollar fine. How did you get to zero? Did you fail elementary school math?” Tiffany crossed her arms, completely unashamed. “New rule. Effective immediately. Three late arrivals, you lose the whole month. Now get out!” 3 “You have no authority to set company policy.” “Oh, I do,” she said, practically licking her lips. “This company is partially mine now. I can do whatever I want.” I wasn’t going to stand there and argue. “Fine. Expect to be served with papers. I’ll see you in court.” I walked out, drove home, and dumped my belongings on the floor. As I was disconnecting my work accounts, I saw a new message from Tiffany in the company group chat: “From now on, all my messages in Slack or text must be replied to immediately. Failure to reply will result in the same disciplinary action as the person fired today.” It was confirmation. The root of all this was a lack of validation and a thirst for control. Johnson had signed his own professional death warrant by giving this woman a badge. She wanted a fight? She was going to get one. I pulled up my personal contacts. Every major client I had ever brought to the company was stored in my phone. I wrote a simple mass text: FYI: I’ve officially parted ways with the firm and am currently figuring out my next move. Business is personal, and I appreciate your past loyalty. Most of these clients did business with the company because of me, not the name on the door. If I walked, they would follow. Sure enough, my phone blew up. Texts and calls flooded in, asking where I was going and if I’d take their contracts with me. I spent the rest of the evening replying, explaining I was taking a break but would let them know when I was back in the game. It was exhausting. I finally fell asleep with my phone still buzzing. The next morning, Reggie’s text was waiting. “Boss, the sky is falling. Half our major partners are calling to terminate contracts. Did you do this?” I smiled, stretching in bed. “I did nothing but tell them the truth: that I’d left.” “You are a legend, Boss. Tiffany came in raging this morning, screaming at every sales rep for losing clients. Now half the remaining reps are threatening to quit because they ‘can’t take her petty bullshit.’” It was clear that Tiffany had zero authority or respect. She was alienating everyone. I started the process of contacting a lawyer. I didn’t need the eighteen thousand dollars, but I needed her to suffer for it. A few days later, my phone rang. It was Tiffany. “What is it?” I answered, my voice flat. She didn’t waste any time. “Blake! You absolute snake! Where are the client contacts? They all say you have them! Hand over those numbers now! That’s company property! I’ll sue you!” I laughed, a sharp, cold sound. She was panicking. 4 “Those clients were established through my personal network and countless hours of market research. They only trust me. Why should I give them to you?” She completely unraveled. “Did Johnson pay you good money just to sit on your ass? That was your job! You’re a total backstabber! My fiancé paid you a fortune all those years, and now you steal his clients? You’re an ungrateful piece of trash!” “You want the numbers?” I said, cutting her off. “Fine. I’ll send you the spreadsheet. Let’s see how many you can talk back into the fold.” It was a power play. The contact information was useless without the established relationship. I hung up, emailed the list to Reggie, and told him to give it to Tiffany. The next day, Reggie sent me a video clip. He’d secretly recorded Tiffany trying to call one of my largest corporate clients. I watched as she tried—and failed—to intimidate them. “Did that scumbag Blake pay you to say that? You’re all in it together! How much did he give you?” she screeched into the phone. “If you won’t buy, then get lost! See where else you can go!” She slammed the phone down and threw the office cell across the room. “I don’t care if those clients walk! We’ll get new ones! All of you, hit the pavement! Bring me five new leads today! Or you’re all fired!” A wave of defeated groans went through the office. We sold large industrial equipment; landing one lead a month was a good week. Tiffany’s eyes bulged. “What? Are you planning a mutiny?” Arthur, one of the most respected senior salesmen, stepped forward. “Maybe Johnson should be the one running things, Tiffany. You don’t understand the operation. You’re going to run the company into the ground.” Tiffany sneered at him. “A failure like you doesn’t get to lecture me! If you can’t hit your target, you’re useless! Get out!” Arthur, a dignified man, flushed dark red. He calmly took off his ID badge and dropped it on the desk. “I can’t. Find someone who can.” One by one, the rest of the veteran sales team followed suit, tossing their badges onto the desk. Tiffany burst into maniacal laughter. “Fine! Fine! Mutiny, is it? I don’t need any of you deadbeats! Get out! All of you!” The video ended with the veteran sales team filing out of the office. Reggie’s text followed: “Johnson is coming home to a crater. The whole company is imploding.” I had to laugh. Tiffany was sprinting down the road to self-destruction. Who fires their entire experienced sales staff? That afternoon, I heard a knock. I opened the door to find Arthur and a group of my former colleagues standing outside, looking sheepish but hopeful. 