Leila Elkin, FNB’s new director, had ousted news queen Diana Croft, causing a city-wide scandal. Now she stood in my consignment shop, here to sell jewelry. “My darling had these custom-made,” she said, waving a hand. “He spoils me with so many gifts.” A diamond choker with a ruby the size of my thumb—worth at least ten million—lay beside other treasures. I smiled professionally. “Your husband must love you deeply.” But as I checked the certificates, the signature made me freeze. Leila sipped her tea, eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m not his wife. We’re just… first loves.” She leaned in, smiling. “He said he missed fifteen years of my life, so he bought fifteen gifts to make up for it. Romantic, isn’t it?” It was. But that same elegant signature had graced my report cards for years. It was my father’s, a man I’d believed for thirty years was too unromantic to ever give my mother a single surprise. 1 Noticing my stunned silence, Leila’s eyes narrowed with a hint of amusement. “Goes to show, you really do have to raise a girl with money. Otherwise, even when you’re surrounded by luxury all day, seeing the real thing still leaves you speechless.” I ignored the barb in her voice and composed myself, offering a cool smile. “Ms. Elkin, I can offer eight million for the ruby. You’ve just taken over as director at FNB; why the sudden need to sell your collection?” “Oh, I’m selling these to buy my love a birthday present,” she explained, a dreamy look in her eyes. “He gave me this massive rock the other day. Do you have any watches in a similar price range?” A desperate, sliver of hope flickered within me. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. The same name, the same handwriting… it could happen. “Could I perhaps see a photo of him?” I asked, my voice steady. “It would help me recommend a suitable style.” The moment she showed me the screen, that hope died. There was my father, his arm wrapped tightly around Leila, a genuine, unbridled joy in his eyes that I had never seen before. At home, his face was a constant mask of stern solemnity. Here, he was alive. “Ms. Lin, you’ve been staring at my man for quite a while,” Leila said, snatching the phone back. Her tone was sharp with displeasure, and the massive diamond on her finger flashed, searing my eyes. My parents had been married for thirty years. Our family of three was crammed into a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the Barrens, the grimiest part of Cresthaven. The living room doubled as my bedroom, a space so small that the three of us couldn’t walk around at the same time without bumping into each other. And yet this was the man who could afford to shower Leila Elkin with custom haute couture jewelry. Meanwhile, the only thing on my mother’s hand was a thin, misshapen silver band. “I was just struck by his devotion,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “To have stayed so faithful to you for all these years.” Leila let out a scornful laugh. “Oh, I know he got married after I left. I don’t care. Love and obligation are two very different things.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, back when I was leaving the country, I teased him. I said he had no masculine charm, just the smell of money. Do you know what the silly fool did?” I didn’t need to guess. Because of Leila’s casual joke, he had pretended to be poor for thirty years, never once using his wealth to ease our family’s burden. And because of one sweet murmur from her, he had instantly shed that disguise, ready to give her the world. Her sprawling penthouse apartment, her powerful job at the network—it was all from him. After settling on a watch for her, I stumbled home in a daze. I pushed open the door to our cramped apartment. My mother, her back slightly stooped, was navigating the tiny space, bumping into furniture. Her arms and waist were dappled with the faded purple of old bruises. We were poor. My father’s “salary” of two thousand a month was never enough. So, my mother worked as a cleaner for the wealthy. She was a beautiful woman, and she often came home in tears, having spent her day fending off the wandering hands of the men she worked for. She would cry, and then she would go back the next day. My father never defended her. He would just say, “Life isn’t a fairy tale, is it?” So she learned to keep her head down, to make herself small, to become the hunched figure she was today. Leila Elkin, on the other hand, always stood ramrod straight. Because my father was the ground beneath her feet. In my line of work, I dealt with the city’s elite. I had connections. It didn’t take much digging to uncover the truth. My father wasn’t just rich. He was powerful. He was the secret owner of FNB. I remembered when I was five and fell deathly ill. I watched my mother swallow every last shred of her dignity, getting on her knees to beg her employers for an advance on her wages. The money wasn’t enough. The surgery wasn’t entirely successful. To this day, my heart still seizes in my chest if I walk too fast. Seeing me, my mother’s tired face broke into a smile. “Sophie, I found a new client! She’s paying so well. We’ll be able to afford a new place for you soon!” She had no idea. My father had already bought someone else a new place—a penthouse in the heart of downtown. I looked at her, a lump forming in my throat. “Mom,” I said, my voice thick. “I have something very important to tell you.” 2 My mother sat on the sofa—my bed—wearing a faded, mended shirt. It was the only gift my father had ever given her. “Sophie, what is it? Should I call your father?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “He just lost his job, you know. He’s probably out pounding the pavement at the recruitment agencies.” He’d used that excuse to stay away from home for the past three days. Meanwhile, Leila had just posted an update to her social media. He said I needed to network, so he bought me a golf course. My mother’s hands were swollen and chapped from years of hard labor. The hands my father was holding in the photo were slender, pale, and perfectly manicured. “Mom,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Dad is having an affair.” I couldn’t meet her eyes. I just stared at the floor. “Sophie, how can you say that about your father?” she protested, her voice rising. “He’s just been away for a few days! He’s doing it for us, for our family!” I said nothing. I just unlocked my phone and showed her the photos I’d taken today: the purchase authorizations for all those custom pieces. The signature, the name, the ID number. It was all him. Then, I showed her more. “Mom, Dad has been lying to us for thirty years. He’s rich. He doesn’t need to work. He has more money than we could ever imagine.” I watched as her shoulders began to tremble. Tears spilled from her eyes, silent and steady, soaking the front of her worn shirt. Every month, my father gave her just enough to cover the barest of expenses. My school tuition was paid for with her humiliation, one degrading job at a time. She wasn’t just a cleaner for the rich; she’d swept streets and scrubbed public toilets. She never took a day off. She gave everything for our family. But my father never gave her a single surprise. He even forgot their anniversary every year. “In our situation, what’s there to celebrate?” he’d always say. And my mother, though her eyes held a flicker of hope, eventually learned to say nothing. But he remembered every one of Leila’s preferences. Every gift he gave her was steeped in meaning. “Mom,” I said, my voice cold and hard. I had to be cruel to be kind. “Leila was his first love. The only reason he pretended to be poor was because of a joke she made years ago.” I watched her face crumble as the screen glowed with undeniable proof. “On your birthday, the fifteenth of this month, not only did he not get you a gift, he didn’t even come home.” I took a shaky breath. “That was the day he was at a high-end auction, spending a fortune on a diamond for Leila.” My voice was getting tighter, strangled. “Can’t I just… pretend I don’t know?” she whispered, her voice choked with tears, interrupting me. A surge of hot anger rushed through me. Even now, she wanted to protect him! But then I heard her next words. “He’s so rich… you’re his daughter. He’ll look out for you. It’s okay if he wants to divorce me, Sophie, as long as he takes care of you.” I hadn’t planned on crying. But hearing that, I broke down completely. The crushing weight of life had tamed my mother into a creature of infinite patience and forgiveness. Meanwhile, Leila, coddled and adored by my father, got everything she ever wanted. Why? I wiped the tears from my mother’s face. “No. If we divorce him, I’ll make sure he leaves with nothing.” 3 My mother was still hesitant. “He’s so powerful, Sophie. Can we really win against him?” Poverty had made me a target for bullies when I was a child. My father never stood up for me, which taught me to fight my own battles and never back down. He owed us. And I would make him pay back every single debt. “Trust me, Mom,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ve got this.” I tracked down the contact information for Diana Croft, the star anchor Leila had pushed out, and sent her a text. I have a story that can get you your job back. Her reply was instant. I’m listening. But purchase receipts weren’t enough to nail him for adultery. All of Leila’s social media photos were carefully framed to hide his face. So, I used the expensive watch as an excuse and arranged to deliver it to her at FNB studios myself. When I arrived at her office, Leila was thrilled with the timepiece, immediately snapping photos of it. Then she took out her phone and sent a voice message. “This is your birthday gift from me, darling. Will you come pick me up after work today?” The reply came back as a voice note, too. Leila played it without a hint of shame. “Leila, my love, just having you by my side is the greatest gift. You don’t need to buy me things like this.” At that exact moment, my mother sent me a screenshot of her own text conversation. Will you be home for your birthday? she had asked my father. His reply: The best gift you could give me is to stop complaining and stop being so needy all the time. Seeing me staring at my phone, Leila leaned back in her chair, a smirk on her face. “Envious of my love story, little girl? It’s a shame, really. But what can you do? Blame your parents for not giving you a better start in life.” The irony was so thick I could choke on it. My father hadn’t given me a good start. But he’d certainly given her one. Walking through the FNB building earlier, I’d overheard employees whispering about her incompetence. The ratings had plummeted to less than half of what they were under Diana Croft. “I’m launching a new segment,” Leila announced, examining the watch. “Interviews with poor people like you. Should be fascinating, don’t you think?” She picked up an alcohol wipe and began meticulously cleaning the watch I had just handed her, even though I’d worn gloves. Her eyes were filled with disdain, as if my very presence was contaminating her space. Once she signed the confirmation receipt, I left. I sat in a coffee shop across the street from the FNB tower for hours, waiting. Finally, the workday ended. Leila emerged, clicking down the steps in her sharp stilettos. A sleek sports car pulled up to the curb. My father got out. They fell into each other’s arms, their lips meeting in a long, deep kiss. Leila leaned against his chest, laughing softly. My face was a mask of ice as I raised my phone and captured photo after damning photo. I showed them to my mother as soon as I got home. I needed to steel her resolve, to make sure she wouldn’t beg him to come back. In the past, she would try to be affectionate with him, to cuddle up to him, but he would always subtly push her away, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. Now, looking at the pictures, she just smiled faintly. “I’ve already started looking at new apartments. Once the divorce is settled and we get the money, I can buy one outright.” But before I could package the evidence and send it to Diana, I got a call. It was about my mother. There had been an incident.

