1 The day I was released from prison, a woman claiming to be my ex-wife came to take me home. I flinched away when she reached for my hand. “I don’t know you.” The woman’s brow furrowed, as if she thought I was still holding a grudge. “We agreed five years ago. When you got out, we’d get remarried.” She softened her tone slightly. “Mom is getting older. She’s missed you.” Hearing that, I opened the diary I carried with me. Written on the page was a single instruction. [If a woman says she is your ex-wife, go home with her.] Following the diary’s command, I agreed. Back home, I became the good husband and the good son they wanted me to be. When my ex-wife and my illegitimate half-brother were a little too close, I looked the other way. When my mother admitted she favored my brother, I didn’t argue. But then they started asking me why I had changed. I didn’t know how to answer. The diary was very clear. If I was obedient, I could save up enough money to leave and find a quiet place to die. They didn’t know that I had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. The hate, the love, the memories of them… I had already forgotten it all. … On the day of my release, the warden gave me a cold lecture about being a better man. I stood there in a threadbare shirt, clutching nothing but a worn diary. A car horn blared, drawing my attention. Parked by the prison gates was a luxury car so flashy it hurt to look at. A woman in high heels got out and strode toward me, her eyes sweeping over me critically. “Where’s your luggage?” I looked up, meeting her gaze with a blank confusion. I had no memory of this person. She glanced at her watch with a frown and reached for my hand. “Let’s go home. Mom misses you, too. And like we said, we’ll get remarried now that you’re out.” I instinctively pulled my hand back, my body tensing with alarm. “Who are you? I don’t know you.” She looked at me as if I’d just told a terrible joke, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Noah, what kind of game is this? I know you’re angry, but playing the amnesia card? Don’t you think that’s a little pathetic?” Her expression was a mixture of frustration and impatience. Finally, she let out a resigned sigh. “My name is Chloe. I’m your ex-wife. Happy now? Mom’s waiting. Let’s not waste any more time.” That name, at least, sparked something. It appeared on every page of my diary. I stopped resisting and silently followed her to the car. During the drive, Chloe asked me a lot of questions, but I couldn’t answer a single one. Her patience eventually evaporated, and the car fell into a heavy silence. I huddled in the corner of the back seat and opened my diary. From dating to marriage, everything between Chloe and me had been smooth sailing. Our families were well-matched; we were childhood sweethearts. I knew she was never really in love with me. It was more a matter of habit, of long-term companionship. We were married for years, but it seemed I was the only one who valued our vows more than life itself. I used to think that even if she didn’t love me, I could accept it, as long as she was by my side. But then my father died, and my mother brought his illegitimate son, Leo, to live with us. And Chloe changed. The woman who had always been lukewarm toward me would now hang on Leo’s every word. She’d ask about his favorite things, even cook his favorite meals. I admit, I was jealous. We had a huge fight. When I demanded, again and again, that she keep her distance from him, she just scoffed. “Noah, maybe you should look at yourself for once. What has Leo done wrong? I’m his sister-in-law. I’m just doing my part. If you’re going to accuse me of cheating over something like this, then maybe there’s no point in us staying together.” I slammed the diary shut. From the rearview mirror, Chloe’s eyes met mine. Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the steering wheel. “You’ve lost weight,” she said, her voice a little husky. “Did anyone… give you trouble in there?” It was a simple question, but it made my stomach turn. I kept my head down. “That’s none of your business,” I mumbled. I could feel her surprise. I suppose the Noah from the diary would never have spoken to her so harshly. The car slowed, pulling into the garage of a large villa. I pushed the door open and stared up at the unfamiliar house. This was my “home.” The moment I stepped inside, my eyes met those of an elderly woman. Her gaze was sharp, severe. A chill of fear, mingled with a strange sense of grievance, washed over me. This must be the mother from the diary. She walked toward me with a shuffling gait, as if to embrace me. But when her fingers brushed against my dust-caked shirt, she recoiled. I didn’t miss the flash of disgust in her eyes. “Five years in prison, and you’ve forgotten how to call me Mom?” she complained. I opened my mouth, wanting to obey, but the sound wouldn’t come out. My hands, hanging at my sides, began to tremble. As I struggled for words, a familiar voice called down from the second floor. “Mom, is that my brother? Is he back?” Leo’s head appeared at the top of the stairs. His face lit up when he saw me, and he bounded down to greet me, throwing his arms around me in a tight hug. “You’re really back, brother. Thank you. For all these years, if you hadn’t helped me…” My skin crawled. His touch felt repulsive. I tried to push him away, but Chloe grabbed my hand. She squeezed my palm, her voice a low whisper in my ear. “What happened five years ago is in the past. Leo is your brother.” The tension drained out of me. I nodded, saying nothing. I was afraid that if I upset them, they would kick me out. My compliance, however, didn’t seem to please Chloe. She watched me with a deep frown. My mother, on the other hand, looked satisfied. She took a handful of leaves from a nearby plant and began patting me down with them, muttering something under her breath. “Go take a shower. Wash away all the bad luck from prison. From now on, you’re still my good son.” As soon as she finished, Leo wrapped his arm around her shoulders in a playful, childish way. “Mom, you’re not going to forget about me now that my brother is back, are you?” My mother turned her full attention to him, her face breaking into a wide smile as she patted his head. I was suddenly an outsider in my own home. I went to the bathroom and clumsily peeled off my sticky, sweat-soaked clothes. “What happened to you? What are those scars?” The sudden voice made me jump. I turned to see Chloe leaning against the doorframe. I followed her gaze down to the ugly, jagged scars that littered my body. “I don’t remember,” I said stiffly. My curtness only seemed to annoy her more. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be patient. “If you’re unhappy about something, take it out on me. Don’t cause trouble for Leo. You know how much Mom dotes on him, and she has a heart condition. If you upset her…” “Okay,” I cut her off. “I won’t.” Her lips trembled, the lecture she had prepared dying in her throat. “Noah, you were never like this before.” I closed the bathroom door and stared at my reflection in the mirror. What was I like before? When I came out, they were already seated at the dining table. A feast was spread out before them. I gripped my chopsticks and began to shovel food into my mouth, my hands shaking so badly that rice scattered across the table. My mother frowned in disgust. “No one’s going to take it from you. Didn’t they feed you in prison?” Just then, Leo placed a large helping of cilantro in my bowl. “Brother, don’t just eat the meat.” Chloe’s mouth opened, as if to say something. But before she could, I had already eaten every last bit of the cilantro. She snatched my bowl away and threw it aside, her face a mask of fury. “Are you allergic to cilantro or not? Are you trying to kill yourself?” I was baffled. I had no memory of any allergy. Leo looked hurt. “I forgot he couldn’t eat it,” he mumbled. “Don’t be mad, Chloe.” My mother quickly smoothed things over. “It’s fine. A little cilantro won’t kill him. See? He’s perfectly fine.” I lowered my head, scratching at the red welts already forming on the back of my hand, and said nothing. I could feel Chloe’s complicated gaze fixed on me. “Noah,” she said suddenly, “let’s go get remarried in a few days.” The table fell silent. I saw Leo’s expression darken. “Okay,” I agreed. After all, the diary said I had to remarry her to get the money. A week later, Chloe drove me to City Hall. She glanced at the crooked tie around my neck and sighed. When she reached out to fix it, I pulled away. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry about it…” She froze, her hand hovering in the air. “I always used to tie it for you. You can’t even manage a proper Windsor knot.” My hands were clumsy, shaking uncontrollably. Finally, in frustration, I ripped the tie off and threw it on the floor of the car. Chloe tried to help several more times, but I refused to let her touch me. Her face grew colder and colder until finally, with a stony expression, she started the car. “Let me be clear, Noah,” she said, her voice clipped. “Even if we remarry, you will not interfere in my life. And Leo is your brother. Stop trying to bully him. Also, about five years ago…” She paused, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “Mom and I… we were wrong. But from now on, we are never to speak of it again. I don’t want Leo to live with that guilt forever.” I didn’t remember any of the things she was talking about. I just agreed. All I had to do was be obedient. But my meekness only seemed to make her more agitated. We pulled up to City Hall. Before I could even step out of the car, another vehicle screeched to a halt behind us. Leo jumped out and ran to block Chloe’s path, his eyes locked on hers. “Are you really going to remarry him? He has a man’s death on his conscience. Do you have any idea what remarrying him will do to your career?” He shot a venomous look in my direction. A sudden chill went through me, and the world around me seemed to go silent. “Leo, you know what happened five years ago…” Five years ago. Leo had wanted to be a doctor. My mother, without a second thought, had pulled strings to get him a position at my private hospital. During a surgery where I was the lead and he was my assistant, he had made a catastrophic error. While I wasn’t looking, he accidentally left a scalpel inside the patient during closing. Less than an hour after the surgery, the patient was dead. His family, overcome with grief, jumped from the roof of the hospital. It was a massive scandal. And my mother’s first instinct was to have me take the blame. “Noah, you’re the older brother. Just help him this one time,” she had pleaded. “He’s finally found something he loves. We can’t let this ruin his life. He’s still so young.” She had sobbed, clutching my hand. “But what about my life, Mom? A prison sentence will destroy me.” My protests meant nothing to them. Even Chloe defended him. She had looked at me with cold, rational eyes. “Noah, listen to your mother. It’s just a few years. I’ll make arrangements. You won’t suffer in there. As soon as you’re out, I’ll bring you home.” I had stared at the woman I had loved my entire life, and my world had tilted on its axis. “No,” I had said. “He made the mistake. Why should I pay for it with my future?” When I refused, Leo had dropped to his knees. “Brother, I’m begging you! Just this once. The company, the inheritance… I won’t fight you for any of it. I just… I don’t want to go to prison.” He pleaded with me as if I were the one condemning him. The two women I loved most in the world, my mother and my wife, had eyes only for him. They sent me to prison. Chloe divorced me. She told me that when I got out, it would all be over. They never looked back. And so, I carried the weight of their crime. The weight of two deaths. Prison was not easy, as Chloe had promised. It was hell. The beatings were a daily occurrence. They knocked out my teeth, pulled out my fingernails, broke my ribs. The warden, who had clearly been bribed, would only call for a doctor when I was on the brink of death. As soon as I was patched up, I became their punching bag again. I endured this for five years. A cold wind made me shiver. Leo was still arguing with Chloe. I knew her promise to remarry me was just an empty gesture. And I didn’t need it anyway. “Let’s not get remarried,” I said, my voice muffled. Chloe’s body went rigid. She spun around to face me. “What did you say?” “I said, let’s not. Just give me the money. We don’t have to get remarried.” I was letting her be with him. It was a kindness. Chloe’s face turned ugly. “Noah, you’ll regret this.” We parted on bad terms. For days, I didn’t see her. I was alone in the vast, empty villa. I sat on the sofa for a long time. When I finally stood up, the room felt completely alien. I couldn’t remember what I had been about to do. I couldn’t even remember what had happened a second ago. My mind was a terrifying blank. Then I heard the sound of someone rummaging through things upstairs. I followed the noise. A man I didn’t recognize was holding my diary. That diary was important to me. I lunged for it, but he dodged me easily. He held up the book, his laughter dripping with contempt, and began to read aloud. “‘Go home, get the money, and then die?’ Noah, when did you get so sentimental? Do you really think Mom and Chloe will feel sorry for you now?” He flipped through the pages, scoffing. “You’re still hung up on this? You actually wrote it all down?” He pointed to the heavily underlined text, the evidence of the crime I had been framed for. “Give it back,” I rasped. When I reached for it again, he tore the diary to shreds in front of my eyes. “You think these little notes are going to save you? Evidence requires facts, Noah. It’s been years. To the world, you’re a murderer. And you’ll carry that for me for the rest of your life.” His words hammered at me. My hand shot out. Before he could react, I shoved him. He tumbled down the stairs. There was a sickening thud. Blood pooled under his head. At that exact moment, the front door opened. A woman’s scream ripped through the air. A sharp pain exploded across my face. The younger woman, Chloe, had slapped me with all her strength. “You tried to kill him? I actually thought you had learned your lesson.” The older woman, my mother, grabbed my throat, her voice a guttural roar. “Why did you do it! You’re just like your worthless, cheating father! Why don’t you just die! Why did I ever give birth to you!” “Get out!” I stood there, frozen, staring at the scattered pieces of my diary on the floor. I held out my hand. “Give me the money. I’ll leave now.” A cold bank card hit my face. Neither of them looked at me again. I had a disease, an incurable one. But with money, I could at least die with dignity. That was the only thing I remembered now. I left that house. Behind me, the house grew smaller and smaller, and with each step, I walked closer to my own death.

