I came back from a two-month business trip to pick up my daughter from school. To my surprise, I found that my six-year-old daughter had an exquisitely styled braid. Although my husband is a painter, his hands are only good for painting, not for braiding hair. I casually asked her, “When did Daddy learn to braid your hair?” “Actually, it was Miss Whitmore from school who did it!” My daughter’s eyes darted around, and her fingers unconsciously clutched at the corner of her clothes. My smile slowly faded. Later, I asked Miss Whitmore about it. But the teacher shook her head in denial. “I didn’t braid it. Dorothy said her mom styled her hair like that. She really loves it!” When my daughter lies, her fingers unconsciously clutch at the corner of her clothes. The teacher’s response confirmed this. My feelings were complicated. After returning from a two-month business trip, the first thing my daughter said to me was a lie. I didn’t scold her or call her out on it. I gave her gifts like I did after every business trip. “Dorothy, did anything fun happen while you and Daddy were home these two months?” At first, my daughter avoided eye contact and didn’t want to talk, only focused on unwrapping her gifts. It wasn’t until I pulled out her art homework and praised her for improving so much that she said happily, “It was Jasmine who taught me how to draw!” My heart stirred. Who was Jasmine? My daughter suddenly covered her mouth and shook her head. “I didn’t say anything! Mommy didn’t hear anything!” No matter how much I asked after that, she refused to say more. I sighed and decided to ask my husband Sebastian when we got home. As soon as the car pulled up to the house, I happened to see Sebastian hurrying out of the villa. When he saw me holding our daughter’s hand, he looked surprised at first, then seemed slightly relieved. “You came back early? I was just busy and forgot to pick Dorothy up from school…” He suddenly paused mid-sentence, his eyes flickering. My gaze shifted from Sebastian to the unfamiliar figure behind him. It was a young woman with quite pleasant looks and demeanor. Some uneasy suspicions crossed my mind, but I still put on a polite smile. “And this is?” Sebastian looked at me, and after a few seconds, said flatly, “Oh, this is the art teacher I hired for Dorothy.” My face remained calm, but I felt uncomfortable inside. During my two-month business trip, I made time to call him every day. But he never mentioned hiring an art teacher for our daughter. The woman’s eyes discreetly swept over me before she smiled and stepped forward to greet me. “You must be Mrs. Reed. Hello, I’m Jasmine Whitmore.” “Jasmine! So you came to see me and Daddy today too! That’s great!” My daughter broke free from my hand and bounced over to Jasmine’s side, affectionately hugging her leg. I watched this scene with a blank expression. Sebastian perhaps sensed something and turned to Jasmine. “Jasmine, you don’t need to teach Dorothy tonight. You can head home.” Jasmine and he made eye contact, and her smile stiffened. “Alright, I won’t disturb your family reunion then.” But I smiled faintly and pulled her into the villa by the hand. “Jasmine should stay for dinner.” Sebastian froze, about to say something, but I interrupted him. “I didn’t even know Dorothy had a new art teacher. Now that we’ve happened to meet, of course I should treat Jasmine to a nice meal. Right, honey?” Sebastian’s deep eyes met mine, and after a moment he looked away. My heart gradually sank. He had indeed intentionally hidden Jasmine’s existence from me, and even Dorothy’s lying might have been taught by him.

At dinner, I pan-fried some cod for my daughter. But she shook her head in disgust. “Jasmine doesn’t like fish. She says it’s too fishy. I don’t like it anymore either!” After saying this, she jumped down from her chair and ran to sit beside Jasmine. Jasmine glanced at me, unable to hide the smile on her face. “Okay, okay, I’ll help my little princess eat.” I was somewhat angry and instinctively wanted to put the fish my daughter rejected into Sebastian’s bowl. At the same time, Jasmine suddenly cut a piece of foie gras for Sebastian. I was about to tactfully remind her that Sebastian didn’t like foie gras. But before I could speak, he had already naturally extended his bowl to receive it. I said flatly, “I thought you didn’t like foie gras?” Sebastian nodded slightly and said casually, “Mm, but it’s good to change things up occasionally.” A bitter feeling passed through my heart. Just two months ago, he and our daughter loved the pan-fried fish I made most. My eyes swept across the dishes on the table. I realized that aside from the fish I’d personally made, all the other dishes the chef prepared were completely different from usual. I looked at Jasmine, who seemed so at ease at our dinner table as if it were her own home, and my heart sank bit by bit. After seeing Jasmine off, Sebastian seemed to notice that I hadn’t had much appetite tonight, but only asked flatly, “Tired from the trip?” I forced a shallow smile. “Sort of. I wanted to come back early, so I took a flight at dawn. I am a bit tired…” Sebastian nodded perfunctorily and asked me, “When is your next business trip?” I paused, my smile fading. “Do you really want me to go on business trips?” Sebastian’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t answer the question. Instead, he turned and went to his studio. Sebastian was a painter, but he preferred oil paintings. Yet now there was a watercolor painting in the studio. Sebastian paused and explained, “Jasmine sometimes teaches Dorothy watercolor in the studio.” I lowered my eyes, my gaze falling on the two chairs placed very close together in front of the easel. Then I noticed the two signatures in the bottom right corner of the watercolor. Sebastian and Jasmine. I laughed self-deprecatingly, said nothing, and turned to go to my daughter’s room. She was already asleep, still clutching a sketchbook in her hand. The sketchbook contained her own drawings of our family of three. But the further I flipped through it, the colder my heart became. In the recent new drawings, “Mommy” had changed from having curly hair to straight hair. Jasmine had long straight hair. In my daughter’s sketchbook, the three of them painted together in the yard, went to amusement parks, went camping and picnicking—just like a real family of three. My heart felt numb and painful. At that moment, my secretary called to confirm tomorrow’s schedule. Thinking about everything that happened today, I still pushed all of tomorrow’s work to next week. The next day at breakfast, my daughter was unusually excited. I thought she already knew about my plans for today. I smiled and patted her head. “Dorothy is so happy. Do you already know Mommy is taking you to the amusement park today?” But my daughter’s eyes widened in surprise. Sebastian, who had been quietly eating breakfast, also stopped. In his eyes was not only surprise but also a hint of awkwardness. Seeing this, my smile slowly faded.

“You and Dorothy have other plans?” My daughter said loudly, “Today the school organized a trip to see an art exhibition, and Daddy is going with me!” Sebastian also nodded, averting his eyes. “You just got back yesterday. I didn’t get a chance to tell you.” “It’s fine. I’ll go with you.” My daughter unconsciously clutched at the corner of her clothes, pouting. She seemed reluctant and even secretly exchanged glances with her father. Sebastian said flatly, “You just got back from your business trip. You should rest at home. I can accompany Dorothy.” My daughter suddenly threw herself into my arms and acted cute. “Mommy, can you make us mushroom soup at home? When Daddy and I come back at noon, we can drink the soup. Mommy hasn’t made me mushroom soup in so long.” My daughter looked at me with bright, sparkling eyes, looking so pitiful. Suppressing the bad suspicions in my heart, I still agreed to my daughter’s request. At noon, I took out my phone and called Sebastian. “The soup is ready. When are you and Dorothy coming back?” “We…” On the phone, Sebastian had only said two words before suddenly stopping. Besides my daughter’s voice, there was another somewhat familiar female voice. It was Jasmine. My smile completely disappeared as I repeated coldly, “What time are you and Dorothy coming back?” Sebastian paused, seemingly walking to a quieter place. “The exhibition was postponed to this afternoon. Dorothy and I will come back tonight…” My daughter grabbed his phone. “Mommy, we’re not coming back for lunch! We’re eating out!” Before I could say anything, my daughter had already hung up. The housekeeper glanced at my expressionless face and asked cautiously, “Should I pack the soup and deliver it to them?” I took the thermos, my tone cold. “I’ll deliver it myself.” When I arrived, I found the exhibition had already ended. It hadn’t been postponed to the afternoon at all. My fingers gripping the thermos tightened until my fingertips turned white. Sebastian had lied to me again. The driver looked at my lost expression and asked carefully, “Mrs. Reed, should we go home or…” “Just drive around for a bit.” I gazed aimlessly out the car window until my eyes accidentally caught three familiar figures. I got out of the car and hurried into a restaurant. When I finally saw clearly who the three people at the table were, my steps stopped. A strange pain shot through my heart. I turned around and walked to a corner seat behind them. A few lush plants separated our seats. They didn’t notice me. “Wow, the restaurant Jasmine brought us to is so delicious! It’s way better than what the housekeeper and my mom make. I’m so tired of their cooking. I wish Jasmine could take me out to eat every day!” But Jasmine’s voice carried a deliberate sense of melancholy. “I’d also like to be with you and… Sebastian every day. But your mom is back now, so I can’t go out with you often anymore. Your mom would mind.” My daughter blurted out, “I’d rather Mommy didn’t come back! I want Jasmine to stay with us!” My heart suddenly ached. Sebastian seemed stunned too. After a long while, he said in a low voice, “Dorothy, you can’t talk about your mom like that.” “But Mommy is always away on business trips. She’s not like Jasmine, who can be with us every day. I think Jasmine is more like a mom than Mommy!” “And I heard Daddy on the phone with Grandma the other day saying something about divorce… Daddy, do you want to divorce Mommy?” My whole body shook, and my trembling hand accidentally knocked against the silverware on the table.

Sebastian seemed shocked by our daughter’s words too. Sebastian was silent for a moment before saying, “If I really divorced your mom, wouldn’t you be sad?” My daughter innocently tilted her head. “Not sad at all! I have Daddy and Jasmine with me. I’d be too happy!” My heart went numb, then needle-like pain spread throughout my body. Sebastian paused. “Forget it. Don’t bring this up again, and don’t tell your mom. Understand?” “I know! So when Mommy goes on her business trip next week, let’s go on vacation with Jasmine!” Jasmine pretended to be troubled. “Every time we travel when your mom isn’t home. If she found out, wouldn’t she be unhappy?” “If we don’t tell Mommy, she won’t know!” Hearing all this, I felt numb. I never knew how many things my beloved husband and daughter had been hiding from me. “Oh no!” While drinking soup, my daughter accidentally splashed some on Jasmine’s face. My daughter tried to help Jasmine wipe it off, but she avoided it and instead looked at Sebastian, her tone slightly shy. “Sebastian, could you help me wipe my face? I can’t see it myself.” Sebastian paused, looking at Jasmine who had moved very close, and agreed. The napkin gently wiped Jasmine’s face. Through the gaps in the leaves, I watched expressionlessly as Jasmine leaned closer and closer to Sebastian. Until she suddenly closed her eyes and planted a kiss on Sebastian’s lips. Sebastian’s wiping motion instantly stopped. Jasmine opened her eyes, her face flushed red. “Sebastian, I’m sorry. I just… couldn’t help myself.” After a while, Sebastian withdrew his hand and said flatly, “It’s fine.” Jasmine said in a way that only drew more attention, “Dorothy, what just happened between your dad and me was an accident. You…” My daughter smiled mischievously and nodded. “I understand! I definitely won’t tell Mommy!” Sebastian patted our daughter’s head. “Right, there’s no need to tell your mom about these things.” As his words fell, the last bit of hope in my heart vanished. The breath that had been stuck in my chest since last night suddenly dissipated. I sneered inwardly. Whatever else they said, I had no interest in listening anymore. As I stood up to leave, the server picked up the thermos from the table. “Ma’am, you forgot your item.” Hearing the voice, Jasmine instinctively turned her head and saw me. She froze. Sebastian noticed her reaction. “What’s wrong?” Just as he was about to follow Jasmine’s gaze and turn around, she quickly looked away and placed her hand over Sebastian’s. “Nothing. I want to try the crème brûlée. Can you feed me?” Sebastian smiled and fed her. Jasmine turned to look at me again, revealing a provocative smile. I stared at her coldly for a moment, then turned and left the restaurant. Things that aren’t cherished don’t need to be eagerly offered. Not the soup, and not my sincerity.

