On a stormy night, my next-door neighbor suddenly went into labor. I drove her through the floodwaters to the maternity hospital. After she was discharged, she reported me for running an illegal taxi service to make a quick buck. I didn’t say a word. I paid the $5,000 fine, and my car was impounded. She posted a voice message in our building’s residents’ group chat: “Even with friends, business is business. If you break the law, you pay the price!” A month later, her younger son had a seizure from a high fever. She couldn’t get a cab in the middle of the night. She called me, crying, begging me to drive them to the hospital. Holding my phone, I said calmly, “That’s illegal. You could go to jail for that. You should probably wait for an ambulance.” 1 “Tim! Are you even human? This is a child’s life we’re talking about!” “If my son ends up with brain damage, I’ll never let you hear the end of it! You’re a murderer!” I held the phone away from my ear and hung up. Outside, thunder rattled the windows. Another storm was raging. The last one had lasted for three whole days. The building’s underground garage was completely flooded. Luckily, I’d had the foresight to move my new Audi A6 to higher ground. That car was my calling card for my business; I practically polished it three times a day. At 2 a.m., when the rain was at its heaviest, a thunderous banging shook my front door. I looked through the peephole and saw my neighbor, Mark, soaked to the bone. The moment I opened the door, he dropped to his knees. “Tim! Help me! My wife’s in labor! Her water broke!” In this weather, even a tank would have trouble getting through, let alone an ambulance. The roads outside the complex were cut off, the water rising to thigh-level in the deepest spots. “Have you called 911?” I asked, throwing on some clothes. “We did! There’s a huge queue! Everyone’s waiting! But Sarah can’t wait, she’s on the floor, screaming in pain, and she’s bleeding!” Mark, a grown man, was a mess of tears and snot, his forehead hitting the floor tiles with a dull thud. “Tim, I know you have a good car, high clearance. Please, save my wife and baby! If we’re too late, they could both die!” Lives were on the line. I stared out at the rain pouring down like a waterfall and gritted my teeth. “Let’s go.” I’d never driven in such treacherous conditions. Waves of floodwater crashed over the hood, and the wipers on their highest setting could barely clear the windshield. I had to crawl through the “river” that was our street, hazard lights flashing. In the car, Sarah’s screams were agonizing. Her nails clawed deep gouges into my leather seats. I winced at the damage but didn’t dare say a word, my focus entirely on the road ahead. The engine sputtered ominously several times. My palms were slick with sweat. If we stalled here, we’d all be trapped. A drive that normally took twenty minutes stretched into an hour and a half. The moment I pulled up to the maternity hospital entrance, medics rushed out with a gurney. As they lifted Sarah out, a mixture of amniotic fluid and blood soaked my backseat. Mark followed behind them, stammering his endless thanks. I collapsed into the driver’s seat, exhausted, my hands still shaking. The trip had half-wrecked my car. The engine had probably taken on water, and the interior would need a complete overhaul. But at that moment, all I could think was: I saved two lives. It was worth it. The next afternoon, I was at the auto shop, grimacing at the sight of my dismantled engine. Mark sent me a text: a healthy baby boy, mother and child were doing fine. I sent him back a generous gift of cash through a payment app. A little while later, Mark showed up at the shop and insisted on stuffing five hundred dollars in cash into my hand. “Tim, this is for gas and a car wash. You have to take it! Sarah would feel terrible otherwise!” I tried to refuse. “We’re neighbors. Don’t be a stranger. As long as the baby’s okay, that’s all that matters.” “No! Even with friends, business is business. If you don’t take this, you’re looking down on me!” He shoved the money into my pocket and ran off before I could protest further. Holding the five hundred dollars, I thought to myself that they were a decent, considerate family. I never imagined that five hundred dollars would be the beginning of my nightmare. Three days later, I was in a meeting at work when several uniformed officers from Traffic Enforcement walked right in. “Are you Tim Wallace? The owner of the vehicle with license plate 66888?” I froze. “Yes, that’s me. What’s wrong?” “We’ve received a formal complaint against you for operating an illegal taxi service. The evidence is conclusive. You need to come with us.” At their headquarters, when they showed me the file, my world went cold. The complainant: Sarah Miller. The evidence included the complete dashcam footage from the night I drove her to the hospital, and a photo of Mark forcing the five hundred dollars into my hand. There was even a recording. It was Sarah’s voice, sounding weak, yet shrewd: “Yes, I took his illegal taxi. The rain was too heavy to get a ride, so he jacked up the price to five hundred dollars. People like him, who profit from a crisis, must be punished.” I trembled as I listened to the recording. I thought of the heart-pounding terror of that drive. I thought of the bloodstains on my leather seats. I thought of the thousands of dollars I had paid out of pocket for repairs. “Bullshit!” I slammed my fist on the table. “This is slander! I was taking her to the hospital to give birth! Her husband forced that money on me for gas!” The officer’s face was impassive. “We only look at the evidence. You don’t have a commercial driver’s license, yet you accepted payment. The facts are clear.” “According to regulations, the fine is five thousand dollars, and the vehicle will be impounded.” Five thousand dollars. For me, with my business already facing a cash flow crunch, it was like pouring salt on a wound. Worse, with my car impounded, how was I supposed to meet my clients? I slumped into the chair, the cold penalty notice clenched in my fist. In that moment, something inside of me simply died. 2 My heart bled as I drove my car out of the impound lot. The tow truck had cracked the bumper, and the body was caked in mud. Just like my life at that moment—a complete mess. I drove straight to the hospital. In the hospital room, Sarah was propped up in bed, sipping on some expensive broth. Her cheeks were rosy; she looked nothing like the woman who had been at death’s door that night. Mark was peeling an apple beside her. When he saw me, his hand flinched, the knife nearly slicing his finger. “Well, well, look who it is. Our hero,” Sarah said, her voice dripping with sarcasm after swallowing a mouthful of broth. I threw the penalty notice onto her blanket. “Why?” It was the only word I could manage. Sarah glanced at the amount on the paper and smirked. “Don’t blame me, Tim. The city offers a reward for reporting illegal taxis, up to three hundred bucks.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, her tone matter-of-fact. “If I didn’t report you, someone else would have. Might as well keep it in the neighborhood. Three hundred dollars is enough for a month of Toby’s formula.” I stared at her in disbelief. “For three hundred dollars? I saved your life! And your son’s! My car repairs cost over a thousand! Now I’ve been fined five thousand!” I roared, my eyes turning red. Mark shrank into himself, not saying a word, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “You did that willingly. I didn’t ask you to,” Sarah said with an eye-roll. “Besides, you drive such a nice car. What’s a little money to you? For poor people like us, every penny counts.” “This is betrayal! I helped you!” “Don’t you dare get on your high horse with me! The law says you were operating illegally, and that’s that! Where there’s smoke, there’s fire!” Sarah’s voice suddenly shot up, drawing the attention of the other patients and their families in the ward. She immediately switched into victim mode, pointing at me and shouting, “Everyone, come and judge for yourselves! This man runs an illegal taxi in the rain, preying on pregnant women! Now that he’s been fined, he’s come to the hospital to threaten us! Is there no justice?” People who didn’t know the story started whispering and pointing at me. “He looks so respectable, but he does such vile things.” “Scamming a pregnant woman… he has no heart.” I was speechless, unable to defend myself. Looking at Sarah’s triumphant, smug face, I suddenly realized that arguing with someone like her was the height of foolishness. I shot a cold glance at Mark. “You’re just going to let your wife run wild like this?” Mark looked down, mumbling, “Tim, in our house… Sarah calls the shots…” Fine. Just fine. I turned and walked out of the room, Sarah’s victorious sneer following me down the hall. When I got home, an even bigger storm was waiting. To get her hands on that $300 reward, Sarah had publicly tagged me in the 500-member residents’ group chat. “@TimWallace You can’t judge a book by its cover. Everyone, be careful not to take his car! He scams his neighbors during storms, preying on people he knows!” She even posted a pixelated photo of my fine notice, painting herself as a brave victim fighting for her rights. The chat exploded. The same neighbors who used to greet me respectfully as “Mr. Wallace” completely changed their tune. “I never would have thought he was that kind of person.” “Stay away from him. He’s a real shark.” Even my own parents were accosted by others in the building when they went out for groceries, told they had failed in raising their son. The stress caused my mom’s blood pressure to spike, and she ended up in the hospital for three days. Because my car was impounded for two weeks, I missed meetings with two major clients. My company’s cash flow completely dried up. I had to swallow my pride and borrow money from relatives, enduring their condescending looks. Friends who’d once clapped me on the back now sent my calls straight to voicemail. During that time, I was sleeping three hours a night, my hair falling out in clumps. Countless times, I stood on my balcony, staring at the lights on in Sarah’s apartment downstairs, wanting to charge down there and end it all. But I held back. I couldn’t throw my life away over someone so worthless. I sold everything of value I owned to plug the holes in my company’s finances. Life had to go on, but I was no longer the same warm-hearted Tim. I spent a small fortune installing high-definition, front-and-rear dashcams with audio recording in my car. I also set up a panoramic surveillance camera at my front door, covering every angle, 24/7. I swore to myself, if I ever meddled in someone else’s business again, I was less than human. From then on, I kept to myself in the building. If I saw an elderly person fall, I’d walk the other way. If I heard a child crying, I’d put on my headphones. My world became quiet, and my heart grew cold, hard as iron. Then, a month later. A brutal flu swept through the city.