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My husband, Eddie, had always claimed to hate kids. Then, suddenly, he fell in love with the neighbor’s baby, spending every night caring for her, not coming home until after midnight. He didn’t just ignore me; when I got into a car accident and needed surgery, he was nowhere to be found. I’d had enough. At the party to celebrate me coming home from the hospital, I asked for a divorce. Our friends and family looked at me like I was crazy, saying the accident must have scrambled my brains. Eddie, my husband, slammed his glass down and threw his drink in my face, his voice shaking with rage. “Just because I didn’t visit you in the hospital, you’re going to do this? Are you really this jealous of a six-month-old baby?” Slowly, I wiped the sticky liquid from my skin. My eyes fixed on the faint, damning blush of a hickey on his neck. My voice was ice. “Since you love her child so much,” I said, “after the divorce, you two can be together forever. I’ll even make it happen.” 1 A storm of emotions crossed Eddie’s face. He instinctively pulled his collar up, trying to hide his neck. His eyes were red with fury as he roared, “Leigh, what the hell are you talking about?” “I was looking after Lily to learn! To practice for when we have our own kids!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “And now you want to divorce me for a stupid reason like this? Have you lost your mind?” I ignored his outburst, my expression a perfect, calm mask. I reached into my purse, pulled out the divorce papers I’d already prepared, and slid them across the table to him. “Sign them. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning.” A collective gasp went through the room. Every eye was on me, burning with shock and judgment. I didn’t care anymore. I left the papers on the table and turned to leave. They couldn’t wrap their heads around it—the couple everyone envied, suddenly imploding. Eddie stared, utterly stunned. He never imagined I’d have divorce papers ready. Seeing the unyielding set of my jaw, my mother finally realized I wasn’t joking. She was the first to speak, her voice trembling. “Leigh, are you serious? You and Eddie have been married for ten years, you’ve always been so happy. What happened?” My dad snatched the papers from the table, his face turning darker with every line he read. One of Eddie’s friends chimed in, trying to play peacemaker. “Yeah, Leigh, come on. Ten years together… don’t throw it all away over the neighbor’s baby.” “He was just helping out a single mom, for God’s sake,” another added. “He felt sorry for the kid. You don’t have to be so possessive.” “He put off having kids because he didn’t want to mess up your career! Can’t you see how much he’s sacrificed for you?” The chorus of accusations grew, painting me as the heartless one. I said nothing. I just pushed the papers back in front of Eddie. “This marriage is over. I can’t take it anymore.” That’s when my father, who had rushed over when he heard the commotion, slapped me. Hard. A sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. I clutched my face as he bellowed, “You ungrateful brat! How dare you divorce a man as good as Eddie? I’ll kill you!” “He’s the one who’s managed this household for years so you could build your career! Have you no shame?” My mother rushed in, grabbing my arm, her voice pleading. “Honey, whatever it is, just talk it out. Don’t use the word ‘divorce’.” “You’ll never find another man this good! If you’re doing this because you found someone else, I swear, I’ll never forgive you!” I slowly lifted my head, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. The room buzzed with whispers. True to form, Eddie was instantly by my side, dabbing at my split lip with a napkin, his touch so gentle. Always the perfect, caring husband in public. Only I knew the cold truth of our life together. “Leigh,” he murmured, his voice laced with manufactured pain. “I know you’ve probably found someone else. But I’m the only one who truly cares about you.” “We grew up together. We’ve been married ten years. How could you let something so small tear us apart?” he whispered, for all to hear. “I don’t care about your flings. Just come home. I’ll forgive you.” With just a few words, he’d flipped the entire narrative. I was the cheater. The room erupted again. The stares felt like knives. My father, incensed, swung again, his fist catching my shoulder. “So that’s it! You’ve been seeing someone else! How could I have raised such a disgrace!” “You ungrateful child, stop this nonsense before you put your father in the hospital! Go home and make things right with Eddie!” Everyone was pleading, begging me to see reason. Eddie was now on his knees, tears streaming down his face, begging me to stay. My gaze was glacial. I shoved him away. “Let go of me. I don’t love you anymore.” He didn’t know it, but our marriage had been dead since the day he started caring for the neighbor’s baby. Eddie stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. His lips trembled. “What… what did you just say?” 2 The entire room fell silent. Eddie’s sobs grew louder, but I just turned to walk away. He lunged, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his grip desperate. “Don’t go, Leigh, please don’t go. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault.” “Just give me one more chance, I’ll change, I swear. Please don’t leave me.” His friend blocked my path. “Leigh, what is wrong with you? Apologize to Eddie right now!” “He’s been by your side for so long. How can you hurt him like this? Have you forgotten how much you two loved each other?” “You were together from high school through college! Eight years before you even got married! Does none of that mean anything to you?” “You monster! Are you saying you don’t even want the baby you’re carrying? You’d rather he grew up without a father?” At that, my parents grabbed me, their words a frantic torrent, trying to shock me back to my senses. “Leigh, you’re pregnant! And you still want a divorce? Do you have a conscience?” I fought against their hold, my voice ringing with a cold fury that shocked them all. “My child is my child. I’ll raise him myself. This divorce is happening.” My mother looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Leigh, you’ve always wanted a child more than anything. Now that you’re pregnant, why are you doing this?” Her words were a punch to the gut. It was true. For ten years, from the time I was twenty until I turned thirty, I had yearned for a baby with Eddie. A decade of hope, dashed every single time. I couldn’t live that life anymore. All I wanted now was to be free of him. The shouting attracted our neighbor, Vanessa. She stood in the doorway, holding her baby, ready to hand her over to Eddie for the evening shift. It was their daily routine; she’d go to work, and he would babysit. The moment Eddie saw her, he forgot all about the drama. He rushed over and took the baby from her arms. The look on his face—a tenderness so profound, so paternal—was one I had never seen before. It was as if he were looking at his own flesh and blood. A sharp pain, like a shard of ice, pierced my heart. I swayed on my feet. We’d had a child once, too. But a convenient “accident” had taken care of that. Vanessa put on a show of concern. “Leigh, I heard the shouting. I had no idea you were upset about Eddie helping me with the baby.” “I’ll find a new place today,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “Lily and I will leave immediately. I don’t want to cause any trouble between you two.” Eddie’s brow furrowed, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “No, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not a big deal, just helping with a baby.” He turned back to me, his eyes wet with tears. “Leigh, don’t take this out on other people. You just got out of the hospital. Can you please stop making a scene?” His performance was flawless. The crowd’s anger shifted entirely onto me. My father’s face was purple with rage. He grabbed my arm, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Listen to me. Stop this. Break it off with whoever you’re seeing and go home with Eddie. That’s all that matters.” “You have a child on the way. If you dare go through with this divorce, I swear I’ll break your legs.” I remained impassive, my face a stone mask. “This divorce is final.” With that, I walked out. My father’s parting shot echoed behind me. “If you walk out that door, you are no longer my daughter!” Eddie didn’t try to stop me this time. His voice was cold. “Fine, Leigh. You want to leave? Then you leave with nothing. Not a single penny.” “You want to throw me away for someone new? Then don’t blame me for what comes next.” The next day, I filed for divorce. As evidence, I submitted the videos I had taken from inside my neighbor Vanessa’s house. 3 That night, I tried to check into a hotel, only to find all my bank cards had been frozen. I remembered then—for years, I had handed my entire salary over to Eddie, keeping almost nothing for myself. I’d worked myself to the bone to build our perfect little life, believing our long courtship would lead to a happy family. What a joke. From the very beginning, I had been completely alone. After borrowing money from a friend, I finally got a hotel room. I opened my phone and saw it. Someone had secretly recorded the argument at the party and posted it online. It was already trending. The comment section was a cesspool of hate, all directed at me. People were threatening to dox me, to ruin my life. “She’s divorcing her husband just because he helped a neighbor with a baby? Is she even human?” “I bet she’s the one who cheated and is just using this as a ridiculous excuse. What a shameless bitch.” The story spread like wildfire. The next morning, even the room service attendant gave me a look of pure disgust. I opened my laptop, and a searing pain shot through me. I watched the videos again, hundreds of them. The intimate moments between them stole the air from my lungs. Every night, after he put Vanessa’s daughter, Lily, to sleep, he would slip into Vanessa’s bedroom. I’d discovered it on Eddie’s phone. He had connected to her home security cameras. I saw everything. While he slept, I linked the feed to my own phone. And since then, every night, I watched them. The way Eddie looked at Vanessa was with a gentleness I had never, ever received. He was the perfect, doting husband in public, but only I knew the icy reality of our marriage. Years ago, he had told me, flat out, that he never wanted children. He warned me not to get any ideas. But then, an accident happened. I got pregnant. I begged him to let me keep it. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made me get rid of it. That day became the defining pain of my life. From that day on, he refused to touch me. And now, right under my nose, he was playing father to another woman’s child. “Ms. Reed, the court date is set for three days from now. I’ve prepared all the documents you requested.” My secretary’s call came early the next morning. The public backlash was already affecting my company; investors were pulling out. When I got to the office, Eddie was already there, blocking the entrance. “Leigh, don’t go in. The reporters are everywhere.” I shoved him aside. He stumbled and fell, a look of pure shock on his face. He never expected me to be so forceful. The cameras swarmed. “Leigh, how can you be so cruel?” he cried from the ground. “Can’t you show me even a little bit of compassion?” Vanessa was there too, of course, rushing to help him up. The scene was a media circus. Cameras flashed, and angry netizens who had shown up started shouting at me, calling me heartless. “It’s not her fault,” Eddie sobbed into Vanessa’s shoulder. “I lost my balance. Please, don’t blame her.” Seeing his phony act, I almost threw up. “If you don’t want this divorce,” I said, my voice carrying over the din, “then I’ll see you in court.” The mask dropped. Eddie scrambled to his feet, his face contorted with rage. “Fine,” he spat, right into the reporters’ microphones. “You want to play hardball? Then don’t blame me when I leave you with nothing.” 4 “My child doesn’t need a father like you. Fine. I’ll see you in court.” It was almost funny. He had no idea. He thought I was still in the dark, completely oblivious. I ignored him, went inside, delegated my work, and began preparing for the hearing. After today’s media frenzy, the story exploded online. I was now a universally hated villain, while Eddie had successfully cemented his image as the long-suffering victim. The rumors were insane. People said I’d had multiple abortions to keep seeing my secret lover, that I’d drained our finances to support him. Others claimed the car accident had left me with brain damage, that I was mentally unstable. The hate was overwhelming. Even my own parents called to disown me. “You’ve gone too far,” my father’s voice crackled over the phone. “From this day on, I don’t have a daughter.” “After all the filthy things you’ve done, I’m too ashamed to even call you my child.” Through it all, I remained silent. I didn’t surface again until three days later, in court. The courtroom was packed. Friends, family, and a horde of online gawkers were all there, waiting for the show. They were all waiting to see me fall, to see the law punish me. Before the proceedings began, Eddie leaned over to me. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered. “For the sake of everything we had, I’ll give you one last chance. Apologize to me, right now, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.” His voice dripped with condescension. “You have no chance of winning. The entire country knows what you’ve done. How can you even show your face?” Beside him, Vanessa gave me a smug, triumphant smile. My own parents wouldn’t even look at me, their expressions making it clear they hoped I’d be locked away for the shame I’d brought them. I didn’t flinch. I just waited for the judge to begin. Eddie had hired the best lawyer in the city. He was determined to win. His attorney laid out a laundry list of my supposed sins during our marriage, building a case for why I deserved to be left with nothing. “Simply helping a neighbor with childcare in the evenings does not constitute marital misconduct on the part of the husband,” the judge stated. “Based on the current evidence, you, Ms. Reed, appear to be the party at fault.” “If you cannot provide new evidence, this court will grant the divorce and rule accordingly, with you as the at-fault party.” A wave of cheers erupted from the gallery. Eddie and Vanessa embraced, triumphant. The crowd was buzzing, muttering that I got what I deserved. They were already celebrating their victory. I remained calm. I addressed the judge. “Your Honor, I have new evidence.” “I have the surveillance footage from my neighbor, Vanessa’s, home.” “And I have the results of a DNA paternity test for Eddie and the child, Lily.” In an instant, the courtroom went dead silent. Every face was frozen, the celebratory mood evaporating into thick, heavy tension. Eddie’s face went white. I knew the real show was about to begin.