5 I quickly ushered them in, pouring water and coffee. “What brings all you gentlemen to my place?” Arthur spoke, his voice heavy. “It’s Tiffany. She did something truly low. She called our key competitors and told them we were all ‘unhireable liabilities.’ She’s trying to blacklist us from the entire industry.” A hot wave of protective anger washed over me. “That vile woman! How dare she!” “Now the guys are stuck. They all have families, mortgages. If we can’t find work, we have to change professions. We came to you, Boss. You’re the only one we’d follow.” The men around the room nodded desperately. I felt the weight of their livelihoods on my shoulders. Arthur must have sensed my hesitation. “Don’t worry, Blake. If you don’t want to get back in the game, we understand. We’ll figure something out.” Looking at their earnest faces, a surge of adrenaline hit me. A challenge. An opportunity. “No,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “I’ll take the lead. We’re going independent. From today, we’re a boutique consulting and sales firm. We don’t need Johnson’s name. And we don’t need to go back until that woman is long gone.” The relief in the room was palpable. I immediately put the team to work finding new suppliers. I contacted all my clients again, promising the same service, but better pricing. Since we were now only taking a commission, we were leaner and faster. It worked instantly. Within a week, we had secured numerous new contracts. The suppliers quickly caught wind of our client list and started coming to us. The team was stunned by the volume of business we were doing—it was far more profitable than the meager commissions we used to earn. Former colleagues still at the old company heard about our success and started defecting. Reggie was the main source of updates. “You won’t believe the clown show over here,” Reggie messaged. “Tiffany brought in her cousin, her aunt, and her uncle as ‘sales executives.’ They treat the office like a day spa, ordering everyone around. They haven’t made a single sale since you left. They just sit there, demanding we fetch them lattes.” I shook my head. “An entire business destroyed by one idiot.” “And the best part? Johnson still has no idea. Tiffany calls him every day, promising everything is ‘fine, business as usual.’” “Normal, my ass,” Reggie scoffed in a follow-up voice memo. “They are definitely up to something. The day I quit, I heard Tiffany talking to her relatives.” Reggie then mimicked a conversation he’d overheard. Tiffany sounding nervous: “I’m worried about Johnson finding out. What if he blames me?” Her uncle’s voice: “Then we’ll say he mistreated you. You’re a sweet girl. He can’t just run around sleeping with you and throwing you out like last week’s trash.”

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“Your expense reports? They’re gone.” Brenda, the Director of Finance, delivered the line with the same flat tone one might use to comment on the weather. I stared at her. Three hundred days on the road. Sixty-eight thousand dollars I’d fronted. Eighty-six flight receipts. A hundred and ninety-four hotel invoices. All neatly cataloged in the photo album on my phone, organized by date. “Gone?” I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Right. Fine.” Brenda blinked, momentarily surprised. She’d expected me to panic. 1 The conference room air conditioning was cranked up too high. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, facing Vanessa Hall, the HR Manager, and my direct superior, Rick Peterson. “Amy, as you know, the company is undergoing some restructuring,” Rick began, his tone overly casual, like we were discussing weekend plans. “Unfortunately, your role is on the optimization list.” I didn’t react. “It’s certainly not about your performance, of course,” he added quickly. “It’s a functional adjustment. Unavoidable.” Vanessa slid a document across the table. “This is the separation agreement. Please take a look, and if everything seems right, you can sign.” I glanced down. The agreement stated: Mutual consent to terminate the employment contract. Severance: N. “What is N?” I asked. “You’ve been with the company for three years, so that’s three months’ salary,” Vanessa replied, her expression businesslike. “The company is being very generous.” Three years. A number flashed in my mind: 300 days. In those three years, I had spent 300 days on the road. I didn’t touch the agreement. “What about the expenses?” Vanessa and Rick exchanged a swift look. “What expenses?” Rick asked. “The travel costs I fronted,” I said. “Sixty-eight thousand dollars.” The room went silent for two seconds. “That’s a Finance department issue,” Rick said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s out of our jurisdiction.” “I already went to Finance,” I told him. “Brenda said the receipts were lost.” Rick frowned. “Well, then you’ll need to resubmit the paperwork.” “Resubmit what?” “The invoices,” Vanessa chimed in. “You know the procedure, Amy. No