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Seven years after I cheated death, I saw Jenna again on a construction site. She stood in the dust in her high heels while I squatted by a concrete pillar, shoveling a three-dollar lunch into my mouth. A familiar voice, laced with hesitation, cut through the noise. “Leo Zio… is that you?” She reached out to touch my shoulder. The chopsticks in my hand froze. I looked up, and the noon sun was a blinding glare, making my vision swim. Jenna’s voice trembled with a shocked delight. “It really is you! I thought… after all these years, I thought you were…” I didn’t answer. I just shifted my body, avoiding the hand that hovered in mid-air. Her eyes instantly reddened. She pulled a silent, sullen teenager from behind her. “Alex was only ten when you left,” she said, her voice catching. “We went to the crash site every year to lay flowers…” She choked back a sob. “Why didn’t you ever come back to us?” I silently scraped the last grain of rice from the container, my gaze drifting to the slight swell of her stomach. Seven years is long enough to change everything. We were on different paths now. … Seeing my unresponsiveness, a flicker of frustration crossed Jenna’s face. She took another step closer, her expression a complicated mix of pity and dismay as she stared at my dust-caked tank top. “Are you still angry with me?” she asked. “Look at what’s become of you since you left me. What good has it done you?” I stood up and tossed the empty container into a trash barrel. “You’ve got the wrong person,” I said, my voice empty. Jenna’s face froze. Her hands clenched into fists. “You can disown me, but are you going to disown Alex, too? He’s your son!” The boy standing beside her flinched, his head bowed. “Dad…” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. My fingers, hanging loose at my side, curled slightly. The world went quiet for a moment, the only sound the wind whistling through the unfinished building. A moment later, one of the guys yelled that it was quitting time. Jenna’s gaze remained fixed on me, burning into my back. The foreman counted out a few crumpled red bills and stuffed them into my hand. A few hundred dollars—just enough to cover a month’s rent. As I turned to leave, Jenna couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed my arm, her voice urgent. “If you need anything, just tell me. Whatever you want, I’ll help you get it.” Hearing that, I slowly turned back to look at her, and at Alex, who stood a few feet away. Under her expectant gaze, I silently pried her fingers from my arm, one by one. “What I want,” I said, “you can no longer afford to give.” Jenna opened her mouth to say something more, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t follow me. I didn’t have the time or energy to waste on people who no longer mattered. Just staying alive took everything I had. I lived in a cramped, single room in a rundown tenement not far from the site. It was less than a hundred square feet, the roof leaked when it rained, and it was right next to the communal bathroom. The stench of stale urine was a constant companion, even in my sleep. It was completely dark by the time I got back. I’d just laid out my bedroll on the floor when a knock came at the door. I figured it was the landlord chasing rent, but when I opened it, I found Jenna standing there, looking hesitant. Caleb Thorne stood beside her, his hand placed protectively over her pregnant belly. They were both dressed in designer clothes that looked painfully out of place in this slum. My first instinct was to slam the door, but Caleb was faster, wedging his foot in the opening. He pushed his way inside, covering his nose and mouth as he scanned the squalid room, his eyes finally landing on me. “When Jenna told me you were still alive, I didn’t believe it,” he said. “We all looked for you after the… accident. Couldn’t even find a body. We held a funeral for you, you know.” His words were so absurd I almost laughed. The fists at my sides tightened. Caleb surveyed my living space, a flicker of what looked like pity in his eyes. “In the seven years you’ve been gone, Jenna and I got together.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “We’re not married yet, but she’s pregnant with my child.” I finally looked up, meeting their gazes. “Are you finished? If you’re finished, you can go.” I pulled the door wide open, gesturing for them to leave. Neither of them had expected me to be so calm. Jenna’s voice was hoarse. “I just want to help you.” At her words, an idea seemed to strike Caleb. He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet, then pressed a business card into my hand. “Leo, you used to be a lawyer. A damn good one. If you want, you can come work at my firm.” He lowered his voice. “I know you’re a ghost right now, no official records. We can help you with that. We’re all old friends, Leo. There’s no need to make things ugly.” Having said his piece, as if a duty had been discharged, Caleb took Jenna’s arm to lead her away. Before she left, Jenna looked back at me one last time. “Call me if you need anything. Alex… he really misses you.” I slammed the door shut, cutting off her look of feigned concern. Then, without a flicker of emotion, I tore Caleb Thorne’s business card into tiny pieces. Jenna’s so-called help was nothing but an attempt to buy absolution for her guilt. But seven years had passed. I no longer needed it. After they left, sleep wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes, the past flooded back in, and with it, a hate that grew stronger with each passing moment. To distract myself, I started cleaning the filthy room. In the corner was a dusty old box. As I lifted it, a picture frame fell out, shattering on the floor with a jarring crack. It was a family photo. Me, Jenna, and a much younger Alex. Alex wasn’t my biological son. After Jenna and I married, I knew she had a low tolerance for pain, and I couldn’t bear the thought of putting her through childbirth. So, I had a vasectomy. We found Alex in a dumpster on a snowy Christmas Eve. He must have been abandoned right after birth; his umbilical cord was still attached. His tiny fists were clenched, and a weak, desperate cry came from his throat. Jenna had frowned, trying to pull me away. “Leo, don’t get involved. We don’t have the energy for this kind of trouble.” But I couldn’t leave him. I wrapped him tightly in my overcoat, using my own body heat to warm him as I rushed him through the blizzard to the nearest hospital. He survived, but the exposure had left him with a congenital disability in his legs. I brought the fragile baby home and named him Alex. He would be our son, the only child we would ever have. But Jenna never truly warmed to him. She worried his disability would be a lifelong burden, and she feared the gossip of our friends and neighbors. I took him to every specialist in the city, searching for any possible treatment. When his legs ached at night and he cried, I would hold him and walk him around the house for hours, humming tuneless lullabies until he fell asleep. Learning to walk was ten times harder for him than for other children; he fell again and again, and I was there to pick him up every single time. I taught him to read. I carried him on my shoulders to see the stars. I worried his disability would make him feel insecure, so every day I told him he was the most wonderful boy in the world. The first time he called me “Dad,” I grinned like an idiot for a week. I poured everything I had into that boy. Then Caleb Thorne came back, and everything changed. Caleb was Jenna’s first love. He had abandoned her when she was at her poorest, leaving the country to make his fortune. Only then did she meet me. The day he returned to the city, Jenna locked herself in her room for hours. After that, she started coming home late, and Alex began to change, too. I had to go out of town for a work case. When I returned, I found Caleb at our house, playing with Alex. Perhaps because of the insecurity from his disability, Alex rarely smiled, not even for me. But that day, he was laughing, truly happy, with Caleb. Things spiraled out of control. The arrival of Caleb shattered the life we had built. I argued with Jenna, but she always dismissed my concerns. “There’s nothing between Caleb and me anymore, Leo. We’re married.” “Don’t be jealous over nothing.” “He’s just back to build his career here. You’re overthinking things.” Even Alex grew distant, resenting my discipline. “Uncle Caleb would never be this strict with me. I hate you, Dad.” “I wish Uncle Caleb was my real dad. He’d give me anything I want.” A shard of glass from the broken frame cut my finger. Blood dripped onto the floor, staining the photo red. We took that picture on Alex’s fifth birthday. I still remembered his wish. To be with Mommy and Daddy forever, and never, ever be apart. A bitter smile twisted my lips. I threw the photo into the trash. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text message popped up on the screen. [Dad, I’m turning 18 in a week. Will you come to my party?] I didn’t reply. I went to work the next day, same as always. A week later, I had just hauled a bag of cement, my back screaming in protest, when Alex found me. He’d come alone this time. He stood before me, taller than me now. The limp was barely noticeable; you wouldn’t see it if you weren’t looking for it. He fidgeted, his voice stiff. “Dad.” I didn’t respond. I calmly hefted another bag of cement onto my shoulder and started to walk past him. “Dad, wait!” he said, blocking my path. “Mom and I… we’ve missed you all these years. You didn’t answer my text. Today is my birthday. Can you please come? Just this once.” He pressed his hands together, begging, the guilt in his eyes raw and undisguised. It was the same look he had whenever he’d done something wrong as a child. I watched him in silence. For a moment, time stood still. “Alright,” I said. One last time. A final farewell to the past.

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After joining the new company, I was targeted. Not by people, but by everything in the office. The fingerprint scanner only ever failed for me, forcing me to request a manual clock-in every single day. When I asked HR to replace it, the administrator shot back with a sarcastic, “It works for everyone else. Why are you always the problem?” The air vent above my desk blasted freezing air directly at me, leaving my hands and feet numb with cold. When I begged my boss for a different desk, he just rolled his eyes. “No one else had a problem with this spot. Why does the AC suddenly act up the moment you sit there?” One bizarre incident after another made my life at the company impossible. I’d go home and complain to my boyfriend, telling him I wanted to quit. “Are you kidding?” he’d say. “You’re making twenty-eight grand a month before taxes, with weekends and paid vacation. Where are you going to find another job that good?” I thought about it, and he was right. So I decided to stick it out. And then, the elevator malfunctioned, and I plunged thirty-three floors to my death. As I died, one question echoed in my mind: why did every single piece of equipment in that office seem to have it out for me, and only me? All the equipment was brand new. I had only just met my colleagues. I had no enemies. It made no sense for someone to be sabotaging me. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. It was my first day at the new company. 1 “Serena Foster, welcome to the team.” “Your fingerprints are in the system now, so don’t forget to clock in and out!” The HR administrator, Janet, smiled as she handed me my ID badge. For a moment, I was lost in a daze. Memories of the endless torment from my past life flooded my mind. This was the day the nightmare began. From my very first day, everything in the office was against me, and only me. The fingerprint scanner would flash an error every time I touched it, forcing me to constantly bother my colleagues for a manual sign-in. When I finally worked up the nerve to ask HR for a new machine, they just sneered at me. “It works for everyone else. Why do you have to be so difficult?” The air vent above my desk became a personal tormentor, blasting me with frigid air in the dead of winter until my fingers and toes were perpetually frozen. When I pleaded with my boss to move, he just scoffed. “No one else ever complained about this desk. Why is it only a problem now that you’re here?” The constant stream of bizarre problems made my work life a living hell. My boss thought I was a whiny hypochondriac, and my colleagues thought I was a drama queen. My only outlet was my boyfriend, Mark. But when I told him I wanted to quit, he just dismissed my fears. “That’s ridiculous. It’s not like the office is haunted. You’re just stressed out and overthinking things. Besides,” he’d always add, “you’re making twenty-eight grand a month before taxes, with weekends and paid vacation. You’re not going to find a better deal than that!” So I gritted my teeth and decided to tough it out. The very next day, the elevator cable snapped, and I plummeted thirty-three floors to my death. I died with my eyes wide open, the question of why screaming in my silent throat. But now, I was back. And this time, I was going to find out what the hell was going on. Shaking off the memory, I handed the ID badge back to Janet. “Janet, my fingerprints are a little faint. Could you do me a favor and scan all ten of my fingers? Just in case, so I don’t have to bother you if one of them doesn’t work.” Janet blinked, surprised, but then she smiled and took the badge, reopening the enrollment system. I took a deep breath and pressed my right index finger firmly onto the screen, ensuring it covered the entire sensor. A soft beep confirmed a successful scan. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I carefully scanned all ten fingers, adjusting the pressure and angle for a perfect read each time. This time, I thought, it has to work. Janet chuckled. “You’re the first person to ever scan all ten fingers. But don’t you worry, Serena. This equipment is top-of-the-line, imported. It never makes mistakes.” I managed a weak smile, thanked her, and walked straight to the time clock by the entrance. I wiped my hands on my pants, then placed my index finger on the scanner. [FINGERPRINT NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.] A chill ran down my spine. The hairs on my arms stood on end. “How is this still happening?” I refused to give up. I tried every single finger. [FINGERPRINT NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.] [FINGERPRINT NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.] Ten fingers. Ten failures. The same cold, robotic voice of rejection. I stared at the machine, the glaring red error message on the screen like a malevolent eye staring back at me, the synthesized voice a mocking laugh. My fists clenched. It was a cocktail of frustration and fear. Everything had worked perfectly in HR just moments ago. How could it fail now? Was I doomed to repeat the same nightmare? As I stood there, frozen, colleagues began to gather, some of them kindly asking if I needed help. An idea began to form in my mind. “I’m Serena, the new hire,” I said, my voice deliberately timid. “I’m so sorry to bother you all, but my fingerprint won’t scan.” A young man stepped forward. “Here, let me try mine.” He placed his finger on the scanner, and it beeped with immediate success. They all assumed I was just holding my finger at the wrong angle and encouraged me to try again. I nodded and, in front of everyone, tried all ten of my fingers again. Still, nothing but errors. “I just had Janet in HR scan all ten of my fingers,” I said, raising my voice just enough for everyone to hear. “But it’s still not working. Do you think this machine might be broken?” In my past life, I had always tried to deal with these problems quietly, which only made everyone think I was making things up. This time, I would have witnesses. Just then, Janet came over to see what the commotion was about. I demonstrated the problem for her one more time. She frowned at the error message. “It must be faulty. I’ll put in a request for a replacement. Don’t worry about clocking in for now.” I thought that a new machine would surely solve the problem. With the time clock issue temporarily resolved, I went to my desk. The moment I sat down, a familiar chill prickled the back of my neck. I snapped my head up to look at the air vent. A blast of cold air hit me, and I sneezed three times in a row. My deskmate, Wendy, turned around, just like she had in my past life. “You should wear a sweater, honey,” she said kindly. “It might be warm in the office, but you can still catch a chill on your commute.” “Wendy,” I said, my teeth chattering, “does the AC feel a little cold to you?” She held her hand up to the vent above her own desk. “No, it’s warm. Same as always. It’s central air, so all the vents should be the same.” I immediately stood up. “Wendy, could you do me a huge favor? Just for a minute, could you sit in my chair and see what you feel?” Wendy looked confused but agreed. Last time, I had just reached over to feel the air at her desk and confirmed it was warm. This time, I needed her to feel the arctic blast for herself. It was the only way I could justify requesting a new desk. But her next words hit me like a ton of bricks. “It’s fine, Serena. It’s warm.” “What? That’s impossible! It was freezing a second ago!” I shot my hand up to feel the air. It was warm. I was stunned. Refusing to believe it, I sat back down in my own chair. Instantly, the familiar cold returned, making me flinch. Wendy looked at me with concern. “Serena, are you okay? Maybe you’re just not sleeping well, a little run down?” I didn’t believe it. I went to other colleagues’ desks, comparing the vents. All of them were blowing warm air. But the moment I sat down at my own desk, it turned cold. The sheer strangeness of it made my skin crawl. I stared up at the vent in despair. “Why is it only cold for me?” I shouted. “This is insane!” My strange behavior drew stares. I could hear the whispers. “She looks so young, but she’s acting like a total psycho.” “This is an office, not a mental institution. How did she even get hired?” “She’s just trying to cause trouble. First the time clock, now the AC. She’s disrupting the whole office.” The commotion eventually reached my boss. He strode over, his brow furrowed. “Serena Foster, what is going on? It’s your first day and you’re already causing a scene instead of working?” “Sir,” I pleaded, pointing at the vent, “it’s blowing cold air on my desk. Only on my desk, only when I’m sitting here. I swear.” My boss walked over and held his hand under the vent. He frowned. “There’s no cold air. It’s perfectly warm. No one else has ever had a problem with this desk. What is wrong with you? If you cause any more trouble, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” Defeated, I had no choice but to endure the freezing draft all morning, shivering uncontrollably at my desk.