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We’d been married for five years. My husband, Julian, had always been militant about protection, so I was stunned when he suddenly wanted a child. Two months into the pregnancy, I was hospitalized for complications. That’s when I first heard the voice. It was malicious, infantile, and coming from inside my own stomach. Owww, I’m gonna make it hurt! I’m going to toss and turn until you scream. Daddy said you’re not my real mommy. You’re just the delivery van. I stared at my abdomen, convinced I was having an auditory hallucination. I stumbled out of my room to find Julian, but I stopped when I heard him talking to my doctor in the hallway. “Mr. Thorne, your wife’s uterine lining is dangerously thin. If you insist on her carrying this pregnancy for Ms. Vane, she will likely be rendered infertile. Are you sure this is fair to her?” Julian’s voice was casual, dismissive. “Serena is A-list. Her reputation can’t take a hint of scandal, let alone a baby bump. Chloe has always wanted a child. She should be honored to carry this one for Serena.” 1 I stood in the doorway, shaking so hard my teeth chattered. The baby I had prayed for, the baby I’d gone through three agonizing rounds of IVF to get… was for Serena Vane. “Just do your job,” Julian continued, his voice hardening. “I don’t want Chloe to know. You have no idea how much Serena is looking forward to this. I want this baby delivered, perfectly, with no complications.” The cold, clinical devotion in his voice was terrifying. I walked back to my room in a daze. A nurse smiled at me as I passed. “You’re so lucky,” she whispered. “Your husband booked the entire floor so you could rest. And he hired a private nurse and stays here 24/7. He must love you so much.” “I heard he cried when he saw the first ultrasound. A man like that? Total unicorn.” If I’d heard this yesterday, I would have glowed. Now, it felt like swallowing flies. The fetus didn’t like the praise, either. It started to kick, hard. Idiots! He loves Mommy! He loves SERENA! This bitch is just the help! She’s lucky I’m even here. God, I’m going to make her pay for this. A sharp, blinding pain shot from my pelvis. I gasped, cold sweat beading on my forehead. Almost simultaneously, I heard Julian roaring from down the hall. “You’re all useless! I can’t leave her for one minute? If anything happens to Chloe, I’ll have all your jobs!” He rarely raised his voice. He really, really cared about this baby. I clutched my stomach, a grotesque smile pulling at my lips. A moment later, he burst into the room and saw me crumpled on the floor. He rushed over, scooping me up. “Chloe, what are you doing? You’re pregnant! You have to be responsible! You can’t just wander off. What if something happened?” His voice was trembling with what I once would have called “fear.” I just felt numb. “It was stuffy. I needed some air.” He visibly relaxed and carried me back to bed. He took the prenatal vitamins from the nurse and held one out to me with a glass of water. “Time for your folate, baby.” I stared at the pill. I’m severely allergic to folic acid. It covers my entire body in agonizing, itchy hives. Julian knew this. For the last two months, I’d been living in a Benadryl-fueled haze, scratching myself raw in my sleep. “I don’t want to.” His brow furrowed. “Chloe, be good. It’s for the baby. You know it’s essential for neural tube development. A healthy baby.” He knew I wanted a child more than anything. He knew I’d swallow poison if he told me it was for the baby. I took the pill. Within a minute, the familiar, maddening itch began. Red welts rose on my arms. I gagged, trying to spit the pill back out. Julian’s hand clamped over my mouth. “No, Chloe. Don’t spit it out. You have to keep it down.” He held my mouth shut with one hand and gripped my arms with the other, watching me with those cold, determined eyes as my body convulsed. The voice in my head cooed. Yesss, I love this stuff. It makes this bitch itch, but it makes me strong. I wish she had to take it ten times a day. Who cares if she suffers, as long as I get to meet my real mommy. 2 I was in the hospital for a month. I tried everything to get rid of it. I “accidentally” fell in the shower. I “accidentally” ate unpasteurized cheese. But Julian was watching me like a hawk. He’d anticipated every move. On my last day, he must have sensed my desperation. He sat on the bed, his voice laced with a strange anxiety. “Chloe, what’s wrong? You’ve been… distant. Is the pregnancy making you unhappy?” I dropped my gaze to hide the bitter irony. “I’ve wanted this for years, Julian. After all the failed IVF… how could I be unhappy? Why would you ask that?” My flat denial seemed to calm him. He sighed, relieved, and handed me a folder. “I know it’s been hard on you. This is just… a thank you. It’s the deed to that downtown condo you liked. It’s all yours.” I just stared at it. Thirty minutes ago, I’d been scrolling through Instagram. Serena Vane had just posted a new photo. It was also a deed, blurred but recognizable. Her caption: [The only beachfront villa in Malibu. In love, there’s no such thing as ‘first.’ The one who isn’t loved is always the third wheel. 😉] I’d “liked” it. She deleted it almost immediately. The difference was so painfully clear. He gave me a condo. He gave her Malibu. I opened my mouth to refuse, but the door swung open. Serena Vane, in sunglasses and a perfect blowout, waltzed in with a fruit basket. “Julian, darling! I heard Chloe was here and just had to stop by. I hope I’m not interrupting.” She was an A-list star. Beautiful, untouchable. I was a pale, exhausted woman in a hospital gown. The baby went wild. MOMMY! MOMMY’S HERE! I love you, Mommy! I’ll be out soon, Mommy, I promise! The high-pitched joy was like an ice pick in my ear. I turned my back to them. “I’m tired. I need to rest.” I thought she’d leave. She didn’t. She sat down next to Julian. He started massaging my calves, the picture of a doting husband. But under the blanket, I felt his foot move. Ooooh, Daddy’s foot is touching Mommy’s foot! They’re holding hands! YAY! My parents are the best! This stupid carrier bitch is just in the way. I can’t wait to get out so I can ruin her life! Their movements became more obvious. Julian, thinking I was asleep, leaned over and whispered something to Serena. He kissed her. YES! YES! YES! They’re kissing! I hope she sees! I hope it kills this bitch! The baby was doing gleeful flips. I didn’t know what hurt more, my abdomen or my heart. I didn’t dare open my eyes. A minute later, they quietly left the room together. I followed them. In a utility alcove down the hall, they were pressed against the wall. “You shouldn’t have come,” Julian murmured, his hands in her hair. “I told you to be careful. What if Chloe saw?” Serena laughed. “But I missed you! You’re so mean, making her carry our baby just so I don’t get bloated. You have to let me reward you.” She pulled his face down and kissed him, a deep, passionate kiss. The baby in my womb was cheering. Go, Mommy! Go, Daddy! I hope she’s watching! I stumbled back to my room, one thought repeating itself: I have to get this thing out of me. 3 A nurse saw me clutching the wall. “Mrs. Thorne? Are you alright? You’re pale as a ghost.” She saw the tears streaming down my face. “Oh, no… don’t cry! It’s bad for the baby! If Mr. Thorne saw you this upset…” I couldn’t hold it in. A sob tore out of me, and I collapsed. … When I woke up, I was at home. Julian was gone, but Serena was standing at the foot of my bed, her arms crossed. “That was a cute stunt. Fainting just to make him worry,” she sneered. “You’re pathetic.” “You saw us, didn’t you? He loves me. He’s just using your body.” I gripped the sheets. “How long?” “Two years,” she said, examining her nails. “We met at the Met Gala. He told me he was in a loveless marriage. He said you were… fine, but boring. He’d never even sleep with me without protection. He wanted me to have his baby, but my brand is ‘America’s Sweetheart.’ A scandal would ruin me. This… was his solution.” She leaned in. “You know all those ‘gifts’ he gave you after your failed IVF rounds? Consolation prizes. All those ‘late nights at the office’? He was with me. In this house. In this bed.” She smiled, a victor’s smile, and walked out. She passed Julian in the hall. He came in, his face a mask of concern. “Chloe? You’re awake. I was so worried.” I was already on the phone with a disposal service. “I want this bed… this mattress… I want it all gone. Burn it.” “Chloe, what’s wrong?” He tried to hug me. “You’re not well. You fainted. You need to be more careful. For the baby.” I shoved him off. He sighed, thinking I was just hormonal. He called to someone in the hall. A middle-aged woman walked in. “Chloe, you’re obviously not taking care of yourself. I’ve hired the best maternity nurse in the state. This is Mrs. Vance. She’ll be staying with us.” I looked at her. She seemed vaguely familiar. Julian walked her out. I could hear his low voice. “Mrs. Vance, Chloe’s… she’s a little fragile. Your only priority is the fetus. Do whatever it takes. Be firm.” “I understand completely, Mr. Thorne.” I knew why she looked familiar. The next morning at 4:00 AM, my door flew open. “Get up. The air is purest at this hour. We’re going for a walk.” I was barely asleep. “What? No. I’m exhausted.” Mrs. Vance ripped the blankets off me. “This isn’t a request. Your lazy lifestyle is bad for the baby. Get up, or I’ll make you.” “You can’t be serious.” “Try me.” She picked up the ice water pitcher from my nightstand and dumped it on my head. I gasped, sputtering from the cold. Before I could move, her hand cracked across my face. SLAP. The sound was deafening in the silence. “You are a vessel,” she spat, her face inches from mine. “Mr. Thorne was very clear. The package is the priority. Not you.” I was too stunned to move. The voice in my head was cackling. Yeah, Grandma! You tell her! Teach that bitch a lesson! She better not disobey my family! Grandma. Of course. Mrs. Vance. Serena Vane’s mother. The humiliation was so profound, I just sat there, dripping and shivering.