On the drive home, I took time to hold a cross-border video conference with several company executives. “Miss Monroe, the project that headquarters in Italy signed is very important. Many details may require your personal oversight.” “So for the next few months, you might need to travel back and forth between the two countries. Sorry for the trouble.” Most of my family’s business empire was in Italy, with only a small portion in the States. But Sebastian didn’t want to live in Italy and preferred to stay here. So I’d rather work harder traveling between both places than force Sebastian to go to Italy with me. “I’ll oversee this project throughout, and I’ll also be stationed at the Italy headquarters going forward.” The vice presidents looked surprised. “Miss Monroe, why the sudden decision to return to Italy? Are your husband and daughter moving there too?” I shook my head. “No, just me.” After the video conference ended, I contacted my lawyer. That evening, Sebastian and my daughter didn’t even come home for dinner. It wasn’t until after I showered that Sebastian came back carrying our already-sleeping daughter. I stood there, watching them coldly. Sebastian paused, also noticing my distant attitude. My daughter groggily woke up. When she opened her eyes and saw me, she instinctively said, “Mommy… hug…” I didn’t move, only saying flatly, “It’s late. Take her to her room to sleep.” With that, I turned toward the bedroom. A flash of confusion and panic crossed Sebastian’s eyes as he spoke, “Evelyn, Dorothy and I didn’t mean to miss dinner at home. We…” I raised my hand to stop him, my tone flat. “Whatever it is, let’s talk tomorrow. I’m very tired today.” I didn’t look at Sebastian’s expression. I just closed the bedroom door and locked it. As I was about to fall asleep, I heard someone gently knocking on the door. I ignored it, closed my eyes, and continued sleeping. After all, I had to get up early tomorrow. But Sebastian was up even earlier than me. As I passed the kitchen with my suitcase, I saw him making breakfast. “Evelyn, I made your favorite for breakfast…” Halfway through, his gaze moved to my suitcase. “Your business trip isn’t until next week. This is…” Meeting Sebastian’s confused gaze, I handed him the divorce agreement I’d originally planned to leave on the dining table before leaving. “You don’t have to wait until next week to travel. You can go today.”

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I was with Lucas for five years. I gave birth to a daughter for him. On the day of our daughter’s first-month celebration. I had just finished breastfeeding in the lounge. The moment I came downstairs holding my daughter, a shrill scream rang out in the banquet hall: “Someone help! She stole my baby!” I jerked my head up to see a strange woman rushing toward me, eyes brimming with tears. And my husband stood right beside her, his eyes ice-cold. He shielded the woman and barked orders at the security guards: “Grab her! Don’t let this child trafficker get away!” I desperately tried to explain, desperately called his name, telling him the child was mine. But the family photos, birth certificate, postpartum care center records, pictures with friends and family—in every piece of evidence, the mother wasn’t me. Even the people closest to me said I had never been married, let alone given birth to a child. In the end, I was beaten to death at my daughter’s first-month celebration, branded as a child trafficker trying to kidnap someone else’s baby. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment right after I finished breastfeeding. Outside the door, the sound of guests’ laughter filled the hall. **1** That day was my daughter’s first-month celebration. Until I walked into the hall holding her, everyone pointed at my nose and called me a child trafficker. The banquet hall was filled with clinking glasses and elegantly dressed guests at the celebration. Outside, I had just finished nursing my daughter in the lounge, my heart full of joy, ready to receive everyone’s blessings. I had been with Lucas for five years. To give birth to this daughter, I had nearly left half my life on the delivery table. I still clearly remembered that night—my water broke early and the massive hemorrhaging left my entire body ice-cold. Lucas burst into the delivery room despite the doctor’s attempts to stop him, and fell to his knees beside the hospital bed with a thud. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands gripping my freezing fingers so tightly, his tears scalding hot as they fell onto the back of my hand. “Honey, don’t fall asleep! As long as you pull through, I swear on my life I’ll protect you and our child! Even if I have to give up everything else, all I want is for you and our daughter to be safe!” That was the only belief that kept me going through that brush with death. But on the day of the celebration, that belief was viciously torn to shreds. The moment I pushed open the banquet hall door, the glaring crystal chandelier light made me squint. Before I could even manage a smile, a shrill female voice suddenly exploded across the entire venue. “Someone help! Stop her! She stole my baby—!” I jerked my head up. A woman in an elaborate designer gown pushed through the crowd like a madwoman, rushing toward me. Her eyes were bloodshot. And my husband—Lucas, the man who swore to protect me with his life—was holding her shoulders tightly, shielding her by his side. The look he gave me held nothing but disgust. “Where’s security? Are you all dead?” Lucas pointed at me. “Hold her down! Don’t let this child trafficker escape and hurt my daughter!” I froze in place, my brain instantly crashing. I desperately protected my daughter in my arms as she started crying from fright, screaming at him with everything I had. “Lucas! Have you lost your mind? Look carefully—it’s me, Jade! I’m the one who gave birth to this child!” But what happened in the next half hour became a hell I would never forget. The family photos displayed on the celebration’s big screen showed that strange woman as the mother. The birth certificate pulled from City Hospital clearly printed “Lena Young” in the mother’s column. Even the top-tier postpartum care center where I had stayed for a month had her listed as the VIP client in their system. Like a lunatic, I dialed my mother’s number. The voice on the other end was cold and guarded. “Are you some kind of scammer? My daughter Jade is a workaholic who doesn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a child. Call again and I’m reporting you to the police!” So I was labeled as a mentally disturbed child trafficker. Enraged guests surrounded me. I don’t know who kicked me first, followed by the brutal blows from security guards’ batons. I curled up tightly on the ground, using my back to shield my daughter in my arms. In the chaos, a leather shoe kicked me hard in the temple. My head slammed into a sharp table corner with a “bang.” Blood blurred my vision. In the final second before my sight went completely dark, I saw Lucas holding my daughter, gently comforting her, while that woman named Lena leaned against him, watching me die in a pool of blood. “Bzzzz—” A sudden ringing filled my ears, followed by a warm, soft sensation in my arms that made my entire body shudder. I snapped my eyes open. I was sitting on a leather sofa. My daughter in my arms had her eyes closed, her tiny pink mouth still making little sucking motions, smelling of milk. Outside the door, I could faintly hear the cheerful chatter and laughter of the gathered guests. My entire body turned cold. Cold sweat instantly soaked through the clothes on my back, my fingers trembling violently. I had been reborn. Back to ten minutes before the celebration began, right after I finished nursing. This time, I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, confirming this wasn’t a dream. I would absolutely never again carry my daughter into that slaughterhouse that wanted my life. **2** I had to preserve ironclad evidence. I held my daughter tightly, my chest heaving violently, forcibly suppressing the trembling that seemed to carry the phantom pain throughout my body. I couldn’t panic. I absolutely couldn’t rush out to confront them directly. That would be suicide. “Creak—” The lounge door handle was gently pressed down. Every muscle in my body instantly tensed as I stared fixedly at the door. Lucas walked in wearing that perfectly tailored pure black designer suit. The light fell on his chiseled profile. His eyes were as tender as always, tender enough to drown in. He walked softly to my side and naturally reached out to straighten my slightly disheveled collar. Then he lowered his head, his lips gently touching our baby’s forehead, his tone indulgent. “Honey, you worked so hard. It’s chaotic with all those people outside, so don’t rush. I’ll go handle things first. You can rest, and we’ll go downstairs together when you’re ready.” He then walked over to the water dispenser, skillfully filled half a cup of warm water, tested the temperature against the side of the cup, and brought it to my lips. “Here, breastfeeding takes a lot out of you. Drink some warm water, and be careful not to catch a chill.” Looking at this face I knew all too well, seeing the love that seemed ready to overflow from his eyes, a trace of doubt arose in my heart. His attentiveness toward me was too real. Every bowl of hot soup, every embrace over these five years—could it all have been an act? Could I have just had a nightmare caused by postpartum depression? But the instant he turned to grab a tissue, I clearly caught a flash of impatience at the corner of his mouth. In that second, the excruciating pain from my shattered skull in my previous life shot through my entire body like an electric current. It wasn’t a dream! Today was the day they wanted my life! I forced myself to pull out a weak smile and accepted the water cup. “Honey, I got up too fast and feel a bit dizzy. Let me sit for five more minutes to recover.” Lucas didn’t suspect anything and gently ruffled my hair. “Okay, I’ll tell the staff not to disturb you. I’ll wait for you both downstairs.” The door closed. The instant the lock clicked into place, the weakness on my face vanished completely. I didn’t trust people’s hearts. I only trusted evidence! I immediately pulled out my phone, opened the front camera, and framed both myself and my sleeping daughter in the shot. Suppressing the tremor in my voice, I spoke clearly to the camera. “My name is Jade Chen. Today is April 8th, 2026. The location is the third-floor lounge of the InterContinental Hotel. The child in my arms is the biological daughter of Lucas and me.” I then zoomed in the camera, focusing on the birth certificate. After recording the video, I didn’t save it locally. Lucas had built his fortune in IT. He had countless ways to destroy the data on my phone. I quickly logged into my backup email, packaged the video with a detailed explanation, set it to send automatically in ten minutes, with the recipient being my most trusted best friend, Nina Lee. Then I picked up the Polaroid camera on the table, originally meant for taking commemorative photos for guests. I held it close to my daughter’s little face, with the data I’d sent to my friend visible in the background. “Click.” The photo slid out, the image gradually developing. The picture of mother and daughter nestled close together was crystal clear. I looked around, my gaze locking on the gap in the sofa. I folded that Polaroid tightly and forced it deep into the crevice with all my strength. After finishing all this, I tucked the folded birth certificate against my skin inside my bra and took a deep breath. With this ironclad evidence, let’s see how you can cover the sky with one hand today! I held my daughter tight and walked toward the banquet hall. The moment I stepped out of the hallway and my hand touched the banquet hall door handle, a voice I could never forget even in death came from inside. “Stop her! She stole my baby!” **3** I took a deep breath and yanked the door open. The woman named Lena from my previous life was pointing at me, crying out shrilly. Everything was replaying according to my previous life’s script. Lucas almost instantly stepped forward and pulled Lena into his embrace. The moment he turned to look at me, the deep affection from the lounge vanished without a trace. “Security! Lock the doors! Hold her down!” The hundreds of guests in the venue instantly erupted in commotion. The music cut off abruptly, and countless pairs of eyes fixed on me. “I stole a child?” I stood firmly in place, let out a cold laugh, held the baby with one hand, and pulled out my phone with the other. “Lucas, you can eat whatever you want, but you can’t just say whatever you want. Whether or not I’m a child trafficker, the video will prove it!” My fingertip quickly tapped open my gallery, moving toward the high-definition video I had just recorded. But the instant my finger touched the screen, it flashed violently and the video image turned into a blinding snowstorm. File corrupted. My heart sank heavily. Local network interception! I immediately switched to my email backend to check the scheduled email to Nina. Sent box—completely empty. Drafts—completely empty. “Can’t produce evidence now? Child traffickers these days are so brazen they dare show up at a celebration to cause trouble after stealing a baby!” My mother-in-law charged forward like a protective mother tiger, pointing at my nose and cursing. “You shameless crazy woman! My daughter-in-law Lena has been on stage the whole time. The baby you’re holding is clearly my family’s precious grandchild!” I gritted my teeth and looked toward the nanny, Mrs. Zhang, who had been hiding behind my mother-in-law—the woman who had taken care of me for an entire month. “Mrs. Zhang!” I stared directly into her eyes. “You made me different postpartum meals every day. You’re the one who applied medicine to my C-section wound daily! Tell everyone here—am I or am I not this child’s biological mother!” Mrs. Zhang’s whole body shuddered. She didn’t dare meet my eyes at all. Her face deathly pale, she cowered and took a step back, her voice shaking like a sieve. “Miss… I think you’ve got the wrong person… I’ve been taking care of Mrs. Lena Young on stage this whole month.” The hotel’s general manager also immediately stepped forward, presenting a thick contract. “Security, do something! This woman clearly has mental problems. The person who booked the venue, coordinated the process, and paid the final bill has always been Mr. Lucas and Miss Young. We’ve never seen her!” I watched helplessly as the digital evidence I had thought foolproof was erased into thin air, as the people who had spent day and night with me betrayed me in public without hesitation. The surrounding guests had already started whispering, their eyes shifting from watching a spectacle to wariness and contempt. Security guards’ riot forks were already pressed against my shoulders. This suffocating feeling of being isolated by the entire world, of having my identity stripped away, hit even more fiercely than in my previous life. I shielded my daughter, who had started sobbing from fright, bit through the tip of my tongue, letting the metallic taste spread through my mouth to maintain my last shred of clarity. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my voice piercing through the entire hall. “Fine! You’ve all conspired together, is that it? Call the police! Call them right now! Let the police investigate! I don’t believe even the public security system and the hospital’s internal network can help you maintain this lie!” **4** The shrill sound of police sirens soon rang out downstairs at the hotel. Ten minutes later, four police officers sealed off the scene. I looked at the lead officer. “Officer, this is my husband Lucas. This child is the one I carried for ten months and risked my life to deliver! They’re conspiring to kidnap my child and even fabricating evidence!” Before the police could speak, Lucas had already stepped forward in his tailored suit, handing over his business card. “Hello, Officer. I’m Lucas, CEO of StarPath Technology. I don’t know this woman. She suddenly barged into my daughter’s first-month celebration, not only attempting to kidnap the child but also spouting complete nonsense. I suspect she has serious delusional disorder.” The officer frowned. “Miss, since you claim the child is yours, do you have concrete evidence? We can’t go on words alone. We need to verify hospital records immediately.” “Check it!” I didn’t hesitate, my eyes bloodshot as I stared at Lucas. “City Central Maternity Hospital, last month on the 8th at 2 AM, VIP Operating Room 3, C-section! Check the real records in the system!” The officer immediately signaled his colleague to contact headquarters for verification. The wait felt exceptionally long. When the officer who went to verify came back, his eyes held a trace of wariness as he looked at me. “Officer, what did you find?” I asked urgently. The lead officer looked at the file screenshot sent to his phone, his expression completely darkening. “The files from City Maternity Hospital show that the woman who gave birth in VIP Operating Room 3 on the 8th of last month was named Lena Young. The mother on the medical birth certificate is Lena Young, and the family member who signed as birth companion was Lucas.” He pointed at the band on my daughter’s ankle. “Even this anti-swap ankle band number 89757 that you keep emphasizing—when scanned in the system, the corresponding mother is still Lena Young. Miss, how do you explain this?” In my previous life, my mind would have gone completely blank at this point, driven to a complete breakdown. But now, I let out a cold laugh, yanked open my jacket zipper, and pulled out the birth certificate I’d kept close to my body inside my bra. This time, let’s see what they have to say! The officer paused, quickly taking the paper. It clearly stated: Mother: Jade Chen. Just when I thought everything was settled. The next second, the officer let out a surprised “Huh.” “Miss, this birth certificate of yours is fake.” I stood there frozen. How could this be! This birth certificate clearly was… Boom—. An ominous premonition swept through my entire body. I turned to look at Lucas. He smirked and gave me a challenging smile. “No, no, no! I still have evidence!” In my previous life, I called my mother, but she denied everything about me. In this life, I could only count on my best friend Nina. I dialed Nina’s number, but what she said next made my heart turn cold. “Lucas? I’ve never heard of him. Jade has always been single.” “That’s impossible! I sent you all the evidence. Why are you lying!” Seeing my agitation, the police stepped forward, afraid I might hurt someone. The panic made me feel somewhat lost. Why was this happening? Had my memory really become confused? No, that’s not right. I still had one more piece of evidence. “Officer, please, I have one more piece of evidence! Please come with me to see it.” With that, I led the police and guests back to the lounge. Even if the birth certificate had been fake from the start, that Polaroid might give me a sliver of hope. Everyone watched as I frantically searched the sofa crevice, their doubts growing louder. “Still lying. This person is terrifying.” “Oh my God, she’s really crazy…” “Delusional, right? Running to someone else’s celebration to have a breakdown, forging all this evidence—this was clearly premeditated!” “Hurry up and send her to a psychiatric hospital. Don’t let her hurt the baby!” The doubting voices around me made me frantic, but no matter how I searched, I couldn’t find that Polaroid. But I clearly put it right here! Just as I was growing more and more desperate. The police completely lost their patience too. Ambulance 120 personnel arrived. Two male orderlies carrying restraint straps and sedatives walked toward me. The shadow of my previous life—being pinned down as a lunatic, beaten to death by a mob—like a massive black tsunami, instantly shattered my rationality. Was I going to die here again? Be completely erased by them again? Just as my whole body trembled, on the verge of complete collapse, my peripheral vision suddenly caught Lucas raising his hand, lowering his head to adjust his French cuff. In that instant, as if a thunderbolt split open my chaotic mind. I jerked my head up, staring at Lucas. I finally understood why he had painstakingly laid this net over five years, finally knew why he absolutely had to make me give birth to this child.