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1 Eighteen years into our child-free marriage, I discovered my husband wasn’t child-free at all. He had more than one illegitimate son. The woman was patient. She knew that while I had no children, his bastards still had a claim to his inheritance. Even as a mistress, her sons could one day carve up the empire we had spent half our lives building. I thought about it. Over and over. A divorce would grant me the majority of our assets, but what was left would still be enough for them to live in luxury for the rest of their lives. It was far too generous. If that was the case, then we might as well lose it all together. I started with nothing; I could survive with nothing again. But them? After they’ve lost everything, could they still afford to raise those precious, golden sons of theirs? … By the time I discovered Ron’s affair, his eldest son was already running and jumping, and his youngest had just passed his three-month milestone. The only reason I’d been kept in the dark for so long was because Ron’s entire family had conspired to help him cover it up, creating a seamless web of lies. The truth finally slipped out because Ron attended the party for his youngest son’s celebration. Someone anonymously sent me a photo from the event—a picture of their happy little family. I stared at my phone, my mind a complete blank for a few seconds. A surge of fury rose in my chest, but it was quickly suppressed by cold, hard logic. After years in the business world, I had unlearned the habit of acting on impulse. I wouldn’t confront Ron until I had the full story. I hired someone to do some digging. It took only three days for every secret Ron had buried to be laid bare before me. Five years ago, he had started keeping a recent college graduate. Four years ago, she gave birth to their first son. Now, their second child was three months old. No wonder his mother had stopped nagging me about children years ago. I’d naively thought she had finally accepted our choice to be child-free. Turns out, she was already a grandmother. Even with the undeniable proof of his betrayal, I forced myself to remain calm. His infidelity was a fact, and arguing wouldn’t change a thing. The only thing to consider now was how to walk away from this without being the one who lost everything. In the world of adults, self-interest must always come first. I spent the entire afternoon sitting alone in a tea house, replaying our eighteen years together. It was Ron who had first proposed being child-free. I never imagined he would be the one to go back on his word. In the early days, we started our architectural firm from nothing. We had no connections, no support. Every step was a struggle. Now that we were finally on solid ground, the first thing he does is have children with someone else? The irony was staggering. That afternoon, I consulted with several lawyers specializing in divorce. The consensus was grim: we had no prenuptial agreement. Even though he was the at-fault party, forcing him to walk away with nothing was nearly impossible. That path was a dead end. I needed another plan. As I was thinking, Ron called. He asked why I wasn’t home yet. I glanced at my watch; it was past nine. For all these years, despite having another family, he had maintained a perfect facade. Barring the occasional business dinner, he was almost always home before 9:30 PM. That consistency was a key reason I had never suspected a thing. I’d forgotten that a man who truly wants to cheat doesn’t need large blocks of unaccounted-for time. It was ten by the time I got home. Ron was on the living room sofa, flipping through an art book. He looked up at the sound of the door. Even in his forties, he was still in impeccable shape, not with the softness of middle age, but with a quiet, refined presence forged by time. But I saw it clearly—an almost unconscious movement as he closed the book and tucked it into the crevice of the sofa cushions. It was a detail I would have missed before. Now, it was glaring. Suspicion, once planted, finds evidence everywhere. He walked over, his expression normal, and took my coat. His voice was gentle. “Working late? Trouble with a project?” For a moment, I was lost. How could a person betray a marriage so profoundly and show not a single trace of guilt on his face? To hide it so perfectly for five or six years… The man I shared a bed with had a depth of cunning that sent a chill down my spine. Perhaps my silence was too long. A flicker of concern crossed his face. “Not feeling well?” I looked away, forcing my voice to sound casual. “No, just a little tired.” After more than two decades together, Ron knew me too well. The slightest change in my demeanor never escaped him. Of course, the same was true for me. I understood then. The leaked photo from the party wasn’t an accident, nor was it his oversight. He was simply done trying so hard to hide it. The firm was stable. I had stood by him through all the hard years. Now, someone else was waiting to reap the rewards. On what grounds? I managed a few more perfunctory replies, making sure not to give anything away. Ron didn’t seem to notice that I knew everything. His behavior was normal, though he checked his phone far more often than usual. The quiet comfort of a middle-aged marriage is supposed to be a blessing. But some people are never satisfied. Waves of frustration washed over me. I wanted to scream, to slap him across the face, to tear away the facade and demand to know why he had broken his promise. For a fleeting moment, I even considered paying him back in the same coin. When the emotion finally subsided, I was horrified by that momentary version of myself. The guilty should pay, but punishing someone else should not come at the cost of your own integrity. Ron was already filthy; I refused to become like him. I knew this calm wouldn’t last, but shifting our assets would take time. A man whose heart has strayed is like cloth dipped in dye; it can never return to its original color and will only stain everything around it. The twenty years of love, the hardships we shared—the moment I learned of the third person, it all became a sunk cost. The price of this marriage was too high, and I was far from being as detached as I appeared. The gut-wrenching pain of it all was forcing me into a state of brutal clarity. Ron was rotten, the marriage was rotten, but the firm wasn’t. Our lives were deeply intertwined; pulling one thread could unravel everything. This was far more complicated than a simple divorce could solve. About two weeks after I learned of his affair, Ron finally sensed something was wrong. He lingered outside my home studio for a long time one evening before finally speaking. “Is… something on your mind lately?” No matter how hard I tried to be calm, I could no longer bear to share a bed with him. I had used a minor disagreement as an excuse to banish him to the guest room for the past two weeks. My replies to his texts were clipped and brief. He was always perceptive and had likely guessed the reason. But since I hadn’t confronted him, hadn’t started a fight, and hadn’t gone after the other woman, he swallowed the probing questions on the tip of his tongue. I rubbed my throbbing temples and decided to seize the initiative. “I was looking over the firm’s accounts recently and noticed a few large payments for materials that don’t add up.” I knew exactly where that money had gone, and as the one who approved it, Ron knew even better. The woman he was keeping had given him one child, then a second. Naturally, her material needs had to be thoroughly met. And Ron, successful and in his forties, had the capital to satisfy her. He visibly stiffened. I saw his hand, hanging by his side, slowly clench into a fist. But it was only for a moment. He quickly regained his composure. “I authorized those withdrawals.” I lifted my eyes and looked directly at him. He avoided my gaze, his explanation tinged with guilt. “Alex and I have been working on a few private projects these last couple of years. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want you to worry.” Alex was his old college classmate; of course, he would cover for him. I didn’t ask what the projects were, and he didn’t elaborate. He just closed the door and left. He had probably guessed that I knew about his other family, yet he showed no panic. It was as if he was certain I had no choice but to endure it silently. And even if I didn’t, what could I do? Divorcing him now would be a relief for him. He would walk away with wealth and children, while I, nearing forty, would be left with nothing but my solitude. But even so, there was no point in being shackled to a rotten man like him. I found it increasingly difficult to tolerate Ron’s presence in my life as my husband, but the transfer of assets wasn’t complete. We could only continue this tense, lukewarm stalemate. Perhaps he was waiting for me to come to my senses, or perhaps he was waiting for me to be the one to ask for a divorce. Either way, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. On the twentieth day after I discovered his betrayal, I met the woman he was keeping. She must have gotten wind of something from Ron because she had the audacity to provoke me. She staged a “chance encounter” at my favorite bookstore, even choosing the window-side booth I always sat in. The file I had on her was filled with photos; I recognized her instantly. She was young, around twenty-seven, dressed in an expensive but understated cashmere sweater, a designer handbag resting beside her. She had been well-protected, it seemed; there was a naive sweetness in her features, a look of almost clear-eyed foolishness in her eyes. It suddenly made me think of myself at twenty-seven. Ron and I had been married for two years, crammed into a tiny, old apartment, living on meager salaries, my coats washed until they were faded. It was during those years that we scraped together the seed money for our firm. Sometimes, late at night, overcome with emotion, he would grip my hand and swear he would never fail me. Those vows, I suppose, held some sincerity at the time. A pity sincerity is the first thing to wear away. I pretended not to know her, picked out a book as usual, and sat at a table diagonally across from her, never once letting my gaze drift in her direction. I quickly revised my initial judgment of her. She picked up a book, moved to the seat directly opposite me, and smiled with a look of pure provocation. “Mrs. Croft,” she said. Clearly, she knew who I was. So, not some naive girl who had been deceived, but a willing parasite. Was she here now, as the other woman, to openly challenge me? Tsk. Did she have any idea that half of everything she ate, wore, and used belonged to me? I closed my book, my gaze calmly sweeping over her body, which hadn’t fully recovered from childbirth. “And you are?” In the end, she didn’t dare reveal her awkward identity. She fumbled for an excuse, claiming she had seen me at an architectural forum once. The lie was laughably clumsy. I didn’t respond, just watched her with a faint, unreadable smile. I wanted her to know that I saw right through her pathetic little games. A vine that spends its life clinging to others loses the strength to stand on its own against the storm. Under my silent scrutiny, she didn’t even last thirty seconds. She scrambled to her feet and fled, her retreating figure a picture of panic and disarray. I felt a sense of sorrow—for her, and for the world that created her. So young, perfectly capable, she could have been anything, but she chose to be someone’s breeding tool. Whether Ron knew about this stunt or not, the fact that the woman he was keeping had paraded herself in front of me was his failure. I decided to officially put the divorce on my agenda. Before I could act, my best friend spammed me with messages on WhatsApp. She was sending me screenshots of the other woman’s social media, a daily chronicle of her flaunting her life. This was nothing new, but today’s screenshots were different. She added a note: [She’s throwing shade at you.] Everyone needs a few reliable friends. I had asked my best friend to follow her account long ago, so I was aware of her every move. I opened the last screenshot. It was her latest post: a photo of a child running across a lawn, with a caption. The gist of it was: So what if some people are successful now? After working hard their whole lives, won’t it all just end up belonging to my children anyway? Oh, I’d almost forgotten. She had children, and I didn’t. And her children with my husband, though illegitimate, still had inheritance rights. This world is truly absurd sometimes. I glanced again at the half-drafted divorce settlement on my desk. Even if I fought for every penny, I could at most walk away with seventy percent of our assets. The remaining thirty percent, plus the firm’s substantial annual profits, would be enough to keep their family of four in luxury for generations. Thank you for the reminder. It was a sudden, jarring wake-up call. This wasn’t good enough. It was far too generous. I wasn’t about to let anyone set foot on the path I had bled for, not without my permission.

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My parents have a unique condition. They claim to suffer from Memory Confusion Syndrome. For my entire life, they’ve mistaken me for their adopted daughter. And they’ve mistaken our housekeeper’s daughter for their own flesh and blood. All their tenderness, all their love, was reserved for her. They took her to lavish restaurants, sent her to the best universities abroad, and paved her future with money, ensuring her path was smooth and triumphant. Meanwhile, I, their biological daughter, was a stranger in my own home. I ate leftovers, slept in the guest room, and fought my way into college on my own merit, even earning my own tuition. At first, I didn’t mind. I even searched desperately for renowned doctors, hoping to cure my parents. I believed that once they were well, they would finally see me as their daughter. That hope shattered the day the housekeeper’s daughter returned from her studies abroad. My parents went on national television and publicly declared that she would inherit everything—the family fortune, the company, all of it. The hospital report in my hand, another in a long line of them, clearly stated: “Neurological systems normal.” That was when I finally accepted the truth. My parents didn’t love me. So I stopped hoping. I laid the inheritance papers my grandfather left me on the table before them. “Starting today, you and your little family can leave. You’re not welcome in my house anymore.” 1 “Ms. Tepper, perhaps we should run the tests one more time? It’s possible the new equipment isn’t calibrated correctly…” the doctor suggested, noticing the dark expression on my face. I looked at the number on the report—103—and let out a bitter laugh. “There’s no need. If the 103rd test comes back normal, then the machine isn’t the problem.” If the machine and the doctors were fine, then the problem was with them. In the end, it was simple. My parents had felt no love for me from the moment I was born. They didn’t want the responsibility, so they invented a lie. And I was foolish enough to believe it for all these years. I had spent my life not only coaxing them to come to the hospital for check-ups but also growing accustomed to their beatings and their cold indifference. If my grandfather hadn’t told me, over and over before he died, “They are your parents, Elara. You must believe they love you,” I might have given up sooner. But Grandfather, I believed those words for twenty-five years. Today, I just can’t lie to myself anymore. On the television screen, my parents were sitting pressed close to the housekeeper’s daughter, Jenna. They looked like the perfect, happy family. The host gushed, “Wow, Mr. Tepper, it’s clear how much you adore your daughter. But there are rumors that you have another daughter.” “I believe she’s currently an intern at your company. By leaving all inheritance rights to Jenna, are you not concerned about causing a rift between the sisters?” My father didn’t deny it. He answered magnanimously. “Elara was a child my wife and I sponsored during a charity trip to a poor, rural area. Strictly speaking, she is our foster daughter and has no right to be involved in our family’s affairs.” “We raised her, which was a great kindness. Without us, she’d probably still be stuck in some forgotten town with nothing. If she dares to fight Jenna for the family fortune, I won’t hesitate to throw her out.” “After all,” he concluded, “nothing is more important than my daughter.” His declaration of love earned a round of applause from the studio audience. The nurse watching the TV next to me sighed. “Wow, he really spoils his daughter. The CEO of a public company… I wish I had a father like that!” The words were like acid in my ears. The host pressed on. “I have one more question. Your wife’s maiden name is Wallace, and your last name is Tepper. Why did you name your daughter Jenna Sullivan? Is there a special meaning?” The blunt question seemed to stump my father. My mother, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up. “Jenna was lost for a time when she was young. It took us a great deal of effort to find her.” “She has a kind heart and has never forgotten the kindness of the family that took her in, so she was reluctant to change her name.” This performance only enhanced their image as loving, understanding parents. The internet was flooded with comments. “To have parents who love her so much and are so accepting… she’s won the lottery of life.” I watched in silence, then quietly pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Mr. Howell, please bring the papers. It’s time for me to sign.” 2 After I pressed my thumbprint onto the document, Mr. Howell reviewed the agreement one last time. Satisfied, he stood and bowed to me. “Ms. Tepper, as of today, you are the official heir to all Tepper family assets. You hold absolute authority to hire and fire within all subsidiary companies and foundations of Tepper Industries.” “It is my honor, on behalf of your grandfather, to pass the responsibility of the Tepper family into your hands.” “From now on, I will serve as your personal executive assistant, guiding you in taking control of the company and providing you with the best teams at your disposal.” I helped Mr. Howell up, signaling that he didn’t need to be so formal. “Mr. Howell, you’ve known me my whole life. I’ll be counting on your support. Please, there’s no need for such ceremony between us.” “I’ll be at the office tomorrow to make some personnel changes. I’d like you to be there with me.” “Of course.” After confirming the time, Mr. Howell and his team departed, leaving me with a secure phone for any emergencies. Once it was all done, a wave of relief washed over me. Just then, a message popped up on my phone—a birthday greeting from my service provider. I realized it was my birthday. I think I used to celebrate it. It was just so long ago, I’d forgotten. I lay down on the living room sofa and, without realizing it, drifted to sleep. I was jolted awake by a sharp tug on my ear and a shove that sent me tumbling to the floor. “Who said you could sleep here? Get up!” The pain cleared my head. I thought my parents were back, but the face staring down at me was both strange and familiar. Maria. Jenna’s mother. Our housekeeper. “Look at you, a pathetic mess. Lying on the sofa in your dirty clothes. Do you think this is your house? Do you have any idea how expensive this sofa is?” “Get back to your room, now. My daughter will be here with the master and mistress any minute.” “After tomorrow, she’ll be the rightful heir of this family. You’re just a useless obstacle. You’d better know your place and get out of the way. You waste of space!” Since my grandfather’s death, I had become completely invisible in this house. And Maria, emboldened by my parents’ doting on Jenna, had started treating me like a servant to be ordered around. In the past, to please my parents, I had endured it. Not anymore. The moment she finished speaking, a sharp crack echoed in the room as I slapped her across the face. Maria clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You little bitch! You dare hit me?” “You’re damn right I do,” I said, and slapped her again with my other hand. This time, I didn’t hold back. The blow split her lip and sent her sprawling onto the corner of the sofa. “My parents might have lost their minds, but have you lost yours too? No matter how little they care for me, my last name is still Tepper.” “You’re a housekeeper. Who the hell do you think you are to order me around?” “You—” “You what? You thought I was an easy target, didn’t you? Today, I’m going to teach you your place.” I raised my hand again and again, slapping her for five solid minutes. A familiar voice finally cut through the haze. “Elara, what are you doing? Let go of my mother!” 3 Jenna rushed forward and pushed me away, her face a mask of distress as she cradled her mother’s swollen cheek. “Elara, what did my mother ever do to you?” “Why do you do this the moment I come home? If you don’t want me here, just say so! Why take it out on my mother?” Jenna screamed, her eyes red. My father, still holding a cake box, stormed over and slapped me hard across the face. “Elara, have you lost your mind? Apologize to Maria right now!” The stinging pain on my cheek dragged me back into the past. It started the first time my parents claimed to have “Memory Confusion Syndrome.” I had accidentally spilled soup on the floor during dinner. My father forced me to kneel and lick it clean like a dog. Even then, he wasn’t satisfied. He slapped me until my face was raw and threatened to seal my mouth shut with a pair of pliers. If my grandfather hadn’t intervened, he might have actually done it. Later, he apologized, claiming he had mistaken me for someone else. He promised he would never hit me again. He bought me toys and snacks for days until I finally forgave him. I thought he would keep his word. But today, he hit me again. For a stranger’s mother. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” my mother chimed in, seamlessly joining the chorus of condemnation. “Jenna finally comes home, and we wanted to surprise her with her mother. You’ve ruined everything.” “It’s her birthday today! Did you have to destroy the mood?” I turned my head and saw the cake in my father’s hands. The frosting read, Happy Birthday, Jenna. I finally remembered. It was Jenna’s birthday today, too. “This is a birthday surprise? I thought the real surprise was the Tepper family inheritance.” My father’s face darkened. “This is our family’s business. What does it have to do with an outsider like you? Weren’t all the years of luxury we gave you enough? Now you’re after our money too?” “Outsider? Luxury?” I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. My mother grabbed my arm, her voice impatient. “Exactly. What’s it to you? Why are you just standing there? Apologize!” “Apologize for what? Aren’t you the ones who should be apologizing?” “You hit someone, and you think you’re right?” my father roared. “It seems we’ve been too lenient with you. Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson.” He unbuckled his belt and raised it to strike. Just then, Jenna ran over, her voice dripping with false sincerity as she grabbed his arm. “Dad, wait.” She composed herself and looked at me. “Elara, I know you’ve always hated me. But Maria is still my foster mother. What did she do to make you so angry?” “If you have a problem, take it out on me.” Seeing her walk right into it, I had to laugh. “Is she really your foster mother? Don’t you feel any shame saying that?” My words made her flinch, but she quickly recovered, her expression firm. “Yes. When I was lost, it was Maria who found me. If it wasn’t for her, my parents would never have found me.” “Jenna, why are you even talking to this bitch?” my father’s voice boomed. “We never should have taken her in. We should have let her rot in that backwater town.” Hearing him call me a bitch, a worthless piece of trash, again and again for so many years… I had had enough. “You don’t deserve to be parents. All these years, who have you been performing for?” I pulled out the stack of my parents’ neurological reports and threw them in their faces. “The doctors told me. There is nothing wrong with you!”