receipts, no reimbursement.” “The receipts are right here.” I cut her off. Both of them looked at me. “Every single flight, every hotel invoice, every meal receipt—I have a photo, stored by date,” I said. “Three hundred days, I didn’t miss a single one.” Vanessa’s expression stiffened. Rick cleared his throat. “That’s good. Just give the material to Finance, and they’ll verify it.” “Verify what?” I asked. “I submitted this material last year. Finance said there was a ‘system upgrade’ and the files were lost, so I resubmitted. Then they said the receipts were ‘non-compliant,’ so I re-taped and re-submitted. And now they say they’re lost again?” Rick remained silent. “Rick, let me ask you a direct question,” I looked straight at him. “Is the company simply unwilling to reimburse the $68,000, or are you unable to?” His face flushed slightly. “Amy, that’s an inappropriate question,” he said. “The company doesn’t shortchange employees. But everything has to follow proper channels, you have to understand—” “I understand,” I nodded. “Then I will also follow proper channels.” I stood up, picked up the separation agreement, and placed it back on the table. “I’m not signing this.” I turned and walked out. Back at my cubicle, I started to pack up my things. My phone screen lit up. A text from my mother: Coming home for dinner tonight? I typed: Working late, can’t make it. Then I deleted it and changed it to: Yes. I certainly wouldn’t be working late tonight. Halfway through packing, Jess Miller, the young associate from the next cubicle, leaned over. “Amy, they ‘fired’ you too?” “Yep.” “I knew it. They’ve been cutting people left and right.” Jess lowered her voice. “Did you hear about old man Harrison in Sales? He’s been here eight years. Gone.” I just hummed in response. “Hey, did you ever get your expenses approved?” Jess asked. “Not yet.” “How much was it?” “Over sixty thousand.” Jess sucked in a breath. “That much? You fronted all that?” “Couldn’t travel otherwise,” I explained. “Corporate credit was too slow to approve, and the clients wouldn’t wait.” “That’s so shady…” Jess broke off abruptly as she saw Rick emerge from the conference room and immediately shrank back to her desk. I kept packing. Three years of stuff didn’t amount to much. A travel mug, a few notebooks, a half-dead potted succulent. The laptop was company property. I opened my email and forwarded all critical correspondence to my personal address. Travel approvals, expense submission records, project reports, client exchanges. I took screenshots of everything. I got home at eight. My mother was busy in the kitchen; my father was watching TV in the living room. “Why are you home so early?” Mom asked. “Not busy.” “That’s good. That job of yours, always on the road. You’ve gotten too thin.” I didn’t reply. During dinner, Mom started again. “You should see the Johnson family’s daughter next door. She found a nice boy who works in finance. Stable job, nine-to-five. That’s the life you should have.” “Mom, I got laid off today.” The chopsticks stopped moving. My dad put down his glass and looked at me. My mother froze for a few seconds. “Laid off? What do you mean? You were doing so well! Didn’t your boss just praise you?” “Corporate restructuring. My position was eliminated.” “Then… what are we going to do?” Mom started to panic. “Your insurance, your 401(k)? Can you still pay the mortgage?” “I can pay it,” I said. “I have savings.” “Savings? How much? Your monthly take-home is barely five thousand, and you have the mortgage—” “Mom, I can handle my own affairs.” I put down my chopsticks and retreated to my room. I closed the door and lay on the bed. There was a faint water stain on the ceiling, I didn’t know when it appeared. Three years. I gave that company three years. The first year, I closed the firm’s largest client, bringing in eight million in revenue. The second year, I flew to 18 cities alone, met 47 clients, and spent 187 days traveling. The third year, I brought in 60% of the company’s total sales quota and received the smallest annual bonus in the entire company. Because my boss said: “Amy, your numbers are great, but you’re still new. You need to stabilize. We’ll definitely give you a raise next year.” Next year. Next year, I was laid off. I opened my phone’s photo album and found a folder labeled “Invoices.” It was perfectly organized by date. January 3, 2022. LA to Chicago. Flight $280. January 3, 2022. Chicago Hyatt. Lodging $185. January 4, 2022. Client dinner. Meal $155. … I kept scrolling. Until February 1, 2023. It was Christmas Eve. I was traveling in Omaha. The client called an emergency meeting, my flight was canceled, and every decent hotel was booked. I ended up finding a cheap, roadside motel—$89 a night. I remember that night. I was eating instant noodles in that sterile room, watching the snow fall outside, and I sent the client a brief holiday text. He replied with a $20 gift card. I never redeemed it. I thought, once the expenses are paid, this will all be pocket change. Now, I realized how utterly foolish I had been. I put the phone down and closed my eyes. Sixty-eight thousand dollars. I was going to get that money. 