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When the fire broke out, Mom scooped up my sister, and Dad threw my brother onto his back. They left me behind in the flames. The fire scarred my face. And just like that, the spoiled, attention-seeking girl I used to be vanished, replaced by someone… quiet. Understanding. It didn’t matter. I was dying anyway. This little scrap of love they had left… anyone else could have it. But now, they regret it. They clutch my skeletal hand and plead, “Just throw one more tantrum for us, Lily. Please? Just one more time?” 1 Mom’s arms were wrapped around my sister, Leah. Dad’s back was a shield for my brother, Leo. They burst from the inferno and clung to each other, a sobbing, grateful knot of survivors. “Is there anyone else inside?” a firefighter yelled, rushing toward them. Mom spun around, her eyes wild as she did a frantic headcount. She pointed to my brother and sister. “Leo, Leah… the kids are here! They’re both safe, they’re both here!” “Are you sure no one is left?” the firefighter pressed. But Mom’s world had shrunk to the two of them. She didn’t answer him, just muttered to herself, “They’re safe, thank God, they’re safe,” pulling them into an even tighter embrace. And that was the moment I stumbled out of the fire, my hand clamped over my mouth, coughing up smoke. Her words landed like a punchline to a cruel joke, and I was the punchline. My body was stained with soot, my clothes were shredded and charred. They had gotten out early, their clothes were clean, their skin untouched. The strength that had carried me through the flames evaporated, and her words brought me crashing to the ground. I collapsed. A searing, blinding pain erupted across my entire back. My name is Lily. Lily Harris. Always the leftover. 2 “Leo, stop tickling me!” Once clear of the danger, my siblings started roughhousing. Their laughter seemed to smooth some of the terror from our parents’ faces. But then Leah tripped, and her hand landed squarely on the raw, weeping wound on my back. “Ah!” A scream ripped from my throat. I could feel the freshly dressed wound tear open, blood seeping through the bandages, the agony radiating through my entire body. Leah scrambled to her feet, hiding behind Leo, her dark eyes wide with fear. “Lily!” Instantly, Mom’s gaze shot to me, sharp with reproach. “Stop throwing a fit! Why did you scream at your sister?” Her eyes met mine for a second, then recoiled, a flicker of disgust clouding her features. More than usual. It was the scars on my face, I knew it. She thought I was acting out because her attention was, as always, fixed on Leo and Leah. She hadn’t even noticed the bandages the paramedics had wrapped around my back. She never saw me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I scrambled away, burying my face in my hands, and let the sobs come. My weeping was the only sound in the vast, dark night. The rest of them fell silent. When my tears finally subsided, Mom approached, holding Leah’s hand. She sighed, reaching for my own. I flinched away. Her hand froze in mid-air. “Lily, please try to understand,” she said, her voice weary. “It’s not that we don’t love you. But Leo is at a critical point in his career, and Leah is so young…” I stared at her through my blurry vision, choking back another sob. “Can’t you just be a little more mature about this?” Seeing her earnest, pleading face, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was laughable. Truly. The love I was ever given came in fractions, in leftovers. My laugh seemed to reassure her. Thinking I wasn’t angry anymore, she grabbed my hand and forced it together with Leah’s. “There, that’s better,” she cooed, orchestrating this hollow charade of a happy family. “Now, be a good girl and tell your sister you’re sorry. Then we can put this all behind us. We’re a family, after all!” She was speaking to me, but her gentle, coaxing gaze was fixed on Leah, who was still sniffling pitifully. Her words were the final straw. I snatched my hand back. Disappointment hardened my mother’s face. Her words cut like daggers. “I have three children, and you’re the only one who turned out so spoiled!” Then she swept Leah into her arms and walked away, leaving me alone with her judgment. Spoiled. Immature. That’s what she called it. Before, I used to cling to them, beg for things, act out for a scrap of attention. I had to. I wasn’t their favorite. If I didn’t fight for my share, I would have nothing at all. But now… I was dying. I was sick. I was done fighting for scraps. 3 Our house was gone, so we had to find a new place to live. Thankfully, our home had been isolated, so the fire hadn’t spread to any neighbors. “Finding a place is a nightmare,” Dad said one evening. “It’s hard enough with two kids. We’ll have to send one of them to stay somewhere else for a while.” As soon as the words left his mouth, every head in the room turned to me. I gave a weak, wry smile. The old Lily would have thrown herself into their arms, sobbing and begging until they relented with an exasperated, “Oh, what are we going to do with you? We’ve spoiled you rotten, that’s why you’re always so dramatic.” But Leo and Leah never had to be dramatic to get what they wanted. This time, I didn’t make a scene. I just nodded, took a small step back, and said in a hoarse voice, “I’ll go.” They all looked at me, surprised, but no one argued. So I was sent to live with my uncle. I spent my days walking on eggshells, trying to read the moods of my aunt and uncle. At first, they offered tight-lipped smiles. Soon, even those vanished, replaced by cold indifference. It didn’t matter if I woke up early to do all the chores or collected plastic bottles to exchange for a few coins to give them. They’d just purse their lips, a look of vague disgust on their faces. Then, one afternoon, as I was scrubbing the bathroom, I overheard them talking. “When is she leaving?” my aunt complained. “Just a few more days,” my uncle sighed. “Ugh. Haven’t you noticed that… smell on her? I feel like I have to shower twice every time she speaks to me. And besides, another mouth to feed… it’s a lot of pressure.” I looked down at myself and sniffed my clothes. They didn’t like me using the shower. So I hadn’t. That night at dinner, I forced a smile. “Uncle, I don’t think my room is very comfortable. Maybe I could move into the basement? And you don’t have to worry about me for meals. I can figure something out for myself.” I carefully controlled my voice, keeping it light and casual, as if I were just sharing a funny story. I couldn’t risk upsetting them. They nodded, the icy tension in their faces thawing slightly. “Here, Lily,” my aunt said, in a rare show of generosity, placing a piece of egg on my rice. “Don’t just eat plain rice.” 4 The basement was freezing. The door was warped and didn’t shut properly, letting in a draft that felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing the wounds on my back, making them itch and ache. I huddled under a thin, ragged blanket, tears and snot streaming down my face. My mouth was so dry. I hadn’t had any water all day. The thirst was a physical pain. Finally, I crept out of my hole. By the door, a puddle of grimy water had leaked from a drainpipe. A stray cat was lapping at it. I hesitated for a moment, then knelt down beside it. In the face of thirst, dignity was a luxury I couldn’t afford. The water was cold and, to me, it tasted sweet. When I had drunk my fill, I wiped my mouth and stood up, only to find my brother Leo standing there, his face a cold mask. I had no idea how long he’d been watching me. Why was he here? Watching me like this. My body swayed, and my first instinct was to run and hide. “Let’s go,” he said suddenly, stepping forward. “It’s New Year’s Eve. You’re coming home for dinner.” I wasn’t expecting that. I stumbled backward, terrified that the smell of me, of the basement, would offend him. But he just frowned, his brow furrowed in irritation, and grabbed my arm. “Let’s go!” He dragged me to his car. The entire drive, I was a bundle of nerves. When we arrived, I saw their new home. I stayed by the car, just looking. It was a neat, two-story house with a small yard. Clean and tidy. They weren’t struggling for money. So why couldn’t they have taken me with them? I stared at my worn-out shoes, hesitating to go inside. Through the window, I could hear them laughing. I could hear Mom and Dad calling Leah their “sweet girl,” their voices full of joy. I was an intruder here. Just then, Leah’s voice piped up. “Where’s Lily?” The laughter died instantly. A sudden, heavy silence fell over the room. Leo, standing beside me, said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then I heard Mom’s voice, cold and sharp. “She burned our house down. What right does she have to come back? It’s enough that we’re letting her come for dinner. When she gets here, we’re going to give her a piece of our mind.” I looked at Leo, my heart pounding in disbelief. “You were there,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You know it wasn’t me. It was Leah…” Before I could finish, Leo whipped his head around, hissing, “Shut up!” His voice made me shrink back into the shadows. I don’t know when it started, this hyper-sensitivity to sound, to the anger in people’s voices. Disgust, annoyance, rage—it all made me tremble. “I’m sorry…” I mumbled. His face grew even colder. “Leah is fragile enough as it is. It’s New Year’s. Don’t start trouble. Does it really matter who’s to blame?” He said it as if I wasn’t his sister, too. I felt the sharp angles of my own bones through my thin clothes and nodded. “I won’t tell anyone,” I promised. His expression softened slightly. “Go on in. Mom and Dad told me to get you.” I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the ground. “Can you give me some money? I need to buy medicine.” The coldness returned to his eyes, his dark gaze filled with disgust. “Do you have any conscience at all? You finally come home, and the first thing you do is ask for money?” Even as he said it, he pulled a few crisp bills from his pocket and threw them at my face. I didn’t react. I just knelt to pick up the money from the dirty pavement. Leo clenched his fists, his anger seeming to grow. “Pathetic,” he sneered. “I’m humiliating you like this, and you won’t even fight back?” He was right. The old me would have screamed, would have hit him. I ignored him. Suddenly, a searing cramp tore through my abdomen. I’d gotten my period, and the icy, dirty water I’d just drunk… “Could you… could you get me a cup of hot water? Please…” I clutched my stomach, tears welling in my eyes. Seeing me suddenly so weak, a smirk touched his lips, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He didn’t say a word. He just strode back inside and slammed the door shut. “She won’t come!” I heard him shout through the closed door. “Said she’d rather die than be here!” The pain in my stomach was a twisting knife. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as a wave of nausea washed over me. My legs gave out. I collapsed to my knees, and the world went black. In the fuzzy haze before I lost consciousness, I thought I saw their faces, panicked and horrified, staring out at me from the doorway.

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On our third wedding anniversary, my wife, a programmer at a major tech firm, suddenly announced she had to work overtime on a tight deadline and couldn’t go on our planned trip. That same afternoon, I saw a video posted by the intern she was mentoring. My wife, who usually wouldn’t even open a door for fear of chipping her manicure, was using a screwdriver to fix an old feature phone. The caption read: “Having a programmer for a girlfriend is the best. Grandma’s phone breaks, and you don’t even have to pay for repairs.” I laughed and left a comment: “Perfect professional alignment.” The company’s group chat exploded. 99+ notifications, all of them speculating on when I would finally snap. When my wife called, her voice was glacial. “What’s with that comment? How is Jack supposed to face anyone at the office now?” “His grandmother’s phone broke, so I helped him fix it. What’s the big deal? You have no idea what real problems are like, growing up so sheltered.” “Delete the comment, now. I’ll make it up to you with a trip over the long weekend.” She’d been promising since Memorial Day, then pushed it to the Fourth of July. Now she was flaking on the vacation time I’d specifically booked, and still dangling another empty promise? I hung up. By the time my vacation was over, the mandatory waiting period for the divorce would be, too. 1. The phone immediately started ringing again. After hanging up a dozen times, I got fed up and blocked Stella’s number. In three years of marriage, I had catered to her every whim. This was the first time I had ever ignored her call. “Mr. Noah Cole? Your photographer is ready for your anniversary photoshoot. Is your wife arriving soon?” I glanced at the pristine white dress hanging on the rack. “She’s not coming. Let’s change the theme to ‘celebrating my new single life.’” Ignoring the photographer’s sympathetic look, I glanced at my buzzing phone. The intern, Jack, had tagged everyone in the work chat. “Hey everyone, that post from today was just a joke. Please don’t misunderstand!” That wasn’t an explanation; it was a victory lap. I sneered. Stella quickly chimed in to support him. “Jack, you don’t have to explain. Anyone can see it was a joke. Only someone truly petty would take it seriously.” With the boss backing him, the rest of the team quickly fell in line, eager to show their loyalty. “Yeah, we all got the joke. No need to explain it to us.” “Just explain it to that one person. We all know who can’t take a joke around here.” It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the boss favored Jack. So, even though they knew I was the one who’d been wronged, my colleagues all took the opportunity to kiss up to him by putting me down. Even the senior developers I had personally mentored were shamelessly sucking up to him. After all, Stella was the company founder, and Jack was the apple of her eye. And me? I was just the husband who’d helped her build it all from scratch. The sentimental fool who was in way over his head. I flipped my phone face down on the table, unwilling to watch the parade of corporate ass-kissing. But I’d barely taken a few shots when my colleague Mark called, his voice frantic. “Noah, what’s going on with the code for the Summit Corp. custom firewall? It’s full of bugs and won’t run. The client is already here and raising hell.” I frowned. “That’s Jack’s project. Why are you calling me?” “I know! But Stella said the kid was just a little careless and that you should help him fix it.” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. That project was complex. I had told Stella from the beginning that Jack couldn’t handle it, but she insisted on letting him “get some practice.” And now that it had blown up in their faces, they remembered I existed. “If the ‘kid’ was careless, then the ‘kid’ can go back and check his work. If the client is angry, the boss can handle it. Follow company procedure.” I hung up before Mark could say another word. So, you screw up while placating your boy toy, and you expect me to clean up the mess and write the code for him? Not a chance. My expression hardened. The photographer, sensing the mood, started snapping away, capturing a dozen shots of me looking fierce and formidable. Fifteen minutes later, Stella’s assistant came running up to me, holding out her phone. “Noah, it’s Stella. She needs to talk to you.” Are you kidding me? She sent her assistant to track me down here? I snatched the phone. Stella’s voice was tight, barely suppressing her fury. “Noah, don’t push it.” “Jack did nothing to you. Are you trying to humiliate him, or are you trying to humiliate me?” I leaned back in the chair and snorted. “Did the CEO really send her personal assistant all the way here just to ask me that?” Her patience snapped. “So I bailed on our trip. You shouldn’t be making a scene over something so trivial!” she threatened. “Take me off your block list, right now, and fix Jack’s code. Then we can forget this ever happened.” I gritted my teeth, about to hang up again. Then I heard laughter in the background. Someone was teasing Jack for wiping sweat off Stella’s forehead. My voice dripped with sarcasm. “Stella, you’re already meeting his parents. Why are you still calling me?” “Aren’t you afraid people might get the wrong idea?” “Oh, right. I’m the only one in the entire company who can’t take a joke.” Her voice shot up an octave. “What are you talking about, meeting his parents? Don’t spread rumors!” “Jack’s family lives in the countryside. It’s not easy for them to get around. Is it so wrong for a boss to show some concern for her employee? Honestly, dirty-minded people see dirt everywhere!” She was panting with rage. Then I heard the boy toy’s voice in the background. “Stella, my mom has dinner ready. Let’s go eat.” Her tone instantly softened, becoming gentle and coaxing, like she was talking to a child. “You go ahead, sweetie. I’ll be right there as soon as I finish up with this.” When she spoke to me again, her voice was ice. “Noah, I want that code fixed and submitted within three days. If you miss the deadline, you’ll be responsible for the penalty fees, and you can submit your resignation. It won’t look good for anyone.” The line went dead. I gave a bitter smile. I should have accepted the truth long ago: Stella didn’t love me. I should have known it every time she stood me up for Jack, every time she spoke to me with such venom to defend him. I should have known it the moment she signed that divorce agreement. There was no going back. The photoshoot was the last thing on my mind. I changed and went back to the hotel. My phone showed hundreds of missed calls from my colleagues. My work messenger was flooded with files and urgent demands for progress reports. It seemed they had finally realized I was the only one who could actually do the job. But in three days, I would be divorced and unemployed. Why should I care if their project defaulted? I submitted my resignation through the HR portal. I expected Stella to fight it, to drag it out. To my surprise, the process was incredibly