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To get my brother, my grandmother drowned seven of my sisters. When my brother was finally born, he was more beautiful than any girl. Growing up, he was convinced he was a girl. He stole dresses to dance in. He wrote love letters to his handsome, broad-shouldered high school teacher. The folks in our small town said it was a curse, the revenge of the dead girls. Only I knew the truth. This was all my doing. The Miller family line was always destined to end. 1 I guess I was just born bad. My brother, Caleb, looked like a porcelain doll from the day he was born. Mom held him, her eyes crinkling until they vanished. “They say the last child is always the prettiest! It’s true!” Her eyes slid over to my older sister, Beth, washing diapers by the sink, and then to me, scraping an apple into mush with a spoon. We were the counter-evidence. Beth and I were plain, maybe even ugly. We both got Mom’s thin lips and sallow skin, and Dad’s wide, heavy bone structure. But Caleb won the genetic lottery. He got Dad’s long lashes, big eyes, and pale skin, and Mom’s slender frame. Between Caleb and me, there were seven sisters. Or rather, seven ghosts. Each one was born, then immediately plunged head-first into a slop bucket. At night, my grandmother would take the bundle, dump it in the backwoods, and let the coyotes erase the evidence. “Two girls is enough for chores,” Dad said. “Two dowries. That’s it. We can’t afford more.” Every time, Mom would have a huge crying fit. But never in front of Dad or Grandma. She’d lock her bedroom door, and while she cried, she’d pinch me. Hard. On the soft skin of my inner thighs. Purple welts would instantly rise. I’d just bite my lip. I learned young not to feel pain. When she was done, she’d shove me away. “Get out! You useless block of wood!” I was happy to be a block of wood. If I cried, she pinched harder. In college, I learned in Psych 101 that this was a subconscious defense: zero feedback. It robs the abuser of their satisfaction. Caleb was in my arms until he was three. I was a sly kid. I figured out fast that “babysitting” got me out of the heavier farm chores. And when I was holding Caleb, I never got hit. Mom wouldn’t swing the rolling pin at my head. Dad wouldn’t kick me in the stomach. They were terrified of hitting their precious boy. I got a lot of perks. When Dad brought back expensive formula from town, I’d secretly eat a scoop of the dry powder every time I made Caleb a bottle. The man who invented formula was a genius. One scoop and I wouldn’t feel hungry all day. To this day, I still eat powdered formula. When I’m stressed, I’ll buy a can and just eat it by the spoonful. It’s better than any antidepressant. We were poor, but not that poor. My parents were just farmers, and their entire existence revolved around one single, high-priority goal: having a son. Dad had to eat well so he could “plant the seed.” Mom had to eat well so the “soil” was fertile. Grandma was the elder. She ate well. Beth and I? We just had to “not starve.” My sister Beth was like a starved cow. She chose to eat less. She thought if she ate little and worked hard, Mom and Dad might finally love her. She never got that love, not even on the day she died. I never had that illusion. Being hungry just means you’re hungry. I stole everything I could. Mrs. Gable’s hollyhocks next door. The buds and the little green seed pods were edible. Tart, clean, and better than any organic “wild green” I’ve eaten since. I’d pick up Caleb, who was all soft, milky-smelling dough. “Come on, Cal. Let’s go pick flowers.” He’d giggle, patting my face, clueless. I’d slip along the fence line, put him down, and quickly snatch the fattest buds, shoving one in my mouth. The sweet juice was heaven. I’d stuff the rest in my pockets and hand him a flower petal to suck on. He was never hungry; for him, it was just a game. 2 “You little brat! Messin’ with my flowers again!” Mrs. Gable stormed out of her house, grabbing my arm. My heart jumped, but I moved faster. I pulled Caleb behind me, shielding him with my own body, and pitched my voice high and wailing, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “Hit me, Mrs. Gable! Don’t hit my brother! He’s just a baby! He wanted the flower, I had to get it for him! I had to!” Her angry expression faltered. She knew about my family. My mom came out, her face dark. “Annie! You lookin’ for a beatin’?” When she saw me, shielding her “golden boy,” she hesitated. Hitting the daughter who was protecting the son? Not a good look. Mrs. Gable spat on the ground. “You Millers. You look at this girl you raised! A damn thief! You people are rotten to the core. I can’t wait to see what kind of ‘son’ you end up with. Probably a curse!” “A curse.” That one word lit the fuse. Mom and Mrs. Gable had gotten married around the same time. Mrs. Gable popped out three sons, one after another. She owned this town. Mom’s face turned purple. “You shut your damn mouth! My Caleb is perfect! Better than those three pigs you call sons!” The two women were at each other’s throats. Mrs. Gable’s three boys, all teenagers, ran out and shoved my mom to the ground. She sat in the dirt, wailing. I’d already grabbed Caleb and retreated to our porch, watching the chaos. I patted his back. “Shh, Cal. It’s okay.” My eyes were fixed on Mrs. Gable. She was winning, and she knew it. “Yeah, you cry! It’s karma! You wait! Your precious Caleb… he’s gonna turn out just like ‘Freaky’ Frank down on the highway!” “Freaky” Frank. His name hung in the air like a disease. Frank was the town pariah, the “monster” who liked men. His wife had caught him, and the story was legendary. She’d left, his own son disowned him. He was filth. This was the most venomous curse you could cast in our town. Mom’s wailing stopped. She scrambled up, her eyes red, and ran back inside. I knew what she was going for. The big butcher knife. “Your line is ending!” Mrs. Gable was still screaming. “The Millers are done! Freaky Frank at least had a kid! Your boy’s gonna be worse than him! You’ll have no grandchildren! You’re gonna die out!” Mom burst back out, the knife gleaming. Beth ran out and threw herself in front of Mom, taking the brunt of the boys’ punches. The fight finally broke up when the sheriff pulled in. Mom and Mrs. Gable were both bloody and disheveled. Beth was bleeding from her temple. Mom, still furious, slapped Beth. “Useless! You can’t even fight right!” And me? I just stood in the shadows, holding my brother. My heart was calm. “Your line is ending.” “Done.” “No grandchildren.” Mrs. Gable’s words had a certain… appeal. I looked down at Caleb. I leaned in, my voice as sweet as honey. “It’s okay, baby. Big sister scared the bad lady away.” He hugged my neck. “Sissy.” I held him tight. Destroying this family. That sounded… nice. 3 Freaky Frank’s son was named Jesse. The whole town already knew he’d “end up like his dad.” I saw him in the woods, wearing a skirt, dancing on his toes. He had a scarf around his neck that flew in the wind. He saw me, and he’d just smile, this shy, pretty smile. I started taking Caleb to the woods. “Look,” I’d whisper. “Isn’t that pretty?” Caleb would nod, his eyes wide. “Want to try?” He’d shake his head, scared. I wasn’t in a hurry. I started braiding Caleb’s hair. His hair was long—Mom and Dad were superstitious about cutting their “miracle” baby’s hair. He loved it. We walked past Mrs. Gable’s yard. She had a pink, frilly dress hanging on the line for her granddaughter. Caleb looked at it. I looked at him. I snatched it off the line. We ran to the woods. I put it on him. It was a little small, but it worked. He danced. He spun and spun until he was dizzy and sweating. I clapped. When he was done, I buried the dress. That night, Mrs. Gable was on her porch, cussing out the “thief” for hours. Caleb was terrified. “Sissy… should we give it back?” “No! Cal, do you want to get me killed?” “No! I won’t tell! I promise!” The next time I saw Jesse, he was sitting on a rock, his head covered in dried blood. He just smiled and offered me half a stale biscuit. “I saw your brother, Annie,” he said, his voice soft. “He’s a good dancer.” I froze. “Everyone needs an audience, Annie,” he said, still smiling. “Everyone except you. Because what you’re doing… you can’t have an audience.” The biscuit turned to ash in my mouth. He pulled the pink dress from behind his back. It was clean. “It’s a shame to only wear it once,” he said. “I’ll hide it in this hollow tree. I’ll… I’ll wash it for you.” When I put it on Caleb again, the ripped seam in the back had been fixed with a neat, elastic stitch. Caleb loved dancing. Soon, he and Jesse were dancing together. I stole more dresses. Jesse altered them. Caleb’s hair was down to his shoulders. When we were in the woods, I’d undo his braids. He looked just like a girl. He and Jesse would fight over who got to be the Swan Princess. I was always the evil vulture. 4 Caleb started elementary school. He still refused to cut his hair. “He’s… sensitive,” my parents told the teacher. The teacher just sighed and put him in the back, next to the trash cans. His deskmate, a big girl named Molly, pulled his hair on the first day. I stormed into the first-grade classroom, jumped on Molly’s back, and bit her hand until she bled. I screamed, “He’s the only son! You touch him again and I’ll kill you!” Caleb looked at me like I was a superhero. That night, Dad gave me two hard-boiled eggs. I gave them both to Caleb. No one messed with Caleb after that. No one talked to him, either. I didn’t care. We had Jesse. We’d read, we’d dance. “I’m never going to be fat and ugly like Molly,” Caleb would say. Jesse and I would just look at each other. He already knew our family was the one who’d snitched on his dad. He hated us, too. “Of course not,” Jesse would say, “You’re prettier than all of them, Kiki.” Kiki. That was the name of a princess from a cartoon. It was Caleb’s name for himself. One day, Mrs. Gable caught us. She’d followed me. She stood at the edge of the clearing, her mouth open, watching Caleb—her granddaughter’s dress, his hair flowing—dancing with Jesse. She watched for a full minute. Then she turned and walked away. That night, I didn’t sleep. But she never came. She never said a word.

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Because I drank a bottle of Coke, my parents tried to kill me. Summer break had just started. I’d just survived the long, sticky drive back to our old house in the mountains. The heat was suffocating, so I made a beeline for the fridge. Luckily, there was one last bottle of Coke inside. I twisted the cap and drained it in one go. The cold fizz was life-saving. That’s when my mom came out of the kitchen. She was all smiles. “Alex! You’re finally home! Your dad and I are prepping ribs, we’re gonna have a big barbecue…” I was smiling, about to answer. But my mom’s face suddenly changed. Her eyes locked onto the empty Coke bottle in my hand. The bright, welcoming expression vanished, replaced by something dark and terrifying. She hissed, “You! Did you drink that Coke!?” 1 I flinched. At that moment, I still hadn’t realized how serious this was. I just said, “Yeah… why? Did it… did it taste weird to you?” I thought maybe it was expired. It wasn’t. The next second, my mom lunged at me. I had no time to react. She slapped me, hard, across the face. I yelled out, stumbling back, my cheek on fire. My mom’s expression was savage, like she wanted to murder me on the spot. My head was spinning. I was too stunned to speak. Thankfully, my dad heard the noise and ran in from the kitchen. I looked at him, my voice cracking. “Dad! Mom… she’s crazy… she just hit me for no reason!” My dad started to yell at her, but she just shrieked: “He drank the Coke!” And then I watched it happen all over again. My dad’s angry eyes snapped to me. He lunged, too. He kicked me, hard, in the stomach. This time, I didn’t stay standing. I crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked out of me. All I could do was groan. Through my blurry vision, I saw them standing over me, their faces twisted in pure disgust. “Quick… lock him in the cellar.” 2 I didn’t come to until it was dark. My stomach was a knot of pain. I sat up and realized the cellar door was locked from the outside. My phone was gone. I could hear my parents walking around upstairs. I banged on the door, I yelled, but they ignored me. What was happening? No dinner, a brutal beating, and now I was a prisoner. Then, I heard them whispering. “…what are we going to do with him?” “…no choice… even if he’s our son…” “…I agree… but let’s wait. It’ll be less painful if he’s asleep…” I froze. My parents, who had doted on me my whole life, were planning to kill me. All because… I drank a bottle of Coke? What was in that bottle? I had to calm down. I had to get out. I suddenly remembered… when I was a kid, I used to play hide-and-seek in this cellar. I always hid behind the old woodpile. Not just because it was a good spot, but because in the corner, behind the pile, there was a hole in the foundation. It was blocked by a few loose bricks. I used to sneak in and out. The woodpile was gone now, replaced by junk. But in that corner… An old, rusty metal cabinet. I scrambled over and shoved it aside. Yes! The loose red bricks were still there. I kicked one, and it shifted. I knelt, pushing and pulling the bricks out one by one. A dark, narrow hole appeared. It took time, and my whole body ached, but I finally managed to squeeze through. I came out in the damp, cool dirt under the porch. I didn’t wait. I just ran. This was a rural town. No shops, no payphones. I instinctively ran to the closest house: my grandpa’s. But as I stood in front of his door… I hesitated. What if he was like them? Just then, a voice came from the darkness behind me. “So there you are.” 3 I jumped out of my skin and spun around. It was my grandpa, leaning on his cane. I relaxed, just a little. It wasn’t my dad. “Grandpa, I…” I opened my mouth, but how could I explain it? “My parents are trying to murder me over a soft drink”? Would he believe me? He seemed… normal. He chuckled. “Figured you’d come see your old grandpa, huh? Come on in, come on in…” He fumbled with his keys and started to open the door. He was acting completely normal. But as he pushed the door open and waved me inside… it hit me. I stopped. “Grandpa, why aren’t you surprised to see me? Did you know I was coming home for the summer?” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “Of course I knew… It’s late, Alex. Get inside.” I didn’t move. “Who told you I was back? And… where are you just getting back from?” His smile froze. And my blood ran cold. My parents locked me in the cellar at dusk. Of course they would have told my grandpa. I had been so stupid. He wasn’t out. He was just coming back… from my house. I still clung to a last thread of hope. But then his face changed. The folksy charm vanished, replaced by a cold fury. He didn’t even bother to explain. He just raised his heavy wooden cane and swung it at my head. I was already backing away. I ducked, and I felt the whoosh of the cane as it smashed into the doorframe. He had put all his strength into it. My legs turned to jelly. I just ran. Behind me, I heard him yelling, “Damn it! Get back here, you little bastard!” The night air was cold. My heart was colder. What was in that Coke? 4 I ran until my lungs burned, and hid in a thicket of ferns. I was exhausted, but… I felt fine. My body wasn’t changing. I wasn’t growing scales or a third eye. It was just a normal Coke. But my family was treating me like I was a monster. I had to find out why. I couldn’t run forever. I couldn’t trust anyone. Except… maybe one person. My best friend, Josh. I had no money, no phone. I couldn’t even leave town without help. I cut through the dark woods to his house. I knew his room was on the ground floor. I crept up to the window. The light was on. I tapped on the glass. A second later, he appeared. I spoke before he could yell. “Josh! Don’t freak out! It’s me, Alex. I’m in serious trouble.” He let out a breath. “Dude! You scared the hell out of me! Why are you at the window? Come to the front door.” “Are your parents home?” I asked, my voice low. “No, they’re not. They got some weird call and just bolted out of here. Why?” My stomach tightened. It had to be about me. My parents knew Josh was my best friend. They must have found me gone. I was about to explain when Josh’s phone rang. 5 He answered it casually. “Hey, Dad? What’s up?” I stood frozen, listening. “Alex? Why are you looking for him?” Josh’s eyes shot to me, wide with confusion. He pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the speaker button. “No, I haven’t seen him. Why?” His dad’s voice was tense, urgent. “Because… because he drank a bottle of Coke! Son, I’m serious. If you see him, you call me or your mom immediately. Do you understand me? Don’t go near him.” Josh looked at me, completely baffled. “Uh… okay. Sure.” He hung up. “Dude,” he whispered, staring at me. “What the hell is going on? You drank a Coke, and my dad’s acting like you started a zombie apocalypse.” I finally felt a tiny bit of relief. He was normal. He hadn’t heard “he drank a Coke” and immediately turned on me. But his parents weren’t. They were part of it. Josh was smart. “My parents could be back any second,” he said, climbing out the window. “Let’s talk out here.” “My dad said your parents have the whole town out looking for you. This is insane. You didn’t just drink a Coke, did you? What did you really do?” It sounded crazy even to me. I told him everything that had happened since I got home. He listened, his expression growing more and more disturbed. When I finished, he was silent for a few seconds. “You know,” he said slowly, “my grandma used to tell this story… You’ve probably never heard it, since your family moved away for so long.” He told me the legend.