2 The next morning, at nine o’clock sharp, I showed up at the office. The young receptionist looked surprised. “Amy? You… you’re coming in to work today?” “For the handover,” I said. “Oh,” she said, and asked no more questions. I swiped my badge and went straight to the Finance department. Finance occupied the entire third floor. I pushed the door open. A few people were scattered around. Brenda’s cubicle was in the far corner, by the window. “Brenda.” She looked up, her expression uneasy. “Amy? You haven’t left yet?” “I wanted to check on my expense reports again.” Brenda sighed and stood up. “Come on, I’ll take you to the archives.” The archive room was at the end of the hall, a small space crammed with filing cabinets. Brenda dug through a cabinet for a long time and pulled out a manila folder. “Here are your records. See, you submitted three applications last year. The first was in March, for $12,500; the second in August, for $18,900; the third in December, for $14,200—” “That adds up to $45,600,” I said. “There’s still $22,400 I haven’t applied for.” Brenda paused. “Why didn’t you apply for the rest?” “Because every time I applied, you said the documents were incomplete, and asked me to supplement them. I supplemented them, then you said the receipts were non-compliant and asked me to re-tape them. I re-taped them, then you said the system was upgrading, the approval was frozen, and told me to wait until next month.” I looked at her. “I waited a year, and not a single dime was reimbursed. After that, I gave up trying and figured I’d just save them up and submit everything at once.” Brenda didn’t speak. “Brenda, I have a question for you,” I said. “Was the $45,600 ever reimbursed?” “Yes, it was,” she said. “Where’s the money?” “It’s being processed.” “For how long?” “That… I’d have to check the system.” “I’ll help you check.” I pulled out my phone and found a screenshot. “This is March 17th last year, when I submitted the first application. This is your Finance email, confirming receipt of materials. This is April 2nd, notifying me the materials were incomplete. April 10th, I supplemented them. April 15th, you said the receipts were non-compliant. April 20th, I re-taped the receipts. And May 8th, you said the system was upgraded and approval was frozen.” I looked up at her. “It is now March 2024. That one transaction has been ‘processed’ for an entire year.” Brenda looked incredibly awkward. “Amy, this isn’t my decision alone,” she said. “You know the Finance procedure. It needs Manager approval, Director approval, VP approval—” “I know,” I nodded. “So I want to know: where is it stuck now?” “I… I’ll have to look at the system.” “You can look right now, can’t you?” Brenda hesitated, walked to her computer, and typed a few keystrokes. The screen lit up. She stared at it for a few seconds, and her expression changed. “What is it?” I asked. “Your first application… was approved in April.” “And the money?” Brenda didn’t say anything. I walked over and looked at the screen. It read: Application ID: EX-2023-0317-001 Application Amount: $12,548.50 Approval Status: Approved Payment Status: PAID Payment Date: May 12, 2023 I stared at the word “PAID” for ten seconds. “Paid to whom?” I asked. Brenda pulled up the payment details. Recipient Account: L. A. Kim Bank: Regional National Bank, Downtown Branch “Whose account is this?” I asked. Brenda’s hand was visibly shaking. “I don’t know… I really don’t know… Isn’t this your account?” “My name is Amy Johnson,” I said. “That person’s name is Kim.” The accounting office fell completely silent. At noon, I got a call from Vanessa Hall, the HR Manager. “Amy, be in the conference room at two o’clock this afternoon.” “What for?” “Regarding your expense issue.” She paused. “Rick will be there too.” “Understood.” I hung up and grabbed a quick bite in the cafeteria. A few Sales team members were at the next table. They saw me, whispered amongst themselves, and then pretended not to notice me. I understood. The ‘fired’ person had a plague-like quality. No one wanted to be associated with them. At two o’clock, I was in the conference room. Rick, Vanessa, and Brenda—the same three people—sat lined up. “Amy, have a seat,” Rick said. “We called you here today to clear up the expense matter.” I sat down. “Brenda looked into it this morning, and it seems there were indeed some issues with your reimbursement,” Rick looked at me. “One payment of over twelve thousand dollars was sent to an incorrect account. This was a clerical error by Finance, and the company will rectify it immediately.” “What is the rectification plan?” “We will recover the funds and then issue the payment to you.” “How soon can you pay me?” “That… requires following the proper procedure.” Procedure again. “Rick,” I said. “I have another sixty-five thousand dollars that hasn’t been reimbursed. How do you plan to handle the total amount?” Rick and Brenda exchanged a glance. “That amount, we’ll need to verify,” Brenda said. “Your record of $68,000 doesn’t exactly match ours—” “Then let’s match them.” I pulled a file folder from my bag. “This is a record of every single business expense for the last three