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One year after menopause, my period came back. My best friend said this wasn’t normal and told me to get to the hospital immediately. The test results were covered in dense data I couldn’t understand. The doctor stared at the report for a long time, then suddenly looked up and asked me, “Is your husband here?” I said he was waiting outside. The doctor said, “Have him come in. There are some things I need to tell him directly.” I panicked. “Doctor, is it some kind of disease? You can just tell me.” The doctor shook her head. “This matter—he needs to know.” After my husband went in, the door closed. I pressed my ear against it and heard the doctor’s first sentence: “Your wife’s condition is very unusual…” 0 I’m forty-five years old. I’ve always been healthy. One year after menopause, I started bleeding again. Not much, but bright red. My heart sank. My best friend Lily said this was called postmenopausal bleeding, and it wasn’t good. She told me to get to the hospital right away. I didn’t dare delay. The next day, I had my husband Marcus accompany me to City First Hospital. I got an appointment with a specialist. After a series of tests, it was already afternoon. I sat in the gynecology director’s office holding a stack of reports, my heart pounding with anxiety. The smell of disinfectant in the office was so strong it was suffocating. Marcus sat next to me, his hand gripping mine. His palm was hot and sweaty. I knew he was even more nervous than I was. The doctor was a woman in her fifties, Director Wilson. She took my test reports and examined them one by one, extremely slowly and carefully. Her brow was furrowed from the start. My heart sank along with her expression, bit by bit. Was it some terrible disease? Cancer? I didn’t dare think about it. My son had just started college. I hadn’t seen him settle down yet. If I died, what would happen to this family? Marcus felt my trembling and squeezed my hand hard. “Don’t be scared. It’ll be okay,” he said in a low voice. His words didn’t help. My fear was like vines, growing wildly from the bottom of my heart and up, wrapping around my throat. Finally, Director Wilson put down the reports. She pushed up her glasses and looked past me at Marcus. “You’re her husband?” Marcus nodded quickly. “Yes, I am.” Director Wilson’s expression was complicated—sympathetic and grave. “You—come with me for a moment.” She pointed to the inner office. I froze. Marcus froze too. “Doctor,” I spoke first, my voice trembling, “is my illness very serious? Just tell me directly. I can handle it.” Director Wilson shook her head. Her gaze remained fixed on Marcus’s face. “There are some things I need to discuss with your husband first.” “Why?” I grew anxious. “It’s my own body. Why can’t I know?” Marcus also said, “Director Wilson, just say what you need to say. We’re husband and wife. There’s nothing we can’t hear together.” Director Wilson’s expression didn’t soften at all. She stood up, her tone brooking no argument. “You come in first.” She walked into the inner office first, leaving the door slightly ajar. Marcus glanced at me, his eyes full of reassurance. “Don’t worry. I’ll go in and ask. It’s probably just some things men need to pay attention to… about cooperating with treatment.” He stood up and followed her in. The office door closed in front of me with a soft click. My heart was shut into an airtight box along with that soft sound. Fear and anxiety grew wildly in the darkness. What kind of illness was it that they couldn’t tell me directly? Why did they need to tell my husband first, to prepare him mentally? I couldn’t sit still anymore. I walked to that door and pressed my ear against it. The door was thick with good soundproofing. I couldn’t hear anything clearly. I could only hear Director Wilson’s muffled voice, as if through a layer of water. I was anxious like an ant on a hot pan, sweating all over. I pressed my ear closer, straining with all my might to make out the words. Suddenly, Director Wilson’s tone seemed to rise a little. One fragmented sentence, like a needle, pierced through the door and into my ear. “…your wife’s condition… is very unusual…” Unusual? What did that mean? My mind went blank with a buzzing sound. All kinds of terrible guesses flooded in like a tide. Had I contracted some extremely rare terminal illness? Before I could process that sentence, the office door suddenly opened from inside. I stumbled and nearly fell. Marcus stood in the doorway, his face deathly pale, his eyes hollow. He looked at me like I was a stranger. I had never seen that look before. It wasn’t concern or worry, but a mix of shock, absurdity, and… a trace of indescribable resentment. His look made my skin crawl. “Marcus, what did the doctor say? What’s wrong with me?” I grabbed his arm and asked urgently. He didn’t answer. He just looked at me, his lips moving but making no sound. His arm was rigid. Director Wilson came out from behind him, glanced at me, and sighed. “Your husband will tell you.” “Go home.” Marcus seemed to have lost his soul, turning mechanically. He grabbed my wrist with surprising force. “Let’s go.” Just one word, cold and stiff. He dragged me out, making me stumble. My mind was completely in chaos. This wasn’t how a husband should react after learning his wife had a serious illness. What was going on? 0

The drive home from the hospital felt extraordinarily long. Marcus didn’t say a word. He drove with his eyes fixed straight ahead. The street scenes outside the window flew backward rapidly, like a silent movie. The air in the car was so oppressive it felt like it was solidifying. I sat in the passenger seat, wanting to speak several times but swallowing the words back. His profile was tense, his jawline rigid like stone. I’d known him for over twenty years and had never seen him like this. We’d been together since college, through marriage, and our son was already eighteen. He’d always been a gentle, responsible man. No matter how serious the problem, he would shoulder it himself and never let me worry. But today, he was completely abnormal. That coldness that emanated from his bones made me feel cold to my core. “Marcus,” I finally couldn’t help it and called to him softly. No response, as if he hadn’t heard. “What exactly did the doctor tell you?” I raised my voice. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “Nothing.” He said. His voice sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth. “Nothing?” I raised my volume. “Then why did she call you in alone? Why do you look like that?” “Why are you looking at me like I’m your enemy?” A series of questions shot at him like bullets. The car suddenly swerved. He seemed to have hit the brake, then quickly released it. “Diana,” he called me by my full name. “Can you just be quiet for a moment?” My heart was pierced by those words. In all our years of marriage, he’d never called me that. He always called me “Di” or “honey.” “Marcus, you have to tell me,” my attitude hardened too. “It’s my body. I have the right to know.” He took a deep breath, as if trying desperately to suppress something. “The doctor said it’s just ordinary hormonal imbalance.” “Bleeding after menopause is a common phenomenon. Nothing serious.” “Just rest and don’t overthink things.” He spoke quickly and smoothly, as if reciting lines he’d prepared beforehand. I didn’t believe him. Not a single word. If it was just hormones, why would Director Wilson be so grave? Why would she need to call him in alone and say the “condition was unusual”? He was treating me like a fool. “You’re lying,” I said coldly. He suddenly turned his head and looked at me. That glance was full of anger and irritation. “I’m lying?” “Diana, do you think your life is too peaceful? Do you have to create drama?” “The doctor said nothing’s wrong. What more do you want?” His yelling stunned me. Tears welled up despite my efforts to hold them back. I wasn’t creating drama. I was just scared. I just wanted to know the truth. But he treated my fear as unreasonable nonsense. My heart turned completely cold in that instant. I turned my head to look out the window and said nothing more. Tears silently slid down my cheeks. The rest of the drive was deathly silent. When we got home, he threw his car keys on the entryway table and walked straight into the study. With a bang, he shut the door. I stood alone in the empty living room, feeling ice cold all over. This home where I’d lived for twenty years suddenly felt utterly foreign. That evening, I made dinner. All his favorite dishes. I waited at the dining table for a long time, but he never came out of the study. I knocked on the door. “Marcus, dinner’s ready.” “Not eating. No appetite.” His voice came through the door, muffled and impatient. My hand stopped on the doorknob and stayed there for a long time. That night, we slept in separate rooms. This was the first time we’d slept apart since our marriage, aside from business trips. I lay on the big empty bed, eyes open, sleepless all night. 0