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On Valentine’s Day, my fiancé, Mark, ordered from my favorite spicy noodle place. I wasn’t happy for long. I saw the delivery note stapled to the bag. 【No cilantro, extra fish balls in the soup, she loves fish balls.】 I took a picture and posted it on Reddit’s r/relationships. Title: “My fiancé (M30) ordered me (F28) takeout for Valentine’s, but the special instructions note is weird. Am I overthinking this?” The comments exploded. “That note sounds like it was for someone else. He just copy-pasted the order for you.” “The phrase ‘she loves’ pretty much confirms ‘she’ isn’t you.” “OP, you need to check his DoorDash history. How many orders did he really place today?” 1 My stomach dropped. A few people tried to be nice, saying maybe he just got confused or hit a “reorder” button by mistake. But I knew. I hate fish balls. Thirty minutes later, a top comment hit me right in the chest: “Check the pickup time vs. the delivery time. If there’s a big gap, your driver probably had a ‘batched’ order. He picked up both at the same time and dropped one off first.” “Follow-up: If he placed two orders, the restaurant system would print both tickets. Your ticket is just one part of the batch. The other ticket has the original note.” I stared at the receipt. My heart hammered. It was true. My order didn’t have its own specific instructions, and the order number on the ticket had a “-2” at the end. Order “-1” was out there somewhere. I chewed on my lip. Mark never ordered takeout on holidays. He always said: “Valentine’s Day is a corporate scam to tax stupid people.” But today, he’d not only ordered, he’d added a note about what “she” loves. It didn’t feel like a special treat. It felt like… muscle memory. My breath hitched. On impulse, I called the noodle shop. “Hi, I just got an order… I think part of it is missing? It was an order from around 7:20 PM, one note said ‘extra fish balls’?” The guy checked. “Oh yeah, I see it. A batched order. The other one went to The Hub, Building A.” The Hub. Building A. That’s the tech incubator in the building next to mine. I hung up, my hands clammy. I felt like I’d been dunked in ice water. I didn’t even open the bag. I just threw the whole thing in the trash. My phone lit up. A text from Mark. [Hey babe, food good?] I willed my fingers to stop shaking. [Delicious. Thanks.] 2 The next morning, I checked his Instagram. Same as always: a few bland posts about sports and the stock market. His only new post was from last night. [Long day at the office. Grabbing a little surprise for my girl on the way home.] The picture was a screenshot of my delivery confirmation. I remembered the Reddit advice: The other delivery address is the key. I knew the where. I needed the who. At lunch, I leaned over his desk. “Hey, those noodles last night were amazing. Can I borrow your phone? I want to use your DoorDash account, you have that 40% off coupon.” He was focused on his monitor. “Just use your own.” “My app is glitching,” I lied. He sighed, unlocked his phone, and handed it over. My heart was in my throat. He was so confident, he hadn’t even deleted his order history. There they were. Two orders, placed three minutes apart. Order 1: Deliver to: The Hub, Suite 1603. Recipient: Sienna R. Note: No cilantro, extra fish balls, she loves them. Order 2: Deliver to: Parkview Tower (My office). Recipient: Chloe (Me). Note: Same as previous order. I just… stared. The “same as previous order” was worse than the fish balls. It was so lazy. So insulting. I looked up. He was just typing, completely unaware. “What’s wrong?” he asked, not looking up. “Nothing. Lost my appetite.” I handed his phone back. That night, he showered and put his phone on the nightstand to charge, just like always. I waited until his breathing was deep and even. I picked it up. Same passcode. He hadn’t even changed it. His main Instagram was clean. But I knew to check. I tapped his username. Sure enough, a second, private account was logged in. A “finsta.” I opened it. And there it was. Sienna: [Best noodles ever. You know me so well 😋] Mark: [Anything for my girl. ❤️] Sienna: [What about her?] Mark: [She doesn’t even like fish balls. Don’t worry about it.] My blood ran cold. I kept scrolling. They talked about movies, music, weekend plans. Every message was a new cut. Sienna: [When are you finally going to leave her?] Mark: [Be patient. She helped me a lot when I started my career. It’s… complicated. We’re more like family now.] Sienna: [You sleep with your family?] Mark: […] My vision went blurry. Family. I screenshotted everything. I screen-recorded the entire conversation. I emailed it all to myself, deleted the email from his sent folder, and put the phone back on the charger. I lay back down, the tears soaking silently into my pillow. 3 The next day was Saturday. I went to Whole Foods to get groceries. As I was pushing my cart, I heard a laugh. It was Mark. I froze. He was talking to a woman, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. I peeked through a gap in the snack aisle. It was her. Sienna. She was holding up a container of expensive strawberries. “This one is so sweet. Try it.” She held one out. He leaned in and ate it from her fingers, smiling. “Wow, you’re right. It’s perfect.” He took the container and put it in her cart. I just stood there. When I shop with him, he just wants to get out. He complains about the prices. “You can get that cheaper on Amazon, Chloe. Stop wasting time.” But here he was, patiently, happily, shopping with her. Sienna picked up a bottle of trendy, limited-edition kombucha. Mark took it from her, read the label, and put four of them in their cart. My chest felt tight. I couldn’t breathe. I watched them check out. I watched him pull out his wallet and pay. He said something, and she laughed, her eyes crinkling. It was so… domestic. I abandoned my cart and walked out. Back at our apartment, I got a text from Mark. [Hey, got pulled into a last-minute thing at the office. Probably going to be a late one. Don’t wait up for me.] Stuck at the office? An office that was now at Whole Foods? I didn’t reply. He got home around 10 PM. I was pretending to watch TV. He dropped his keys. And a small grocery bag. “Got these for you,” he said, pushing a container of strawberries across the coffee table. It was the same brand. The one she’d picked out. Her leftovers. “You went to the store?” I asked. He flinched. “Oh, yeah. Just… on the way home.” I took them. “Thanks.” The next morning, Sunday, he said he was going to play basketball. He asked me to grab his gym shorts. I went to the closet. Tucked in the back, behind his shoes, was a small, crisp bag from a designer boutique. Inside was a silk scarf. Pink, with blue irises. I recognized it. I’d seen it on Sienna’s public Instagram. She’d reposted an ad for it two weeks ago. Caption: [So obsessed. Need this.] The receipt in the bag was dated three days ago. The night he’d “worked late.” I put it back, exactly as I’d found it. I finally understood. I wasn’t just being ignored. I was being actively, methodically erased.