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1 Five years into our marriage, I told Caleb Cross I wanted a divorce. “Is this just because I gave the promotion to her instead of you?” he asked, his brow furrowed. But his attention was already back on the phone, his voice dropping to a murmur to soothe Leah Jones on the other end. “Yes,” I said. “Fine.” Without a second glance, he scrawled his name on the divorce papers I’d placed in front of him. “Let’s see how many days you last before you come crawling back.” From college sweethearts to husband and wife, we had been each other’s first and everything. He was so sure I couldn’t live without him. But I was done. The job, the promotion… that was his last chance. It wasn’t like I was desperate for a position. An offer from a top-three tech firm in the States was sitting in my inbox, a world away from his reach. I accepted it. From now on, we were strangers. The slate was wiped clean. … Caleb hung up the phone, his eyes betraying nothing. A chill crept over my heart. He lifted his gaze, his expression lazy, bored. “Stella Vance, you have zero work experience. You won’t survive a day without me.” I shook my head. “Don’t forget, I graduated from the same top university you did. I’ll find my own way to survive.” “Suit yourself,” he said, signing his name with a flourish. “Just don’t drag this out. Mom’s still at the hospital, and she’s expecting you.” I didn’t answer. I just folded the papers, ready to leave, when our housekeeper showed Leah Jones in. She was dressed in a sharp power suit, her red lipstick a slash of professional confidence. “Mr. Cross, I had a few more thoughts on the proposal you recommended me for. I was hoping to run them by you.” Caleb’s eyebrow arched as he glanced at me. In the past, I would have been the one to throw her out, then slap another set of divorce papers on his desk. I’d done it ninety-nine times. But this was the hundredth. And this time, there would be no more games. A flicker of something—triumph?—crossed Leah’s eyes. “Oh, Mrs. Cross, please don’t misunderstand. I’m just here to discuss work. It’s all terribly boring stuff. Perhaps you could wait outside until we’re finished?” I moved past her, heading for the door, but her voice followed me, a stage whisper meant for me to hear. “You know, for someone who can’t help with the business, you’d think she’d be more understanding of how busy Mr. Cross is. You’ve really spoiled her.” My fists clenched. I spun around. “And who the hell are you to him? Did you not see we were having a private conversation? Or do you just make a habit of showing up at your boss’s house on a weekend to ‘sync up’? What’s the rush? Got a deadline with the devil? Have your parents ever heard of the word ‘boundaries’?” Leah’s lip trembled, her eyes instantly welling with tears. She actually clutched her files and made a show of turning to leave. “That’s enough!” Caleb snapped, grabbing her arm to pull her back. His glare was fixed on me. “Leah is right. She was just sticking up for me. Can’t you, for once, not assume the worst in people?” The study fell into a dead silence. Watching them, his hand still on her arm, a bitter laugh escaped me. What a joke. This marriage was a joke. These people were a joke. Every second I stayed here was another second of my life wasted. 2 I spent the night at my best friend’s place. In the dead of night, my phone buzzed. It was a screenshot of a social media post, sent from Leah’s account. The caption read: “Burning the midnight oil! Nothing like a late-night coffee to power through. So grateful for a boss who believes in me. I mean, who else gets to work side-by-side with their amazing boss until the early hours? #Blessed #BestBossEver” The background was unmistakably Caleb’s study. If you looked closely at the reflection in the window, you could see their silhouettes sitting together, their bodies nearly touching. Just then, my friend rushed in, shoving her phone in my face. It was a text from Caleb. “Are you done being mad? Come home. We can talk about that new position.” A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. That “new position” was just another empty promise, another delay tactic. It wasn’t the first time he’d apologized to me right after spending an evening with Leah. It was his classic move: a slap, then a rotten piece of candy. It wasn’t always like this. Back in college, when I wanted to enter a major coding competition, he gave up his own spot just so I could have it. My friend came out of the shower to find me staring blankly at my phone, my eyes red. “Second thoughts?” I shook my head, my throat tight. “If you’re not ready, then wait,” she said softly. “You two have been through so much. You can’t just throw it all away. Besides, you haven’t hit your one hundred times yet…” “We have.” She froze. “What?” “One hundred times,” I said, taking a deep breath and forcing the tears back. “It’s done.” “I accepted the offer from the tech firm in the States. I haven’t been idle all these years, you know. I’ve been managing investment funds online, building my portfolio. My resume is solid. They offered me a senior position with a great salary. It’s a huge opportunity.” “Are you sure? What did Caleb say? You two were so in love.” My voice was steady when I replied. “Yes. We fell in love because we saw the light in each other. But after we got married, that light went out. I lost myself. A love like that… there’s no point in trying to keep it alive.” My friend wrapped me in a hug, her eyes shining with pride. “If you’ve made up your mind, then do it. But you should still go to the Cross Corp gala tomorrow. Don’t let Caleb suspect anything’s different.” The next morning, I drove to the venue. I was planning to find a quiet corner and disappear, but then I heard my name. “I hear the wife throws a fit and threatens divorce all the time. Can you believe it? How does a guy like Caleb, a total catch, end up with such a petty, dramatic woman?” “It’s gotta be the sex, right? I’ve seen her type before. I’ll bet you anything he gets tired of her within six months and dumps her… oh, Mr. Cross.” The two men who had been talking froze, their faces pale as Caleb approached. Jake, the trust-fund brat who always trailed Caleb, just chuckled and raised his glass. “See? Everyone thinks you’re headed for divorce. Tell you what, I’ll put my money on three months.” Caleb’s gaze slid away from the gossiping men, and he took a slow, deliberate sip of his champagne. “She’s just high-maintenance,” he said with a weary sigh. “What can you do but spoil her?” He shook his head as if burdened by the world’s greatest tragedy. “Married women… they get worked up over the smallest things.” “Speaking of which,” Jake pressed, “you and Leah Jones have been getting pretty close. She’s smart, ambitious, and she’s actually good for your business. You sure you’re not considering an upgrade?” 3 Caleb didn’t answer, his silence a tacit agreement with Jake’s assessment. My back was to them. I downed the rest of my wine in one swallow, the liquid burning a path down my throat, and walked away. My chest ached. As I searched for a glass of water, a familiar voice stopped me. “Mrs. Cross?” I looked up into the shrewd, gleaming eyes of the man before me and frowned. “What are you doing here?” “I should be thanking you, Mrs. Cross,” Mr. Warren said, his tone dripping with provocation. “For so graciously handing over the Ridgewood property. I do wonder if your father will roll over in his grave.” “Don’t be ridiculous. That property belongs to Cross Corp.” Before I could say more, Leah strode up, her chin held high. “I’m the one who signed the property over to Mr. Warren. Is there a problem, Mrs. Cross?” “Who gave you the authority to do that?” I snapped. “There’s no need to be so aggressive. It was just a useless plot of land. If selling it benefits Cross Corp, what’s the issue?” She shot me a dismissive look. “Besides, you wouldn’t understand this stuff anyway. Why don’t you stick to being a housewife? We wouldn’t want you to interfere and upset our clients, would we?” “Caleb would never have approved this,” I said through gritted teeth, forcing myself to stay calm. “You did this on your own, didn’t you?” “So what if I did?” Leah’s face flushed. “Mr. Cross made me an executive. He said he trusts my judgment.” “Does he?” I let out a cold laugh. “Then I dare you to tell him you went behind his back and sold that land.” “Leah, he gave you authority to execute, not to sign contracts unilaterally without board approval. Do you know how illegal that is? How do you plan on compensating the company for this mess?” The crowd around us began to murmur, their gazes shifting to Leah with scorn. She bit her lip, her expression one of profound injury, yet she stood her ground. “You can insult me, but you can’t insult my contributions to this company! Don’t think you can bully me just because you’re the boss’s wife. Even if Mr. Cross finds out I sold the land, he’ll praise me for my initiative. You can check the latest performance reports if you don’t believe me. So please, stop making baseless accusations!” “What’s going on here?” Caleb’s voice cut through the tension. He arrived just in time to see Leah turn away, dabbing at her eyes. His tone hardened. “Stella, explain yourself.” My face was a mask of indifference. I met his gaze. “She sold the Ridgewood property to Mr. Warren. Did you know about this?” Leah immediately looked to Caleb, her voice laced with panic. “Mr. Cross, I was only thinking of the company! But as soon as Mrs. Cross heard I made a profit, she started yelling at me, even threatened to call the police.” She added, with a veneer of magnanimity, “I know she doesn’t have much experience with the real world, so if she would just apologize, I’m willing to overlook it.” Caleb’s frown deepened with every word. For a split second, he actually looked flustered. “The land sale… it was a special circumstance.” My heart sank. “Are you telling me to drop it? Or are you just afraid she’ll get in trouble if this blows up?” He pursed his lips and reached for my hand. “Of course not. As her boss, I apologize on her behalf. Are you feeling better now?” “CALEB! MY FATHER GAVE HIS LIFE FOR THAT LAND!” I ripped my hand away, my voice a raw scream as I pointed at Leah. “If she doesn’t get that land back today, I swear I will make her life a living hell!” “ENOUGH!” Caleb roared. “It’s signed. What’s done is done. Why are you clinging to the past?” “I’ll cover the loss for her. I’ll give you the money myself. I can see you’ve been on edge lately. Take the money, go on a vacation, and cool off. When you’ve had time to reflect, I’ll come get you.” I froze. After a long moment, a chilling smile spread across my face. “Fine. Just fine.” “You can protect her for the rest of your life. I was blind to ever marry you,” I said, already dialing my friend. “Book the tickets. We’re going abroad.” As I walked away, Caleb just sighed, a look of weary resignation on his face. He turned and put a comforting arm around Leah. He didn’t even try to follow me. 4 My friend drove me to a cemetery on the outskirts of the city. “You’re not just going to let this go, are you?” she fumed, rolling up her sleeves. “I’m going to go back there and rip that witch’s tongue out!” “Of course not.” I grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “You’re forgetting something. That American tech firm has been looking for a way into the domestic market. They need a prime piece of real estate.” “As a condition of my employment, I can propose that they acquire the land from Warren. It’s a win-win. The firm gets its foothold, and Warren gets a prestigious international partner. Neither of them will refuse.” My friend stared at me. “Caleb is going to lose his mind when he finds out. If he comes begging… would you ever take him back?” When I remained silent, she shook her head violently. “No, no, forget I said that. That cheating bastard deserves to die alone!” I looked at the two fresh bouquets of roses placed before my parents’ headstones and paused. Forgive him? My father had lost everything in a bad investment, then got swindled by Warren over the Ridgewood property. Drowning in debt, he took his own life to protect my mother and me. He never knew what came after. The debt collectors started showing up the moment I left for college. They were relentless. Students and professors alike started to avoid me. “She looks so clean-cut. Can you believe her family owes that much money? They must have pissed off someone dangerous.” “Who knows. Those guys look like thugs. I bet she’s already sleeping with them to pay it off.” “Probably. How else would a student like her get that kind of money…” I would walk through the hallways with my head down, my hands balled so tightly into fists that my nails drew blood. One day, someone pushed me from behind. I stumbled forward, heading straight for a rusted, broken window frame. I closed my eyes, thinking, if I die, it’ll all be over… The next second, I fell into a warm, strong embrace. Caleb had saved me. He held me, his expression deadly serious. “Don’t listen to them,” he said. “You’re brilliant.” After my father’s death, I had sworn to become strong, to excel at everything, to protect myself and my mother. And from that day on, using the excuse that he’d saved my life, Caleb was always there. It was annoying. He completely upended the solitary life I had grown accustomed to. Then the debt collectors came to our home. They threatened to make my mother and me pay with our bodies. Caleb appeared out of nowhere with a group of security guards and nearly beat them to death. “Stop!” I screamed, rushing to pull him back, a strange panic seizing me. “You’ll go to jail if you kill them! It’s not worth it!” His eyes were bloodshot. “They insulted you!” “They were just threats! You saved me, remember?” I gently took the thick baseball bat from his hands, my voice soft. He always listened to me. After the men were dragged away, he clung to me like a lost puppy. “Even threatening you isn’t okay,” he mumbled into my shoulder. We got together after that. From college, to marriage, to… this. Everything started to sour the day Leah Jones joined his company, three years into our marriage, and began her regular pilgrimages to Caleb’s study. At first, I dismissed her as a naive, ambitious graduate. What boss doesn’t appreciate a hardworking employee? But then she started coming to our house every single week, locking herself in the study with him for the entire day. Any time I needed Caleb, she would intercept, claiming it was urgent work and subtly implying that I was being childish. On my birthday, we had plans. We were going to pick up his mother and go out for a nice dinner. Leah appeared at our door, pulling on Caleb’s sleeve with a look of feigned distress. “Mr. Cross, there are still a few things in the report I don’t understand. You know me, I won’t be able to sleep if I can’t figure it out. Maybe… maybe I could tag along? The more the merrier, right?” “Of course,” Caleb said, already ushering her toward the car. “What part of your personality is this?” I finally snapped, planting my hand on the car door. “The part that thinks it’s okay to intrude on a husband and wife’s private life? Let me get this straight, Leah. What kind of person crashes a private birthday dinner to talk about work? Does the thought of me enjoying myself give you nightmares? Or is there something else you’re after?” I shot a look at Caleb. “That’s not it…” she stammered, a flicker of guilt on her face. Seeing Caleb’s frown, she straightened her spine. “I was just trying to be helpful. If you can’t appreciate that, you don’t have to humiliate me. I’ll just go!” But Caleb still made her get in the car. “What are you so upset about?” he said, smiling as he fastened my seatbelt. “Her intentions are not pure.” “She’s just a kid fresh out of college. What harm could she do? I think you’re overthinking it. Give her a chance. She’s a good kid, hardworking. You’ll like her once you get to know her.” Again and again, he defended her. It was like he was speaking a foreign language. I became a stranger to him, and in his eyes, I was nothing more than a spoiled, jealous wife. 5 So many times, I told her to get out, to never set foot in our house again. And every time, Leah would put on a show, acting as if she’d been mortally wounded and was about to flee in tears. And every time, Caleb would step in to stop me. “Stella, you’re crossing a line. Leah is one of my top executives, someone I mentored myself. Can you stop being so suspicious of everyone? This is my house, and you don’t get to make the rules!” That was the first time his words truly cut me. In a rage, I threw the divorce papers at him. But all it took was a few soft words of apology from him, and I would foolishly tear them up and forgive him. And then Leah would be back in the study. Over time, I grew tired of this version of myself. So yes, I’m tired. I’m done forgiving. But to have a love that was once so profound and all-consuming simply extinguish itself… it’s impossible not to feel a sense of loss. Until two weeks ago, when my mother died.