I replayed everything that had happened that day over and over. Director Wilson’s expression. Marcus’s look. That closed door. That phrase “very unusual.” Everything told me that things were far from simple. Marcus was lying to me. He was hiding a huge secret. What was this secret? Late at night, just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard the master bedroom door open. I immediately held my breath and closed my eyes. I felt Marcus walk in and stand by the bed. He stood there for a very long time. I could feel his gaze scanning my face like a searchlight. That gaze no longer held its usual warmth, only scrutiny and coldness. My heart pounded so fast it was about to leap from my chest. What was he looking at? What did he want to do? Finally, he turned and left. I heard the balcony door being pulled open softly. After a while, I quietly got out of bed and walked to the bedroom door, looking out through the crack. Marcus stood on the balcony with his back to me. He was on the phone. The night was quiet, and though his voice was low, I could still hear. He seemed to be arguing with someone, his tone full of irritation and helplessness. “…How was I supposed to know this would happen?” “…” “Don’t panic!” “…” “I said, let me figure something out!” “…” Suddenly, as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he growled quietly. “How could she at this time…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but those unfinished words were like a sledgehammer, pounding hard on my heart. She? Which “she”? Who was this “she” Marcus was talking about? That sentence was like a poisoned thorn lodged in my heart, festering all night. The next morning when Marcus got up, I was already sitting on the living room sofa. I hadn’t slept all night. My eyes were full of bloodshot veins. When he saw me, he froze, his eyes somewhat evasive. “Up so early?” He walked over, seeming to want to say something. I ignored him and walked straight into the bathroom. In the mirror, I looked haggard with dark circles under my eyes, like a ghost. In just one day, I’d been tormented into this state. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face over and over. I needed to be clearheaded. I couldn’t just sit and wait anymore. I couldn’t let him keep brushing me off with lies. I had to find the answers myself. Coming out of the bathroom, Marcus had already changed and was preparing to leave. “I have an early meeting at the office today.” He picked up his briefcase, didn’t even look at me, and hurriedly changed his shoes. “Wait a minute,” I called out to him. He stopped and looked back at me. “Who were you calling on the balcony last night?” I asked point-blank. His expression changed instantly. A flash of panic crossed his eyes but was quickly covered up. “Work stuff,” he said. “A project ran into some problems.” “Really?” I stared into his eyes. “Which project manager is named ‘she’?” Marcus froze completely. His lips moved but couldn’t form a sentence. “Diana,” he finally spoke, his tone carrying a hint of pleading, “can you stop asking?” “I’m begging you.” “Some things are better not knowing.” That sentence completely confirmed my suspicions. He was having an affair. That so-called “she” was his mistress. Something was wrong with my body—I might have a serious illness—so he was anxious to cut ties with his mistress? Or was my illness related to that woman? In an instant, countless melodramatic scenarios played out in my mind. My heart felt like it was soaked in ice water, both cold and painful. “Marcus,” I looked at him and said word by word, “we’re done.” With that, I stopped looking at him, turned and walked back to the bedroom, and closed the door. 0

I heard him stand outside the door for a while, then came a heavy sigh and the sound of the door closing as he left. I was alone in the house again. This time, I didn’t cry. Tears couldn’t solve any problems. I needed evidence. I needed to know what had really happened. My gaze fell on the nightstand. There lay Marcus’s backup phone. He had two phones, one for work and one personal. He never left his work phone behind, but he didn’t use this personal one much and sometimes forgot it at home. My heartbeat began to accelerate. This was an opportunity. I picked up that phone. It had a password. A four-digit pattern lock. I took a deep breath and started trying. Our wedding anniversary? No. His birthday? No. My birthday? No. Our son’s birthday? I traced our son’s birthdate on the screen with my finger. Click—the phone unlocked. My heart raced. I opened the call log. Recent calls were all from friends and family. He must have used his work phone for last night’s call. I opened his Snapchat. His Snapchat was clean without many chat logs. No pinned contacts, no suspicious female profile pictures. Had I guessed wrong? Unwilling to give up, I opened the browser. Search history. When I saw the recent search entries, my breathing stopped instantly. My fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. There, several lines were clearly displayed: “Can a man who had a vasectomy still get a woman pregnant?” “What’s the success rate of vasectomy reversal?” “If a wife gets pregnant after a husband’s vasectomy, whose child is it?” “What materials are needed for a paternity test?” “How does the law handle illegitimate children?” One after another, sentence after sentence, like sharp knives stabbing into my eyes. Vasectomy? Pregnancy? Paternity test? Marcus had gotten a vasectomy over ten years ago, after our son was born. It was our joint decision. He said he felt bad for me and didn’t want me to suffer through childbirth again. I was moved to tears at the time, thinking I’d married the best man in the world. For all these years, we’d been careful about contraception. But now… My hand involuntarily moved to my lower abdomen. Postmenopausal bleeding… Director Wilson’s grave expression… That phrase “very unusual”… Marcus’s pale face and resentful look… An absurd thought that I didn’t dare believe sprouted in my mind like a seed, growing wildly.

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When I was born, my father asked someone to give me the name Mia. The fortune teller said that with this name, I would surely become rich and prosperous in the future. But unexpectedly, my Second Uncle overheard and stole the name, giving it to my cousin instead. What Second Uncle didn’t know was that my cousin couldn’t use this name. Because the fortune teller told me with certainty: “You were born with the protagonist’s halo. What belongs to you, no one can take away.” “If she uses your name, she’ll have to bear the misfortune meant for you instead, and live an unfortunate life.” “Fortune teller, can you look at the names we’ve chosen and see which one is better?” My dad took out a piece of paper with several names written neatly on it. Mia, Claire, Olivia, Sophia. The fortune teller looked at me in my father’s arms. I gave the fortune teller an innocent smile. I was too young to remember this myself—my dad told me about it later. When I smiled, the fortune teller couldn’t help but smile along with me. He pointed his finger at the name Mia on the paper. “Choose this name. Your daughter suits this name. With it, I guarantee your daughter will have a life of great wealth and prosperity, with smooth fortune.” My dad got the guidance and wanted to register my name, but before he could move, he heard a sound at the door. My dad asked, “Who’s there?” He handed me to the fortune teller to hold and went to the door himself, only to see Second Uncle’s hurried retreating figure. For some reason, my dad had a bad feeling, and unease gripped his heart. When he returned to the room, he saw the fortune teller playing with me. Just as Dad was about to take me from the fortune teller’s arms, he heard the fortune teller speak: “Your daughter is blessed. She has a connection with me—why not let her recognize me as her godfather? In the future, she can learn my skills too.” My dad was overjoyed to hear this. Because the fortune teller—no, my godfather—was famously accurate in this area. So that day, my dad didn’t immediately take me to register my name. Instead, he bought some gifts and took me to formally recognize my godfather. Before leaving, the fortune teller put a crystal necklace around my neck and wrote a small note on paper for my dad. “Daniel, if the name Mia becomes unavailable, give my goddaughter the name Olivia instead.” My dad scratched his head awkwardly. “How could I not be able to register a name? It’s just a name.” My godfather smiled mysteriously and shook his head. “Not so, not so.” “When the time comes, I’ll return to teach my goddaughter myself. If you can’t register the name Mia, open the note I left you.” With that, he got up and left. My dad stood there for a few seconds before holding me and chasing out the door, but there was no trace of my godfather outside. Unable to find him, Dad carried me—still playing with the crystal necklace around my neck—back inside. My mom, who had been busy in the kitchen, just brought out the last dish. She casually wiped her hands on her apron and told Dad to invite my godfather to eat. Dad shook his head, saying godfather had vanished in the blink of an eye. During the meal, my mom fed me milk while marveling at how skilled my godfather was. Early the next morning, just as my parents were about to take me to register my name, Second Uncle called us to the old family house. When we arrived, quite a few people had gathered. Second Uncle stood among the crowd, proudly raising his head as he held three-year-old cousin Mia by the hand, announcing: “I did some calculations for my kid and changed her name to Mia—M-I-A.” My dad, holding me, widened his eyes. When Second Uncle looked over at Dad with triumphant eyes, Dad immediately understood—Second Uncle had heard everything that day. Other family members complained: “Making such a big deal out of nothing, calling the whole family together for this.” Second Uncle said smugly: “My daughter’s name isn’t simple—it’s very lucky!” He pulled a lottery ticket from his pocket: “After changing her name, I bought this lottery ticket. Guess what? I won ten thousand dollars!” The impatient looks on everyone’s faces instantly turned to surprise and flattery. Second Uncle basked in everyone’s praise, while my dad took me home to find godfather’s note. My mom took me from Dad’s arms, and watched as Dad carefully opened the note godfather had left. As soon as he opened it, Dad’s furrowed brow immediately relaxed, and he even laughed out loud. The note read: 【Name stolen, name stolen. The one who stole the name will bear disasters for my goddaughter. When I return, everything owed to little Olivia will be returned.】

My dad touched my little head and laughed heartily: “My daughter is blessed. When your godfather comes back, we’ll enjoy great fortune.” I thought Dad was playing with me. Seeing him laugh, I giggled along. That afternoon, my parents registered my name as Olivia. At my hundred-day celebration, Dad held me and teased: “Little Olivia, little Olivia, choose one.” In front of me were various ceremony items—a little abacus, a brush, books, Mom’s gold ring… I giggled and kept clutching the little crystal necklace godfather gave me, refusing to let go. Dad had no choice. Holding me, he tapped my little nose. “You just love your godfather, don’t you?” But he said this very quietly, so no one else could hear. After the choosing ceremony, friends and relatives attending the hundred-day celebration began giving gifts. Others gave small presents or dolls to amuse me. When Second Uncle arrived, he wore an ill-fitting suit with a thin gold chain around his neck. My cousin Mia wore a princess dress, holding her head high like a proud swan. My dad looked at Second Uncle with some hostility. Second Uncle pretended not to notice. Having made a little money, he was no different from a nouveau riche. Second Uncle clutched a briefcase, pulling out a small stack of money and handing it to my dad. “This is just a little something to celebrate my niece. After all, I owe my current success entirely to my little niece. So I wish my niece great wealth and prosperity, peace and smooth fortune.” Those eight words of blessing—Second Uncle emphasized each syllable heavily, his expression of petty triumph utterly punchable. But the note godfather left gave my dad tremendous confidence. Dad shot back without hesitation: “Of course! My daughter is blessed. She’ll definitely have great wealth and prosperity, peace and smooth fortune in this life. Thank you for your blessing.” But having already tasted success, Second Uncle just thought Dad was being stubborn. He smiled indifferently and left with Mia. “This place is a bit shabby. Don’t bother inviting me next time.” Second Uncle’s voice reached everyone’s ears without restraint, making some people look embarrassed. Dad just pretended not to hear, warmly greeting friends and relatives to eat and drink well, all smiles. From that day on, Second Uncle’s family got better and better, as if truly fulfilling godfather’s words. Second Uncle won quite a bit of money buying lottery tickets. Though he never won first prize, all those small prizes added up enough to allow his originally poor family to achieve a major turnaround. Later, Second Uncle’s house was demolished for development, and every project he invested in became explosively popular without exception. Our family remained lukewarm, not much different from before. Until I skipped grades and entered seventh grade, Mia—only three years older than me—had become a school bully thanks to Second Uncle’s success. Because I was good at school, at family gatherings Mia and I—close in age—were always compared. One had average family circumstances but excellent grades; the other had great family circumstances but a brain that wouldn’t open up. Gossipy relatives would always say that even though Second Uncle’s family had money, if the child wasn’t good it was useless—maybe Olivia would get into an Ivy League school and lead the whole family to prosperity? This caused Second Uncle’s family, who had looked down on us, to develop other thoughts. On the first day of school, Mia wore her uniform loose and sloppy, with earrings and heavy makeup, looking disdainful. Several similarly dressed female students followed behind her. They surrounded me and pressed me to the ground. Mia crossed her arms, stepped on my shoulder with one foot, and leaned down close to me. “Well, well, if it isn’t my academically excellent little cousin who skipped grades to my territory?” Mia finished speaking and laughed to herself, her laughter unrestrained. Her little followers laughed along. Others who saw this scene were briefed by those who knew the situation, their gazes falling on me—some sympathetic, some enjoying the show. Mia enjoyed the attention. After all, her dad had become someone with status and influence in South City these past two years, and most people didn’t want to offend her. So when Mia stepped on my shoulder and said, “This person has a grudge against me. Whoever befriends her will…” All threats remained unspoken, but combined with Mia’s standard mean-girl image, everyone dispersed. Mia looked at all this with satisfaction, but seeing my completely unmoved expression, she found it boring. I brushed the dust off my shoulder and watched Mia’s retreating back. “It’s fine. Everything will end soon.”