fast. My termination was finalized in less than half an hour. Normally, it would take a day or two. It couldn’t have happened that quickly without Stella’s direct approval. I hadn’t realized she could be so ruthless. But it was a relief. The barrage of work messages stopped, and a weight lifted from my shoulders. I spent the next three days enjoying my vacation, just as planned, before heading home. This was the house we had renovated together. We had refused to sell it even during the toughest days of building the company. Back then, we would work until midnight, come home, and collapse on the sofa, massaging each other’s aching backs. Life was hard, but the memories were sweet. But then Stella started coming home less and less. She was always flying somewhere with Jack, claiming it was for business, but his social media was a travelogue of tourist destinations. I ran my hand over the throw pillow she had given me. It was still soft, but like our love, it was covered in a layer of dust that made my eyes water. I knew there was nothing left here for me to hold on to. I called a real estate agent and put the house on the market. The next day, I went to the office to pack up my things. As I walked out with a box in my arms, I saw my colleagues whispering in small groups. The news of my departure had clearly spread. Just as I reached the door, Jack blocked my path. “Noah, have you fixed my code yet?” He glanced at the box in my hands, then his eyes widened in feigned surprise. “Noah, what are you doing? You’re not… quitting, are you?” I rolled my eyes. “Are you an idiot? You saw my resignation notice on the company messenger yesterday. Did you already forget?” Jack’s expression stiffened, a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Even if you quit, you’re still responsible for the client’s penalty fees if the project isn’t finished.” I laughed. “If I remember correctly, the contract lists you as the project lead, doesn’t it?” I clicked my tongue and shouldered past him. It was a light bump, but he staggered back as if he’d been hit by a car and crumpled to the floor. “Ah!” “Jack! Are you okay?” Stella heard the commotion and came running. She helped him up, saw he was unharmed, and tenderly brushed the dust off his clothes. Then she turned to me, her eyes like daggers. “Why did you push him? Apologize, now.” Jack shot me a timid glance, then looked at Stella with a pitiful, wounded expression. “It’s okay, Stella. It’s not Noah’s fault. I was just so worried about the Summit Corp. project…” He bit his lip. “I was rushing and I fell.” Stella patted his back comfortingly. “You’re too kind. I saw the whole thing. He pushed you.” She stepped in front of me. “Noah, is it really that hard for you to help fix a few bugs? Do you even want this job?” I sneered. “I haven’t wanted this job for a long time. I quit yesterday. What is there to fix?” “You quit? Noah, what is this now?” She was the one who approved the resignation, and now she was pretending not to know? She was silent for a moment, then looked at me coldly. “I already apologized for canceling our trip. What more do you want?” “If you’re unhappy with me, can you at least not bring it to work?” She still thought this was about her ditching me for our anniversary. I was tired. Too tired to explain. I tried to walk around them. But Stella darted in front of me again. “Stop right there!” “What’s in that box? You’re not walking out of here with company property or confidential information!” I looked up and met her furious gaze. A wave of bitterness and anger churned inside me. My hands started to tremble. Then, something snapped. I tipped the box over, dumping its contents onto the floor. “Look! See for yourself!” It was all just my personal stuff. The last thing to fall was a ceramic mug. It hit the floor with a sharp crack that seemed to make Stella’s heart jolt. It was old and faded, but spotlessly clean. It was a gift from her, from the early days of the company. Back then, when she said she wanted to be with me forever, she meant it. Now, that promise was as broken as the mug on the floor. Fighting back tears, I ground the ceramic shards under my heel and walked away. “This is just trash I don’t want anymore. And we don’t need to see each other again!” It felt good to finally let it all out. I walked out of the building feeling lighter than I had in years. Just then, Anna from the bespoke tailor shop pulled up with the suit I had cancelled. It was the one I had ordered for our third-anniversary celebration. “Who ordered this?” I asked her. “Ms. Stella ordered it. It’s custom-made for Mr. Jack. It’s the same design as the one you cancelled.” “Is that so?” With all my strength, I ripped the jacket apart. Buttons scattered across the pavement. No wonder Jack had been bragging on social media about the thousand-dollar suit he was going to wear to some gala with Stella. It was my money paying for it. I threw the ruined suit on the ground. “Tell Stella I did this. This was my suit. Jack can’t pull it off.” I walked away, leaving Anna staring in shock. The moment I held the divorce certificate in my hand, I felt an incredible sense of relief. This miserable, suffocating marriage was finally over. I was humming to myself as I walked up to my front door, but I stopped when I heard voices inside. It was Stella’s parents. “What kind of man is Noah? He’s completely useless, but acts like he’s king of the world!” “We came all this way, and he couldn’t even be bothered to pick us up. It was Jack who ran around doing everything for us,” her father grumbled. Her mother chimed in. “Jack may be from the countryside, but he’s a much better person than Noah. And he knows how to respect his elders. He’ll be a great father to your children one day.” Jack blushed. “Oh, Auntie, what are you saying? Stella and Noah are the ones who are married.” That seemed to set her off. “They can get divorced! Didn’t you say he ripped up that expensive suit Stella bought for you? He’s violent and wasteful. How can you live with a man like that?” My hand froze on the doorknob. Before Stella’s company had taken off, they hadn’t treated me like this. Back then, they were impressed by my city background and my ability to help their daughter. They couldn’t wait to call me their son-in-law. The warmth they showed me then only made their current coldness more painful. After a long silence, Stella’s voice, cool and detached, finally came. She didn’t say a single word in my defense. “Let’s not talk about this. Let’s just eat.” Her mother wouldn’t let it go. “Eat? Every time I try to talk sense into you, you change the subject! Am I trying to hurt you? You’re still young. Why not find a man who will cherish you, who will be good to you and respect your parents?” “Noah just sits around all day. He’s not as useful as Jack at the office, and he doesn’t do any chores at home. How is he supposed to take care of you? And you’ve been married for three years. Is there something wrong with him? Why haven’t you gotten pregnant?” She painted me as a complete waste of space. She had no idea that the money her daughter was using to travel the world with her boy toy was money that I had earned. “That’s right, Stella. Jack heard we get carsick and he made a special plum soup for us. He’s such a thoughtful boy!” her father added. I had to laugh. He made a bowl of soup, and that makes him a saint? For years, while Stella was busy with the company, I was the one who took care of her parents whenever they were sick. Last year, when her father broke his leg and couldn’t even use the bathroom by himself, I was the one who took care of him, day and night. But they didn’t remember any of that. My nails dug into my palms. I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw the door open. The four of them froze, stunned to see me. Stella was the first to recover. “Noah, where have you been? Why are you home so late?” she demanded. Before I could answer, her mother crossed her arms and sneered. “Just because you’re a director at your wife’s company, you think you’re hot stuff? You’re nothing but a moocher.” I ignored her and looked straight at Stella. “You didn’t tell your mother I quit?” Stella’s eyes narrowed. “Noah, your little tantrum over Jack has gone on long enough. If you threaten me with quitting again, I will have to consider firing you, for the good of the company.” I burst out laughing. “Stella, what are you talking about? You approved my resignation yourself yesterday. Don’t you remember?” Her mother’s face twisted into a knowing, contemptuous smirk. “I knew it. You just want to be a kept man. You want to quit working so you can live off my daughter’s money and bleed her dry!” Stella’s expression flickered. “I didn’t approve any resignations yesterday!” I rolled my eyes, too tired to argue. The divorce was final. All that mattered now was getting my stuff and getting away from this toxic family. As I started to walk toward the bedroom, Jack stopped me. “Noah, you’re back! Come on, wash your hands and eat with us. I just made some simple home-style dishes. I hope you like them!” I turned to see him standing there, wearing my apron, pulling out a chair for me with a welcoming smile, as if he were the man of the house. I just glanced at him and sneered. Her father slammed his hand on the table. “Stop right there! Have you no manners? Jack was kind enough to invite you to eat, and you act like this? Our family doesn’t have a son-in-law like you!” Jack rushed to her father’s side, looking hurt. “Uncle, it’s not his fault. He’s always been like this…” That was all her mother needed to hear. “Noah, surely even you can see what’s happening. If you don’t want to make things ugly, you should agree to the divorce and stop…” Stella shot to her feet, cutting her mother off. “Mom! We don’t have to get a divorce.” I looked at her, confused by the strange, flickering light in her eyes. For a moment, it looked almost like… affection. “Noah, what’s wrong with you lately? You’re always fighting with me. You refused to fix the code, you attacked Jack, you even tore up the suit he was going to wear.” “Are you going through menopause or something?” I looked at her earnest, concerned face, and I had the strongest urge to slap her. She brought her lover into our home, and she had the nerve to ask me if I was going through menopause? I threw the divorce certificate in her face. “You’re the one going through menopause!” “Do you see this? We’re divorced. Now you can take your family and get the hell out of my house!”

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The words hit me on the drive to drop my sister off at college. “You know, Mindy,” she said suddenly, “you’re such a show-off.” I slammed on the brakes. My sister, Stella, just waved her phone at me, unfazed. “Insisting on driving me to campus in this thing,” she scoffed. “It’s all about flaunting your new car.” “You buy me a thousand-dollar phone but can’t even be bothered to get me a case for it.” “Mom and Dad are right,” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “You don’t actually care about us. You just like showing off how much money you have.” From the back seat, my parents chimed in. “All you do is throw money at us, but there’s no heart in it,” my mother said. “You’re just not close to us.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I spun the steering wheel, pulling a sharp U-turn and heading straight for the train station. “Fine,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “To keep me from ‘showing off,’ you can all take the train.” 1 My mom’s temper flared instantly. “What is that supposed to mean? We say a few words and suddenly you’re throwing a tantrum at your own parents?” Stella was lounging in her seat, scrolling through her phone. She shot me a classic eye-roll. “My sister’s making the big bucks now, can’t you tell? You guys better apologize. We can’t afford to get on her bad side.” My dad’s hand shot up, his face contorted with rage, ready to teach me a lesson. “We’ve spoiled you rotten,” he roared. “How dare you expect your elders to apologize to you!” I felt like a spectator watching a bizarre family drama unfold. I hadn’t said another word, yet somehow, I was the villain again. Seeing my stony silence, my mom’s tone softened, a practiced, manipulative shift. “Look at you,” she chided my dad. “Are you really going to hit your own child? We’re the grown-ups here. She just needs to say she’s sorry, and we can put this all behind us.” “Why should I apologize?” I asked. “What did I do wrong?” My voice was flat, as if I were asking if they preferred coffee or tea. But my detached tone was like gasoline on my father’s fire. His hand flew, and a sharp crack echoed through the car. “Still talking back!” he bellowed. I cupped my swelling cheek, the shock rendering me speechless. Stella burst into delighted laughter. “Careful, Dad,” she chirped. “She’s not the same old Mindy. She might call the cops on you for domestic abuse.” My mom made a disapproving sound at Stella before stepping closer to inspect my face. “Who do you have to blame but yourself?” she said coolly. “You know your father’s temper. You should have known better than to provoke him.” Not a single one of them asked if I was okay. It was all my fault. Always. “Alright, you’ve made your point,” my mom sighed, as if I were the one being dramatic. “Now be a good girl and drive your sister to school before she’s late.” A hollow laugh escaped me. “No,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m not taking her to school.” The smug, theatrical smile on Stella’s face froze. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You want me to beg.” My mom immediately jumped in. “Forget your sister begging. I’m begging you, okay?” My dad just snorted with contempt. The tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife, and it was starting to attract attention from passersby at the station. Someone leaned in, their face a mask of nosy concern. “It’s a family matter,” a woman clucked. “Just talk it out.” That was all the opening my mother needed. Her lips started moving, and in an instant, I was painted as the jealous, disrespectful daughter who hated her sister and defied her parents. The onlookers stared at me with judgmental eyes. “Young lady, you reap what you sow,” one woman said, shaking her head. “Being cruel to your own family will bring you nothing but bad luck.” An elderly woman at the front of the small crowd fixed me with a piercing glare. “A girl like that is poison to a home.” My mom and Stella were a well-oiled machine. “Mindy, it was just a small thing,” Stella pleaded, her voice suddenly sweet and wounded. “If you just apologize now, we can all forget this happened.” They couldn’t even articulate what I was supposed to be sorry for, but they were determined to force an apology out of me. My sanity was fraying. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. “Looking at those clothes, you must make good money,” a man in the crowd sneered, holding up his phone. “Big companies care about character, you know. You don’t apologize, we put this online. Your career will be over.” He shoved the phone right in my face. My mother stood just behind him, her expression a perfect portrait of wronged, tearful motherhood. “Just say you’re sorry, sweetie,” she whispered. My dad grunted. “Words are useless. A couple more slaps is what she needs. I bet she’ll apologize then.” 2 A fire ignited in my gut. I lunged, grabbing my dad, and landed a solid punch right in his jaw. He stumbled back, stunned. My mom and sister froze, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. “What the hell, you crazy bitch!” my dad roared, regaining his senses. “You dare hit your own father?” He charged at me, fists flailing wildly. It was his go-to move. Anytime life didn’t go his way, his fists found me. My mom would just watch, pulling my sister into a protective embrace. “Just take it, Mindy,” she’d say. “He’s your father. He won’t kill you.” But I wasn’t that helpless girl anymore. From my first year of college until now, I’d spent seven years training in Taekwondo. I had been waiting for this moment. When his fist came flying at my face again, I blocked it effortlessly and slammed my own fist back into him, hard. He lost his balance and crashed to the ground. My mom and Stella rushed to his side. “That’s your father!” my mom shrieked, her calm facade shattered. “How could you hit him?” “I’m his daughter, aren’t I?” I shot back. “He hit me.” “You have a heart of stone.” A heart of stone? I thought my heart was far too soft. The clothes on their backs, the phones in their hands, what part of their comfortable lives hadn’t I paid for? And what did I get in return? Not a single kind word. Just a slap in the face. Well, I was done feeding the ungrateful wolves. I lost it, raining blows down on my father. My mother screamed for me to stop, but her only action was to shield Stella, pulling her further away from the scene. “Mindy, he’s your dad, you can’t kill him!” “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m his dear daughter. I won’t kill him.” The crowd of gawkers instantly scattered, backing away as if the violence was contagious. No one wanted to get involved now. My mom frantically dialed her phone, trying to call for reinforcements, even pleading with the strangers who were now keeping a wide berth. I watched her, a bitter memory surfacing. The year I got into college, they told me they couldn’t afford my tuition. Then, a week later, they booked an international tour for the three of them. I’d cried, I’d begged. My mother had just covered her face and whimpered, “This is just how it is, honey. We don’t have the money.” They had the money for a family vacation abroad, but not for my education. I was the one who had to take out student loans to make it through. “Mom,” I asked, my voice trembling with years of unspoken pain. “Am I even your real daughter?” She turned to me, tears streaming down her face. “How can you ask me that? After I raised you from a baby, after everything I’ve done for you?” She hadn’t raised me. Not really. She’d raised Stella. I’d raised myself on the scraps they left behind. “I used to desperately want an answer to that question, Mom,” I said, my voice steadying. “But I think I have my answer now.” She stared at me, confused. “What are you talking about?” “Nothing,” I said. “It means nothing.” And it was true. It was all so meaningless, trying to squeeze love from people who had none to give. I’d earned my own money, and I’d showered it on them, hoping to finally buy their affection. But all I got was their contempt. This love… I wasn’t going to beg for it anymore. 