years: flights, hotels, meals, transport. Every item has a photo of the receipt, and every item has a bank statement proving I paid it myself.” I pushed the folder onto the table. “Three hundred and twelve transactions in total, adding up to $68,352,” I said. “Your system shows I applied for $45,600, and the actual amount received in my account is zero.” Vanessa flipped through the folder, her face grim. “Amy, this… this is a significant number. We need time to verify.” “How much time?” “A week?” “I’ll be back in one week,” I said. I stood up, taking my folder with me. “And by the way, I will not be signing the separation agreement,” I said. “At least, not until the expense issue is fully resolved.” Rick’s face darkened. “Amy, what is this supposed to mean?” “It means nothing,” I looked at him. “It means I want my money back. Is that too much to ask?” I didn’t wait for his answer, turned, and left. Back at my desk, my phone rang. It was Mr. Graham, a key client. “Amy, I heard you left?” “I was ‘fired,’ but the process isn’t finished yet.” “Ah, your company…” Mr. Graham sighed. “Let me tell you, I made sure the final project payment went through on time. If you have any issues on your end, let me know.” “Thank you, Mr. Graham.” “Say, if you are leaving,” he lowered his voice, “have you considered a change of scenery? I know a few friends in the industry. If you need a connection, I’d be happy to introduce you.” “I appreciate that, Mr. Graham.” I hung up and leaned back in my chair. Mr. Graham was the first major client I landed. Three years ago, I spent six months tracking him, flying to Atlanta twelve times alone, before finally closing the contract. An eight-million-dollar project, the highest profit margin of the year. My boss said: “Amy, you scored big!” They gave me a three-thousand-dollar bonus. Harrison in Sales, who closed nothing that year, got five thousand. Because he was a “long-term employee” and they “needed to maintain morale.” I should have seen the writing on the wall then. This company never paid based on contribution. It paid based on friendship. 3 A week later, Vanessa Hall’s call came in right on time. “Amy, please come in tomorrow at ten a.m. We have a resolution regarding your expenses.” When I arrived at the conference room, it was Rick, Brenda, and Vanessa again. But there was one extra person: Trevor Kim, from the Legal department. He wore glasses and looked fairly young. “Amy, please sit down,” Rick said. His tone was noticeably more polite than before. “This is Trevor from Legal. He’s here to discuss the matter.” I sat down. “We’ve verified the materials you provided last time,” Rick looked at me. “The numbers are accurate. The company’s processes failed you, and for that, I apologize.” I didn’t respond. “The company’s proposal is this,” he continued. “The $68,000 you fronted, we will pay it to you in installments. The first installment of fifteen thousand will arrive next week. The remaining balance of $53,000 will be paid over the next twelve months, in monthly payments—” “No.” I cut him off. “Excuse me?” “I don’t accept installments,” I said. “Sixty-eight thousand dollars. Paid in full, immediately.” Rick’s face looked strained. “Amy, the company’s cash flow is tight right now, as you know. We just had a large round of layoffs—” “Rick,” I looked at him. “I don’t know if the company’s cash flow is tight. But that $68,000 is three years of my saved income. My monthly take-home is five thousand. Four thousand for the mortgage, a thousand for living expenses. Everything else went into this. I trusted the company, so every trip, I paid first, waiting for reimbursement.” I paused. “Now the company is saying it needs twelve months to pay me back. Does that sound fair to you?” Rick said nothing. Trevor Kim, the lawyer, suddenly spoke up. “Ms. Johnson, from a legal standpoint, the company is obligated to pay the full reimbursement. However, if the company is facing financial difficulty, a payment plan is considered a reasonable solution. You should consider—” “I have considered it,” I interrupted him. “I don’t accept it.” “Then what is your proposed solution?” Trevor asked. “I have two options for you.” I pulled two documents from my bag. “Option one: The company pays the $68,352 in expenses in a single lump sum, plus the N+1 severance package. I sign the agreement, complete the handover, and we part on good terms.” I pushed the first document onto the table. “Option two: I file a claim with the Labor Relations Board, demanding the $68,352 in expenses, the N+1 severance, plus interest for the delayed payment period.” I pushed the second document across as well. “This is my drafted arbitration request. The evidence is ready, and I can submit it at any time.” The conference room was silent for five seconds. Rick’s face was beet red. “Amy, what is the meaning of this? Are you threatening the company?” “It’s not a threat,” I said. “It’s a choice.” I stood up. “Today is Monday. I’ll give you until Friday. Before the close of business on Friday, you can tell me your decision. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’ll file with the Labor Board first thing Monday morning.” I picked up my bag. “And by the way, I have backups of all three years of project files, client archives, and internal correspondence. If you don’t want to resolve this properly, I don’t mind letting a few more people know how the company treats its employees.” “You—” I didn’t wait for Rick to finish, pushed the door open, and left.