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My mom is a doormat. My dad is a saint. By some law of cosmic balance, they produced me, a walking catastrophe. At three, I spiked the church chili with Ex-Lax and then lit an M-80 in the men’s room. At five, I stole Mrs. Henderson’s racy lingerie and tucked it into Pastor Dave’s Bible. At seven, I forged a love letter from my dad to the town widow. At ten, I took a baseball bat to the old man who offered me candy to get in his van, then hog-tied him to a tree. To protect what was left of my “reputation,” my parents fled our hometown and never looked back. Until the year I graduated college, when my uncle called. “Your branch of the family ain’t got no boys. You’re a dead end. We need to talk about who inherits your daddy’s share.” “I found a man for your girl. He’s willing to offer $50,000. I need that for my son’s wedding.” “And I need you to sign over all your property and assets to my boy. It’s his birthright.” “Do as I say, and there’ll be a spot for you in the family cemetery.” Oh? We have a family cemetery? You should have said so. I’ve never dug one of those up before. 1 My dad, Frank, is the most famously “agreeable” man in the county. When my grandparents died, my Uncle Burt said that as the eldest, he should get the family house. My dad said, “That makes sense,” and moved into a tool shed on the edge of the property. Five years later, the county seized that plot for a new highway. The payout was $100,000. Uncle Burt said, “I’ve got three boys, Frank. You’ve just got the one girl. To keep the family name going, you gotta help your nephews out.” My dad said, “That makes sense,” and handed over $99,000. Three years after that, my dad married my mom, Linda. He asked Burt for a little of the money back. Burt just sneered. “Ask for what? That was a gift, you fool. You don’t ask for a gift back.” My mom is a world-class pushover. Her life motto is, “Oh, well. It’s fine. Everyone’s just doing their best.” If you push her, she retreats. If you yell, she flinches. Two pushovers, stacked on top of each other, make one giant target. They endured Burt’s exploitation until they finally couldn’t take it anymore and moved to the city. If you can’t beat ’em, run away. And then, as if by cosmic joke, they had me. All the anger they swallowed their whole lives, I was born to spit back out. At three, our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, yelled at my mom for “being as useful as a screen door on a submarine.” I waited until Mrs. Gable was in her outhouse, lit a pack of Black Cats, and tossed them in. The explosion was… memorable. At five, my dad walked past Mrs. Henderson’s porch and didn’t look at her, so she told the whole town he was “undressing her with his eyes.” I stole her leopard-print bra from the clothesline and put it under the pillow of Mr. Miller, whose wife was famously jealous. Mrs. Miller’s screams were heard three blocks away. Mrs. Henderson had to get stitches from the nail marks. At ten, the man on the corner offered me candy to “see what was under my shirt.” I waited until he turned around, hit him with a rock, and when he was down, I tied him to a tree and cut his arm with a box cutter “to let the bad blood out.” He woke up freezing and screaming, offering me his life savings to let him down. I took it, and my parents used it as a down payment on our house in the city. After that, my reputation as a hell-raiser eclipsed their reputation as pushovers. Life was normal. Until my uncle’s phone call. 2 The first day back home. We hadn’t even gotten our bags out of the car before Uncle Burt shoved three burlap sacks at us. “It’s corn season. Get to shuckin’.” My parents just looked at each other, took the sacks, and followed him to the field. It was 100 degrees, high noon. My parents disappeared into the corn rows while Burt and my Aunt Mavis sat in the shade, “supervising.” “Twenty years in the city, you forgot how to work!” Burt yelled. “Watch the ears, Frank! You break one, I’ll break your arm!” “Linda, you eatin’ at all? You’re slow as molasses!” When a neighbor walked by, Burt’s tone changed instantly. “Hey, Jim! My brother’s just such a hard worker, you know? Just got here and insisted on helping. Can’t stop him!” “Frank, buddy, take a water break! It’s hot!” As he said it, Burt “accidentally” kicked the water jug. It rolled into the dirt, spilling most of the water. “Oh, clumsy me!” Mavis chirped. “Well, no sense in wasting what’s left. Dirt don’t hurt! Drink up, Linda!” She picked up the muddy jug and tried to shove it at my mom. I shot forward, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. The jug came free. And, “oops,” it tipped over, pouring a cascade of muddy water right over Mavis’s head. “Aunt Mavis,” I said, my smile not reaching my eyes, “that’s enough.” “Why you little…!” She sputtered, looking around for a stick. My mom grabbed me. “Mavis, she’s just a kid, don’t mind her!” “A kid? She’s 22!” Mavis was ready to throw a rock. I picked up a large, flat stone. “Here, Auntie. Use this one. It’s bigger.” She reached for it. With a sharp crack, I snapped the stone in half with my bare hands. “You take a piece, I’ll take a piece,” I said, grinning. “Let’s see who’s still standing.” Mavis froze. 3 She scurried back to Burt. “That girl… she’s feral,” she whispered. “What?” “She just… she broke a cinder block. With her bare hands!” Burt squinted at me. I gave him a big, friendly wave. “It was a fluke,” he sneered. “Those two marshmallows couldn’t raise a wolf.” “You just watch yourself. The buyer is coming tomorrow. If he likes her, that’s $50,000 for us!” “I know, I know.” It was getting late. Mavis told my mom to go home and make dinner. “I’ll help!” I chirped. Mavis actually flinched. “No! You… you stay and help your father.” I watched them walk away. The field was empty except for Burt, my dad… and me. My smile faded. Five hours. In five hours, my “family” had insulted my parents 35 times and threatened them six. I finally understood why they never wanted to come back. They weren’t just relatives. They were parasites. Well, time to do some pest control. I grabbed a shovel and walked over to two small, grassy mounds at the edge of the field. “Uncle Burt, whose graves are these?” He puffed out his chest. “Your grandpa and grandma’s.” Ah. The ones who let this all happen. “Tsk. They must be so bored, stuck here for decades. Don’t worry, Grandma! I’m here! I’ll take you on a trip!” The shovel hit the dirt. I was digging fast. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Burt roared, scrambling to stop me. 4 I was too fast. He’d charge, I’d dodge, then run to the other grave and start digging. He was old and slow; I was a seasoned expert at chaos. In ten minutes, he was wheezing, and both graves were leveled. “That’s the family plot! That’s our heritage!” he screamed. Your heritage, I thought. I don’t care. I dropped the shovel and gathered a huge pile of dry corn stalks. “Don’t worry, Uncle, I’ll fix it! They say when a grave ‘smokes,’ it’s a sign of good fortune!” I flicked my lighter. The dry stalks went up in a whoosh of fire. “Look, Uncle! They’re on fire! This is way better than smoke! You’re about to get so lucky!” Burt’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted. He landed, with a sickening thunk, right on the broken cinder block I’d left behind. “Sarah, run!” my dad whispered, terrified. “I’ll say I did it!” I just brushed the dirt off my hands. “Run? The game just started. I haven’t even said hi to Aunt Mavis.” “Your uncle…” “He’ll be fine. A little heatstroke never killed anyone.”

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My husband was “gamed” when he was younger. After the Gamer girl left, he was heartbroken and married me. But ten years later, she came back. My husband didn’t hesitate to abandon me and our daughter to go back to her. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. In fact, I was relieved. Because I had been gamed, too. And the man who gamed me? He’s my daughter’s real father. Now, he’s back. 1 The day Liam handed me the divorce papers, I wasn’t surprised. “Chloe and I were apart for ten years. Now she’s back, and I… I don’t have a choice.” His voice was flat. “Sign this. You and Mia get everything—the house, the portfolio, all of it. For the last ten years… I don’t think you can say it was a bad deal.” Chloe, who had been smiling serenely at his side, suddenly frowned. “Everything? Liam, what are you talking about?” She was indignant. “You’re one of the biggest actors in the world! She’s just some physicist, how much could she possibly make? You’re literally giving away a decade’s worth of your earnings!” Liam looked at her, his gaze heavy. I caught the briefest flash of exhaustion, of irony, before it was masked by something more complex. “You have me. Isn’t that enough? “She was the one here for the last ten years. Where were you? This… this is what I owe her.” The mention of that lost decade made Chloe shrink, just a little. Chloe is a Gamer. Ten years ago, she completed her “quest”—Liam—and chose to “exit” the world. Liam had a complete breakdown. He begged, he pleaded, he humiliated himself trying to make her stay. But she left, tossing off a casual, “You’re just an NPC, you idiot. The whole point of ‘gaining affinity’ was to leave.” Liam didn’t believe her. He waited three years. In the fourth year, his hope finally shattered. His parents, desperate, set him up with me. The following year, our daughter, Mia, was born. I always knew he had a ghost in his heart, someone he could never forget. I just never thought she’d actually come back. Three days ago, Chloe returned. All it took was a single “I had my reasons,” and Liam was ready to burn his entire life down to be with her again. “Fine… I guess she got lucky,” Chloe muttered, pouting. “Consider it her paycheck for babysitting you all these years.” A small, sharp pain went through my chest. Chloe had it backward. If anything, he was the one who took care of me. My research is all-consuming. Once I’m deep in a problem, the world outside fades. When Liam wasn’t on set, he was the one holding our life together. He made sure I ate. He made our house a home. He was my anchor. But none of that mattered now. “Fine. I’ll sign.” I picked up the pen and signed my name—Sarah Jensen—on both copies. It was done. Liam was quiet, watching me with a heavy expression. “Sarah…” His voice was rough. “Take care of yourself.” I didn’t want to answer. I just wanted to get out of that room. But as I turned to leave, Chloe’s voice, sharp with sudden interest, stopped me. “Wait. Sarah? Sarah Jensen? How do you spell that?” She snatched the agreement from Liam’s hand, her eyes locking onto my signature. “Ha. I knew it.” She looked up, her eyes dancing with a malicious, playful glint. “If I’m not mistaken… you know Ethan Cole, don’t you?” Ethan Cole. The name hit me like a physical blow. The air punched out of my lungs. A cold shock raced up my spine, and my fingers started to tremble. Liam saw it instantly. His brow furrowed. “Who’s Ethan Cole?” Chloe laughed, a smug, knowing sound. “Oh, Liam, don’t worry about your ex-wife. Let’s just say, Ethan Cole is to her what I am to you. He’s the one who got under her skin. The one she could never, ever forget.” She turned that cruel, bright gaze back to me, savoring every word. “And I thought you should know… “He’s coming back, too.” The instant she said it, Liam’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide with a new, sudden panic. His face darkened, a storm cloud passing over his features. 2 Ethan Cole was coming back. The news left me reeling, but I couldn’t fall apart. Mia was waiting for me. I pulled myself together and got to her school just as the final bell rang. Mia came flying out, a little butterfly headed straight for me. Halfway across the lawn, she stopped. A group of moms was huddled by the gate, glued to their phones. “Oh my god, did you see? Liam Asher just posted!” “It’s insane! They’re saying it’s his ‘one true love’ he lost years ago!” “Wait, I thought he was married? I read somewhere his wife was, like, a Nobel-track scientist?” “Please, that was just some rumor. This is official. Look at the picture, they’re so romantic!” They were all fawning over the post—a black-and-white photo, artfully shot. A man’s hand, strong and familiar, was clasped around a woman’s, her nails perfect, blood-red. The caption: True love always finds its way back. In the seven years we were married, Liam had never once acknowledged my existence in public. Mia stood frozen for a moment, then slowly walked over, her face tilted up at me. “Mommy,” she asked, her voice very small. “Does this mean… Daddy’s not coming home for a while?