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After remarrying Eason Dassin, I became the perfect wife. The kind who never checked his phone, who never asked where he’d been. At our college reunion, when someone asked him about his biggest regret, Eason’s eyes flickered instinctively to Sophie Lane. A drunk classmate, inhibitions gone, slurred loudly, “Are you kidding? We all know Eason’s biggest regret is that he never got to marry the campus queen!” “He even divorced his first wife for her,” another chimed in, “but some people are like glue. They just won’t let go and practically begged him to take them back.” The atmosphere turned instantly awkward. Eason, expecting me to fly into a rage like I used to, started to formulate an explanation. But I just smiled and smoothed things over for him. “It’s alright,” I said. “Everyone has regrets.” I have one, too. My biggest regret is that the first time we divorced, I was so blinded by rage that I walked away with nothing. In the new divorce agreement I had drafted, I would not be the one leaving with empty hands. 1 “Hillary, what’s your biggest regret?” As we waited for our ride-share, Eason leaned against the car and asked the question out of nowhere. I was scrolling through my phone, and I didn’t even look up. “I forgot.” “You forgot?” He clearly didn’t believe me. I didn’t respond, and the silence between us thickened. After a long moment, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just feel like… since we got back together, you’ve been different. Strange.” “You’re being too sensitive.” Hearing his own words thrown back at him left Eason speechless. A flicker of anger ignited in his eyes. “Before we remarried, I promised you, over and over, that I would never let Sophie interfere in our lives again. I promised to keep my distance.” “Even tonight, at the reunion, we came and left separately. What more do you want from me?” His patience had always been thin; this was a long speech for him. “How many times do I have to tell you? If it wasn’t for Sophie’s father, I never would have made it out of that little coastal town.” I locked my phone and looked at him, my voice calm against his rising tide of frustration. “You don’t have to explain. I know.” I had heard the same speech a thousand times. It was why I tolerated him pulling strings to get Sophie a position at his hospital right after graduation, keeping her close by his side. It was why I put up with her constant presence in our lives, why there was always a third chair at our table, even on our wedding anniversary. It was why I accepted that they shared every mundane detail of their days, while my own messages to him were met with curt, one-word replies. But the day I came home early from a business trip and found them tangled together, naked in our bed… that was the day I stopped tolerating anything. I filed for divorce, willing to walk away with nothing just to be free of him. I never expected that, shortly after, my mother would be diagnosed with a malignant tumor that required immediate surgery. A complex, risky surgery that only one person could perform. Eason Dassin. So, I went to him. I begged him. More chilling than my own emotional relapse was his response. “Hillary, you know how busy I’ve been since my promotion to department head.” “However,” he added, a smug little smile playing on his lips, “if the patient were my mother-in-law, I would certainly make the time to operate myself.” He leaned in. “So… have you learned your lesson?” I stared at him, and under his triumphant gaze, I nodded. We got remarried. But a shattered mirror can’t be made whole again. We shared a bed, but we were strangers. Just like tonight. “Eason! I knew you hadn’t left! I told you he’d never leave Sophie all alone!” Sophie’s college roommate waved from across the parking lot, half-supporting a stumbling Sophie as they approached. “She’s too beautiful to go home by herself. I was worried. You always used to be the one to drive her, right?” She shot me a pointed, mocking glance. “You, on the other hand… you’re not exactly turning heads, are you, Hillary? You’ll be fine getting home on your own.” Eason looked at the drunk, clinging Sophie, then at me. He was torn. It turned out that no matter how many times I saw it, his hesitation still burned like a brand on my heart. But unlike before, I didn’t scream or cry. I just held up my phone, my face a blank mask. “My car is here. I’m leaving.” As my driver pulled up, Eason helped Sophie into the back of his car. He rolled down the window and looked up at me. “Go home and wait for me,” he said. “I’m performing your mother’s final surgery tomorrow. We need to go over the details tonight.” Unsurprisingly, Eason never came home. But this time, I didn’t wait up for him like a fool. If a breakup is a kind of withdrawal, then I had been forced through the agony of it twice. The first time, I had a complete breakdown. I deleted his number, threw out everything that reminded me of him. But after years together, his ghost was everywhere. The love letters he’d written were still tucked inside the books he gave me, every word a promise. The scarf he spent a month knitting, his fingers raw and pricked from the needles, his goofy smile as he urged me to try it on. He knew I loved stargazing, so he spent two months’ worth of his part-time salary on a telescope, and proposed to me under a once-in-a-century meteor shower. “Hillary,” he had said, “I have no parents, no one. I want to be yours. I want you to possess me, to control me.” But later, he had said, “I see Sophie as the only family I have in this world. Hillary, why do you have to be so possessive?” Family? What kind of family sleeps together naked in the same bed? I’d heard the rumors about them back in school. They said Eason was a genius, a top scholar, and that the university had only accepted Sophie as a favor to him. They came from the same small fishing town, childhood friends. The connection was too close for comfort. “Her father adopted me,” he had explained. “I would have died without him. It’s a debt I have to repay. But Hillary, trust me. In my heart, she will only ever be a sister to me.” I believed him. And it cost me five years of my life. To be honest, the first time I saw him after the divorce, my heart still hammered against my ribs. His phone’s lock screen was still a photo of us together. It was as if nothing had changed. This remarriage was my second, self-prescribed round of withdrawal. I couldn’t forgive him, couldn’t pretend it never happened. But I also couldn’t just walk away, couldn’t make a clean break. Not yet. So, I decided to use a dull knife. Slow, painful, but thorough. And after six months, I was finally numb. Once my mother’s final surgery was over, I could divorce him again, this time without any baggage. I had the papers drawn up already. A seventy-thirty split of our assets, in my favor. He was the one who broke our vows. It was only fair that he pay the price. But the next day, Eason vanished. The surgeon who was forced to take his place was sweating bullets. “We can’t reach Dr. Dassin! You’re his wife, you don’t know where he is?” His voice was grim. “I have less than a ten percent chance of success with this procedure. You… you need to prepare yourself.” Eason’s phone went straight to voicemail. I called over a hundred times, my fingers moving mechanically, dialing the same number again and again until I was numb. And then, finally, someone picked up. “Eason, where the hell are—” “Oh, is this Hillary? Eason had to take me back to my hometown last minute. He’s in the shower right now.” My world went silent. My brain was pure static. The phone slipped from my hand, the screen shattering on the marble floor. In that split second, through the crackling speaker, I thought I heard Eason’s voice. “Who was that? Was it Hillary?” “No, darling,” Sophie cooed. “Just a spam call.” For the next three hours, I knelt outside the operating room, praying, begging for my mother’s life. When the light above the door finally went out, a doctor came out holding a single sheet of paper. The death certificate. I handled the funeral by myself. For seven days, I moved through a fog. On the eighth day, Eason finally came back. “I’m sorry, I—” Before he could finish, I swung my hand and slapped him across the face, hard. “You bastard, Eason!” I screamed, my voice raw. “You killed my mother!” The force of the blow snapped his head to the side. But to my surprise, he didn’t get angry. He just patiently explained, “Your mother’s prognosis wasn’t good. Even if the surgery had been a success, she would have suffered through endless rounds of chemotherapy.” “Sophie’s father was suddenly on his deathbed. If I hadn’t gone with her, she might not have seen him one last time.” I was shaking with so much rage I could barely form a sentence. I never imagined the cruelty could go deeper. “You grew up without a father,” he said calmly. “It’s normal that you wouldn’t understand that kind of bond.” I stared at him in disbelief, unable to connect the man in front of me with the loving person I once knew. He knew. He knew my father had died in his mistress’s bed when I was eight years old. It was the deepest wound of my life. He had held me then, promising to protect me forever. In that moment, something inside me snapped. I grabbed anything I could reach and hurled it at him, screaming for him to die. He just watched me, his eyes cold and distant. When I was done, he said, “You know, Hillary, I prefer you like this.” “Stop pretending,” he added, turning to leave. “It’s pointless.” After he was gone, I collapsed onto the floor amidst the wreckage and sobbed until I had nothing left. I started to hate him. I hated him for taking the very knife I had given him and plunging it into my heart without a second thought. Then my phone buzzed. It was a text from Sophie. [Hey, Hillary. Heard about your mom. So sorry for your loss~] [It’s all Eason’s fault, really. I told him my dad just had a little cold, but he insisted on dropping everything to come home with me.] [But then again… you’re the one who just had to have him back, right? If there’s anyone to blame, it’s yourself.] The messages sent me over the edge. I grabbed my phone and stormed into the hospital. I reported Eason and Sophie for their unprofessional conduct. I reported Eason for gross negligence, for abandoning a patient for personal reasons, resulting in my mother’s death. But the hospital administration didn’t launch an investigation. They just “invited” me into an office. They told me it was a “private matter” and they couldn’t get involved. Their words were a veiled threat: Eason was a star surgeon, an asset they had paid a fortune to recruit. I should just drop it. Eason arrived while I was arguing with the hospital director. “How is this not his fault? My mother would still be alive if it weren’t for him!” Eason said only one thing. “I apologize. My wife has been under a great deal of stress lately. Her mental state is… unstable.” The looks of sympathy in the room instantly curdled into something else. They took a subconscious step back, creating a physical distance between us. Soon, it was just Eason and me in the small office. “Hillary. Apologize.” I had cried so much my eyes were swollen nearly shut, but I could feel the weight of his condescending stare. “You shouldn’t have made a scene here. What if this gets out? It could ruin Sophie’s reputation.” “So, I want you to apologize to her.” I was done talking. I turned and reached for the door. I would go to the media, to the press. I would expose their dirty secret. Then I heard him sigh softly behind me. “Lili,” he said, using my old nickname. “You’re not leaving me any choice.” As the youngest department head in the hospital’s history, a celebrated prodigy in the medical field, it had taken him seven years to climb to his position. It only took him seven days to have me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I lost count of the times I insisted I wasn’t sick, only to be met with higher doses of tranquilizers and tighter restraints. So I stopped fighting. I became calm. I waited for my chance. And finally, I got it. I escaped. I had no money, and I was still wearing the hospital’s drab patient gown. People on the street avoided me like the plague. I finally found a kind girl in a nearby mall and begged to borrow her phone. But as I held it, I hesitated. Who could I call? The police? In my current state, they would most likely contact my sole legal guardian: Eason. That would only lead to being locked up again.