No one was willing to go against Mia’s wishes to approach me. But there were plenty of people who insulted and toyed with me to please Mia. My notebook was drawn on with ghost faces, my chair had various colored drinks spilled on it, and bugs would be pulled out from time to time. This was actually a novel experience. I kept a straight face, wiped away the water, and crushed the bugs to death with tissue paper. Holding the corpses, I walked toward the boys laughing the hardest. “Is this yours?” My innocent voice and words combined with my cold face—they stopped laughing, their eyes evasive. After that, fewer people bullied me, but the isolation became more severe. I sat alone by the back door. Because every one of my deskmates had been threatened or bribed by Mia. At the end of the first semester of seventh grade, during the New Year family gathering, my first-place ranking for the whole grade was praised by relatives one after another. Only I was paying attention to Mia. She had originally been praised as noble as a little princess, but my first place stole all the compliments. Mia was only thirteen, but her malicious gaze stared at me like a venomous snake. I met her gaze without evasion. This move was tantamount to provoking her. So Mia’s abrupt voice rang out. “Olivia’s studies are quite good, but she’s not really a good person. I heard that Olivia offended the entire class by herself, and no one wants to sit with her.” Every word revealed undisguised malice toward me. My dad had a bad temper and his face already showed anger. I patted Dad’s hand soothingly. “Dad, it’s New Year’s. Don’t get angry just because a stray dog barks a few times. It doesn’t look good.” Hearing me call her a stray dog, if looks could kill, I probably would have died under her knife-like gaze long ago. “As for cousin, I think you know the reason behind why I’m isolated better than I do.” The tension between us and Second Uncle’s family was palpable. A few relatives tried to smooth things over: “It’s New Year’s, let’s not talk about these things. Come, have some candy.” As soon as the New Year’s dinner was over, Mia and Second Uncle got in their private car, gave us a disdainful look, and drove off. Back home, my hot-tempered dad criticized Second Uncle’s family’s current attitude. My mom tried to calm Dad down on the side. I touched the somewhat hot crystal necklace, lost in thought. The next second, the doorbell suddenly rang. As if sensing something, I quickly got up to open the door.

I opened the door to a man covered in snow. I tilted my head and looked at the person before me, asking with confusion: “Who are you?” Though I didn’t yet know who this person was, the increasingly hot crystal necklace revealed his identity. Before the person could speak, my dad and mom, who had heard the door open and come over, saw him. Dad reached past me and grabbed the man’s hand. “Fortune teller, you’re finally back.” It really was my godfather. I held the crystal necklace and poked Dad with my other hand: “Dad, quickly bring godfather inside. He’s covered in snow and must be cold.” Dad came to his senses and hurried to lead godfather inside. Hearing me so tactfully call him godfather, godfather ruffled my head hard as he passed me. After everyone sat down, godfather—who had seemed mysterious and like a big boss behind the scenes—suddenly hugged me and started wailing. “My poor goddaughter, you’ve suffered these ten years. Wuwuwu, it’s all godfather’s fault for being useless.” I froze. Dad hadn’t told me godfather was like this. I looked pleadingly at Dad and Mom, but they were as bewildered as I was, indicating they couldn’t help. I raised my hand with difficulty and patted godfather’s back. “Godfather, *cough cough*, let go of me. *Cough cough* You’re holding too tight.” Hearing my strained voice, godfather quickly released me. Only then could I see his appearance clearly. Quite handsome—sword-like brows and starry eyes, with tears on his face he hadn’t wiped away. His thin lips parted as the whole family’s attention focused on him. Then godfather loudly blew his nose and said awkwardly to my dad: “Could you give me two tissues? I need to blow my nose.” The whole family was stunned by this awkwardness. Though tissues were clearly on the table, Dad pretended not to see them. “Oh my, we’re out of tissues. I remember there are new ones in the bedroom. Wait, I’ll go get them for you right away.” Dad escaped into his and Mom’s bedroom like fleeing. Mom awkwardly picked at her fingers on the spot, then suddenly remembered something and pulled me up to scold me. “Who told you to say that unlucky word just now? It’s New Year’s, how inauspicious. Quick, spit it out, spit it out.” I numbly thought this must all be an illusion, following Mom’s instructions and spitting repeatedly… After godfather blew his nose and went to the bathroom to wash his face, the four of us sat together. I felt that if shoes weren’t blocking us, our three-bedroom, one-living-room home could instantly become fifteen bedrooms and five living rooms. After all, everyone gets their own fantasy three-bedroom apartment. Finally, godfather broke the silence, touching my head. “Oh my, you’ve grown so big. I still came back too late, missing so many years of my precious daughter’s life, letting my daughter suffer.” My dad also said politely: “Not at all, not at all. We’ve been doing well.” Then the two men looked at each other and laughed awkwardly. Just then, Dad’s phone rang, breaking the atmosphere. Dad glanced at the caller ID, and his expression immediately changed.