3 Instead of calling the police, my mother called our relatives—the family’s jury and executioners. My aunt and uncle, Carol and Kevin, arrived and herded us all back home, where the verbal assault began. “You’re not a child anymore, Mindy,” Aunt Carol scolded, her voice sharp. “Why do you have to be so difficult with your parents?” “Your sister is younger than you,” Uncle Kevin added. “It’s only natural for them to dote on her a little more. Making a scene in public like that just embarrasses everyone.” “Doting on her a little more” meant Stella went to a private international school while I went to a public one. It meant my mother didn’t hesitate to spend three thousand dollars on a summer camp for Stella but refused to pay twenty dollars for my school uniform. She even stormed into the school to complain. “My daughter doesn’t like wearing a uniform! If you force her to buy one, I’ll report you to the school board!” After that spectacle, the teachers avoided me. The other students steered clear. They’d whisper behind my back. “Her mom’s crazy, so she must be crazy too.” I grew up isolated, a ghost in the hallways. I didn’t make a real friend until I got to college. But my parents hated that, too. They complained that my new friends were cutting into my part-time work hours, that the money I sent home was less than before. They sent an anonymous letter to the university, accusing my friends of being a bad influence. Just like that, my friendships were severed. No one wanted to be near the girl with a ticking time bomb for a family. I broke down. I gave them every penny I had, sobbing, begging them to just leave my school life alone. The next week, they used that money to treat all of Stella’s friends to a lavish dinner at a five-star hotel. I stood outside the private dining room, watching through a crack in the door, feeling like a rat spying on a world of warmth and belonging that would never be mine. It wasn’t that they were just biased. It was that, in their hearts, there was never any room for me at all. “Every time we try to talk to you, you just clam up,” Aunt Carol said, snapping me back to the present. “You’re not charming like your sister. No wonder your parents don’t love you.” I was done listening to their brainwashing. “There’s no grudge between a father and daughter that lasts overnight,” Uncle Kevin declared. “Take your dad to the hospital, look after him, and this will all be over.” “I’d rather he were dead,” I said, the words tasting like poison. Uncle Kevin lunged forward, his finger pointed at my forehead, but he froze when he saw the feral look in my eyes. “You’ve really lost your mind,” he muttered. “From this day forward, I have nothing to do with any of you,” I announced, my voice ringing with finality. “Don’t ever contact me again.” I stormed out to my car and started pulling their luggage out, tossing it onto the curb. My mother, completely ignoring my declaration, yelped in protest. “Be careful! That stuff is expensive!” I shot her a smile devoid of any warmth. “I paid for all of it with my credit card. If I want to smash it to pieces, no one can say a word.” That set Stella off. She stepped in front of my mom, her chin high. “Those are my things! How dare you touch them with your filthy hands?” “Your things?” I laughed. “Did you pay a single cent for any of them?” With that, I picked up her favorite possession, a delicate music box, and smashed it on the pavement. “My music box!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. Onlookers were starting to gather again, pointing and murmuring, but no one dared to step closer this time. It wasn’t like I could resell any of it anyway. One by one, I destroyed everything. A shard of glass from a shattered picture frame sliced my hand. Blood welled up, but I felt no pain. Only then did my mother seem to feel a pang of something. “You wasteful child! That’s thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff!” Fueled by a fresh wave of rage, I reached out and ripped the pearl necklace from her neck and the diamond pendant from Stella’s. “The clothes you wear, the jewelry you flaunt, wasn’t it all bought with my money?” I spat. “You have no right to judge me. You three are nothing but leeches, living by sucking my blood. I’m the one who feeds you, who keeps you. I have the right to destroy you, too.” That was the final straw. My mother collapsed onto the ground, wailing and slapping her thighs. “We’re done!” she screamed. “As of today, you are not my daughter!” 4 I packed a bag and left without a second glance. My company had offered me a general manager position at a branch in another state. I’d been hesitant to accept, thinking my family needed me. Now, I called my boss immediately. That same day, I was on a plane. A month passed before my mother finally called. “We’ve given you a month to think things over,” she said, her tone imperious. “It’s time for you to come home and apologize.” I hung up without a word and blocked her number. But I forgot about her on my messaging app. A barrage of texts followed, all variations on the theme of my ungratefulness. I was so tired of hearing it. I blocked her there, too. Soon, Aunt Carol and Uncle Kevin began their telephone assault. I blocked them all. But this family was relentless. They used an unknown number to finally get through to me. It was Uncle Kevin. “What’s the meaning of this, staying away for a whole month?” he demanded. “If I recall correctly, it was Mom who said we were done,” I replied coldly. “That isn’t my home anymore.” My directness seemed to stump him. He resorted to blustering. “That’s your mother! She was just angry. You can’t take her words to heart.” No one knew the killing power of words better than I did. They were like curved blades, hacking away at my heart, piece by piece. Sensing my resolve, Uncle Kevin softened his tone. “A mother and daughter don’t hold grudges overnight. Come back for dinner. Let’s talk.” Dinner wasn’t the point. If we were truly going to separate, I needed to get my name off the family’s official records. When I walked through the door, my mother shot me a look of pure disdain. Stella, ever the actress, gasped dramatically. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in! The princess has returned! Mom, Dad, roll out the red carpet!” “She’s no damn princess,” my dad grumbled from the couch. He had recovered well enough to curse at me with his usual vigor. I held out my hand. “I need the household register.” “What do you want that for?” my mom asked, not even bothering to look up from the vegetables she was chopping in the kitchen. “Are you really serious about cutting ties with us?” she scoffed, finally turning to face me. “You don’t have the guts.” A heavy, suffocating weight settled in my chest. If I could, I would sever the past along with our ties. But I knew that was impossible. Aunt Carol was unusually pleasant, and Uncle Kevin even brought me a glass of water. It was all deeply strange, until they led me to the dining table. Then it all became clear. “Mindy,” Aunt Carol began, her smile stretched thin. “Your parents tell us you’re doing very well at your company. We were thinking you could get your cousins, Brian and Jessica, jobs there.” It wasn’t a request; it was a royal decree. I understood now. This wasn’t a family dinner; it was a shakedown. I put down my chopsticks. “I don’t have that kind of power.” Their friendly masks dropped instantly. “We’re family,” Uncle Kevin snapped. “We ask for one small favor, and you make excuses? Are you saying you’re too good for us now?” “Don’t think you’re hot stuff just because you’ve got some fancy job,” my dad chimed in. “You need your own people in the company. Brian and Jessica would be loyal to you.” His business philosophy was decades out of date. I couldn’t even begin to argue with him. “I don’t need them,” I said flatly. “I only came here today for one thing.” “Fine,” he snarled. “Say it and get out.” The moment he realized he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Aunt Carol and Uncle Kevin just sniffed dismissively. “No wonder you two always favored the younger one,” Aunt Carol muttered. “The older one is useless.” I’d heard it a million times. It was just their way of trying to manipulate me. “The household register. I’m moving my name off the records.” My mother’s face went pale. “What? Are you really disowning us?” I didn’t answer, just kept my hand outstretched. But she clutched her purse, refusing to give it to me. “You never loved me,” I said, my voice cracking. “Can’t you at least let me leave in peace?” While they were distracted, I made a break for my parents’ bedroom. All the important family documents were kept in the bottom drawer of their wardrobe. There it was, a bright red folder at the very bottom. I pulled it out triumphantly and opened it. And then I froze. I wasn’t on the family’s household register at all.

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One day, I woke up in a “wife-chasing crematorium” novel. I wasn’t the long-suffering heroine or the vicious side character. I was the scumbag male lead’s mother. As I recalled the plot, my son committed every despicable act imaginable. He tortured the heroine’s body, broke her heart, and even desecrated her memory. Meanwhile, he was handing over money, fathering a child, and even offering up a kidney for the “other woman.” It all culminated in the heroine, driven to despair, leaping to her death from a skyscraper. Only then did he clutch her ashes and put on a grand performance of undying love. My blood pressure skyrocketed. My liver ached with pure rage. This son was a lost cause. But they say the child’s sins are the mother’s fault. Since I was now his mother, he could blame me for the coming storm. Because I was about to overhaul this entire family. “Unhand my daughter-in-law, Benny Ford! Your mother has arrived, and she is not pleased!” 1 “Sign it! Don’t make me say it again. Isla can’t wait.” A man’s voice pierced through the fog of my consciousness. My eyes focused on a lavish, European-style living room. A pale woman in a simple dress was kneeling on the floor. This scene, this dialogue… Wasn’t this from that trashy, melodramatic novel I was ranting about last night? In the story, the heroine, Elara Vance, enters into a business marriage with the male lead, Benny Ford. She gives him her whole heart, only to have it thrown to the dogs. Benny is obsessed with his first love, Isla Shen, and treats his wife with icy contempt. After Isla returns to the country, she frames Elara for pushing her down the stairs. Benny, the brainless idiot, not only believes the lie but demands that Elara, who is already pregnant, donate one of her kidneys to Isla. Remembering the infuriating plot and seeing the scene play out before me, I let a string of curses fly. “Benny! What the hell is wrong with you?” My outburst plunged the entire villa into a dead silence. The kneeling heroine stared at me, her tear-filled eyes wide with astonishment. Benny was stunned, looking at me in utter disbelief. “Mom?” That one word sent a jolt through me. I looked down at myself. I was dressed in a chic Chanel suit, a diamond ring big enough to blind someone sparkling on my finger. My face was smooth and youthful, looking no older than thirty-five. I was the picture of a wealthy socialite. I… I had become the scumbag male lead’s mother? The background character who just stood by and watched as her son destroyed himself and his wife? Benny had already recovered, tossing the donation consent form in front of Elara. “Mom, don’t make this more complicated. Elara pushed Isla. She has to donate a kidney.” I rushed forward, shielding Elara behind me. “Is Isla Shen the only person in the world who needs a kidney? There are countless donors on the registry, but you have to force my pregnant daughter-in-law to give up hers? Is she your personal, on-demand organ bank?” Benny’s face darkened. “Mom! Elara viciously pushed Isla down the stairs, rupturing her kidney! This is the punishment she deserves!” Listening to this garbage, I let out a cold laugh. “Do you have proof? Isla opens her mouth and you just believe her? Does this mansion not have security cameras? Do you run your investigations on gut feelings and your company on fortune-telling?” My rapid-fire accusations left Benny speechless, his face turning a furious shade of red. He was breathing heavily. “Mom! You’re being completely unreasonable!” “You’re the one being unreasonable!” I shot back. “Check the security footage right now! If it proves Elara is innocent, you just wait and see how I deal with you!” “Fine! We’ll check it!” Benny snapped, calling for the staff. “Mr. Henderson, bring up the footage from the landing!” A small crowd gathered in the living room to wait. Soon, the butler returned with a tablet, his expression hesitant. Benny snatched it from his hands. The video was crystal clear. On the landing, Isla and Elara appeared to be arguing. Suddenly, Isla threw herself backward. Elara’s hand shot out, clearly trying to catch her, but she didn’t even touch the hem of Isla’s dress. No one pushed her. She fell on her own. Benny stared at the screen, the color draining from his face. “Do you see it clearly now, my dear son?” I asked, my voice dripping with ice. “Did she push her? Or did your precious Isla stage the whole thing?” I turned and gently patted Elara’s hand. “My dear, what do you think should happen next?” Elara looked at Benny, her eyes red-rimmed. “Benny, you’ve seen the video. I’m innocent. You have to make Isla Shen apologize to me.” My heart sank. That’s it? Just an apology? Had this girl been abused into submission? With concrete proof in her hands, shouldn’t she be seizing the opportunity to divorce him, escape this hell, and take half his fortune to live her best life? All she wanted was an apology? “No. Isla can’t apologize. She’s too fragile, she can’t handle the stress. We’ll just drop the matter this time.” 2 I was even more shocked to find that Benny’s bias was so deeply ingrained. He wouldn’t even allow for an apology. “Drop the matter?” A bitter laugh escaped Elara’s lips. “Benny Ford, you and Isla Shen truly disgust me.” With that, she turned and walked away. I looked at my stupid son, who stood frozen with a dark expression on his face, and sighed. I had no desire to see the rest of this tragic story play out. Just as I was plotting how to get them divorced, Isla herself arrived. “Mrs. Ford! You have to stand up for me!” she cried, rushing over and clinging to my arm before I could say a word. “I never wanted to take anything from Elara, but ever since I came back, she’s been so hostile. Last time, she even pushed me down the stairs…” I frowned, impatiently pulling my arm away. “Enough. We’ve already seen the security footage. You fell on your own. Stop the act.” Isla was taken aback, her pitiful expression nearly slipping. But she clearly had a backup plan. She pulled me aside and mysteriously took out several photos from her purse. “Mrs. Ford, I don’t mean to stir up trouble, but even though Elara is carrying a Ford heir, she was involved with another man right before she got pregnant. Look at this…” She pointed to photos of Elara hugging and having dinner with another man. “I’m afraid the baby’s origins are… questionable.” I took the photos and looked closely. The man’s face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Seeing my expression, Isla thought she had me convinced. She raised her voice. “Benny! Come look at this!” Benny strode over. As his eyes fell on the photos, his face turned black as thunder. “Elara!” he roared up the stairs. “Get your ass down here!” I slapped him on the back of the head. “What is wrong with you now? Does the sight of this woman just melt your brain?” “Mom!” Benny stood his ground, his eyes bloodshot. “Are you just going to stand there and watch this woman cheat on your son?” Yes! Absolutely! I screamed internally. I hope she cheats on you, divorces you, and runs for the hills! Before I could place the man in the photo, Benny had grabbed Elara by the wrist. “Elara! Explain this to me! Who is this bastard?” He yanked her so hard she stumbled and fell to the floor. “Benny! We’ve been married for five years! Don’t you know whose child I’m carrying? How could you suspect me…?” Seeing her crumpled on the floor, my heart clenched. I was about to intervene again when a flash of insight struck me. I remembered! The man in the photo bore a striking resemblance to Elara. It was her younger brother, who was studying abroad! “Let her go!” I pried Benny’s fingers off her wrist and threw the photos in his face. “Open your eyes and look properly! That’s Elara’s brother! Your own brother-in-law! You don’t even recognize him? Is your head stuffed with hay?” “Wh-what?” Benny was dumbfounded. Elara picked up a photo and glanced at it. “This is my brother, Liam. He came back to visit last month. We had dinner.” Isla’s face went deathly pale. She tried to argue. “But the baby in her belly might not be…” “Might not be what?” I cut her off sharply. “Are you only happy when you’re trying to brand my son as a cuckold for no reason? I trust my daughter-in-law’s character! It’s not your place, an outsider, to sow discord here!” The more I spoke, the angrier I got. I pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Get out! Get out of the Ford house right now! And don’t you ever set foot in here again!” Isla flinched, and with no one left to defend her, she had no choice but to leave. Benny finally hung his head. “Elara,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.” 