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I knelt and pulled her tiny body into a hug. “Daddy has… a lot of work to do right now. But he’ll come see you as soon as he can.” Mia was quiet in my arms, processing. Then she nodded, her small face serious. “It’s okay, Mommy.” She pulled back, her eyes clear and frighteningly perceptive. “From now on, whoever is nice to you is my Daddy.” My heart just broke. She’s too smart, too aware. Maybe she sensed it the moment Liam brought Chloe to the house three days ago. The sky, which had been clear, suddenly darkened. A low rumble of thunder. Fat raindrops began to spatter the pavement. I scooped Mia into my arms, looking around for shelter. Just then, a black umbrella opened above our heads. The chaotic sound of the rain instantly muted to a dull, rhythmic drumming. I looked up. Through the curtain of rain, I met his eyes. Eyes I hadn’t seen in seven years. A face that was seared into my memory. Ethan. 3 Chloe said he was coming back. She didn’t say today. He stood there, holding the umbrella, his voice rougher than I remembered. “Sarah. Long time, no see.” I just stared, lost in a flashback. Mia tugged on my shirt. “Mommy, who is this man?” Ethan’s gaze dropped to her. He crouched down, and a smile—that devastating, familiar smile—spread across his face. “I’m an old friend of your mom’s. You must be Mia, right? How old are you?” Before I could stop her, Mia answered in her clear, proud voice. “I’m six!” “Six…” The smile on Ethan’s face froze. He studied her, really studied her. He looked at her eyes—his eyes, with that slight upward tilt at the corners. He looked at the bridge of her nose, at the tiny, faint freckle there, identical to his own. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with a dawning, horrified realization. “When I left… were you already pregnant?” 4 I couldn’t deny it. Mia looks nothing like Liam. She is Ethan’s mirror image. Just like Chloe, Ethan was a Player from another world. His target… was me. In college, I was the definition of a nerd. Awkward, quiet, buried in textbooks. Ethan was my polar opposite. He was fire, and he seemed hell-bent on melting my ice. For two years, he pursued me in a relentless, campus-wide campaign. He brought me coffee in the library, he was the first one to defend me when a TA belittled my research, he took me to my first concert, he sat under the stars and played terribly-tuned guitar for me… All of my firsts were with him. If Chloe was Liam’s “perfect memory,” Ethan was my sun. I thought we had forever. Until that night on the beach, seven years ago. He got down on one knee, holding a ring. The second I whispered “Yes”… A shimmering, blue-green tear appeared in the air behind him. An eye opening in reality. He told me his mission was complete. He was going home. “What about me?” I was never a crier, never hysterical, but the tears were choking me. His face tightened. He looked… pained, but his resolve was steel. “I’m sorry, Sarah. You’re just an NPC.” Just an NPC. Then why did my heart feel like it was being physically ripped in half? I lunged for him, tried to grab him, to follow him into that… thing. But the Rift was only open for a second. He stepped through, and it snapped shut, winking out of existence. Leaving me alone on the beach. He was gone. A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. My parents, thinking I was just suffering from a bad breakup, introduced me to their friend’s son, Liam Asher. Back then, he was just a struggling actor. He’d waited three years for Chloe and had finally given up. He was a wreck. I was a wreck. Two broken people, clinging to each other in the cold. We got married. Mia was born. We raised her together. We poured ourselves into our careers. Life… moved on. But for me, that feeling—of being used, of being discarded—never went away. Sometimes I’d look at Mia and wonder if I’d imagined him. But her face was a constant, living reminder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” Ethan was pale, his eyes wide with panic and regret. “I… I had to leave. I had family back in my world, I…” He was rambling, trying to explain. “I’ve been thinking about you every single day. I’ve been trying to get back, but there was no way. “Then… the System reopened. It gave ‘returners’ a chance to come back, to… to choose again. I took it. I came back immediately.” He stepped toward me, his eyes red-rimmed, trying to take my hand. “Sarah, I don’t want to lose you again. And now… a child. Our child. You’re already divorced from Liam, so maybe we could…” I snatched my hand away before he could touch me. “What is wrong with you Players?” My voice was low, colder than the rain. “Is this some kind of group tour? “You come and go as you please. You break things, you break people, and then you just… show up again? “A ‘good reason’? A flimsy ‘I regret it’? Do you think that erases seven years of damage?” I looked him dead in the eye. “Ethan, what in God’s name makes you think I’d still be standing here, waiting for you?”

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When the fire started, Mom grabbed Mia and Dad grabbed Leo. They ran outside, leaving me behind. My face was badly burned. After that, I changed. The sassy, demanding girl who was always fighting for a scrap of affection just… stopped. I was dying anyway. This tiny, leftover bit of love… they could give it to whoever they wanted. But then they regretted it. They held my skeletal hand and wept. “Lily, please,” they begged, “just throw one more tantrum. Please?” 1 Mom held Mia. Dad carried Leo. They burst out of the smoke, collapsing on the lawn, sobbing and hugging, hysterical with relief. “Is everyone out?” a firefighter yelled, running up. Mom scrambled to her feet, doing a frantic headcount. She pointed: “Leo, Mia… yes, both kids are here! They’re both safe!” “You’re sure? No one else inside?” Mom’s eyes were only for them. She didn’t even answer, just pulled them closer, muttering, “Thank God, thank God, they’re safe.” That was when I stumbled out of the flames, clutching my mouth. Her words made me feel like a pathetic joke. I was charred black, my pajamas in smoking tatters. They, having gotten out first, were practically spotless. The words “both kids” hit me harder than the smoke. My legs gave out. I fell hard onto the driveway. The raw, burning pain across my back exploded. My name is Lily. I’ve always been the extra one. 2 “Leo, stop tickling me!” Minutes later, safe on the grass, Mia and Leo were already wrestling. Their laughter cut through the sirens, and I saw Mom and Dad’s faces relax a little. But Mia slipped, and her hand landed—hard—directly on my burned back. “Ah!” I screamed. I could feel the bandages the EMT had just applied turn wet and sticky with fresh blood. Mia scrambled back, terrified, hiding behind Leo. “Lily!” Mom’s head snapped toward me, her voice sharp. “Stop it. Why are you screaming at your sister?” Her eyes met mine, and she flinched. The look of disgust was new. It must have been the burns on my face. She hadn’t even seen me get hurt. She never saw me. I couldn’t hold it in. I ran to the side of the ambulance, covered my face, and sobbed. They all just stood there, silent. When I finally quieted down, Mom brought Mia over. She sighed, reaching for my hand. I flinched away. Her hand froze in the air. “Lily, you have to understand,” she said, that tired voice she always used on me. “We’re not trying to hurt you. But Leo’s got so much pressure with his college applications, and Mia’s just so little…” I stared at her through my tears. “Can’t you just be the good daughter, for once?” I laughed. It sounded like a cough. How… ridiculous. Mom saw me laugh and must have thought I’d calmed down. She grabbed my hand and tried to press Mia’s into it. “There we go,” she said, forcing a cheerful tone. “Now, you tell your sister you’re sorry, and we can all move on. We’re a family, after all.” She was talking to me, but she was smiling at Mia, cooing at her. I ripped my hand away. Mom’s face hardened. “I have three children, Lily,” she said, her voice like a knife. “How did you end up being the only one who’s so spoiled?” Right. Spoiled. I used to throw tantrums. I used to demand things. I had to. It was the only way to get them to even look at me. But now… I’m sick. I’m dying. I’m done fighting for scraps. 3 Our house was gone. We had to find a new place to live. “Finding a rental for five is a nightmare,” Dad said, rubbing his temples. “We’ll have to take two of the kids, and send the third to stay somewhere else for a while.” As one, all four of them turned to look at me. I almost smiled. The old me would have screamed. I would have cried. I would have thrown the world’s biggest fit until they sighed and said, “Oh, Lily, what are we going to do with you? You’re so demanding.” But Leo and Mia never had to demand anything. This time, I didn’t make a sound. I just nodded, took a step back, and whispered, “I’ll go.” They all looked surprised. But no one argued. So I was sent to my Uncle Mark’s. I had to walk on eggshells. At first, Aunt Sarah would give me a tight-lipped smile. But soon, they didn’t bother. It didn’t matter if I got up early and cleaned the whole kitchen, or if I collected cans after school for the deposit money and gave it to them. They just looked at me with that same sour expression. One afternoon, after I’d scrubbed their bathroom, I heard them talking. “When is she leaving?” Aunt Sarah whispered. “Just a few more weeks.” “Ugh. Have you smelled her? That… burn smell. I feel like I have to disinfect the house every time she walks through. And honestly, Mark, another mouth to feed…” I looked down at my clothes. They hated when I used the shower. It “used up all the hot water.” That night, at dinner, I put on my best, most casual smile. “Uncle Mark? Aunt Sarah? The guest room is a little drafty. I was thinking, maybe I could move into the basement? And I can just make my own meals, so you don’t have to worry about me.” I watched their faces. The tension just melted. “Oh, Lily, don’t be silly,” Aunt Sarah said, but she was already smiling. She even put a piece of chicken on my plate. “Here, eat up.” 4 The basement was freezing. The wind whistled through the gaps in the door. The raw, itchy pain of my healing burns was a constant throb. I wrapped the thin, musty blanket tighter around myself. I was so thirsty. I hadn’t had any water all day. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I crept outside the basement door. A drainpipe was leaking, a small, grimy puddle on the concrete. A stray cat was lapping at it. I hesitated. But the thirst was scratching my throat raw. Dignity didn’t seem that important. I got on my knees. The water was cold and tasted like rust, but it was wet. I finished and wiped my mouth, pulling myself up. And I saw him. My brother, Leo. Standing there, his face cold, watching me. How long had he been there? My first instinct was to run, to hide. “Get up,” he said, his voice flat. “We’re going home for Thanksgiving dinner.” I flinched back, terrified he’d smell the basement on me. But he just scowled, grabbed my arm, and yanked. “Let’s go.” He dragged me to his car. I sat there, trembling, as we pulled up to a new house. A nice two-story rental with a small yard. They clearly weren’t struggling. So why couldn’t they have kept me? I didn’t want to go in. I could hear them inside, laughing. Mom was calling Mia her “sweet baby girl.” I didn’t belong. Then, Mia’s high-pitched voice. “Where’s Lily?” The laughing stopped. Dead silence. Leo, beside me on the porch, didn’t move. “Ugh,” Mom’s voice, sharp and cold. “She burned our house down. What is she even doing here? Let her in, I guess. We need to have a serious talk with her.” My head whipped toward Leo. “You were there,” I whispered, horrified. “You know it wasn’t me. It was Mia, she was playing with…” “Shut up!” he hissed, his face instantly furious. I shrank back. I don’t know when I became so terrified of loud noises. Of anger. “I’m sorry…” I whispered. His face got even colder. “Mia is sensitive. She’s finally happy. Don’t you dare ruin Thanksgiving. Does it really matter who started it?” It sounded like I wasn’t his sister, too. I touched my own face, the tight, scarred skin. I nodded. “I can keep the secret.” His expression softened, just a little. “Good. Come on, Mom and Dad wanted you here.” I shook my head. “Can I just… have some money? I need to buy medicine.” His face went hard again. The disgust was back. “Are you serious? You finally come home, and the first thing you do is ask for money? Do you have a heart?” He was yelling, but he reached into his wallet, pulled out a wad of crumpled twenties, and threw them at my feet. I didn’t say anything. I just bent over to pick them up. Leo looked like he wanted to hit me. “That’s it? You’re not even going to fight back? God, you’re pathetic.” The old me would have screamed at him. I just held the money. Suddenly, a searing pain ripped through my stomach. My period. That cold, dirty water… “Please,” I gasped, clutching my abdomen. “Can I just… have a glass of hot water? Please…” Seeing me doubled over, Leo actually smirked. He looked… satisfied. He didn’t say a word. He just turned, walked inside, and slammed the door. Through the door, I heard him shout, “She’s not coming in! Said she’s too good for us!” The cramps hit me like a train. My legs buckled. I fell to my knees on the welcome mat, vomiting into the bushes. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the door swinging open, and their shocked faces.