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One day during my pregnancy, my best friend suddenly sent me a link to a Reddit thread. The title was: [Final year of grad school. Engaged to my long-term girlfriend, but I’ve been sleeping with an undergrad.] I clicked on it, only to find the entire history of my husband’s infidelity documented right there on the screen. 1 When my best friend, Sarah, forwarded me the link, I was in the middle of editing a video for my channel. Immediately, her texts started popping up, one after another: [I think you need to see this.] [Maybe I’m just overthinking it…] [But you should probably double-check.] [Whether it’s him or not, please don’t freak out.] [Ugh, never mind. Don’t read it. I’m unsending it.] […Crap, too late to unsend.] Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the link. The main title read: [Final year of grad school. Engaged to my long-term girlfriend, but I’ve been sleeping with an undergrad.] I couldn’t see the whole post on my mobile browser; it prompted me to download the Reddit app. It felt like a hassle, and Sarah had just told me not to look. I thought about closing the tab, but my subconscious had already hit “Download.” I installed it, made a throwaway account, and logged in. The Original Poster (OP) went by the username ED_Throwaway. My heart skipped a beat. Ethan Davies. I quickly told myself that those initials were incredibly common. It had to be a coincidence. I scrolled down. At the very top of the post was a picture of a man and a woman holding hands, their fingers intertwined. The man’s hand looked awfully familiar. The first comment was OP’s own backstory: [I’m finishing up my Ph.D. at Columbia. Lately, I’ve been feeling lost. I just got engaged to my girlfriend of seven years, so she’s officially my fiancée now, but I recently started sleeping with an undergrad from my department.] [I feel terrible for my fiancée, but I just can’t bring myself to let the undergrad go.] [My fiancée is very traditional and safe. The undergrad is wild and open-minded. She actually loves climbing all over me while I’m on the phone with my fiancée. I don’t know if you guys can understand that kind of thrilling rush.] [We basically sleep in the same bed every night now. Explored a lot of new things together.] [She’s a sweet girl. I told her I was engaged, and she was devastated, but we agreed to break up as soon as I graduate.] The replies beneath it were ruthless: [Holy shit, dude, you’ve got a death wish.] [Having your cake and eating it too, huh?] [OP is absolute trash. I feel so bad for the fiancée.] [That undergrad is no angel either. She knows he’s taken and still plays the homewrecker.] [Aren’t you terrified your fiancée will see this?] [OP, we need updates!] … After a dozen or so comments, OP replied: [Long time no see, guys. My fiancée doesn’t use Reddit. She’ll never see this.] [I read the comments. A lot of you are tearing me apart, and I know what I’m doing is messed up. Some of you told me to just let my fiancée go. But you don’t understand our seven-year history. You can’t just throw that away.] [I remember when I was studying for my grad school entrance exams, living in a crappy off-campus apartment. She was there every day. She cooked for me. When I wanted to puke from staring at calculus equations all night, she’d warm up a mug of milk for me and organize my messy desk. That was the moment I swore I’d marry her.] [And please don’t bash the undergrad. She really is amazing. If my fiancée is a calming harbor, this girl is a wildfire. She’s brilliant, has that Ivy League glow, and her charm is intoxicating. She gives me an intense romantic experience my fiancée just can’t provide.] [I just got a hand-knitted scarf from my fiancée in the mail. It’s warm and looks great. Here’s a picture. Honestly, my guilt is eating me alive.] The comments multiplied. I skimmed them. Almost all of them were insults. [Cheating scumbag. Go to hell.] [You are such a hypocrite.] [God, I hope his fiancée finds out!] [Can some hacker dox this guy? Pure trash!] But there were also people cheering him on: [Legend. Teach me your ways, bro.] [W.] [Lol, who has the better body though, the fiancée or the college girl?] 2 The photo of the scarf was sandwiched between the comments. People were actually complimenting the knitting pattern. I tapped the photo to enlarge it. Staring at the familiar gray yarn, my ears started ringing with a high-pitched whine. When I decided to knit him a scarf, I spent hours on YouTube looking up patterns before choosing this thick, durable cable-knit style. I didn’t have time during the day, so I stayed up late after work every night for nearly ten days to finish it. I dug my nails into my palms and kept scrolling. OP wrote: [A lot of you are defending my fiancée. I admit, if she knew, it would destroy her. But she wouldn’t be able to let go of our seven years together either. We’re childhood sweethearts, and she’s been obsessed with me forever. She has this thick journal filled with drawings and writings just about me. Her love is incredibly pure, which is why she moves me so much.] [Besides, she can’t leave me. She’s getting older, she only went to an average state school, and her salary is pretty low. If we broke up, she’d have to rely on dating apps, and let’s be real, her prospects wouldn’t be great.] [I can give her a very comfortable life. Our families love each other. You guys don’t know the whole picture, so stop playing God and judging other people’s relationships.] … [The semester is almost over. Before winter break, I took the undergrad out to the mountains, drove down to the beach, and watched the sunrise.] [On our last night, we went absolutely crazy until dawn. I think I’ll be looking back on the taste of that night when I’m an old man.] … [I’m back in Boston now. The undergrad and I are officially broken up. Before I left, I bought her a designer bag, paid for a year’s lease on an apartment near her campus, and set up a grocery delivery subscription for her. I just want her to be okay and find a good guy someday.] … [Probably won’t update anymore. Not much left to say. I’ll graduate, start my career, get married, and have kids.] My hands were shaking as I swiped down. OP hadn’t updated for a long time. The comments were full of people begging for an update, wanting to know what happened. I did the math. During the two or three years he stopped posting, we had gotten married. And just this year, we successfully started trying for a baby. I was currently three months pregnant. But then, a month ago, the updates resumed. [Three years later, I’m back. I see some of the old commenters are still here. Even though you’re just here to roast me, it feels strangely comforting. I’m facing a massive dilemma right now and need some advice.] [I married my fiancée two years ago. My career is taking off, my home life is perfect, and I’m going to be a dad soon.] [But I never expected the undergrad to reach out to me again. She’s been in the workforce for a year, and recently, she got transferred to Boston. She lives just thirty minutes from my office. Since she didn’t know anyone in the city, I helped her find an apartment and move her stuff. I really only meant to be friends. But we had drinks at her new place to celebrate, got drunk, and slept together again.] [She hugged me and said she’s still in love with me. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. Honestly? Being confessed to like that… of course my heart skipped a beat. But I’m not a college kid anymore. I can’t just recklessly chase romance.] … [I thought about it all week. I’ve decided to keep seeing her. I really just can’t let her go. And she doesn’t even care that I have a wife and a kid on the way. How could any guy resist a girl like that?] [Even though I’m seeing her, I won’t neglect my wife. I’ll just treat her even better.] [I’ve spent the last few nights at her place. I feel that intense, heart-pounding passion all over again.] [Late at night, the guilt hits me. I lied to my wife, told her I had to travel for business. Not only did she buy it, but she even texted to make sure I was eating well and getting enough sleep on the road.] [Pregnancy is hard on my wife. I’ll spend some quality time with her when I get back. I’ll hold off on seeing my girl for a bit.] … [Stop trying to dox me. Even if you find my wife and tell her the truth, she’ll just cry for a while. She can’t leave me. She quit her job to be a stay-at-home mom, and she’s carrying my child. How is she supposed to survive without me?] [If you guys actually pity my wife, back off. She’s had terrible morning sickness for three months, and she’s finally keeping food down. Do not harass her with this.] 3 Having read the whole thing, my mind was entirely blank. I had no idea how to react. I just sat there, staring blankly at my phone. This morning, Ethan had told me he was working late and not to wait up. He was a project manager now, so overtime was a daily routine. I had never once suspected a thing. But now… I hit the FaceTime button on his contact. It rang for a full minute. He didn’t answer. A few seconds later, he called me back on a regular voice call. “Hey babe, why aren’t you asleep yet?” Ethan’s voice was low and gravelly. Usually, I would assume he was just exhausted from work. Suddenly, Ethan let out a muffled groan. The words of concern died on my lips. I remembered the line from the Reddit post: The undergrad loves climbing all over me while I’m on the phone with my fiancée. I gripped my phone tightly, forcing my voice to sound perfectly calm. “Honey, is there someone else there with you?” “…What? No, of course not. I’m just swamped with work.” “When are you coming home?” “I’m not sure. You should get some sleep. It’s good for the baby. Night, babe.” Ethan hastily hung up. I stared at the call duration. Less than a minute. I felt completely numb. Suddenly, my stomach violently churned. An overwhelming wave of nausea climbed up my throat. I sprinted to the bathroom, hugging the toilet, and threw up until I was dry-heaving. After rinsing my mouth, I curled up on my side in bed. Tears slipped out of the corners of my eyes, dropping onto the back of my hand. I rested my hand on my slightly rounded stomach, feeling more lost than I ever had in my entire life. “Baby, what is Mommy supposed to do?” … A little while later, Sarah called. “Chloe, are you okay?” Hearing her voice broke whatever dam I had left. I started sobbing. “Sarah…” “Chloe, is the thread real?” I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “I don’t know for sure, but there are way too many details that line up perfectly.” Sarah gritted her teeth through the phone. “That piece of shit! Ethan is definitely guilty! Do you want me to come over and stay with you tonight?” I sniffled. “No, you have work in the morning. Let me just be alone and think.” “Okay, but you have to hold it together. We are figuring this out. You cannot let him keep you in the dark,” Sarah said, her voice burning with righteous anger. “I know.” 4 For the sake of the baby in my belly, I forced myself to suppress the spiraling negative emotions and eventually drifted off to sleep. I didn’t even hear Ethan come home. When I opened my eyes the next morning, I looked at the man sleeping soundly next to me. My chest physically ached. Ethan’s eyelashes fluttered, and he woke up groggily. I pretended I had just woken up too. He pulled me into a hug, burying his face in the crook of my neck, mumbling, “Let’s sleep a little longer.” “What time did you get in last night?” I asked casually. His voice was muffled against my skin. “I don’t remember. Why?” I tested the waters. “Are you hiding anything from me?” A long silence passed. Finally, he replied, “No.” I didn’t say anything else. A few minutes later, Ethan was fully awake. He looked at me intently. “Babe, what could I possibly be hiding from you? Are your pregnancy hormones making you sensitive? Why are you being so paranoid?” He studied my face, looking genuinely concerned. “You look pale. Is the baby giving you a hard time again?” “No, I’m fine. Probably just didn’t sleep well,” I answered quietly, looking down. But there was a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. Ethan didn’t press the issue. He got up to shower. When he came out, he said, “Pregnant women need their rest. Go back to sleep. I ordered you some breakfast on UberEats, it’ll be here soon. I’m going to grab something near the office.” As he reached the front door, I called out, “Do you have time this weekend? To come with me to my ultrasound appointment?” Ethan paused, looking torn. “Babe, you know that new project is at a critical stage. I can’t guarantee I’ll be free this weekend, but I’ll try my absolute best to leave early and go with you.” When the weekend arrived, Ethan still couldn’t “make time,” so I had to ask Sarah to go with me. Seeing my pale face, Sarah cut right to the chase. “Where are we at with the situation? What did Ethan say?” I felt a flash of embarrassment. “I haven’t figured out how to confront him yet.” Sarah looked exasperated. “What’s there to figure out? You throw the Reddit thread in his face and ask him if it’s him! Or demand to see his phone!” “If you can’t do it, I’ll do it for you. I’m coming over to your place tonight and sitting him down!” My mind was a chaotic mess. “No! I’ll handle it,” I quickly shot down her idea. Sarah sighed heavily. “Chloe, please, whatever you do, do not go soft on him. Do not let him manipulate you.” After that, by unspoken agreement, neither of us brought it up again. Following the ultrasound, we had plenty of time to kill, so Sarah and I went to the shopping mall next to the clinic. The mall was full of designer boutiques. On the second floor was Sarah’s favorite clothing brand, so we headed straight there. While Sarah was in the fitting room, I went to use the restroom. As soon as I walked in, I saw a very young, pretty girl touching up her makeup while on the phone. She was talking to who I assumed was her boyfriend, her voice sickly sweet and whining. “What time do you get off for lunch?” “It’s my birthday today! You belong to me for the whole afternoon and evening!” Whoever was on the other end said something, and her eyes crinkled into a delighted smile. I caught a quick glimpse of her in the mirror from the corner of my eye. The mirror reflected a face as fresh and vibrant as a blooming flower. 5 After leaving the boutique, Sarah was thrilled with her haul. But before we even made it out the mall doors, her boss called, demanding she revise a proposal immediately. Sarah groaned, cursing her boss under her breath. She looked at me apologetically. “Chloe, I have to rush back to the office. I can’t do lunch. Will you be okay by yourself?” I nodded. “Of course. Go.” Once Sarah left, I completely lost the mood to shop. I bought some groceries on the lower level and decided to head home. I hailed a cab outside the mall. Just as I settled into the back seat, I saw her. The young girl from the restroom was sprinting toward a specific direction. My eyes followed her path, and I was completely blindsided when I saw Ethan. The girl threw herself into his arms, looping her arms around his neck, completely ignoring the people walking by, and kissed him deeply and passionately. In that instant, it felt like I had been plunged into an ice bath. Every last shred of hope I had been clinging to vanished. Ethan quickly ushered her into his car, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. I just sat there, staring blankly. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, miss?” I snapped back to reality. “Follow that car.” For the rest of the afternoon, my brain shut down. I acted like a stalker, following them to a high-end restaurant, watching them share a birthday cake, trailing them to a movie theater, and finally, watching them check into a hotel. I don’t even know how I got home. I curled up on the sofa, completely numb. Ethan and I had grown up together. Our parents were close friends who spent a lot of time together. He was my first crush when I was just a kid, and it had always been him ever since. With our parents’ eager encouragement, we officially started dating right after high school. We went to different colleges, but we stayed in the same city. For four years, our relationship was rock solid. We rarely fought, except for one incident during our junior year, when he started wavering over a girl in his class. I knew him too well. It was obvious he treated that girl differently. He talked about her constantly, and suddenly there were cute stickers on his phone case that I had never seen before. We had our first explosive argument. Our first cold war. I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t throw away years of love, so I was the first to apologize and back down. He eventually cut ties with the girl. Later, when he was studying for grad school, he complained about the distractions on campus. I immediately used the money from my internship to rent him an apartment off-campus, working during the day and taking care of him at night. When he finally got his acceptance letter to Columbia, he held me and sobbed, saying he could never have made it without me. Ethan moved to New York for his Ph.D., and I stayed working in Boston. We became long-distance. I was the one making the commute most of the time. Partly because I missed him, and partly because I was terrified his eyes would wander again. Thankfully, my fears never materialized. Looking back now, it wasn’t that they didn’t materialize. He just got better at hiding it. We got engaged during his final year, and a year after he graduated and secured a solid job, we got married. This year, he got a huge promotion. We had built up a nice savings account, so we decided it was time to start a family. When he asked me to quit my job and focus entirely on the home and the baby, I barely hesitated before saying yes. I gave him my complete, unconditional trust, only to be rewarded with the most blatant betrayal. 6 The living room was pitch black and terrifyingly quiet. I stared blankly at the rug. Hours later, I heard footsteps at the door. The next second, the living room lights flicked on. The brightness stung my eyes. Ethan frowned for a second, then his face softened. “Babe, why aren’t you sleeping in bed?” I just stared at him. He dropped his briefcase, walked over with long strides, and scooped me up in his arms. My arm brushed against the hair at the back of his neck. It was damp. He had showered. “What’s wrong? Why are your eyes so red?” “Did everything go okay at the doctor today?” He fired off a string of questions. I didn’t answer a single one. He looked at me in confusion, then suddenly looked like he understood. “Are you mad I couldn’t make the appointment?” Before I could speak, he kept going. “I told you, this project is make-or-break for me. If I crush this, I’m next in line for Director. You want me to get that promotion, right?” Looking at this man—a man whose mouth was currently overflowing with lies—I just felt an bone-deep exhaustion. “I saw you. With her,” I took a deep breath and punctured his illusion. Ethan froze. His eyes darted around the room as he desperately tried to maintain the lie. “Babe, what are you talking about?” “Do I need to spell it out? I followed you. The kissing. The birthday cake. The hotel!” I lost control, screaming at him and pounding my fists against his chest. All the color drained from Ethan’s face. He grabbed my wrists, panic in his voice. “Just listen to me, I can explain—” He stopped. He couldn’t find a single excuse. Tears were streaming down my face, but I laughed, goading him. “Go ahead! Explain! Let’s hear it!” He slumped forward, hanging his head. A moment later, he looked up, his eyes pleading. “Chloe, I messed up. I’ll cut her off right now. Please, just give me one more chance. Please?” I shook my head violently. “No. I don’t believe a word you say anymore. I want a divorce.” Ethan’s eyes rimmed with red. He gripped my hands tighter, his voice choking up. “Chloe, I don’t want a divorce. We have a baby on the way. Do you really want our child to grow up without a dad? Let’s just calm down, okay?” His eyes were filled with such profound, agonizing regret. It looked so genuine it was almost impossible to reject. After a long time, my expression softened just a fraction. Ethan saw the opening and doubled down. He pulled out his phone, and right there in front of me, he blocked the college girl on every single app and platform. He was putting on a masterclass in repentance. I didn’t bring up divorce again that night, but I couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. I packed a bag and went to my parents’ house. Ethan texted me constantly, asking how I was, asking about the baby, begging to know when I was coming home. But he never actually came to visit me. While I was at my parents’, Sarah called. She spent twenty minutes cursing Ethan and his entire bloodline. Her stance was uncompromising: Divorce him. No hesitation. But I was still trapped in a fog of indecision. Sarah was furious with my hesitation. A few days later, she texted me the Reddit link again with just two words: “He updated.” I clicked the link. Sure enough, there was a new post. I hadn’t told Ethan that I knew about his Reddit diary. And now, this thread had become the ultimate lie detector. It burned away the last of his fake remorse, and along with it, the very last drop of love and trust I had for him. Ethan wrote: [My wife found out about the undergrad. It’s a mess. She had a hysterical breakdown crying, and honestly, it broke my heart to see her like that.] [I promised my wife I’d cut ties with the girl. I blocked all her numbers and socials right in front of my wife.] [I haven’t contacted the undergrad in days. I wonder if she’s freaking out because she can’t reach me.] Someone commented: [The scumbag finally got caught. Your wife is definitely divorcing you, right?] Ethan replied to him: [She was screaming for a divorce at first. But like I said before, she relies on me financially and emotionally. I’ve already smoothed things over. She absolutely will not bring up divorce again.] His arrogant, chauvinistic response triggered another wave of internet outrage. Ethan didn’t care about the insults. In his mind, netizens were just venting. Their words couldn’t touch him in the real world. Over the next few weeks, I spent my days drawing, updating my social media accounts, and checking Ethan’s Reddit thread. Thanks to his little diary, I finally saw the real Ethan. The one he kept hidden from me. Arrogant. Two-faced. Disgusting. One night, right after Ethan sent his daily text checking on me and the baby, he updated the thread. [It’s been almost half a month without talking to the undergrad. I was too worried about her, so I finally went to see her. She’s so understanding. I iced her out for two weeks, and she didn’t throw a tantrum or cry. It just makes me care about her even more.] [And guys… she’s pregnant! I’m thrilled! I really want her to keep it. But it feels unfair to her. The kid would technically be illegitimate.] [I took her to a private clinic for a full check-up today. Everything looks perfect. Illegitimate or not, whatever. I’ll make sure she and the kid are taken care of financially. They won’t suffer.]