3 After dealing with Isla, I subjected Benny to a crash course in how to be a decent husband, trying to steer him off the path of a scumbag. But after just two days of peace, the butler delivered some shocking news. Benny’s father was coming home. Which meant my husband, Donovan Ford, was arriving. The original novel didn’t say much about him, only that he was a workaholic who spent most of his time abroad. He was extremely strict with Benny but paid little attention to his family. “Mom, I’m a bit tired. I’m going upstairs to rest,” Elara said, her expression changing at the news. Seeing my confused look, Benny explained. “Dad was never happy about my business marriage with Elara. He’s a bit old-fashioned and felt our family got the short end of the stick, so he’s always had a problem with her.” “What kind of problem?” I pressed. Benny seemed reluctant to elaborate. “It’s all in the past. Mom, please don’t ask. Dad will be back tomorrow. You should watch what you say, too. Don’t be like you were today.” Oh, this little brat was trying to lecture me now? “Was I wrong to protect my daughter-in-law? Let me tell you something, Benny. If your father starts talking nonsense, I’ll take him on too!” I glared at him. Benny, choked by my response, had nothing more to say and left. I sat alone in the living room, my mind racing. Old-fashioned? A problem with his daughter-in-law? Combined with Elara’s reaction… this was bad. Very, very bad. That evening, Donovan Ford, looking like a man in his thirties despite his age, walked in wearing a deep gray bespoke suit. And behind him were two women. Isla, dressed in her signature white dress, looked as fragile as ever, her eyes darting toward Benny. But the real eye-sore was the sophisticated woman next to her, who bore a striking resemblance to her—Mrs. Shen. “Vivian,” Donovan said, his voice smooth. “Isla and her mother happened to be nearby, so I invited them over.” Mrs. Shen smiled and looped her arm through Donovan’s. “That’s right. Donovan said there was a small misunderstanding at home and asked us to come help mediate.” She acted as if she were the lady of the house. I sneered internally, waiting to see what new trick they had up their sleeves. “I heard about what happened with Elara,” Donovan began, waving a dismissive hand as if he were a great peacemaker. “Young people can be impulsive. But Isla is a Shen, after all. Our families have worked together for years. There’s no need to let a small tiff ruin our relationship.” Mrs. Shen immediately chimed in, her voice soft and cloying. “Exactly, Mrs. Ford. As women, we should be more magnanimous, more virtuous. That’s what makes us appealing. Causing a scene over trivial matters just disrupts the harmony of the home.” She finished with a glance in my direction, her eyes filled with unconcealed provocation. I looked at her, clinging to my husband’s arm. I looked at Donovan’s nonchalant attitude. And then, I understood everything. No wonder Benny’s favoritism was so extreme. It was hereditary. Like father, like son. The rot started at the top. SMACK! I slammed my palm on the table so hard that the tea in Donovan’s cup splashed out. “Donovan Ford! Are you trying to relive your glory days? Has some little flower outside addled your brain?” I pointed directly at Mrs. Shen, who was practically fused to Donovan’s side. “Bringing these two outsiders into my home to lecture my legally-wed daughter-in-law, who is carrying your grandchild! Who do these people think they are, trying to teach the Fords how to behave?”

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Five years into our marriage, my husband died from a sudden asthma attack, leaving me and our son utterly alone in the world. My friends pitied me, a young widow. My parents urged me to take our son and remarry quickly. But I refused. I was determined to stay and honor my husband’s memory. Then, on the third anniversary of his death, I overheard my father-in-law in a furious argument with my brother-in-law. “David was the one with asthma, David was the one who died! But you… you faked your own death, all to take care of his widow. You threw away your own family for her. Was it worth it?” “For three years, Lena has mourned you, raising Leo all by herself. You gave your niece a home, but have you ever stopped to think? The day you decided to ‘die,’ Leo lost his father, too.” In that moment, a chill washed over me, so cold it felt like my blood was turning to ice. I finally understood. The man who died three years ago wasn’t my husband, Daniel. It was his identical twin brother, David. My three years of devoted mourning were nothing but a cruel joke. That night, I called my parents. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ll remarry.” 1 After my husband’s supposed death, his parents were consumed with guilt. They couldn’t even look me in the eye, catering to my every need, terrified that I would take their grandson and remarry, severing their last link to their son. My own parents, meanwhile, were constantly trying to set me up on dates. “You can’t be a widow for the rest of your life,” they’d say. But I was stubborn, immovable. I insisted on honoring Daniel’s memory. I even reassured my in-laws that I would never let our son call another man “Dad.” For three years, I endured the hardship and exhaustion of being a single mother, gritting my teeth through every lonely day. But then came the third anniversary of his death. And I overheard my father-in-law yelling at the man I knew as my brother-in-law, David. “Daniel Ford! It was your brother who had asthma since we were in the womb, your brother who passed away! Why did you have to stage your own death and steal his identity?” Daniel Ford? That was my husband’s name. Stage your own death? I stood frozen, unable to process it, when the other man’s voice cut through the air. “Dad, my sister-in-law was pregnant at the time. How could she have handled that kind of shock? As for Lena… I gave her a son. She won’t have to spend the rest of her life childless. That’s enough.” “From that day on,” he continued, his voice cold and resolute, “I decided to take on my brother’s responsibility of caring for his wife. As for the identity of Daniel Ford, let it be buried forever.” I couldn’t bear to listen to another word. My limbs felt like ice, and a sharp, piercing pain throbbed in my head. So, it wasn’t my husband who had died. It was his twin. And the man who should have been my partner, my love, had faked his own death to take care of another man’s wife, abandoning me and our son without a second thought. Tears finally streamed down my face, hot and furious. Daniel had been my savior. He had pulled me from the darkest time in my life. After I was kidnapped, my reputation in our small town was ruined, but he didn’t care. He got down on one knee and proposed, swearing he would love me forever. And for five years, he had. He treated me like a queen, never letting me suffer the slightest grievance. Everyone said I had married the most devoted man in the world. I was the envy of every woman in town. That was why I had chosen to remain his widow. Now, I saw how pathetic I had been. Daniel had always been perfectly healthy. He never even caught a cold. How could he have died from an asthma attack? It was all an act. He had put on a three-year performance, all to take care of the woman he truly loved. And what about me and our son? What were we to him? I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob and fled. Back in my room, the noise woke our son, Leo. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. I looked at his small face, a perfect miniature of Daniel’s, and my heart shattered. How could Daniel, his own father, be so cruel as to let his son grow up thinking his dad was dead? Seeing the grief on my face, Leo looked at me with heartbreaking sympathy. “Mommy, is Daddy pretending he doesn’t know you again?” His words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered how, after Daniel reappeared as “Uncle David,” Leo would run to him, crying “Daddy!” I had always gently corrected him, telling him it was his uncle, not his father. I thought it was just a child’s wishful thinking, his inability to distinguish between two identical faces. I never imagined that I was the one who was blind. My son’s eyes had been clear all along. He always knew his own father. What he couldn’t understand was why, overnight, his daddy refused to recognize him. No wonder “Uncle David” had been so kind to us. He bought Leo gifts, checked in on him constantly, brought us groceries, and even secretly gave us money. But the moment Leo called him “Daddy,” he would become stern, instantly correcting him. Everyone said he was the best uncle in the world, more attentive than most fathers. Before I knew the truth, I had been so grateful, promising myself I would repay his kindness one day. Now, the irony was nauseating. He was Leo’s father. Wasn’t it his duty to be good to his own son? How could he do all those things without his conscience tearing him apart? A bitter taste filled my mouth. The Daniel I knew was well and truly dead. He had buried himself. And my three years of mourning him had officially ended our relationship. After composing myself, I looked at my son. “Leo,” I said softly, “what if Mommy remarries? What if I find you a new daddy? Would you be okay with that?” “Mommy, I don’t know why Daddy keeps pretending not to know me,” he said, his little voice wise beyond his years. “But if you don’t want him anymore, then I don’t want him either. Wherever you go, I’ll go with you. If Daddy won’t protect you, I will!” Feeling my sorrow, Leo threw his arms around my neck, his small hands patting my back. At that, a fresh wave of tears escaped. “Okay,” I whispered, holding him tight. I picked up the phone and called my parents. The moment they answered, they launched into their usual speech. “Lena, honey, since Daniel passed, Jacob Vance has been to the house a dozen times to ask for your hand. You’ve known each other since you were kids, and he’s a Captain now. Why are you so stubborn? Why won’t you just…” “Mom, Dad,” I cut in. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll do it. I’ll remarry.” There were five seconds of stunned silence, then an eruption of joyous disbelief. “Are you serious? Oh, that’s wonderful! We’ll call him right away and start planning! Don’t you worry, Jacob has promised us over and over that he’ll treat Leo like his own son. All you have to do is be happy.” I could feel their excitement through the phone. They had worried about me for three long years. My devotion to Daniel had disappointed them time and again. Not anymore. The next morning, I took Leo downstairs for breakfast. Daniel was fussing over his “sister-in-law” and niece, a perfect picture of a happy family. Before, I had envied her, imagining Daniel would have treated me with the same care if he were still alive. Now, the scene just made me sick. My eyes stung, but I refused to cry. There was no one left to wipe my tears. Daniel caught sight of my pale face and served me and Leo some bacon. “You should eat more, Lena,” he said, his tone casual and concerned, the perfect brother-in-law. “Daniel is gone, but you have to think of your son.” He spoke as if the dead man he mentioned wasn’t himself. “It’s okay, Uncle,” Leo piped up, using his fork to put a piece of bacon on my plate. “I can help Mommy.” The word “Uncle” struck Daniel like a bolt of lightning. He froze, knocking over his glass with a clatter. It was the first time Leo had ever called him that. For three years, no matter how much Daniel had corrected him, Leo had stubbornly called him “Daddy.” “Leo,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “You… you always thought of me as your dad before. What changed?” Leo smiled a small, sad smile. “Uncle, I was just a little kid before. I get it now. My daddy died three years ago. Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again.” Daniel stared, speechless. Finally, he managed a hollow laugh. “Oh. Well, that’s good.” But his eyes darted between me and Leo, searching for a clue, his fork hovering over his plate, untouched. We ignored him, eating our breakfast in silence. His anxiety grew, his gaze constantly flicking toward us. “Even though I’m not Leo’s father,” he finally said, testing the waters, “I love him like my own son. Don’t be such a stranger. We’re family. If you ever need anything, just ask me. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.” I forced a bitter smile. Was he regretting it now that his son no longer called him “Daddy”? But he was the one who chose to fake his death, to abandon his child. I put down my fork and stood up, taking Leo’s hand. I didn’t thank him for his “care,” as I usually did. Instead, I looked him straight in his shocked eyes. “You’re right, David,” I said, using his brother’s name. “No matter how close we are, you’re not Leo’s real father. We’ll be just fine on our own.” The next day, I went to the department store. I bought Leo the milk candies and pastries he’d been craving, and then I went to the bridal section. I pointed to a stunning crimson dress and asked the clerk if I could try it on. Stepping out of the dressing room, I stared at my reflection, surprised at how much younger I looked. “Is this for your wedding?” the clerk gushed. “Red is so festive! Of all the women who have tried on this dress, you’re the first to make it look so beautiful.” But I silently took it off and pointed to a simple, elegant ivory dress instead. “I’ll take this one,” I said. A widow, I’d been told, shouldn’t wear a celebratory color for her second wedding. As I left the store, my arms full of bags, I ran right into Daniel, who was out shopping with his sister-in-law. He froze, then gave me an awkward greeting. “Lena? What are you doing out?” In the three years since his “death,” I had barely left the house. Seeing me out shopping, laden with bags, clearly surprised him. I mumbled an excuse, trying to brush past him. But as I did, he caught a glimpse of the dress bag. His expression turned grave. We had bought our wedding things in this very store. But back then, my dress had been crimson. Now, the dress in my bag was a subtle ivory. Why would a widow be buying a wedding dress? He stood there for a long time, so lost in thought that even his sister-in-law noticed something was wrong. That evening, when I brought Leo home from school, Daniel was waiting at our door, holding a brand-new backpack. The tag from the expensive international store was still attached. “Leo, your uncle got you a new backpack as a present for getting perfect scores on your test. Do you like it?” Leo looked at me, then shook his head at Daniel. “Thank you, Uncle, but I like the old one Mommy made for me.” The warm smile on Daniel’s face shattered. Panic flickered in his eyes. I sent Leo inside and blocked Daniel’s path. “We can’t keep taking things from you. You don’t need to buy him anything else.” He looked anxious, almost desperate. “Lena, I’m his uncle. It’s my duty to take care of you both. Don’t be like this.” I just laughed, a cold, empty sound. He frowned, unsettled. “I’m still your brother-in-law. Do you have to have this attitude with me?” I stared at him, my gaze boring into him, wondering how he had the audacity. “You said it yourself. You’re my brother-in-law. Not my husband. You have no right to question my attitude.” My behavior, combined with Leo’s, finally made him snap. He reached for my arm, his voice rising. “What’s going on, Lena? Why have you changed overnight?” I stepped back, out of his reach. “I’m your sister-in-law. Watch yourself.” Then I went inside and shut the door in his face. Daniel stood on the porch, silenced. For three years, even while living as David, his life hadn’t really changed. He still cared for me and Leo, our relationship still intimate and familiar. My warning was the first time he was forced to realize that we were no longer what we once were. He had to keep his distance. That night, Daniel rushed out and spent all his savings on three large tins of malted milk powder. He planned to bring them over the next morning, to apologize, to do whatever it took to fix things with us. He didn’t know it was our last night in that house. At dawn the next day, Leo and I, with all our luggage, were driven to the military base. As we entered, the young soldier at the gate smiled and called me Mrs. Vance. He said I was beautiful and my son was adorable, and that their Captain was a lucky man. I smiled back. For three years, I had worn nothing but drab colors. I barely ate meat. I lived like a nun, and my son, out of sympathy, had joined me, his face always pale. Now, that was over. Even Leo’s face was bright with anticipation for his new father. My fiancé, Captain Jacob Vance, had spared no expense for our wedding reception. He’d ordered dozens of tables of food from the best restaurant in the city and invited the entire base. He even sent men into town to announce that anyone who came to offer congratulations would receive wedding candy. Every detail was a testament to how much he valued me. Meanwhile, back at the Ford house, Daniel waited with his peace offerings. He waited and waited, but Leo and I never came down for breakfast. He looked up at our window, a sense of unease creeping over him. He went upstairs with his gifts and knocked, but there was no answer. The unease grew into dread. He threw his shoulder against the door, breaking it open. The rooms were empty. In the three years since his fake death, I had been a ghost in that house, either praying for his soul or lost in sorrow. I almost never went out. Where could we have gone so early in the morning? The memory of the ivory dress flashed in his mind. The certainty he’d felt just a day ago vanished. He rushed out, intending to find my parents, but was intercepted by one of his old army buddies, who dragged him toward the base. “It’s the Captain’s wedding day!” the man cheered. “We have to be there to celebrate!” “I heard the bride’s first husband died,” the friend chattered on. “Left her and her son in a tough spot. It’s a real blessing she found our Captain. A match made in heaven.” Daniel, his mind a chaotic mess, barely heard him. He just nodded along. It wasn’t until they entered the base and he heard the chorus of congratulations—”To Captain Vance and his bride, Lena, a hundred years of happiness!”—that the words finally registered. He stopped dead in his tracks, as if struck by lightning. He grabbed his friend’s shoulder, his eyes wide with panic. “The bride’s name is Lena? Which Lena?” Before the man could answer, I emerged from the main hall, holding hands with Jacob on one side and Leo on the other, walking straight into Daniel’s look of utter disbelief.