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The day we broke up, everyone told me, “It was just sharing memes. It’s not even an emotional affair.” I just shook my head. “All those ‘meaningless’ little things they shared,” I said, “were a mutual desire to be part of each other’s lives.” And that endless, bottomless desire to share… that’s how you build a bridge for love. I was in the middle of planning a surprise birthday party for Liam when I stumbled on the Reddit post. It was in r/relationship_advice. [Advice] I like a guy who has a girlfriend, but I’m planning to confess my feelings at his birthday. Is this okay? The comments were a sea of “WTF?” and “YTA.” She kept updating the post, trying to win people over. [Update]: Look, I’m a med student, currently a resident at a top-tier teaching hospital. My education and future career potential are way beyond his current girlfriend’s. She was on the academic ‘fast track’ her whole life. We all know what that really means (zero real-world grit). We’ve all known him for almost a year, and none of us have ever even seen a picture of this girl. I really don’t think he’s that into her. His girlfriend seems co-dependent, always sending him long, emotional “essays.” I can show my love through actions, not just words. I’m easily an 8/10, great personality, high EQ. We’d be a total power couple and actually help each other’s careers. We’ve known each other for 332 days. Our Snapchat streak is 300 days long. … I clicked on the photo she’d attached. I stared at the man’s wrist, at the watch he was wearing. Even without a face, I knew instantly. That was Liam. That was the watch I’d given him for his 25th birthday. I’d flown into New York without telling him, wanting to surprise him for his birthday. Just half an hour ago, Liam had texted me a location. A new hot pot place. [If it’s good, I’ll take you next time!] He was just like always, checking in, reporting every detail. I killed the screen on my phone and changed my Uber’s destination. When I got to the restaurant, they had just arrived. I was wearing a baseball cap and slid into the booth directly behind theirs. I heard Liam come back from washing his hands. A girl walked up to him, holding two small bowls of dipping sauce. “This is their house special, and this is the one you always get. I made both for you.” Liam took them, his fingers brushing hers. It was so natural. “The special is pretty spicy,” he said, after a taste. “You should probably skip it.” The girl, Chloe, beamed. “Thanks for the heads-up.” The two people in the booth closest to me were whispering. “Are they really not together? I seriously don’t believe it.” “Right? Half the residents on our floor have a crush on Liam and he blows them all off. Turns out his ‘destiny’ was right here.” “I’m telling you, they’re the next power couple. Liam’s already drowning in his surgical rotation, but he still makes time to help Chloe prep her charts.” “Hey, she’s just as invested. It hasn’t even been a year, and I heard she’s already been to his apartment to do his laundry.” … His destiny. Power couple. Doing his laundry. My phone buzzed. The Reddit post was updating again. [Update 2]: At hot pot with my crush! He’s so thoughtful, he even warned me the sauce was too spicy for me. How could anyone not fall for a guy like this? A comment appeared immediately: [He’s still someone else’s boyfriend. I suggest you figure out your own morals before you worry about his heart.] The comment was deleted seconds later. At their table, the group was laughing, complaining about everything from the med school loans that were “drowning them” to the “nightmare shift” they’d just finished. Someone changed the subject. “Hey, Liam, your birthday’s in a few days, right? We should all go out.” Liam shook his head. “I’ve got plans. It’s just a birthday, no big deal.” “Oh, come on. You’re just saying that because Chloe didn’t ask you. Chloe, back us up here.” Chloe put her chopsticks down, her voice tight. “His girlfriend is flying in to celebrate with him. Who am I to say anything?” “Girlfriend? Wait, I’d heard rumors, but… you actually have a girlfriend?” My head drooped. My eyes fell to the table. This was our eighth year together. We’d made it past the seven-year itch. We’d met each other’s parents. Whether he posted photos of me on his Instagram—which he never used anyway—was completely irrelevant to me. But in this one, single moment, I was terrified of what he would say next. I took a gulp of water, choking on it, the burn radiating in my chest. “Yeah, I do,” Liam said. His voice was perfectly calm. “It’s long-distance, though.” I remembered my freshman year of college, flying from Boston to visit him in New York. He insisted on dragging me to his advanced bio lecture, practically vibrating with excitement. A guy in the row ahead turned around to ask what time it was. Liam, his eyes shining, grabbed my hand and said, “How did you know my girlfriend was visiting?” But now… “I do… though.” An answer, a qualifier, and a hidden message all in one. Before I could even process it, Chloe spoke up. “Is it just because there are no better options around? Aren’t you tired, Liam? Aren’t you exhausted trying to maintain a relationship that has zero ROI for you?” “Relationships,” Liam said, his voice stiff, “aren’t about ROI.” “Fine. Let’s talk about love,” Chloe’s voice was starting to crack, thick with a year’s worth of suppressed feelings. “Does she know how tired you are? Does she understand the pressure you’re under? Do you two even have anything in common anymore? Don’t you feel… even a little… regret?” The table went completely silent. An agonizing minute passed. Finally, I heard Liam’s voice. He said, “Yeah. I do feel regret. But I’m forcing myself to make peace with it.” … I shut my eyes. It was my fault. I was the source of his regret. I was the reason he had to “make peace” with his own life. He seemed to forget that the entire point of us being together was to be each other’s peace. “Okay, okay, this is getting too heavy for hot pot. Liam, what do you want for your birthday?” Someone, sensing the tension, tried to clear the air. Chloe said, “I don’t know what you’re getting him, but I know what his precious girlfriend got him last year. A ‘letter.’ It was two lines long. You couldn’t even call them complete sentences.” “What? Seriously? I thought his girlfriend was smart.” Chloe glanced at Liam, a knowing, sad look on her face. “You’d think so. I remember it said something like ‘Stay safe’ and ‘Stay by my side.’ I mean, no offense, but that’s just… basic. If you can’t even write a decent love note, just Google a quote or something.” My hand, holding my chopsticks, was frozen. The boiling broth splashed over my skin, but I didn’t feel it. Last year, on his birthday, my advisor had me running a critical 48-hour data model. It was the first birthday of his we hadn’t spent together. I had tried to write him a long, beautiful letter, something to prove how much he meant to me. I wrote and deleted. Wrote and deleted. In the end, I realized there were only two things I truly, desperately wanted to say to him. Stay safe. Stay by my side. I wrote those two lines with all the sincerity in my soul. And now, they were being served up as a punchline for his new friends. In that single moment, I knew. Liam could live to be a hundred, but he would never, ever be worthy of my forgiveness. I stood up, grabbed the handle of my carry-on, and walked out of the restaurant. One fall rain, and New York was already deep in winter. I pulled my hoodie tighter, walking aimlessly down the street. A long line snaked from a shop down the block. It was that bakery in Chinatown, the one that makes my favorite savory pork mooncakes. I remember my junior year of high school. I was bundled in a winter coat, huddled over my desk, and muttered to my deskmate, “God, I’m craving one of those pork mooncakes.” “Dream on,” he said, handing me a pretzel stick. “Wait ’til next fall. I’ll get you one.” But Liam, sitting behind me, heard me. Before the last class of the day, there was a paper bag on my desk, steam fogging the plastic. Liam didn’t even look up from his textbook. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said, his voice flat. “Eat it while it’s warm.” That night, the new class rankings were posted. I was, as usual, one spot ahead of him. My deskmate laughed. “Liam, you’re always Number Two to Maya. If I were you, I’d have poisoned her mooncake.” Liam just smiled, and his gaze, when it met mine, was serious and focused. “I’m not here to compete with her.” Before graduation, we made a pact. We were both going to Boston. I got in early, on a research scholarship. He was aiming for the same. But fate had other plans. He missed the cutoff by a few points and ended up at Columbia in NYC. The day I left, my parents didn’t cry. He did. “What if you meet someone better?” he whispered, holding me at the train station. “Maya, I’ll work so hard. I’ll catch up.” “I won’t,” I promised, hugging him tight. From the day I said yes, I was prepared to walk with him through every season, for the rest of our lives. That Christmas, I took a late-night bus from Boston just to surprise him. I had his friends trick him into going to the campus plaza. When he saw me jump out of a giant, empty gift box, he just… stared. “Maya,” he said, finally walking over. “We’re going to get married, right? I really, really want a home with you. I just want to be able to see you every day.” …

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I was accidentally dragged into a live-action horror game, only to find my boyfriend, who’d been missing for a week. He was dressed in a stunning red suit, clearly the groom in a wedding. I dug a piece of chalk out of my pocket, chucked it square at his head, and asked sweetly, “Honey, you said you were on a business trip. You failed to mention you were getting hitched.” The live chat feed exploded, everyone eagerly awaiting my gruesome death. 【This newb has a death wish. That’s the #1 ranked BOSS in the game. His kill count could circle the server three times.】 【I can’t watch. She’s going to be ripped to shreds.】 Who would have guessed the BOSS would execute a perfect three-foot slide-and-kneel, grabbing my leg. “Babe, I swear, you’ve got it all wrong! This is just work!” My boyfriend had been out of reach on a “business trip” for a solid week. I was frantic and had already filed a police report. After school, I finished packing up my students’ homework. The moment I stepped out of the classroom, the world dissolved. The hallway of Westview High morphed into a towering stone maze. 【All players, please be aware: You have entered the Horror Game.】 【Current Dungeon: The Harvest Rite.】 【Difficulty: SSS-Class.】 【The village of Black Rock Creek, nestled in the mountains, worships the Shepherd. Every year on March 3rd, they hold a Harvest Rite, offering human sacrifices to ensure a bountiful year. This year, twenty ‘tourists’ have arrived…】 【Objective: Leave the village. Alive.】 【Players: 20】 【Role: Tourist】 【Good luck, players.】 