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The stage scaffolding collapsed. Nate completely lost his mind, rushing straight to Vivian’s side without a fraction of a second of hesitation. Trapped beneath the heavy, iron ruins of the stage, I watched him from the dark. He was panicked, entirely stripped of his usual composure, desperately performing CPR on her. Vivian looked up at him, her voice fragile and trembling: “Nate… do you still love me?” Nate didn’t say a word, but his eyes violently flushed red with tears. He was a man who was always so stoic, yet in that moment, his hands shook with pure, unadulterated terror. I closed my eyes as a single tear slipped down my cheek. Earlier today, I had sent him a text, asking if he could come to my piano performance tonight. He told me he was stuck in an emergency surgery and couldn’t make it. Nate Sterling. We’re done. 01 When I was finally wheeled out of the operating room, the attending physician glanced down at my heavily bandaged leg and asked: “Do you play the piano, or do you dance?” I replied softly: “Piano.” The tense, frantic expression on his face instantly relaxed. “Good. Your leg is going to need a significant amount of physical therapy to recover, but at least your hands are fine.” I lowered my eyes, looking at my completely intact hands. Then I tried to move my leg, only to find that my right leg had lost all sensation. While the nurse was changing my IV drip, I accidentally overheard the staff gossiping right outside my curtain: “Sigh, Dr. Sterling and that ballerina in the next private wing look exactly like star-crossed lovers.” “Oh my god, you should have seen his face when he carried Vivian into the ER. He’s usually so icy to everyone, but yesterday he was completely frantic with panic.” “A bunch of paparazzi blocked the corridor, and he literally roared at them to get the hell out of his way.” Nate was naturally cold and aloof. He treated everything in life with absolute, clinical indifference. I rarely saw him smile, and I had never seen him lose his temper. The nurse administered my medication, her movements incredibly gentle and precise. She thoughtfully tucked a warm gel pack under my arm. She offered a warm, comforting smile: “The IV fluid is cold, and running it too fast can cause a sharp pain. This warm pack will make it feel much better.” “If you notice any redness or swelling, just page me.” I nodded, forcing a polite smile back at her. Right before she stepped out, she couldn’t help but let out another sigh: “This is the first time Dr. Sterling has ever taken a formal leave of absence. All just to stay in the hospital and care for Vivian.” Left completely alone in the silent room, I pulled out my phone and dialed Nate’s number. The line rang for a very long time before he finally answered. Before I could even open my mouth, his flat, indifferent voice cut through the speaker: “Wynne, I won’t be home for lunch today.” “I have an emergency surgery to perform.” This was the first time in our entire three-year marriage that Nate had ever proactively called me to report his schedule. But he was only doing it to feed me a lie. In the past, I was always the clingy, annoying wife. I would spam his phone with hundreds of text messages, constantly babbling in his ear about my day. The nurse said he took a month of leave. Married for three years, he practically lived at the hospital, working around the clock. Unlike other doctors, his overtime was entirely voluntary. Every Thanksgiving holiday, he would voluntarily cancel his leave and reschedule his time off for Christmas. His colleagues were always ecstatic to swap shifts with him. We never had a real wedding ceremony, let alone a romantic honeymoon. The internet was currently flooded with viral rumors and paparazzi articles about Vivian and Nate. Staring at Vivian’s flawless face on my phone screen, everything suddenly clicked. I finally understood why Nate had run to her without a single second of hesitation. I spent half a month in that private room. For those fifteen days, Nate called me at the exact same time every single day, his voice flat and detached: “Working overtime tonight. Not coming home.” And I replied every single time: “Okay. Got it.” According to the nurses, Nate had taken a full month of leave, spending every single waking second guarding Vivian’s bed. I listened to their gossip from my hospital bed day after day. My leg was broken, leaving me completely trapped. Aside from the occasional private caregiver helping me wash up, I spent my entire existence on that mattress. So, I actually found the nurses’ gossip quite entertaining. If the tragic male lead of this grand romance wasn’t the exact husband listed on my marriage certificate, I probably would have ordered an iced boba tea and some popcorn, enjoying the drama like a juicy piece of reality TV. But in this heartbreaking tale of star-crossed lovers, Nate was my husband, and I was merely the bitter, villainess wife standing in the way of true love. I couldn’t bring myself to smile. 02 Vivian posted a selfie on Instagram wearing her hospital gown. The photo subtly, intentionally captured a man’s tall silhouette in the background, focusing on his long, elegant fingers. On his wrist was a Rolex Submariner with a slightly faded, worn strap. The caption read: [Don’t worry. He’s taking excellent care of me.] The comment section, instantly sniffing out the celebrity drama, exploded with thousands of fans: [Vivian, is that your boyfriend?!] [A literal feast for hand-lovers! Those hands are gorgeous, perfect for holding.] Vivian immediately replied to a fan’s comment, publicly claiming her sovereignty over Nate: [Already holding hands.] She attached another photo, still wearing her gown, their long fingers tightly, beautifully entwined. It turned out that holding hands was so incredibly effortless for them. I remember when Nate and I were together in college. Our relationship felt like an underground espionage operation. He never allowed a single trace of affection or intimacy in public. Until the day we graduated, my roommate, Leila, had absolutely no idea we were even a couple. When we got our marriage license after graduation and I finally told her, she stared at me in absolute, paralyzed horror: “Have you gone completely insane from unrequited love?” If the marriage certificate weren’t an ironclad fact, she would have assumed I was just another delusional fan hallucinating a relationship. During my stay, Leila came to visit me. She asked cautiously: “Are you and Nate divorced yet?” I froze for a second, answering flatly: “Soon.” Leila didn’t press for details. Before leaving, she clapped her chest and gave a bright, booming laugh: “My door is always open for you. Come stay with me whenever you’re ready.” I smiled back at her, feeling a genuine warmth. Right before I fell asleep that night, Nate called again. His voice was perfectly neutral, devoid of any emotional rippling: “The hospital is slammed right now. I won’t be home for the next two weeks.” And I replied exactly as before: “Got it.” He had no idea that through the clear glass window of my room, I had just watched his silhouette standing right out in the hallway. After that call, he stopped calling entirely. He probably figured daily updates were far too tedious and decided to bundle his excuses all at once. Occasionally, Leila would visit and push my wheelchair around the hospital garden. One afternoon, we ran into Nate. He didn’t see me. His tall, powerful frame was bent over, pushing a woman in a hospital gown. Her skin was flawless, her features delicate and incredibly gentle. Vivian pouted, demanding ice cream. Nate crouched directly in front of her wheelchair: “It’s too cold. You can’t have it.” She grabbed his hand, whining cutely, and he gave in immediately, walking over to buy her a cone. When some ice cream smudged her lip, Nate reached out to wipe it away, but he froze mid-air, hesitated, and shoved his hand back into his coat pocket. I saw the quiet, fiercely restrained love burning in his dark eyes. Vivian smiled brilliantly: “Nate, wipe it for me.” Across the crowd, her brilliant smile landed right on me. Nate’s back was turned to me. In that exact moment, I finally realized that a massive mountain, a raging ocean, stood between me and Nate. Nate would never refuse to buy me ice cream in the winter because he simply didn’t care if I caught a cold. And he would never bend down to wipe my mouth. He would say: “Wynne, wipe it yourself. It’s unhygienic.” 03 My attending physician checked my leg and went over the discharge instructions. “You can leave next week.” I nodded, thanking him. Leila was traveling for work next week, so I would need to hire a private caregiver to help me move. Before leaving, the doctor added: “Make sure to wheel yourself outside for some fresh air.” I manually spun the wheels and rolled myself down to the courtyard alone. While eating lunch back in my room, I saw a post trending on Twitter. It was a side-by-side photo comparison of Nate and Vivian, charting their relationship from the age of sixteen to twenty-six. Nate’s broad back shielding Vivian from the paparazzi, her face looking straight into the camera. Zooming in closely, the twenty-six-year-old photo was taken right here in this hospital. And blurred out in the background… was me, struggling alone to push my wheelchair. #AloofSurgeonVSBeautifulBallerina #ForbiddenStepSiblingRomanceInRealLife My heart dropped into a bottomless abyss. The caption read: [Forbidden romances are the absolute best. So what if they’re step-siblings? They still have to sit at the same table for Thanksgiving dinner every year.] Reading those words, the fog in my brain instantly cleared. The old, faded photo Nate kept hidden in his wallet for years… was his stepmother’s daughter. Married for three years, I knew he had a sister, but he had never allowed me to meet her. Every single time I brought her up, he shut the conversation down completely. The mystery finally made perfect sense. My quiet, secret love for Nate—he had noticed it a long time ago. Once, when he was drunk, I secretly followed him out of a campus bar. I gathered my courage to approach him, but he suddenly turned around. I frantically whipped my head away, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. His deep, cold voice echoed behind me: “Wynne Vance. If you brought that water for me, just hand it over.” After that day, our paths crossed, and we drifted into a relationship. He confessed, we dated, we married. The entire process took less than six months, running smoothly like a dream. The happiness I thought was a sweet dream turned out to be a cage he built for me. He married me because he loved Vivian. His rigid morality told him he couldn’t cross the line with his own step-sister. When their parents forced them apart, Vivian went abroad, and he stayed for grad school. He desperately needed someone to make his parents think he had moved on. And I was the willing fool who volunteered for the job. I figured it all out just by reading between the lines of Vivian’s social media. It was the end of the year, and because of the holidays, no one wanted to take a caregiver job at a hospital. I offered triple pay, but no one applied. I had no choice but to stay in the hospital for a few more days until Leila returned. The hospital beds were scarce, and a new patient was moved into my shared room. An energetic elderly lady. She smiled warmly at me: “All alone, sweetie?” I nodded: “Yeah.” Because I had been delaying my discharge, the doctor and nurses had prodded me multiple times. I looked incredibly embarrassed, apologizing profusely: “I’ll leave soon, my friend is on her way.” The nurse, who was about my age, looked at me sitting alone and sighed heavily: “It’s fine. Don’t worry. You can stay one more day. I’ll get the doctor to sign off on it.” Seeing the panic and embarrassment on my face, she winked at me and mouthed the words silently: [Don’t worry, stay as long as you need.] 04 The next morning, Leila got stuck at JFK due to severe flight delays. And a new patient was brought to our floor. I heard a familiar male voice growling outside the door: “Why the hell are you still lingering in this hospital?” “Are you treating it like your own personal home?” I felt a wave of crushing humiliation. I frantically started gathering my things from the wheelchair, piling my bags near the door. The sweet elderly lady in my room helped me move them. I pushed the door open, and a cold, dark face loomed right in front of me. His nose was sharp, his brow furrowed tightly. He looked utterly impatient. He glared at me: “Do you have any idea how scarce the beds are right now?” “You’ve delayed your discharge for a week. Do you think you own this hospital?” Staring at his face, I froze completely. It was Nate. He was holding a leather suitcase in his right hand. Standing right beside him was Vivian, her arm tightly looped through his. I was wearing a medical mask, my face completely burning with embarrassment. I lowered my head and whispered: “Got it.” I awkwardly pushed my wheelchair out into the corridor, my bags piled messily around me. Until the sweet young nurse called out my name: “Wynne, let me help you. My shift just ended.” She started grabbing my bags. “Wynne?” Nate violently grabbed the metal frame of my wheelchair, his long legs stepping right in front of me. Our eyes met, and he finally recognized me. He completely froze. I forced a faint smile beneath my mask. The nurse looked at him, confused. “Wynne, where’s your husband? Your intake file explicitly says you’re married.” I lifted my eyes to look at Nate. Married for three years, and not a single colleague of his even knew he had a wife. I smiled and said: “I’m not married. I filled out the form wrong.” Nate tried to step forward, but Vivian aggressively pulled his arm back. I pushed my wheels, steering myself straight into the elevator. As the doors began to slide shut, I see a sudden flash of panic in his eyes. He frantically charges forward, screaming my name: “Wynne Vance! Wait!” He shoves his hand into the closing elevator doors to stop them, catching his fingers between the metal. He lets out a sharp grunt of pain and wrenches his hand back as the doors snap shut. Through the final crack, his expression is filled with confusion and absolute disbelief. Inside the taxi, I powered on my phone. Looking at the iMessage logs, it was a massive wall of green text messages—me, endlessly, mindlessly sharing my daily life with him up until a month ago. He used to tell me to be quiet. From now on, I will never annoy him again. I finally recognized my exact place in his heart. Nate sent a text: [Wait for me. Don’t go anywhere.] I didn’t reply. Back at my apartment, I practice standing up, holding onto the furniture. My leg was starting to regain feeling. The doctor said I had to permanently give up heavy sports, but walking and light jogging were fine. During my month in the hospital, I had already fully accepted that my leg would never dance or climb mountains again. And I fully accepted that Nate never loved me. I was right on the verge of falling asleep when the front door handle rattled. Nate walked in. His coat was covered in fine flakes of white. The first snow of the year had started falling outside. I lay in bed. He was holding a bag of takeout, his face slightly flushed, his breathing heavy. He ran up the stairs. He stared at me, his lips parting slightly, wanting to say something but remaining silent. After a long silence, he spoke: “Why didn’t you tell me you were hospitalized?” “When did it happen?” I squinted against the harsh light he just turned on, my eyes blurry. “A month ago.” His body stiffens. He seems to be calculating exactly how long a month ago was. His eyes sweep over me, his pupils contracting sharply. His voice is laced with disbelief: “A month ago?” “The night of your show?” I nod, pulling the covers up, completely exhausted. “Turn off the light. I want to sleep.” Nate suddenly asks: “Why didn’t you leave a light on for me tonight?” Hearing his question, a cold, mocking laugh bubbled up in my chest. Right. Why should I leave a light on for him? For three straight years, whenever he worked late, I kept a warm plate of food and left the hallway light on for him. It was all just my own pathetic, one-sided emotional desperation. After three years, I couldn’t even warm a block of ice. I don’t want to warm it anymore. “I’m tired. Turn it off.” The atmosphere freezes. After a long pause, he clicks the light off.