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“Eve, this is far enough. I didn’t get you a ticket, you should head back.” My husband, Nolan Bell, spoke the words at the airport check-in counter, his voice light and airy, as if commenting on the weather. The excitement I’d been holding onto all morning froze on my face. I looked up, stunned. “What do you mean?” “The whole family is going to Maui for seven days. We can’t leave the house completely empty, so I just didn’t buy you a ticket.” He offered a small, easy smile. “Besides, this is a vacation for those of us who worked hard all year to rest. You’re already home all day. You rest every day, so what’s the big deal?” The entire family—my in-laws, my brother-in-law Jared, and our son, Mike—all stood by, silently checking their phones, avoiding my gaze. I stared at Nolan, who looked utterly convinced of his own logic. Seven years. For him, I gave up my career and became a full-time homemaker for seven years. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, with no sick days, no paid time off. And now I knew: he had never once valued my effort. “Fine,” I nodded slowly. “I’ll go home and watch the house.” Nolan seemed momentarily startled, as if he expected a larger fight. Before they headed through the gate, I looked at the six of them, letting the silence stretch. “Are you absolutely sure this is the arrangement you want?” 1 I picked up the suitcase I had packed with so much hope last night and turned to leave. The gate agent was calling for boarding, and every gentle announcement of, “Have a pleasant trip,” felt like a dull knife twisting in my chest. Nolan rushed after me, pulling me aside into a quiet corner. “Babe, listen to me. This trip for the whole family has stretched the budget already. I had to cut out some unnecessary expenses.” I stopped walking. “Unnecessary?” Nolan shrugged, reasonable and self-righteous. “Yes. We agreed this was a trip to Maui for everyone who worked hard this year. You don’t have an office job, you’re home all the time. Haven’t you rested enough?” I stared at him, disbelief curdling into cold anger. “What do you think rest is?” “Sleeping until noon is rest. Waking up at five a.m. to make breakfast for six people is not rest!” “Lying on the sofa scrolling through your phone is rest. Scrubbing the sink, mopping the floors, driving Mike to school, and doing your brother’s laundry—that is not rest!” My voice was low but shaking. “Nolan, we’ve been married for seven years. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Tell me one day that I’ve truly rested!” I pulled my arm out of his grasp. “Go. All of you. Have fun. Don’t worry about me.” Nolan opened his mouth, prepared to argue further. But then his mother’s voice chirped from the gate: “Nolan, hurry up! What are you standing there for? It’s boarding time!” Jared waved his passport. “Forget about her, bro.” He tossed his head toward me. “You know how dramatic she gets. Grab her a cheap souvenir when we get back.” Six-year-old Mike ran over and tugged on Nolan’s shirt. “Dad, let’s go! We don’t need Mom! I want to see the ocean!” My knuckles were white as I gripped the handle of my suitcase. I looked at Nolan one last time, managing a smile. “Didn’t you hear them? Go on.” Nolan’s eyes flickered, but he stopped trying to talk. “Take good care of the house. I’ll bring you a trinket.” He released my arm, turned his back, and walked swiftly toward the people he considered to have “worked hard all year.” I stood there, watching the six of them disappear into the tunnel. I gave a small, self-mocking laugh. I knew right then I couldn’t wake up a man who was only pretending to be asleep. But it didn’t matter. By the time he returned, my divorce papers would be ready. 2 As the taxi sped away from the airport, I pulled out my phone and found the family group chat was buzzing. Nolan’s mother—Mrs. Bell—had posted a selfie, complete with a filter that made her look twenty years younger. [Look, everyone! See how wonderful my son, Nolan, is? He worked so hard to take the whole family on a spectacular trip to Maui for the holidays!] [And look at this plane! First class seats for the parents, too! So thoughtful!] The comments from aunts and uncles came pouring in instantly. [Oh, Clara, you’re so lucky! Such a good son and daughter-in-law!] [Is that Jared? Wow, he’s so tall now. Didn’t he just graduate?] Jared, wearing the expensive noise-canceling headphones I’d gifted him last birthday, flashed a peace sign at the camera. [Aunt Tracy, my brother gave me three thousand dollars in spending money for this trip. I’ll bring you back something nice!] Three thousand dollars? I checked the booking app on my own phone. A round-trip economy ticket from our city to Maui was currently on sale for just $150. $150. That’s what he considered an “unnecessary