The area erupted into chaos. Some people were calm, others were hyperventilating. It was easy to tell the difference between the veterans and the newbs. “Where are we? How did I get here?” “Is this some new kind of VR prank?” “Let me go home! LET ME GO HOME, WAAAAH!” The screaming and crying were grating, giving me a massive headache. A veteran player eyed the rookies with a sneer. “This batch is low-quality. They’re already breaking down.” “Why are there so many newbs this time?” “An SSS-Class dungeon with this many newbs? They’re just free points for the house.” The noise was so overwhelming my teacher-mode activated on instinct. I roared: “Chatter, chatter, chatter! What is this, a field trip? You’re louder than my sophomore homeroom! Quiet!” The clearing fell dead silent. Nineteen people, thirty-eight eyeballs, all staring at me. I suddenly remembered this was not, in fact, Westview High. I rubbed the back of my neck, embarrassed. “Ah, sorry about that. Occupational hazard. As you were, as you were.” A chat feed flickered to life in the sky above us. 【Who else just got PTSD flashbacks to high school?】 【You can’t fake that ‘disappointed teacher’ voice. She’s gotta be at least 20 years in.】 【Hello, Teach. Goodbye, Teach.】 【No, but seriously, she shut them all up. That was impressive.】 The veteran players looked awkward, seemingly annoyed they’d been cowed by a newb. A guy I’ll call Brock, with a face that looked permanently stuck in a sneer, scoffed at me. “Nice power trip. Never seen a newb try to pull rank so fast.” Others chimed in. “Seriously, who does she think she is?” “Watch her piss her pants the second a real monster shows up.” “She won’t even live long enough to see the BOSS.” A sharp, clear voice cut through the insults. “That’s enough! How dare you speak to my teacher that way! If you don’t have anything nice to say, shut your mouths.” At her words, the other vets, looking annoyed, actually went quiet. 【Whoa, it’s ‘The Sorceress,’ rank #3! No wonder this dungeon is SSS-Class.】 【The newb knows the Sorceress? And she’s protecting her?】 【Even with the Sorceress, this is a tough clear. The BOSS is ‘The Shepherd,’ the #1 player killer. The body count on that guy is legendary.】 I looked at the girl the chat called “The Sorceress.” She was maybe seventeen, eighteen, with her hair in a high ponytail. Wait a minute. That was my star student, my class TA, Maya. I gave a weak laugh. “Maya? You’re here too? Any idea what’s going on?” Her voice was exasperated, as if she was wondering how on earth I got dragged in. “Ms. Weaver, this is a horror game. People only get pulled in if they have a desperate, overwhelming wish. If you clear a dungeon, you get points. Points can grant wishes.” “And if you fail?” “You’re ‘erased.’ You die here, you disappear in the real world. No one ever remembers you existed.” I suddenly understood why she was here. Maya’s mother has late-stage cancer. She doesn’t have much time. I’d seen Maya crying in the halls. If there was even a sliver of hope, of course she’d take it. I leaned in close and whispered, “Can you see those… text boxes in the sky?” “Of course. That’s the chat feed. It’s one of the few lifelines the game gives us. We can get information from the audience.” “Ms. Weaver, stick with me on this one. I’ll protect you.” Being shielded by my own student was a little embarrassing, but I was clearly out of my element. I nodded. “Thank you, Maya.” 【Man, I wish I had a high-ranker adopt me my first time.】 【With the Sorceress protecting her, her survival odds just shot way up.】 【Doesn’t matter who’s carrying you. A noob is a noob. They always find a way to die.】 The system voice returned. 【Task 1: The Maze.】 【Black Rock Creek is sealed. The entrance is a labyrinth built centuries ago. It contains idols of the Shepherd. The villagers believe the maze is blessed, protecting them from outsiders.】 【Objective: Clear the maze in thirty minutes, enter Black Rock Creek, and attend the Harvest Rite.】 【Warning: Beware the idols. Touching an idol will result in ‘Conversion.’】 【Good luck.】 The maze was made of gray, crumbling stone. There were no lights inside. It was a dark, gaping maw, like a beast waiting to swallow us. Maya grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. The others followed close behind. Our lives were on the line, so all twenty of us decided to stick together. 【I’d love to help the Sorceress, but the top-down view is just fog. Can’t see a thing.】 【Duh. If we could just give them the map, it wouldn’t be an SSS-Class dungeon.】 【Sorceress, watch the idols! They move when you’re not looking at them!】 【If you touch one, you get Converted!】 Maya nodded, acknowledging the chat. We rounded a corner and—BAM—an idol was right there. A total jump scare. If Maya hadn’t yanked me back, I’d have walked right into it. The player behind me wasn’t so lucky. He couldn’t stop in time and stumbled right into the stone statue. He didn’t even have time to scream before he, too, turned to stone. 【Player Mike has failed the task. He has been Converted.】 【Remaining Players: 19】 I stared at the new statue. It looked… vaguely familiar. The people behind us slammed on the brakes, tumbling into a pile. Someone scraped their knee, and blood spattered on the ground. The maze groaned. The walls began to shift. 【Blood on the floor activates the maze. That’s a hidden mechanic, it’s not supposed to happen this early.】 【This group has the worst luck. F. Paying respects in advance.】 The system chimed in. 【Maze hidden mechanic: ‘The Hunger’ has been activated.】 【The maze will now shift every five minutes. Idols will spawn every three minutes. ‘Locals’ will also spawn randomly. A Local may guide you, or they may kill you.】 【Reminder: You have thirty minutes. Failure to exit in time will result in you becoming part of the maze.】 I scrambled up, putting my hand on the wall to steady myself. The texture was wrong. It was… moving. Like it was breathing. It wasn’t hard stone, but soft and warm, like human skin. It was sticky. My skin crawled. A scream ripped through the air. A man’s entire lower half was being absorbed by the wall. The stone made a wet, chewing sound. I snatched my hand back. 【HOLY HELL THE MAZE EATS PEOPLE?!】 【How else do you think it moves? Touch the walls for too long and you’re lunch.】 【Why wasn’t that in the warning?!】 【SSS-Class, genius. They have hidden death traps. This isn’t a tutorial.】 The players all exchanged panicked looks and started pulling out various items and tools. But it was no use; players kept getting Converted by the idols. We ran for what felt like an eternity, only to find our path blocked by another Shepherd idol. It just stood there, motionless, covered in moss that smelled like a damp basement. I glanced down for one second, and when I looked up, it had jumped ten feet closer. Its carved smile seemed wider, more like a caricature. Maya looked pale. She was running out of attack items. The system’s countdown began. 【Warning. Ten minutes remaining until maze lockdown.】 【Remaining Players: 15】 【This is just bad RNG. A narrow path and an idol spawn.】 【And the maze just shifted. It’s a dead end behind them. They’re trapped.】 【RIP.】 I was just… so annoyed. I fished a chalk nub from my pocket and winged it at the statue. I wasn’t trying to do anything; I was just venting. “Block, block, block! That’s all you do! You’re worse than the 405 on a holiday weekend!” 【…Is the newb insane? She’s talking to the statue.】 【She thinks this is school? That’s a monster, not a kid in detention.】 【Can we please vote-kick mentally unstable players?】 Brock, who was clutching some kind of explosive talisman, rolled his eyes at me. “If you’re gonna have a mental breakdown, don’t do it here, lady. What’s that little bit of chalk gonna do?” But the idol’s serenely carved smile… slowly… turned… down. It looked… upset? Gray pebbles started to chip off its face, like it was crying. Sobbing, the idol began to shuffle to the side, slowly clearing the path. Its turtle-like pace just made me see red, reminding me of every student who ever dawdled in the hall. “Hustle! Hustle! Don’t dawdle! I want to see you run!” The idol suddenly tucked and rolled, careening down the hallway at high speed. 【???】 【Did that statue just… obey her? Like a dog?】 【Hold on, I’m going to go stand on my head. This can’t be real.】 【You guys don’t actually believe she scolded it into moving, do you? She must have hit a secret trigger.】 【This newb… she’s got something weird going on.】 Everyone, including the hyper-critical Brock, was staring at me like I’d grown a second head. We pushed forward. The players who had been glued to Maya’s back were now slowly drifting behind me. The maze shifted again, and the players at the tail end were cut off. As we walked, I saw a figure at the next intersection. It was a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen. She was wearing strange, rustic clothing, and her bangs were so long they completely covered her eyes. She was holding a bizarre, curved knife, which was dripping blood onto the floor. 【Warning. Three minutes remaining until maze lockdown.】 【Remaining Players: 12】 The girl, dragging her bloody knife, started walking toward us. 【Oh, their luck is just the worst. That’s Lily, the ‘Butcher’s Daughter.’ She’s a mini-boss.】 【Don’t let her size fool you. She’s killed five people in the last three minutes. Doesn’t even ask questions.】 【I’ll bet a bag of chips only the Sorceress and Brock get out of this.】 Everyone froze. I looked at the girl, clenching my fists. I tried to hold it in. I really did. I couldn’t. THWACK. I slapped the knife out of her hand. I then reached into my bag, pulled out a small elastic hair tie, and swept her greasy bangs up, tying them in a ridiculous sprout on top of her head. “Young lady, you are too young to be this gloomy.” “We show our faces. We are bright! We are presentable!” “If you showed up to my school like this, you’d get sent straight to the office for violating the dress code!” The chat feed was just a stream of question marks. 【Challenging the mini-boss. She has guts, I’ll give her that.】 【Can I borrow some of her confidence? Asking for a friend.】 【This NPC is a literal psychopath and the teacher is disciplining her. If she lives, I will… I will finally do my taxes.】 【I think she has a plan. She has to.】 Maya instantly jumped in front of me, shielding me. The little girl, Lily, sniffled. Her eyes, which hadn’t seen proper light in ages, squinted and teared up. Exposed, her face was just… confused. The “Sprout” on her head made her look like a dazed cartoon character. After a long, stunned silence, she just… whispered, “Oh.” 【Huh? She’s fine?】 【Am I hallucinating? The psycho-killer kid didn’t kill her.】 【This is the same kid who was shanking players a minute ago!】 【Okay, tax guy. Pay up.】 My professional instincts were now completely overriding my survival instincts. “What’s your name, honey? What grade are you in?” “I’m… I’m Lily. I… I don’t go to school.” Don’t… go… to… school. The words echoed in my head. This was 2025. This was America. A kid not in school? I grabbed Lily’s hand. “Take me to your village. Now.” Every child deserves an education! This truancy was unacceptable! She looked at our joined hands, then at my face, clearly confused by my sudden fiery passion. Finally, she just nodded. “Okay.” Brock, who had been bracing for a bloodbath, just gaped. “Huh?” Chat: 【?】

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