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The day I asked for a divorce, I slapped the evidence of my husband’s ten-year affair with his business partner on the table. Evan stared at the file, his face a mask of shock. “So you knew? Ten years ago, you already knew about Zoey and me?” “Yes.” A long silence stretched between us. “Then why now?” he finally asked. “Why wait until now to divorce me?” “Because I no longer have to endure it.” Our daughter’s final exams were over. I was done pretending. 1 I ignored the swirling confusion and shock in Evan’s eyes, pushing the divorce agreement across the table toward him. “The company shares in your name, we split them fifty-fifty. Everything else—all other assets—comes to me.” Evan’s eyes scanned the document, his brow lowering with each line. He slammed the papers down. “Impossible!” he roared. “How is that any different from leaving me with nothing? I will not agree to this divorce!” He leaned forward, his voice rising. “And besides, you’ve been a housewife all these years! You haven’t touched the business. I was the one out there, grinding, closing deals, drinking until I was sick to build this company. What right do you have to half the shares?” I didn’t get angry. I simply leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms, my tone as casual as if I were discussing the weather. “Fine. Let’s take it to court.” “But I should remind you,” I continued, “with the evidence I have, I can easily file for an asset freeze. All our marital property will be locked down, including your shares. And while we’re at it, I can also sue Zoey to claw back every penny of our marital funds you spent on her over the years. If I freeze her assets, that will certainly include her shares in the company.” I let that sink in. “The company is about to go public. With the shares of the two largest stakeholders frozen simultaneously… you can forget the IPO. The entire company’s operations will be paralyzed.” Evan’s hand, resting on the table, clenched into a tight fist, the veins bulging on his forearm. He spoke through gritted teeth. “So you planned this. You deliberately chose this exact moment to bring this up.” I held his gaze, my expression unreadable. “Do you remember what yesterday was?” He looked utterly lost, his eyes blank. “Yesterday,” I prompted, “was the last day of Chloe’s final exams.” Watching his eyes widen in dawning horror, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. He’d forgotten. Of course, he had. How many important dates had he forgotten over the years? My birthday. Our anniversary. And now, he had forgotten the single most important milestone in his daughter’s life. I closed my eyes and let out a long, slow breath. When I opened them again, they were clear. “Our daughter has graduated. Divorcing now won’t affect her anymore.” 2 Under Evan’s stunned gaze, I slid the agreement back in front of him. “Fifty-fifty on the shares. You have two options. One, you transfer the equity to me, which will require a shareholder vote. Or two, you buy me out.” He exploded. “Are you insane? You’re taking everything else! Where am I supposed to get the money to buy you out?” I shrugged. “Then give me the shares. Or we go to court. Your choice.” “You—” He was seething, a vein throbbing in his temple. But my face remained a mask of cool indifference. He finally choked out his decision through clenched teeth. “Fine. I’ll buy you out.” It was just as I’d expected. The IPO was everything to him. If we divorced and I took half the shares, his control over the company he’d built would be threatened. After all this work, he would never allow that to happen. He scrawled his name on the signature line, then threw the document at me before storming toward the door. He yanked it open, only to find Chloe standing there. She froze, clearly startled. My heart leaped into my throat. My plan had been to finalize the divorce and then gently break the news to her. I had waited until she was out celebrating with her friends to have this confrontation with Evan. I never thought she’d be home so soon. What should I do? How much had she heard? “Chloe…” I started, stepping toward her. But her eyes, red-rimmed and furious, were fixed on her father. “Is it true, Dad?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “What Mom said? Have you been with another woman for the last ten years?” Evan’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He just lowered his head in silence. Chloe’s eyes welled with tears. She bit her lip, turned, and ran. “Chloe!” I started after her, but a hand clamped around my wrist. I spun around to face Evan’s furious glare. “Sienna, did you have to do this? Did you have to get a divorce and hurt our daughter like this?” I stared at him, my own anger flaring. “Let’s be very clear, Evan. You hurt her when you betrayed our marriage. When you betrayed this family!” Ignoring his stunned expression, I wrenched my arm free and ran out the door after my daughter. I searched everywhere, finally finding her in the small park near our neighborhood. She was sitting on a bench, staring blankly into the distance. I sat down beside her. Her voice, when she spoke, was a ragged whisper. “Mom… I’m so sorry.” 3 Tears streamed down Chloe’s face. Panicked, I pulled her into my arms, stroking her back. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetie. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She let out a choked sob. “But you knew! You knew Dad was cheating all this time, and you endured it for ten years… for me.” My hand stilled on her back. A familiar ache spread through my chest. She wasn’t apologizing for a mistake. She was apologizing for my pain. “Oh, honey,” I whispered. “It wasn’t endurance. It was a choice. A calculated decision that adults have to make.” “I made that choice because I wanted you to grow up happy and healthy, in a whole family.” Chloe pulled away, her tear-filled eyes locking on mine. She blinked, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “But a person only has so many decades. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to carry the pain of his betrayal alone for ten years.” Ten years. It was a long time. I sighed softly, my expression softening. I smiled, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and gently wiping the tears from her face. “Who said this family only brought me pain?” I said, playfully pinching her cheek. “You’ve brought me so much joy over the years.” “Besides,” I added, “it’s not too late for me. I’m only in my forties. The best is yet to come.” A small laugh escaped Chloe’s lips. She nodded, her expression firming. Then I remembered something, and my own face grew serious. “But I didn’t ask you. I just went ahead and asked your dad for a divorce. Are you… are you angry with me?” Chloe’s head snapped up. There were still tears clinging to her lashes, but her gaze was resolute. “Mom, we are all independent individuals. You have the right to pursue your own freedom and happiness. You don’t need my permission for that.” “And I will always, always support your decisions. Just like you’ve always supported my dreams.” I stared at her, my own eyes filling with hot tears. In that moment, I knew. My daughter was truly grown up. 4 When Chloe and I got back to the house, Evan was still there. Chloe shot him a cold look, huffed, and walked straight to her room without a word. I turned to him. “Let’s go sign the papers tomorrow.” Then, ignoring the lost look on his face, I went to join Chloe. That night, we lay in her bed and talked for hours, sharing old memories. We laughed until our sides hurt, and we cried together. As the night wore on, we made a decision. It was time for a road trip. The day after the divorce was official, Chloe and I left. Ever since she was a little girl, Chloe had dreamed of building rockets. Aerospace was her passion. She was planning to apply to MIT, so we started our trip there, touring the campus. Then, we drove three thousand miles across the country to a beach town in the south. I was lounging on a beach chair, sipping a cold coconut water and watching Chloe play volleyball with some other tourists, when my phone started buzzing. It was Evan. Again and again. I ignored it. But he was relentless. Finally, I sighed, put down my drink, and answered. “Sienna, where did you put my blue striped tie?” A tie. He was ruining my vacation over a tie. If I wasn’t halfway across the country, I would have slapped him. “You’ve lived in that house for over a decade, and you can’t find your own things,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s clear you never saw it as your home anyway. Why don’t you just hurry up and move out? Move into a home where you can actually find your own ties.” I hung up. Until the divorce was legally finalized, I couldn’t completely block him. I just silenced his calls and muted his messages and tried to forget he existed. When we finally returned home, Evan’s pent-up frustration exploded. “Sienna, you’re finally back!” he yelled. “Look at this place! You just run off without a word, and the house is a disaster! I can’t find anything!” “And my suits! No one’s been ironing them. They’re all wrinkled! How am I supposed to see clients like this? You’re in your forties! Can’t you stop being so selfish and just abandoning your family?” I almost laughed. Had he lost his memory? We were divorced. He wasn’t my problem anymore. I was about to tell him so when Chloe’s door opened. “You have no right to talk to Mom that way!” she shouted. 5 Evan looked as if he’d been struck, utterly dumbfounded that Chloe would yell at him. Her voice, strong and clear, echoed through the large house. “For as long as I can remember, Mom has been the first one up and the last one to bed. She handled every single thing in this house, all by herself. She never even let herself get sick.” “And you? What did you ever do? All you did was show up for meals and expect your clothes to be clean!” “The only reason you’re a ‘big shot boss’ now is because Mom was here, ironing every one of your suits, polishing every pair of your shoes, so you could look brilliant when you went out to impress those clients.” “Don’t think you’re so great just because you make some money. If Mom had a career, she’d probably earn more than you!” Before Evan could even process it, SLAM. Chloe shut her door. His face was beet red with fury. He couldn’t argue with Chloe, so he turned his anger on me. “Sienna, did you teach her to say those things? Is this how you raise a daughter? To disrespect her own father?” I was about to slap him when the door creaked open again. Chloe stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing. “Mom didn’t have to teach me. I have eyes. I have a brain.” “And I can tell you what she did teach me. She taught me to have a sense of responsibility. To have integrity. To have a moral compass.” “And you? What did you teach me? I look at you and all I see is a liar who betrayed his family, a coward with no integrity and no morals!” SLAM. The door shut again. Evan’s face was ashen. He stood there, trembling, as if he’d been physically assaulted. I slowly lowered my hand. To be so thoroughly condemned by your own child… it was a humiliation far worse than any slap I could deliver. He stormed back to his room, slamming the door behind him. When he emerged, he was dragging two large suitcases. Chloe and I were in the kitchen, laughing and talking as we made dumplings. We didn’t even look at him. The front door slammed shut, rattling the windows. Neither of us looked back. When the exam results were released, Chloe’s score was more than high enough for MIT. We hugged, jumping up and down with excitement. I couldn’t stop crying. In that moment, the last ten years of pain and sacrifice felt worth it. After we submitted her application, it was as if a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I never expected that Zoey would come looking for me. And I certainly never expected that she would be coming to convince me not to get the divorce.

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When our son turned one, a top lab found the “genius gene” in his DNA. I poured money into his development, and my parents were thrilled, pledging to groom him as their heir. At dinner, I suggested the “Little Buffett” finance camp. Mark cut me off, slamming three full glasses down. “The first,” he slurred, “is to five years of working like a dog, never spending on myself. The second is to my genius son, whose tuition costs me tens of thousands a year!” He downed all three. “And the third is to me, the world’s biggest fool—with a wife who only throws money away!” I was shocked. “Our son has a gift! Should we just waste it?” My mother-in-law hugged our son. “Calm down. Evelyn meant well. Genius needs special investment.” Mark’s voice broke. “Mom, I won’t have a penny left for your retirement! If I’m laid off, we’ll be on the street!” I pulled out my phone. “I’ve already paid the $10,000 deposit.” He swept dishes off the table. “Fine! Let your rich family pay! We’ll link accounts under the ‘Fair Parenting’ system—every cent on our son, split 50-50!” Rage took over. “Fine! Split it! I’m not afraid!” But when the system activated, he was left speechless. 1 The “Fair Parenting” system, endorsed by the government, was famously impartial. Once you were linked, there was no backing out. “Fine, Evelyn,” Mark sneered, his breath reeking of liquor and rage. “You think you’re so smart. I’m sick of your family’s money-burning approach to education. Let’s do it! Right now! Whoever backs out is a coward!” He opened the app, a blue shield icon on his screen. His mother lunged for the phone. “Are you crazy? This is humiliating! Who splits the cost of raising their own child?” “I’ll get a job tomorrow, I won’t be a burden! But you can’t link this system!” Mark held the phone high above her head with one hand and slammed a thick stack of bank statements onto the table with the other. “Mom, open your eyes! In the last month alone—tuition, enrichment classes, some ridiculous ‘child development coach’—it’s been tens of thousands of dollars! My credit card is maxed out! I can’t take it anymore!” He was shouting so hard that tears welled in his eyes. His mother glanced at the statements, and the color drained from her face. She turned and snatched my phone. “Evelyn, dear, please! Mark is drunk. Don’t listen to him. This will ruin your relationship!” “What will your parents think of us? We’ll be more frugal, I promise! I won’t even eat meat! Please, I’m begging you!” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Thank you for your concern, Mom. But it was your son who just accused me of being useless and demanded we split everything.” My eyes darted to our son, playing on the floor. “Leo!” I shrieked. “What’s wrong?” My mother-in-law froze, whipping her head around to look at her grandson. In that split second, I snatched my phone back from her loosened grip. My thumb slammed down on the “Confirm” button. Mark, seeing my decisiveness, mirrored my actions with a furious tap. “Evelyn!” my mother-in-law shrieked, and then her hand flew out, slapping me across the face. The sting was sharp, shocking. “You can’t do this! Cancel it! Quickly!” she pleaded, her tone shifting from anger to panic. “Evelyn, I was just so worried. Please, let’s cancel it… Did I hurt you?” I touched my reddening cheek, my gaze fixed on her and her son. “You love me so much, Mom. It’s overwhelming.” Mark just scoffed. “It’s too late, Mom. We can’t cancel it.” “The system is legally binding. As long as Evelyn and I are alive, every penny spent on Leo will be split fifty-fifty.” His mother’s face turned ashen. She swayed on her feet, a look of pure, unadulterated panic in her eyes. Ding. Two notifications chimed simultaneously from our phones. [Fair Parenting System Notice: Mr. Mark Davis and Ms. Evelyn Reed, you have successfully linked your accounts. This system is now in effect and is legally enforceable. All parenting-related expenses will be calculated with absolute fairness. This agreement is not affected by marital status. The first settlement will be processed in 24 hours. Please ensure sufficient funds are in your account.] Mark threw his head back and laughed. “Just you wait, Evelyn! When that first bill comes, we’ll see who’s laughing then!” 2 That night, I stared at my phone, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Mark did work hard, and I had always been the one to manage his salary. I knew exactly what came in and what went out. In the last year alone, the imported, specially formulated milk for Leo cost four to five hundred dollars a month. The “Global Young Scientists” program was sixty-eight hundred a year for two classes a week. And then there were the ridiculously expensive potential assessments, the child development coach… My parents had helped out a lot. The ten-thousand-dollar deposit for the finance camp had come from my mother. But the bulk of the day-to-day expenses… they had come from Mark’s account. The first payment notification was due at 10 p.m. Was I really about to owe him a huge sum of money? I had just gone on a two-hundred-dollar grocery run yesterday, and I had used his card. “Scared now?” Mark drawled from the sofa, a smirk on his face. “Too late. You’re going to be crying when you see that bill.” At precisely 10 p.m., my phone buzzed. I took a deep breath and opened the notification. [Fair Parenting System Notice: First settlement complete. Regarding the submitted expense “August 5th grocery purchase of infant food, total $220.00”: This expense has been excluded from the cost-sharing calculation. This is for your information.] I blinked, my eyes widening in disbelief. At the same time, Mark shot up from the sofa, waving his phone in the air. “What the hell is this? The system must be bugged! Evelyn, what did you do? You’re the one who owes me money!” “Did my hundred and ten dollars just disappear into thin air? This isn’t fifty-fifty at all!” “Don’t you dare accuse me of anything, Mark!” I shot back. “How could I possibly cheat the system?” [System verification complete. The items from yesterday’s purchase were not consumed by the target child, Leo Davis.] “Bullshit!” Mark’s face was contorted with rage. “Not consumed by Leo? Then what, did the dog eat it?” [System accessing smart home surveillance and item recognition data… Displaying now.] The living room television flickered to life. His mother rushed to turn it off, but the power button was disabled. On the screen, we watched as she hid the expensive, imported formula I had just bought. She then took an empty can of the same brand and filled it with a cheap, generic powder. The scene shifted to that afternoon. She was feeding Leo a bottle made with the cheap, switched formula. A hot rush of anger surged through me. “Mom! What is the meaning of this? Why did you switch his formula? Why are you feeding Leo cheap garbage?” Her eyes darted around the room. “Evelyn, Mark, don’t misunderstand!” she stammered. “It’s not bad formula. It’s a special recipe from my hometown, even more nutritious than that imported stuff! I was just afraid you young people wouldn’t believe me, so I swapped it. I was only trying to help!” “Help?” I demanded, my suspicion growing. “If you were trying to help, why did you hide the formula I bought?” “I…” She was at a loss for words. Mark cut in, his brow furrowed. “What are you yelling at her for? She was just trying to do what’s best for Leo! All that imported stuff is probably just a scam anyway! Would Mom ever do anything to harm her own grandson?” I almost laughed. “Fine. Forget the formula. What about his food? Did you cook the cod and organic vegetables I bought? Did Leo eat any of it?” 3 “Of course I did!” his mother cried, her voice filled with indignation. “I make him a different nutritious meal every single day! It’s just that today…” She clutched her chest, her voice catching. “Mark, I went to the doctor a few days ago. He said I’m anemic, that I need to eat better. I know you have a lot on your plate, so I didn’t want to tell you. But I was so dizzy today, I just… I ate Leo’s meal myself. I’m so sorry…” She sobbed, her performance utterly convincing. Mark immediately rushed to her side. “Mom! Why didn’t you tell me? Your health is the most important thing!” I looked at my mother-in-law, whose complexion was healthier than mine, and felt a surge of disgust. “It’s a good thing we linked this system,” I said, my voice cold. “Every penny spent on Leo needs to be accounted for.” “Evelyn, have you no conscience?” Mark snarled, glaring at me. “Mom is clearly not well, and you’re still being sarcastic! It’s our fault for neglecting her!” His mother’s sobs grew louder. “Mark, it’s fine. It’s all my fault. This system… it’s just trying to tear our family apart! Maybe we should just cancel it?” “Cancel it?” I stood up straight. “Mom, once you start something, you have to see it through.” “Mom,” Mark asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, “be honest with me. Has this happened before? With the formula, or any of Leo’s other things?” “No! Absolutely not!” she interrupted, her voice shrill. “Mark, how can you not trust me? It was just this once!” He seemed to accept her answer. “It was just an accident. All the other money we’ve spent on Leo over the years was legitimate! I’ve done the math. When this is all said and done, you’re going to owe me at least a million dollars!” A humorless smile touched my lips. “We’ll see about that, Mark. We’ll see who owes who in the end.” … The next morning, another notification arrived. [System initiating retroactive review of “Genius Child All-Inclusive Insurance,” premium $3,000.] [Verification has revealed an abnormal beneficiary designation. Ruling: Evelyn Reed’s account to be credited $1,500. Mark Davis’s account to be debited $1,500.] “What the hell?” Mark’s roar nearly shook the house. “Evelyn! Look at this! This stupid system has lost its mind! We split that premium fifty-fifty last year!” I stared at the credit notification on my phone, completely bewildered. “System, what’s going on? This was already settled.” [System notice: Anomaly detected in the designated beneficiary of the policy.] “What kind of anomaly? The policy is for my son!” Mark paced the room like a caged animal. His mother emerged from the kitchen with breakfast, a look of concern on her face. “What’s all the shouting about? An insurance policy? Maybe the company made a mistake? Calm down, let’s talk this through.” “A mistake?” Mark was incredulous. “Mom, even if they made a mistake, they should be refunding the fifteen hundred to me! Why is Evelyn getting credited while I’m getting debited? This is robbery!” “Stop freaking out and let’s see what the system says!” I snapped. [System notice: Verifying policy information and modification logs… Verification complete.] [The insured individual has been modified. The currently linked identification and biometric data belong to ‘Oscar Davis.’]

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I ran into Peter Hawthorne during a late-night delivery shift. He took the condoms I’d brought, his robe hanging open to reveal angry red scratch marks trailing across his well-defined chest. “This is what you’re doing now?” he asked, his voice a lazy drawl. I managed a smile. “Gotta pay the bills. Don’t forget to leave a good rating, boss.” A woman’s soft voice called his name from inside the apartment. Peter glanced back over his shoulder before his eyes found mine again. “My number hasn’t changed,” he said. “If you’re in trouble, all you have to do is call.” I didn’t have time to answer. The dispatcher was already buzzing my phone with the next order, so I just turned and hurried back down the hall. The truth was, I’d gotten used to not depending on him a long time ago. 1 Back at the dispatch hub, a notification popped up on my phone. A bank transfer. Peter had sent fifty thousand dollars to my old account. I stared at it for a long moment, hesitating, before sending every cent of it back. I was working this job to save up for my family’s medical bills. Honestly, that money would have lifted a crushing weight from my shoulders, but it would have also thrown me headfirst into another abyss. An abyss named Peter Hawthorne. It took me three years to crawl out of that pit. I’d be a fool to jump back in. Peter didn’t say anything, but the next night, he placed another order. The system assigned it to me again. The elevator in his luxury condo building, which had been working perfectly fine the day before, was now plastered with an “Out of Service” sign. I had no choice. I hauled myself up thirty-six flights of stairs. When I finally appeared at his door, panting and drenched in sweat, he just arched an eyebrow. “Sorry about that. We ran out of what I bought yesterday.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Sounds like you two are having a good time.” As I turned to leave, his hand shot out, grabbing my arm in a viselike grip. He gritted his teeth, his voice laced with a fury I couldn’t comprehend. “Zoe, why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?” he snarled. “Would it kill you to just say something soft? To ask for help?” Confused, I wrenched my arm free and rushed off to my next delivery. Three years ago, I had said everything there was to say to Peter Hawthorne. I had pleaded, I had raged, I had whispered every broken, loving word I knew. All I got in return was the thunderous slam of a door and the endless dial tone on the other end of the line. What could he possibly want to hear from me now? Running into Peter again felt like waking from a nightmare. The specific details were already fading, but the suffocating, oppressive atmosphere lingered, clinging to me like a shroud. At least, I thought that was the worst of it. But then his sleek black sedan was parked right in front of the delivery hub. Maggie, my shift manager, rushed out to greet me, a strange mix of exasperation and amusement on her face. She gave my arm a light smack. “Zoe, you sneaky thing! Why didn’t you tell me your brother was the Peter Hawthorne? The one from all the business magazines?” she said. “He’s inside right now. Says he’s here to take you home. Now listen to me, stop fighting with your family and go back to your princess lifestyle.” My legs went weak, and I finally collapsed, curling into a ball on the side of the street. My voice was muffled. “He’s not my brother. He’s my ex-husband.” The smile vanished from Maggie’s face. “The one you had a nasty split with.” She was silent for a moment, then she gently pushed me into the shadows of a nearby alleyway to hide while she went back inside to deal with Peter. I don’t know what she said, but it wasn’t long before he stormed out, his face a mask of fury as she practically shoved him out the door. When I finally pulled myself together and went back inside, Maggie was fussing over something. She jumped when she saw me, then gave me an awkward smile as she pulled a small cupcake from behind her back. A single candle flickered on top, its tiny flame reflected in her eyes. “Well, this is a mess. I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said softly. “Happy birthday, Zoe.” It hit me then. Today was my birthday. Seven years ago today, I had been Peter Hawthorne’s ecstatic bride. Three years ago today, I had signed our divorce papers with a knife held to my own throat. And now, I was just me. I had nothing to do with Peter Hawthorne anymore. I wiped away the tears that had started to fall and closed my eyes, making a wish with all my heart. I wished for Maggie to have a long, happy life. I wished for Skye’s illness to be cured. And I wished that the past few days were just a fluke, a final, fleeting coincidence, and that Peter and I would go our separate ways and never see each other again. Maggie felt so bad about the whole thing that she insisted on taking me out for a late-night meal. We found a small diner, and after a couple of beers, I found myself telling her about Peter. His claim to be my brother wasn’t entirely a lie. When I was six, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne brought me into their home and adopted me. My mother had passed away when I was young, and my father raised me on his own. He was an engineer at Hawthorne Industries. One day, when the young master was visiting the corporate campus, he accidentally fell into the ornamental lake. My father used the last of his strength to push Peter to the surface. He never came back up himself. Peter Hawthorne owed me a life. From that day on, he was ready to give his for me at a moment’s notice. I couldn’t keep up at the international prep school they sent me to. The other kids mocked me, bullied me. Peter cornered them on the rooftop and single-handedly beat them black and blue. When the school called his parents in, he stood there with his chin held high, defiant. “They called her a stray with no family! Well, I’m not dead! And my mom and dad aren’t dead either!” Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne rushed to the school, one burying his face in his hand while the other offered a weary smile from the principal’s doorway. Neither seemed particularly eager to rescue their son. When I first came to live with the Hawthornes, I couldn’t sleep. I’d close my eyes and see my parents, covered in white sheets, never answering when I called. I never dared to cry out loud, but every night, a yawning Peter would drag his pillow and blanket into my room and set up camp by my bed. He’d reach out and pat my back. “Go to sleep. I’m here.” In high school, the love letters and confessions started piling up, and Peter’s temper grew shorter and shorter. He started hating it when I called him ‘brother,’ and God help anyone who dared to call him their ‘bro-in-law.’ After the hundredth time he’d challenged a boy who confessed to me to a fight, one of his friends finally joked, “Dude, you’re not falling for your sister, are you? You guys aren’t blood-related. She hasn’t even started dating and you’re already this territorial. It would all make sense if you were just jealous.” Peter’s face turned beet red, as if a switch had been flipped in his brain. He stumbled home in a complete daze. That weekend, his father summoned him to the study and yelled at him for what felt like hours. He came out with a shoe print on his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to care. He was just grinning like an idiot. The day we both got our acceptance letters to the same university, Peter confessed his love for me. I had no reason to say no. He was my superhero, the one who had stood between me and my nightmares for over a decade. After realizing his own feelings, he had been the one to confess everything to his parents, clearing away any obstacles before they could even form. Without Peter, my life would have a gaping hole that nothing could ever fill. We dated for years in college, blissfully happy. The moment we moved back home, he proposed. And that’s when everything went wrong. After graduation, we both started working at Hawthorne Industries. The company was a chaotic whirlwind of responsibilities, and we saw less and less of each other. He was the heir apparent; I was just another corporate drone. On the rare occasions we managed to schedule a date, it was always me who got called away for a work emergency. Peter threw a few tantrums about it, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty. After working nonstop for a week straight, I finally carved out some free time and decided to go home to surprise him. Maybe we were on the same wavelength, because when I walked in, the floor was scattered with rose petals. My favorite love song was playing softly from the speakers, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of wine. My heart melted. I walked toward the master bedroom, only to let out a bloodcurdling scream. Peter was asleep, wrapped around a strange girl who was wearing my silk robe. My world shattered. I fled our home, blocked his number, and disappeared. It took him three days to find me. The handsome, polished heir to the Hawthorne fortune was a wreck, his face gaunt and his eyes webbed with red veins. He knelt before me, swearing up and down that he’d been drunk, that he’d mistaken the new intern for me. “Zoe, I screwed up, I deserve to die, but I just missed you so much,” he pleaded. “You were never home. Everyone was saying it was like my fiancée didn’t even exist. We’ve been together for more than a decade. Are you really going to leave me over one stupid mistake?” I hesitated. Seizing the opportunity, Peter had the intern publicly fired. The image of her clutching a cardboard box, sobbing as she walked out of the building, even stirred a flicker of pity in me. We got married on schedule. At the wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne wept with joy, and Peter was practically manic with happiness. I let the festive atmosphere wash over me and made a silent promise to pay more attention to him. So when he suggested I quit my job after the wedding to be his pampered Mrs. Hawthorne, I agreed. The days flowed into years. One afternoon, Mrs. Hawthorne baked some scones and asked me to take them to Peter at the office. As I passed the breakroom, I heard a few women gossiping. One voice, chillingly familiar, floated out. “Oh, you guys didn’t know? The CEO’s wife? She used to be their adopted daughter. His little foster sister.” Another woman gasped. “Wow, talk about a social climber. Seducing your own adoptive brother to move up in the world. How shameless can you get?!” It turned out the entire company knew. That intern had never left Hawthorne Industries. Peter spoiled her rotten, and she felt entitled to say whatever she wanted, even spreading the rumor that Peter was resentful that I had trapped him into marriage, which is why he let her badmouth me. The position I had vacated? She’d been given it the very next day. But Peter was the future of the company, and I was just the wife who lived in his shadow. No one would ever dare cross him to tell me the truth. I was the fool, kept in the dark all along. I stormed into his office. He was reviewing a contract and didn’t even look up. “Didn’t I tell you Zoe was coming by today?” he said casually. “Be a good girl and stay out of her way. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I’ll buy you that bag you wanted.” When he received no answer, he finally looked up, a fond smile still playing on his lips. The smile died when he saw my ashen face. I raised hell. I demanded a divorce. Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, after scolding Peter, turned to me, trying to smooth things over. “Zoe, dear, you’re the only one in Peter’s heart,” his mother cooed. “That girl is just a pet to him, a toy. It means nothing. In our circle, it’s quite common for men to… keep young women around. Be sensible, dear. Don’t lower yourself to her level, alright?” I was their adopted daughter. We had a history of more than a decade. Before we got married, no one had mentioned a prenup. Mrs. Hawthorne had even told me I was like a real daughter to her and that she would leave all her shares to me, not even to Peter. I looked at her, my last hope flickering. “Auntie,” I asked, my voice small, “if I were your real daughter, would you be telling me the same thing?” She couldn’t meet my eyes. She just gave a bitter, silent smile. The sweet little boy who had built me a second home had grown up, and I, after all these years, realized I had never had a home at all. This time, Peter wasn’t panicked or haggard like the first time he’d been caught. He went to work, he came home, and he continued to dote on his intern. A gossipy friend asked him if he wasn’t afraid I’d actually go through with the divorce and take half of Hawthorne Industries. He just laughed, pulling the girl closer. “Zoe? I’ve been protecting her like a precious pearl my whole life. She’ll throw a fit, but she’ll never fly out of the palm of my hand.” Everyone assumed I would make a scene, then face reality and back down. No one believed I would actually leave. So when I filed for divorce, asking for nothing, they were completely blindsided. The headlines screamed about the high-society zero-dollar divorce. The Hawthorne Industries stock plummeted in response. Mr. Hawthorne, in a fit of rage, suffered a stroke. Mrs. Hawthorne was rushing him to the hospital when their car was struck by a truck. Everyone in the car, including the driver, was killed instantly. When I arrived at the hospital, Peter charged at me. The slap was so hard my ears rang. “Zoe!” he roared, his body trembling with rage. “You became an orphan, so you had to make me one too?! How can your heart be so cruel? I wish… I wish I had never met you!” I was already numb with grief, but his blow sent me stumbling backward, the world spinning around me. I fainted. The last thought that crossed my mind before I lost consciousness was one of regret. Peter was right. If I had never met him, my father would still be alive. I would have had a family, someone who truly loved me, someone who would have stood between me and any danger, unconditionally. Peter, I thought, I wish I had never met you, either. When I woke up, he was by my bedside, holding my hand. A storm of emotions crossed his face before it settled into a blank calm. “Zoe,” he whispered, “we’re having a baby.” He squeezed my hand. “You’ve given me a family again. For the baby’s sake… can we just pretend none of this ever happened? Please?” Exhausted and utterly hopeless, I nodded. This child would be my only family. Connected to me by blood, raised with real love and acceptance. For the first few months of the pregnancy, it seemed like Peter and I had reached a fragile truce. But he was terrified that I would still try to divorce him after the baby was born. So he moved to cut off all my escape routes. He had a specialist declare me mentally unstable, ensuring I would never get custody. He reported my university admission files for supposed fraud, getting my degree revoked so I would have no way to support myself independently. He was determined to turn me back into his precious pearl—perfect, round, and utterly incapable of leaving the palm of his hand. Incapable of hurting him, or myself, ever again. Only then did Peter relax. But someone else wasn’t finished with me. Someone was always taking pictures of me near the hospital I frequented. A car would tail mine whenever I left the house. The nanny, hand-picked from a top agency, was caught adding an unknown substance to my prenatal supplements. I was a nervous wreck, living in constant fear. One day, I called Peter, but a familiar face answered the video call. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Hawthorne,” the intern, Amber, purred. She was lounging by a pool in a bikini, showing off her flawless body. “You just focus on that little bun in the oven, honey. Wouldn’t want to get too many stretch marks.” Her tone was sickly sweet. “Peter’s in the shower. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of him for you. Besides, even if you lose this one, it’s no big deal. I’m younger, prettier, and healthier than you. I can definitely give him an even cuter baby.” My mind snapped. I fell to my knees, bowing my head to the camera on the floor. “Please,” I begged, “do whatever you want to me, just leave my baby alone!” I don’t know what she said to him, but a moment later, Peter took the phone. His voice was ice. “Are you having a paranoid episode?” he asked. “Zoe, if you’re going to have a meltdown, do it at home. Don’t go out and start biting at people.” He hung up before I could explain. He kept saying things could go back to the way they were, but I knew, with chilling certainty, that the Peter who would have fought the world for me was gone forever. On my way to another prenatal check-up, a car tailgated me so aggressively that my driver panicked, swerving and crashing into a roadside barrier. When Peter rushed to the hospital, there wasn’t a trace of concern on his face. He tossed a stack of photos onto my bed. “It’s over, Zoe,” he said flatly. “Go get rid of the baby. I can’t let my parents’ legacy go to some bastard.” They were photos of me in bed with a strange man. I picked them up. In the corner of one photo, I could even see a faint, tell-tale watermark from an AI generator that hadn’t been properly cropped. I didn’t bother pointing it out. I just looked at him, my voice quiet. “If I get rid of the baby, will you grant me a divorce?” Peter frowned. “No. The last thing my father said to me before he left that day was to apologize and take care of you for the rest of your life. I won’t let you leave me.” I didn’t cry or plead this time. I picked up the fruit knife from the bedside table, pressed it against my neck, and asked again. “If I get rid of the baby, will you grant me a divorce?” Peter actually laughed. “Zoe, who are you trying to scare? Do you really think, after everything, that I still care enough to be hurt by you?” So I pushed the tip of the blade into my skin, just enough to draw a thin line of red. And I asked him one last time. “Peter, if I get rid of the baby, will you grant me a divorce?”

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The day my husband, Julian, was declared brain-dead, his student, Lily, collapsed in a fit of sobs, begging me not to give up on him. In my first life, I did everything she asked. I sold our home, our cars, everything we owned, just to keep his body functioning. I only discovered later that it was all a charade—a meticulously planned fake death so he could escape a massive malpractice settlement and run away with her. I was the one who paid the price. The victim’s family, in their grief and rage, pushed me from a cliff. My body was never found. In this second life, I see everything clearly. If he wants to play dead to escape his responsibilities, then I will gladly help him achieve his “noble sacrifice.” The moment he was officially declared brain-dead, in front of the hospital’s board of directors and a scrum of reporters, I pulled out the document he had once used as a grandstanding PR stunt: his Anatomical Gift Donation Form. “Julian dedicated his entire life to medicine,” I announced, my voice trembling with staged emotion. “His greatest wish was to become a silent teacher for the next generation of doctors after his death. It’s because I love him that I must honor his last wish! I’m donating his body to the medical school!” 1 The silence in the ICU was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic, monotonous beep of the heart monitor. Dr. Julian Heard lay on the bed, his face a pale, waxy mask, his eyes sealed shut. The attending physician held up the EEG report and gave me a slow, sorrowful shake of his head. “May, I’m so sorry. We’ve confirmed it. There’s no brain activity.” Standing beside me, Lily let out a theatrical wail. Tears streamed down her face as she swayed, about to throw herself onto Julian’s body. “Dr. Heard… how could this happen… you’re so young…” The nurses and residents around us averted their gazes, their eyes red with emotion as they dabbed at their own tears. If I hadn’t lived through the horror of my past life, I might have almost believed her performance. I stood my ground, my own eyes dry, and simply watched Lily’s act unfold. She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with tears. “May… please don’t fall apart. I know he’s brain-dead, but as long as he’s on the ventilator, his heart is still beating. He’s still alive!” she pleaded. “We have to save him! We can’t give up! Even if it means bankrupting ourselves, we have to keep him on life support!” Bankrupting ourselves. Such a noble sentiment. Except she meant bankrupting me. Selling my assets. All to fund their escape, leaving me to deal with the fallout. In my last life, those very words had moved me to action. I sold our house, liquidated our savings, borrowed from every friend and family member I had, pouring tens of thousands of dollars into the hospital every single day. And what was my reward? Six months later, the money was gone. And Julian had “vanished” from his hospital bed. The next I heard from him was a phone call, asking me to meet him at a cliffside lookout. But when I arrived, it wasn’t him waiting for me. It was the family from his malpractice case. As I tumbled over the edge, his voice came through the phone one last time, twisted with venom. “You love me more than anything, right, darling? If you love me, you’ll die for me. Your life insurance policy will be just enough for Lily and me to start over somewhere nice and warm. She’ll never forget her dear mentor’s wife.” The wind had screamed in my ears as my body was torn apart on the rocks below. I took a deep, steadying breath and pulled my arm from Lily’s grasp. “May?” She stared at me, her face a mask of shock. I ignored her and turned to the attending physician, Dr. Evans. “Dr. Evans,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “Please call it.” He blinked, confused. “Call what?” “The time of death.” My voice didn’t waver. “Brain death is legal death. That’s medical fact. It’s better than letting him suffer, hooked up to a dozen machines like a living corpse. Let him go with dignity.” “No!” Lily shrieked. “May, are you insane? That’s your husband! Are you in such a hurry to see him die?” She scrambled in front of the bed, spreading her arms to shield Julian’s body. “As long as I’m here, nobody is touching his ventilator!” A murmur went through the staff gathered in the room. “Do you think the shock was too much for her?” “It seems so cruel… even if there’s just a sliver of a chance…” The tide of opinion was turning against me in an instant. On the bed, I saw Julian’s eyelashes flutter, an almost imperceptible movement. Slowly, deliberately, I reached into my purse and pulled out a file. “Everyone,” I said, my voice catching as I held up the document, tears welling in my eyes on command. “This isn’t my decision to make.” “Julian told me, more than once, that if anything ever happened to him, he never wanted to be kept alive by machines. He didn’t want a life without dignity. He dedicated his life to medicine. He said that if he couldn’t save lives on the operating table anymore, he wanted to become a silent teacher, to help students learn to save lives in his place!” The room fell silent. The color drained from Lily’s face. Her expression was frozen. “This is… an Anatomical Gift Donation Form,” I declared, slapping the document onto the bedside table. My voice rang with conviction. “It has Julian’s signature, notarized and legally binding. It’s because I love him that I have to honor his final wish! I’m donating his body to the medical school!” You want to play dead, Julian? Fine. I’ll make sure you become a real specimen. Preserved for eternity. 2 The donation form was real. Three years ago, Julian had orchestrated the whole thing as a publicity stunt to help him get his promotion to associate professor. He’d even had a local news crew interview him. He had laid it on thick, sounding so incredibly righteous. “I would rather my body be cut a thousand times if it meant paving the way for the future of medicine,” he had said, looking directly into the camera. He never imagined that the prop from his little performance would be the very thing that sealed his fate. Lily’s face was now the color of chalk. Of course, she knew about the form. She was the one who had run the paperwork to the notary’s office for him. She was trembling, her eyes darting in terror toward the man on the bed. Beneath the sheets, Julian’s fingers twitched violently. I saw it. But I pretended not to. Instead, I rushed forward and clasped his hand, my voice thick with emotion. “Darling, I know you can hear me,” I whispered. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your last wish is fulfilled.” Just then, the Dean of Medicine burst in, flanked by a nervous-looking group of hospital administrators. They had been in a panic over the malpractice settlement. But when he heard the news about the body donation, his eyes lit up. This was a godsend. A classic case of turning a disaster into a PR triumph. The negative press from the malpractice suit could be completely overshadowed by the moving story of a brilliant surgeon’s ultimate sacrifice for medicine. The Dean strode over, grabbing my hands with both of his, his mustache trembling with excitement. “Dr. Clarke! This is… a truly selfless act! Truly selfless!” he boomed. “Dr. Heard was the pride of this hospital, a pillar of the medical community! Rest assured, we will give him a send-off worthy of his immense contribution!” Lily panicked. If she didn’t do something, Julian was going to end up on a dissection table. “Mr. Dean, you can’t!” she cried, dropping to her knees in a heap. “His body is still warm! This is against protocol! We can’t just… just murder him!” She latched onto the Dean’s leg, smearing tears and snot all over his expensive trousers. I let out a cold, quiet laugh. “Dr. Shaw, did you sleep through your anatomy classes?” I looked down at her, my expression one of pitying disdain. “After brain death, the body’s thermoregulatory center fails. The warmth you’re feeling is just residual metabolic heat. It will dissipate soon enough.” I swept my gaze over the other doctors in the room. “We are all professionals here. Surely I don’t need to explain such a basic concept?” No one spoke. But the way they looked at Lily had changed. It was a mixture of confusion and contempt. For a surgical resident to argue against such a fundamental medical principle was deeply embarrassing. “Security,” the Dean ordered, his face darkening. “Please escort Dr. Shaw out. She’s overwrought with grief and is no longer behaving rationally.” Two guards moved in, lifting Lily by her arms. She struggled wildly, her eyes locked on the bed in desperation. “Dr. Heard! Say something! Wake up!” she screamed, her voice raw and cracking. Julian lay perfectly still. But I could feel his fear. He didn’t dare wake up. If he opened his eyes now, he would be exposed as a fraud. His career would be over, his reputation destroyed, and he’d be facing millions in debt and a prison sentence. He was gambling. He was betting that I was just bluffing. That in the end, I wouldn’t have the heart to actually pull the plug.

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