expense” and a “too large” cost to carry. The memory of Nolan’s words at the airport—too expensive, cut back, already resting—mixed with the cold, hard reality of the ticket price. A sense of profound, unprecedented sorrow swept over me, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I had been married to Nolan for seven years. He told me his parents needed care, and that he was too busy building his career to handle things at home. I gave up my burgeoning career. For seven years, I ensured this six-person home always had a hot breakfast at 5 a.m. Laundry thrown on the floor was magically folded in the dresser drawers the next morning. The trash was never full; the sheets were changed every Monday. My in-laws’ doctor’s appointments, Mike’s sick days, Jared’s long breaks from college—Nolan never had to lift a finger. He only needed to wake up, exchange pleasantries with his parents and son, go to work, and the day was done. I looked at the thick layer of calluses covering my palms from years of scrubbing and labor. My heart felt hollow. I couldn’t stop myself. I screenshotted the ticket price and posted it to the family group chat. [To everyone thinking of getting married or becoming a homemaker: Don’t. Your worth might not even amount to one hundred and fifty dollars.] The vibrant chat went silent. I could practically hear the collective gasp. After a long pause, my Aunt Tracy tentatively tagged Nolan. [Nolan, what is going on? Your entire family is traveling without Eve?] 3 Mrs. Bell’s voice messages quickly flooded the group. “Oh, the cruelty! It’s not that we didn’t want to take Eve. Nolan thought we all needed a break after a year of hard work, but Eve was at home all day long and is plenty rested. That’s why we only bought tickets for those who needed a rest!” She started sobbing dramatically into the phone. “If I had known Eve was going to be this petty about a simple plane ticket, your father and I would have stayed home. I can’t believe my own daughter-in-law is breaking my heart in front of the whole family…” Jared snatched the phone from his mother. “Exactly! If she wanted to come so badly, she could have just bought a ticket! It’s not like my brother wouldn’t have given her the money.” “She’s just trying to stir up drama and humiliate my mom. What kind of person does that?” The money he was referring to—was it the $800 monthly allowance Nolan gave me for household expenses? The money he was referring to—was it the $800 monthly allowance Nolan gave me for household expenses? The entire family of six lived in the house Nolan and I bought together, a decent 1,200 square feet. That $800 had to cover the 300 mortgage payment, utilities, food for six adults and a growing child, plus even Jared’s occasional college expenses. It never stretched far enough, but Nolan always ignored me when I brought it up. Whenever I mentioned the budget was tight, he would look up from his phone and expertly deflect. “How can it be not enough? You don’t work, Eve. You don’t know how hard it is to earn money. You need to learn to be thrifty. Stop being so wasteful.” But my closet held the same dresses I’d worn four years ago. My pajamas were threadbare. I only bought the cheapest drugstore skincare. Even my most comfortable sneakers were a pair my own mother had bought too big for herself and passed down to me out of pity. And Nolan’s family? His father met his friends at the local bar every few days. His mother’s ballroom dance team needed a new, expensive costume every season. Jared never missed a concert or music festival. Nolan wouldn’t spend $150 on a ticket for me, but he had no problem handing Jared $3,000 for a vacation spending spree. I leaned back against the seat, doing the final tally in my head. Nolan, sensing the shift in the chat’s temperature, finally made an appearance. [Stop this now.] He was only there to shut down the topic. [Eveis clearly being unreasonable. Don’t make the whole family a spectacle. It’s the holidays.] Watching him twist reality like this made me want to scream, but I was too exhausted to even bother with a cold laugh. But the relatives, already convinced by Nolan’s smooth narrative, jumped in to “stand up for justice.” [I knew Nolan wouldn’t do something so heartless! He’s a good man. Eve, you need to look at yourself for a change.] [Seriously, I thought you were so dedicated when you were taking care of your mother-in-law in the hospital. I guess I was wrong about you.] My Aunt Sarah sent a condescending eye-roll emoji. Just last month, Mrs. Bell sprained her ankle while practicing a dance routine and had to spend two weeks in the hospital. Mr. Bell had his walking club, Nolan had work, and Jared was glued to his gaming console. So, I was the one who managed the house and cooked meals during the day, then went to the hospital to sit bedside every night. I’d rush home before dawn to make breakfast and start the cycle over. I was so exhausted I sometimes had to lean on the kitchen counter to keep from collapsing. When I begged Nolan, “Can we please hire a nurse or an aide?” He looked at me with genuine surprise, then scoffed. “Absolutely not. A hired nurse won’t care