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My colleague had been chasing a client for six months with zero progress. My boss handed the account to me. A month later, I closed a twenty-million-dollar deal and pocketed a one-million-dollar commission. My boss called me his good luck charm. My colleague seethed with resentment. From that day on, my money began to vanish, piece by piece, without a trace. My colleague clapped me on the shoulder, her voice dripping with schadenfreude. “A good luck charm? You can’t even hold onto your own money. More like a dead fish, I’d say.” I smiled. Stealing a little cash from me was so… unimaginative. If she loved getting something for nothing so much, then fine. I’d give her what she wanted. I’d send 10.1 billion her way. After all, I really am a good luck charm. A black koi, the kind that bites back. 1 In the conference room, my boss, Mr. Reed, was beaming from ear to ear. “Emma is truly our company’s lucky charm,” he declared. “No matter how tough the client, she gets the deal done.” I accepted the compliment with a smile. Just as the applause died down, my colleague, Kelly, let out a “tsk” sound—not too loud, but just loud enough for everyone to hear. “I have to hand it to Emma, she’s really something else,” Kelly said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I slaved away on that account for six months and got nowhere. She swoops in, and it’s a done deal.” She paused, letting her words hang in the air. “There are some skills we just can’t learn, I guess. Young people these days really need to take care of their bodies.” It sounded like a compliment, but every word was a poisoned dart. Mr. Reed’s brow furrowed. “Kelly, if you have something to say, say it. Don’t play these passive-aggressive games.” “Oh, I wouldn’t dare have an opinion,” she said, blinking innocently. “I’m just curious what special methods Emma used. Maybe she could teach us? After all, some of us old-fashioned types only know how to do the actual work.” I met her malicious gaze and smiled calmly. “Kelly, the Apex deal closing actually had nothing to do with your work. In fact, I never even looked at the files you left.” Her face stiffened. “I happened to run into the mother of Apex’s CEO, Mr. Evans,” I continued. “I recommended a holistic specialist who cured her chronic migraines. Mr. Evans was so grateful he called Mr. Reed himself to sign the contract. I never even spoke to him directly. If you’d like to ‘learn,’ I can give you the specialist’s contact info right now.” Kelly’s expression flickered, and she forced a dry laugh. A murmur of understanding went through the room. “Wow, Mr. Reed was right. Emma really is a lucky charm. That’s some incredible luck.” “No wonder Kelly didn’t get any of the bonus.” Company policy was clear: when a deal closed, the commission was split among those who contributed. Kelly’s bitterness wasn’t about the deal; it was about the fact that she didn’t see a single dime. “Do you know why you didn’t get a bonus, Kelly?” Mr. Reed cut in, his voice cold. “Because you drove the client away.” “You took your nephew to an amusement park, cut in line, and pushed over Mr. Evans’s daughter. Then you showed up at their house disguised as a delivery driver and dropped to your knees to apologize, nearly giving his elderly mother a heart attack. Mr. Evans blocked my number because of you. Why don’t you mention that little mess?” Colleagues started whispering, casting contemptuous glances her way. Kelly’s face went pale, then she buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. “You’re all ganging up on me! My family was going through a crisis back then, my depression was acting up… I didn’t mean for any of it to happen!” She wept as if she were the world’s greatest victim. I just waved a dismissive hand, too tired to care. A colleague like her wasn’t worth my energy. The contract was mine. The commission was mine. That’s all that mattered. On Friday, after Kelly returned from a few days off, I offered to treat the entire office to dinner to celebrate. Kelly acted as if nothing had happened, linking her arm through mine affectionately. “Emma, I was out of line before. I owe you a proper toast tonight.” Later, after everyone had eaten their fill, I went to the counter to pay. Card declined. I tried paying with my phone. Insufficient funds. I stared in disbelief and quickly opened my banking app. The balance read: $100. That was impossible. Just before dinner, I’d bought over a dozen coffees for my colleagues. In the time it took to eat a meal, a hundred thousand dollars had vanished from my account without a single notification. I had to call my best friend to bail me out. When I returned to the table, my colleagues were looking at me with strange expressions. Kelly’s voice rang out with false concern. “Emma, if you’re short on cash, you should’ve just said so! We’re all colleagues, we could have just split the bill. No need to pretend you can afford it when you can’t.” Her announcement drew the attention of half the restaurant. My face burned with humiliation. “The bill is paid,” I explained, my voice tight. “I think my account was just compromised.” “Compromised?” Sarah from accounting immediately perked up. “You need to call your bank, right now!” The bank’s fraud department confirmed that a $100,000 transfer had been made half an hour ago. But the recipient’s account information was completely blank. The funds were untraceable. From the side, Kelly’s cool voice drifted over. “Even a lucky charm’s luck runs out sometimes, huh?” I ignored her jab and headed straight for the police station. 2 After I filed the report, the officer gently told me the money was likely wired overseas. The chances of getting it back were slim to none. I walked out of the precinct simmering with rage. Thankfully, payday was Monday. The few hundred dollars I had in cash would have to last me the weekend. I got a new bank account set up first thing and went to work, eagerly awaiting my direct deposit. My phone buzzed. My salary plus the commission—a total of $1.2 million—had arrived. I immediately transferred $20,000 to my friend to pay her back. Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, Mr. Reed called me into a meeting. When I came out, I saw over a dozen missed calls from my mom. My grandfather had suffered a bad fall and was in a coma. He needed emergency surgery, but my mom was short $30,000 for the deposit, and her card was at its daily limit. I rushed to transfer the money, only to be met with the same chilling notification: “Insufficient Funds.” I checked my account. Once again, all that was left was $100. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my phone. This was beyond a prank. This was a declaration of war. Swallowing my fury, I went to Mr. Reed and asked for an advance. He shot up from his chair. “The $1.2 million that just came in… it’s gone too?” Thankfully, he was a good man. He wired me $30,000 on the spot. “Go, take care of your grandfather. I’ll drive you to the police station myself afterward.” My colleagues gathered around to offer sympathy, but Kelly just smirked and patted my shoulder. “A lucky charm? You can’t even hold onto your own money. More like a dead fish, I’d say.” I snapped my head up to retort, but stopped cold. I could see it clearly now. Floating above her head were two dark, swirling clouds shaped like koi fish. It was the mark. Anyone who stole from a Black Koi was branded with it. So, it was her. She had stolen my money. The light in the restaurant must have been too dim for me to notice it before. All my anger evaporated, replaced by an icy calm. I looked at her, my voice level. “A thief should know when to stop. When you push things too far, you’re the one who ends up paying the price.” “Who are you calling a thief?” she shrieked, instantly defensive. “So now you’re making baseless accusations just because I said a few words? Ever heard of free speech?” “You know exactly what you’ve done,” I said. “Give the money back now, and I can pretend this never happened.” Kelly’s face twitched, then twisted into a sneer. “You suspect me? Then go to the police with your proof. Otherwise, I can sue you for slander.” She leaned in, her voice dripping with venom. “You’re just getting what you deserve. Stealing my client brought you bad karma. Why else would money keep disappearing from your account?” “You’re not a lucky charm; you’re a jinx. Now you don’t even have the money to save your grandfather. I almost feel sorry for him.” “Kelly!” Mr. Reed’s voice boomed. “That’s enough!” “What? I’m not wrong,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow defiantly. “So you do believe in karma, then,” I said, looking at her with something like pity. “Good. Then just wait. You’ll get to spend the rest of your life proving it’s real.” She spat on the floor. “Save your empty threats!” I didn’t bother responding. I calmly followed Mr. Reed out the door and back to the police station. The same officer from the other night, Detective Miles, was on duty. “Emma? You’re back already?” Mr. Reed explained grimly, “Her paycheck, all $1.2 million of it, just vanished.” The detective’s shock mirrored the bank teller’s. Once again, my money had been transferred to a ghost account, its destination a complete mystery. “We understand how you feel,” Detective Miles said, his expression sympathetic. “But the chance of recovery… it’s extremely low.” I just nodded calmly. People lost millions to scams like this all the time. What was my little million-plus in the grand scheme of things? Besides, this wasn’t some ordinary scam. If Kelly was bold enough to do this, she wasn’t going to just give the money back. Mr. Reed hesitated. “Emma, maybe we should pay you in cash from now on?” “No, that’s not necessary,” I said, my gaze fixed on the window. My voice was firm. “I won’t keep losing money. And I won’t change my life because of someone else’s crime.” If she loved getting something for nothing this much, then fine. I’d give her a gift so large it would choke her. After all, a Black Koi doesn’t just attract wealth. It delivers retribution. 3 I was ready to fight back. Kelly, you wouldn’t listen to reason. So now, you’ll learn your lesson the hard way. On my way home, I stopped at a convenience store and spent $30 on a Powerball ticket. That night, as the numbers were drawn, I matched them one by one on the screen. Just as I expected. I’d won the jackpot: $125 million. The next morning, I went straight to the lottery commission headquarters and walked out with a check for $100 million after taxes. I angled my phone just right, snapped a picture of myself holding the giant check, and posted it to my social media with a simple caption: A lucky charm is a lucky charm. I set the privacy so only Kelly could see it. On my way to the bank, I called my colleague Lily, who sat right next to Kelly. “Lily, could you do me a favor and send the product specs to Mr. Kim at Synergy? I have to run an errand at the bank, I’ll be back a little later.” Before Lily could even answer, I heard Kelly’s sneering voice in the background. “Going to the bank again, Emma? Don’t tell me you lost more money. Please don’t come back crying to the boss for another advance. It’s just embarrassing at this point.” I ignored her and repeated my instructions to Lily. Lily mumbled a hurried “okay” and hung up. I put my phone away and smiled. Kelly was watching my every move, just as I’d planned. She was addicted to her social media feed; she’d see my post within the half-hour. The bait was in the water. Now, I just had to wait for the greedy fish to bite. Before walking into the bank, I checked my feed again. A new post had popped up. It was from Kelly. She’d posted a picture of a fish washed up on a beach. The caption: A fish out of water is just a fish out of water. Heh. I couldn’t help but laugh. Humming a little tune, I walked into the bank. The manager, Mr. Davison, and the tellers all looked at me with a mixture of pity and concern. I just smiled and waved the check. “Here to make a deposit. Looks like I’ll need you to open another new account for me.” The account was opened in minutes. This time, I was smarter. I didn’t even set up online access. Mr. Davison ushered me into his private office, eagerly pitching various investment products. I pretended to listen, making idle chit-chat. I was stalling for time, waiting for my big fish to take the bait. An hour later, my phone pinged with a text alert. The $100 million had been deposited. I suppressed a thrill of excitement and handed my phone to Mr. Davison. “Could you take a look? This text is real, right?” He grinned even wider than I was. “Absolutely! I’ve been monitoring it myself. It’s the real deal!” “Great,” I said, taking the phone back. “In that case, could you help me set up online banking now? I think I’d like to invest fifty million.” With his guidance, I downloaded the bank’s mobile app and carefully entered a new password several times. The little loading circle started to spin. I propped my chin on my hand, my eyes glued to the screen. Come on, Kelly, I thought. What’s it going to be? Are you going to back off, or are you going to get greedier? “Don’t be nervous,” Mr. Davison said with a chuckle, mistaking my intensity for excitement. “Alright, let’s count down. This is the moment your life changes.” He had no idea. The life-changing moment I was waiting for wasn’t mine. “Five!” “Four!” “Three!” “Two!” “One!” The screen refreshed. I held my breath, staring. Account Balance: $0.00.