for her like you do, and why should we pay when you’re right here?” All those small, toxic moments I’d chosen to ignore came flooding back, threatening to drown me. Exhausted, hollowed out, I used the last of my resolve to book a consultation with the best divorce attorney in the city. I couldn’t live this life for one more day. 4 The following days were a blur of divorce preparation. I was busy securing a new place, tracking bank transfers, and looking into work. Nolan, meanwhile, was having a blast. Mrs. Bell shared updates from Maui eight times a day in the family chat. “The luxury suite Nolan booked for us is simply divine,” she boasted, her voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “And look at this private beach. We can go anytime we want.” Jared was shown lying on the sand playing games, still wearing the headphones I’d bought him. “Man, vacationing abroad is the best! Too bad some people just weren’t lucky enough to join us.” He was still holding a grudge about the group chat argument. “Oh, stop it, you brat,” Mrs. Bell scolded him, but the tone was more encouraging than harsh. Jared sat up and pulled Mike, who was playing in the sand, toward the camera. “Mike, tell us, do you want Mommy to be here?” Mike, holding his tiny plastic shovel, shouted into the phone, “No, not Mom! Dad said we don’t need Mom! She doesn’t work, she’d just waste money!” The video cut off abruptly. The family group chat was dead silent after that, a chilling quiet. Nolan’s cousin, Tracy, messaged me privately. “Eve, please don’t be upset. Mom and Dad saw that video. We all think Aunt and Uncle are completely out of line. We’ll talk to them when they get back.” A wave of warmth, quickly followed by a greater sense of hollowness, washed over me. See? Even outsiders knew this was unacceptable. But Nolan pretended not to notice. That evening, I was reviewing the first draft of the divorce agreement the lawyer had sent. Nolan’s text popped up. [Babe, honestly, Maui is overrated. Nothing special.] [I bought you a gift. We get back the day after tomorrow. Come pick us up at the airport, okay?] The day after tomorrow. I opened the chat with my attorney. [Can the divorce agreement be finalized by tomorrow night?] A thumbs-up emoji came back instantly. I smiled as I typed my reply to Nolan. [Can do.] Soon. Two more days until my divorce. 5 The next twenty-four hours were in fast-forward. Mrs. Bell continued posting pictures of their perfectly happy, smiling family in Maui. But the family chat grew increasingly quiet. Even when Mrs. Bell tagged a relative, they pretended not to see it. Meanwhile, I packed up the last seven years of my life. The wedding album went into the dumpster. The family portrait? Shredded. The small pieces of furniture I had painstakingly bought and collected over the years were either sold or donated. Nothing would be left for the Bells. Finally, the day of their return arrived. Nolan had texted me the day before, insisting I be there on time. They had bought so much, he said, and his parents were too old to carry it all. He needed me there to help with their luggage. Even now, he saw me as nothing more than the family’s chauffeur and porter. I was too tired to argue. I just texted Okay and promptly turned off my phone to sleep. The plane landed the next day. Nolan’s family emerged, laden with shopping bags. “Bro, where is she? Is she seriously running late?” Jared kicked his suitcase in frustration. Mrs. Bell tutted. “Eveisn’t usually this disorganized. Maybe… she’s still mad at us?” “Nolan, you need to set her straight when we get home. A woman who holds a grudge like this? Doesn’t she know how to be a wife and daughter-in-law?” “Mommy bad!” Mike, clinging to his grandmother, clapped his hands. Nolan’s face darkened. He pulled out his phone and dialed me, his voice sharp with annoyance. “Where are you? I told you to be on time to pick us up!” “I’m right here.” Nolan’s head snapped up. His eyes frantically searched the crowd and finally landed on me standing a short distance away. Unlike my usual home-life uniform, I was wearing a simple, chic linen dress and a clean, elegant makeup look. I was polished, poised, and utterly detached. Nolan’s eyes lit up. He dragged his suitcase toward me. “Babe, you look great. Did you put on makeup just for me?” He pulled a small, clam-shaped box out of his pocket. Inside was a cheap, shell necklace, the kind sold by street vendors in tourist traps. It cost less than ten dollars. “This is from Maui, just for you, babe. It cost me a fortune, but you’re worth it. Put it on. Aren’t you happy?” I barely glanced at the necklace—a cheap trinket still dusty with sand. My gaze swept over Jared’s newest gaming console, Mr. Bell’s shiny new wristwatch, and Mrs. Bell’s new, prominent gold necklace. I smiled. “Perfect. I have a gift for you, too.” Surprise exploded in Nolan’s eyes. “What is it? That’s my girl! I leave you alone for a week, and you’re still this thoughtful. I definitely married the right woman…” I pulled a file from my bag and opened it, holding it out to him. “This gift is… our divorce agreement.”

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