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I was scrolling through a forum when a post caught my eye: “My Ex-Husband’s Bank Account Is My Personal Piggy Bank. Here’s How.” Below it was a long stream of censored screenshots of bank transfers. Someone did the math in the comments. “Damn, that’s tens of thousands of dollars. You’re a legend!” “Please, teach me your ways! I’m begging you!” The original poster replied, smug. “That’s nothing. There were so many transfers, I got tired of taking screenshots.” “It’s easy. You just play them both.” “For example, my daughter’s birthday is coming up. I tell my ex that she’s been acting out, wants a new car, and if he doesn’t buy it, she’s going to run off with some bad-news biker type.” “Then I turn around and tell my daughter that her dad is so wrapped up in his new family that he won’t even spare a dime for her. She gets heartbroken, starts ignoring her dad completely, and all the money she earns, she gives to me.” “I play them both, I profit from both, and I get a daughter who’s completely devoted to me. It doesn’t get much better than that.” And this woman had the nerve to call herself a mother? I scoffed in disgust, about to close the tab. Just then, my mom walked in, her face a mask of fury. “Honey! Your father is getting more and more ridiculous! He has enough money to buy his new wife a diamond ring, but for your birthday, he won’t even buy you a cake!” 1 I froze, a wave of anger and bitterness washing over me. “Then don’t buy it. Who cares!” “Even if he did, I wouldn’t take a single bite. I’d throw it to the stray dogs on the street!” “Why should he get away with it!” Mom was fuming. “You’re his own flesh and blood!” “The money he earns should be spent on you! Why should that old snake get to enjoy it?” She paused, and then her eyes started to well up with tears. “It’s my fault. I’m not good enough. I see you suffering through a two-hour subway commute every day, not even getting a full night’s sleep, and I don’t have the money to buy you a car.” “My poor Chloe. Your own father makes so much money, but for you, it’s like you don’t have a father at all.” She pulled me into a hug, her tears falling freely. “Oh, Chloe, you’ve suffered so much. It’s all my fault. I wasn’t strong enough back then. I couldn’t stop that shameless homewrecker from stealing his heart, and now you have to grow up without a dad. I’m so sorry.” A lump formed in my throat, and my own eyes began to burn. Back in middle school, my mom had caught my dad cheating. An endless storm of arguments followed. Even though he was the one in the wrong, he walked away from the divorce with most of their assets and had even declared he didn’t want me, calling me a burden. After that, the monthly child support payments were never on time. Not once. I remember one time the school required us to buy new uniforms; it was fifty dollars. Seeing my mom worry about money every day, I secretly went to my dad’s house. But the moment he saw me, his first question was what kind of trouble I’d gotten into this time. He said he was utterly disappointed in me. The words I had practiced died in my throat. Before he could say more, I turned and ran, tears streaming down my face. When my mom found out, she held me and cried all night. In the end, she had to beg her boss at her part-time job for an advance on her salary. But raising a child is expensive. A fifty-dollar advance was just a drop in the ocean. My freshman year of high school, I wasn’t eating well and didn’t have warm enough clothes. Just before winter, I came down with acute pneumonia. My fever was so high my skin was red as a boiled shrimp. I needed to be hospitalized immediately. But just the initial tests wiped out all of my mom’s savings. She called my dad, crying. She must have thought I was asleep because she didn’t bother to hide the conversation. But I was wide awake. I heard every word of her low, pleading voice, and I saw the utter despair on her face as she covered it with her hands and wept after he refused her. From that day on, I told myself: I don’t have a father. I only have a mother. I only need my mother. But there was one thing I could never understand. My dad used to be so good to me. He cared for me, spoiled me rotten. Sometimes, he doted on me so much that even my mom would get a little jealous. But he never changed, just laughed and said I was his little princess, the apple of his eye. Why did everything change the moment they started talking about divorce? Was it true what they say? When a new wife comes in, the old kids are forgotten. Now, I’d graduated from college. In eight years, my father hadn’t visited me once. The number of times he’d called I could count on one hand. Even though I’d given up hope, what child doesn’t yearn for their father’s love? Especially when you’ve had it and then lost it. The ache never truly goes away. Slap! A sharp sound pulled me from my thoughts. My mom, lost in her sorrow, had slapped herself in a fit of self-blame. “Mom, don’t do that,” I cried, grabbing her hand to stop her from hurting herself again. “I’ve never blamed you. In my heart, you are the best mother in the world,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. But that only made her cry harder. “My sweet Chloe. You’re so good, so devoted. How could that blind, heartless bastard be so cruel!” “It all comes back to me. I’m not good enough. I’ve dragged you down with me, made it so you’ve never had a single good day.” “Forget everything else, he goes and buys that snake a diamond ring out of nowhere, but not only have I never worn one in my life, when you get married in a few years, I won’t have the money to buy you one either.” The anger and bitterness in my chest swelled, and the tears finally fell. He was the one who cheated. I was his daughter. Why were our lives so hard? Especially my mom. She had worked herself to the bone her whole life to raise me, and she had never even owned a ring. “Mom, I’m not even dating anyone. Marriage is a long way off. There’s no rush.” “And besides, I just…” I was about to say that I’d just gotten my annual bonus, and with my savings, I had enough to buy her a ring. But as the words were on my lips, the image of that online post flashed through my mind. My heart gave a violent thud. I changed my sentence. “Besides, I was thinking of getting a mortgage on a small apartment near my office. That way I won’t have to deal with the subway commute anymore.” “Mom, I’m going to go ask my dad for the money. The child support he owes me from all these years should be more than enough for a down payment.” 2 My mom’s sobs stopped instantly. My heart hammered against my ribs again. I made a move to stand up. She panicked, her arms tightening around me. “Don’t go!” Her crying grew even louder. “I can’t bear to see you go, Chloe.” “Have you forgotten that time you went behind my back to ask for the uniform money? You didn’t get a penny, and he yelled at you in front of everyone.” “I can still see your face, streaked with tears, when you ran home. The pain in my heart… it was like being stabbed.” “That wasn’t asking for money. That was asking for my life!” “Chloe, sweetheart, if anyone’s going, it’ll be me. I can’t stand to see you get hurt like that again.” She cupped my face, pressing her forehead against mine, her voice trembling with sobs. My resolve softened. I wanted to slap myself. My mother was a saint. For so many years, she had worked tirelessly to raise me. To protect me from more pain, she had never even considered remarrying, dedicating her entire life to me. How could I be so heartless? How could I even begin to doubt her? “Mom, please don’t cry.” I gently wiped her tears away. All my suspicion and the idea of hiding anything from her vanished. However… “Mom, I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m not the same kid who runs away crying after a few harsh words.” “I don’t want what isn’t mine. But what I’m owed, he won’t short me a single cent.” I let out a cold snort, my eyes filled with resentment. “He owes me that child support, and I’m going to get it. If he refuses to pay, I’ll go to his office and make a scene. I’ll take him to court. I’ll expose him online!” “I don’t believe it. He might not be afraid of us, but he has to be afraid of his boss, the courts, of being publicly shamed, right? I… ouch!” A sharp pain shot through my arm, making me hiss. My mom realized what she was doing and quickly let go of my arm where her fingers had dug in. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked, worried. “Are you not feeling well?” “It’s-it’s my stomach. It just started hurting. Maybe it’s my old problem acting up again.” A flash of panic in her eyes, but she quickly composed herself. Her expression was still a little unnatural. “Chloe, honey, could you make me some soup? It’s good for my stomach. I could really use some.” The suspicion I had just suppressed began to creep back. I bit my lip, nodded, and went to the kitchen. All these years, to raise me, my mom had been both a mother and a father. She worked three jobs to make ends meet and still had to worry about my meals and my schoolwork when she got home. She rarely ate on time; sometimes she’d go the whole day without even a sip of water. She had developed stomach problems years ago. A sudden stomachache was normal. In contrast, my dad’s career had soared. He made more and more money, and his life got better and better. There was no justice in the world. Why did a man who abandoned his wife and daughter, who wouldn’t even pay child support for the sake of some homewrecker, get to live so well? He should know what it feels like to be hungry and cold. The more I thought about it, the more unfair it felt. I pulled out my phone and sent him a message. 3 [It’s my birthday. Where’s my present?] A moment later, he replied. [No money. Ask your mother.] Even though I was already completely disillusioned, even though I had no expectations, seeing that reply still made my eyes burn with angry tears. How could he? He was the one who brought me into this world and then abandoned me. How could he be so shameless! I scrolled through his social media. It was filled with pictures of him taking his new wife out to fancy dinners, buying her expensive gifts, going on vacations. How was that fair! [Child support was part of the divorce settlement. It’s legally binding! You’ve been illegally withholding it for years! Pay me back what you owe, with interest, or I’m suing you for abandonment!] I furiously typed out the message and hit send, only to be met with a glaring red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. Tears of frustration streamed down my face. I was about to call him. But then I saw the forum tab, still open on my phone. On a strange impulse, I paused and clicked back into the thread. The original poster had just updated it. “Not sure what happened, but I did my usual routine, and this time my daughter didn’t fall for it so easily. Instead of giving me money to comfort me, she insisted on going to her dad to ask for it.” “Tsk. I guess when they grow up, they’re not so easy to fool anymore.” The comments section was quickly filled with ridicule. “You play with fire, you get burned. Serves you right! Your daughter’s probably suspicious. You’re about to get caught.” “I’ve never seen a mother like you. For a bit of cash, you let your child grow up without a father’s love. Don’t you feel bad seeing her so sad?” “She doesn’t feel a damn thing. Anyone who could do this doesn’t deserve to be a mother. She’s a monster.” “Fuck, if I had a mother like that, I hope I’d never find out. Otherwise, I’d probably stab her. I can’t even imagine what that poor girl went through, crying herself to sleep thinking her own father didn’t want her.” Even the people who had been begging for her “advice” before were disgusted now. But some defended her. “What’s wrong with a mother trying to get some money? So she got her heart broken and her life ruined by some scumbag, and she’s not allowed to take some of his money after the divorce? Why the hell not?” “Exactly. A woman has to be herself first, then a mother! If her daughter is gullible enough to be fooled, that’s on her. She deserves it!” “OP, if things are looking bad, just go for the big score. Drain your ex and your daughter dry, then get the hell out of there and live your best life. Your daughter’s an adult now, she won’t starve!” The original poster immediately liked those comments. She even pinned the last one that gave her advice, replying to it directly. “Girl, you and I are on the exact same wavelength. That’s exactly what I was thinking.” “You guys don’t know, but when my daughter said she wanted to ask her dad for a down payment on a house, it gave me a brilliant idea!” “A house, you know? The down payment alone is tens of thousands. If things go south, I’ll use that as an excuse to get all the money from both of them. Hehe.” Staring at the words on the screen, I felt like I had fallen through ice into a frozen river. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature seeped into my bones. I stood there, paralyzed, an uncontrollable tremor running through my body. 4 Both divorced mothers with daughters. Both daughters celebrating a birthday today. I had just mentioned buying a house and asking my dad for money, and immediately the poster says her daughter is getting harder to fool and that the house idea gave her an inspiration… How could it be such a coincidence? How was that even possible? The suspicion I had just suppressed came rushing back with the force of a tidal wave. Forgetting the soup simmering on the stove, I tiptoed as quietly as I could towards my mother’s room to see what she was doing. Through the half-open door, I saw her. She was comfortably propped up against the headboard, her fingers flying across her phone screen as she typed. I didn’t know if she was chatting with someone or replying to the post. But her lips were curved into a smile. Her face was alight with excitement and triumph. There was no trace of the woman who, moments ago, had been in so much stomach pain that she’d accidentally dug her nails into my arm. Just then, her typing stopped. I immediately retreated to the kitchen. As expected, the post had a new reply. It was a response to the comment that said she was about to get caught. “Thanks for the concern, sis, but I’m not getting caught anytime soon. You know why?” “Hehehe, because I was smart. Years ago, I told my daughter her dad had a new phone number and had her save a second number of mine as his contact.” “I did the same thing on his end.” “So now, their social media, their text messages… they only see what I want them to see.” “Hmph. My daughter just tried to text her ‘dad’ behind my back. I just replied ‘no money’ and then blocked her. How’s that for a pro move?” Of course. Of course. That’s why my dad, who used to adore me, had only called a few times in the beginning and then went completely silent for eight years. So that was it. It was all a lie. But I was her daughter. The child she carried for ten months. How could she do this to me? In that moment, I no longer felt like I was in my home, a place of safety. It felt like I was standing on the edge of a bottomless abyss that was about to swallow me whole. Everything was a lie. What was even real anymore? Dark spots danced in front of my eyes, the world twisting into a grotesque caricature of itself. Biting my lip hard, I forced myself to move, slipping out of the house as quietly as I could. Once outside, I didn’t care about anything else. I hailed a cab and ran to my father’s house. As I got out of the car, I saw him walking out of his apartment complex. “Chloe?” We hadn’t seen each other in almost eight years, but he recognized me instantly. He frowned, his expression grim. “Why are you taking a cab? Didn’t you throw a fit until I bought you that car? If I bought it, why aren’t you driving it?”

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