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A hidden camera was live-streaming inside my house, and I had absolutely no idea. On the screen, Liam walked up to me, his voice icy. “You’re playing games again?” My online haters were gloating in the comments. “Aria is always clinging to the CEO, faking their perfect romance. Now her true colors are showing!” My in-laws and sister-in-law were watching the stream too, offering cold remarks. “If Liam really doesn’t like her, they shouldn’t force this miserable marriage.” But then, the camera captured me—the woman who always maintained a gentle, graceful, and obsessively-in-love public image—impatiently shoving Liam’s handsome face away. “What is your problem? Back off.” Instead of getting angry, Liam’s stoic face revealed a hint of grievance. “Are you sick of me?” 1 The day I married into money, the internet tore me apart, sending me straight to the top of the trending topics. “What is going on?! Did my ultimate OTP just sink?” “Does Aria have no shame? She knew the CEO was in love with someone else, but she still seduced him. The worst part is her scheming actually worked!” My husband, Liam Sterling, was childhood friends with Mia Kensington, an A-list sweetheart of the entertainment industry. He had invested in her movies, ruined the careers of sleazy executives who tried to take advantage of her, and even showed up on variety shows just to support her. The “Billionaire & America’s Sweetheart” pairing was the nation’s favorite unspoken couple. Unfortunately, that fairy tale was ruined by a manipulative witch like me. During an interview, Mia forced a brave smile. “Liam and his wife are a great match.” But when she turned around, her eyes were red with tears. The internet instantly rallied behind the heartbroken childhood sweetheart. They dragged my name through the mud, accusing me of using dirty tricks to climb the social ladder. They even pointed out that my in-laws hated me. They weren’t wrong about that last part. Liam’s parents were incredibly displeased with me. Even at our wedding, their expressions were stony. His younger sister, Harper Sterling, had never once called me “sister-in-law.” She only ever called me by my first name. The public noticed all of this. The hashtag #WhenWillLiamDivorceAria trended year-round. I didn’t really care. It wasn’t like Liam and I were strangers forced together, but we weren’t exactly in a passionate, sweeping romance either. I had money to spend and a gorgeous man in my bed. Life was great. Who cared what the internet thought? But I never realized they hated me this much. Sterling Tech had just developed a fully automated tracking drone camera. It was tiny, hovered silently, and featured an AI recognition system programmed to strictly avoid filming any private or explicit moments. To promote this revolutionary product, the PR department decided to sacrifice their CEO. The invisible drone was going to follow Liam, live-streaming the daily life of a billionaire CEO to the entire world. And absolutely no one told me. While I was sprawled on the couch in my messy pajamas, my hair a tangled nest, the live stream quietly began. 2 “Shouldn’t someone have told Aria about the stream? What if she says something she shouldn’t?” Harper pouted, glaring unhappily at the screen showing her brother. On the stream, Liam wasn’t interacting with the chat. He was leaning back in the leather seat of his chauffeur-driven car, his eyes closed, looking slightly exhausted. He had woken up early to host the product launch, and now he was doing this live stream to appease the marketing team. He was drained. But his cold, aloof demeanor didn’t dampen the internet’s enthusiasm one bit. “The most hardcore brand ambassador in the world—CEO Sterling has arrived!” “Hahaha, this is way more entertaining than watching celebrities!” “Speaking of celebrities, is Aria going to show up in this stream?” “Ugh, please don’t bring up that toxic woman right now.” “Help! Just thinking about her fake, try-hard face makes me suffocate for my ruined OTP.” “Don’t worry, guys. A live stream is the ultimate lie detector. Just wait for Aria’s true colors to be exposed.” Mrs. Sterling glanced at the hateful comments scrolling across the screen and spoke mildly. “Aria is a pop singer, not a trained actress. She can’t fake a natural demeanor for hours on end. If we warned her, the viewers would think it was scripted, which would ruin the promotion.” “Besides, your brother knows what he’s doing.” Harper’s pout deepened, clearly annoyed. “I just don’t understand why he had to marry someone like her!” Mr. and Mrs. Sterling fell silent. They didn’t like Aria as a daughter-in-law, but they had always respected Liam’s decisions. They hadn’t actively stopped the wedding, but they certainly weren’t warm to her. This live stream was an opportunity for them to see the reality of Liam and Aria’s marriage. It would determine whether they needed to step in and offer Liam some “sincere advice.” If the two were truly miserable, it was better to cut ties sooner rather than later. Meanwhile, I was wearing a fuzzy yellow bear onesie, my hair clipped up haphazardly with a cheap plastic claw. I was curled up in a beanbag chair, furiously tapping on my phone, completely oblivious when Liam walked through the front door. He took off his suit jacket and tie, poured a glass of water at the kitchen island, and then paced back and forth in front of me a few times. I caught his shadow out of the corner of my eye, but I was in the middle of a ranked match. I couldn’t be bothered. Seeing that I was ignoring him, he walked right up to me, clearly displeased. His jaw tightened, and his tone was as cold as frost. “You’re playing games again?” Instantly, a tidal wave of comments flooded the screen. “You can’t blame Mr. Sterling for being mad. He works all day, comes home, and doesn’t even get a ‘welcome back.’ I wonder who the real boss is here.” “A freezing house, a cold husband. Welcome to Aria’s tragic reality.” “She deserves it. That’s what she gets for using dirty tricks to tear apart the Golden Duo. Ugh, poor Mia.” The haters were practically throwing a parade, fully expecting me to jump up in terror and grovel for his forgiveness. After all, my public persona was that of a submissive, gentle wife who was desperately, madly in love with Liam. Instead, I frowned impatiently and swatted my hand out, shoving Liam’s handsome face as far away as possible. “What is your problem? Back off.” You’re blocking my screen. Liam’s eyes widened slightly. His stoic, chiseled face revealed a distinct hint of grievance. “Are you sick of me?” For a solid ten seconds, the live chat was completely, utterly blank. Harper nearly dropped her phone in shock. “Am I hallucinating?! Is my brother… whining?!” 3 Hearing the pouty grievance in his voice, I finally pulled my attention away from the game and looked up in surprise. He was leaning over me, one arm planted above my head, his warm breath lightly brushing against my face. I reached out and poked his arm. He didn’t budge. He just stayed there, stiff and stubborn, staring at me with dark, intense eyes. I immediately realized what was happening. The guy was secretly throwing a tantrum again. He was always like this. Whenever I ignored him for too long, he would trap me in his arms, refuse to speak, and refuse to let me go. He would just press his lips together and stare at me, as stubborn as a massive, sulky golden retriever. But he was incredibly easy to coax. All it took was a hug or a kiss. Then he would act like nothing happened, quietly curl the corners of his lips, and revert back to his calm, collected CEO persona. I figured it had to do with how he was raised. As the eldest son and heir to the Sterling empire, his parents demanded absolute perfection from him. From his academics to his business acumen, down to his every word and action, he had to be flawless. He used to perfectly fit my stereotype of an alpha billionaire. Stern, humorless, and incredibly elegant. Honestly, he cared more about his image than I did as an actual pop star. It wasn’t until we got together that I realized his entire personality was basically an act. On the outside, he was all business. On the inside, he was a giant softie constantly craving affection. I sighed, put my phone down, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I pressed a few soft kisses behind his ear and whispered, “How could I be? You’re the absolute best, honey~” Liam’s earlobes turned bright, cherry red. He hugged me back fiercely, burying his face in the crook of my neck, as if trying to absorb my body heat. A moment later, he straightened up. Then, his body suddenly went completely rigid. By now, the live chat was exploding in absolute shock. “What is CEO Sterling doing?! Was he throwing a tantrum?!” “Is this how they actually act at home? I refuse to believe it. It has to be scripted!” “Definitely an act! Remember when Mia was filming that reality show and Mr. Sterling visited the set? He yelled at Aria to shut up in front of everyone!” “Mr. Sterling is sacrificing so much for this PR stunt.” “Wait… but his ears are literally red?” 4 The internet was in mourning. They couldn’t believe a dignified billionaire was lowering himself to act like a cheesy influencer for a marketing campaign. But Harper knew better. Her brother was rigid and principled. He would never force himself to act out a fake romantic script just for PR. Especially not a script that ruined his intimidating reputation. Honestly, the fact that he agreed to let a camera follow him at all had already shocked the entire company. Harper stared blankly at the screen. After a long pause, she pointed at Liam and asked her parents, “Did they hire a body double? The makeup is really convincing.” Mr. and Mrs. Sterling were speechless. As their eldest son, Liam had always been mature and dependable. They never had to worry about him. But seeing their cold, ruthless son blushing and burying his face in Aria’s neck… their brains short-circuited. When a person is shocked beyond a certain threshold, they just go numb. They sat there in a daze, completely unable to form words. The haters in the chat were coping hard. “This makes me sick. Why does Aria get to live this perfect life after the disgusting things she did?” “I feel so bad for Mia. Aria literally stole her life.” “Uh, wait. The side-chick’s fans are dragging the actual legal wife? You guys are delusional.” “Whatever, Aria isn’t worth a single hair on Mia’s head.” 5 Liam’s sudden stiffness felt a bit odd, but I didn’t think much of it. Having successfully appeased him, I grabbed my strawberry bear pillow and curled back into the sofa to resume my game. Liam opened his laptop on the coffee table and started working. As his fingers typed across the keyboard, he kept looking up to stare at me. Being a celebrity, I’m highly sensitive to being watched. After having my focus broken for the fifth time, I finally got annoyed. I shifted my body so my back was facing him. But a few minutes later, I felt that heavy, unmistakable gaze burning into my back again. I peeked over my shoulder. He had literally moved his laptop to sit on the opposite side of the table just so he could face me again. …So annoying. I groaned, crawled off the sofa, ruffled my messy hair, and prepared to relocate to the bedroom. “Where are you going?” Liam’s hands stopped typing. “Somewhere else, so you can stop harassing me.” “I’m harassing you?” He looked genuinely shocked. I scoffed, pointing two fingers at my own eyes, then at him. “You are visually harassing me.” “…” The chat was losing it. “Hahahaha, is Mr. Sterling always this clingy?!” “Am I crazy, or does Aria seem totally indifferent, while Mr. Sterling is the one obsessing over her?” “Aria’s fans are so delusional. He gives her one nice look and suddenly they’re ‘deep in love’?” “To be honest, their house is really cozy. TV tropes lied to me. Not every billionaire lives in a sterile, modern-art mausoleum.” Harper had never actually visited her brother’s house, so this was her first time seeing it too. Back at the family estate, Liam’s bedroom was entirely decorated in sophisticated greys and blacks—clean, sharp, and minimalist. But now? A cartoon desk calendar, a cat-paw mug, and a Hello Kitty desk mat. Things her brother would have never touched in a million years were proudly displayed right next to his work laptop. It somehow made his stoic resting-bitch-face look incredibly cute. Harper’s feelings were a complicated mess. She felt a weird mix of relief—like watching a dead tree suddenly blossom—and awkward guilt. After all, she had given Aria a lot of attitude over the years. “Oh God, I’m doomed… If I start calling her ‘sister-in-law’ now, is it going to look like I’m sucking up to her?”

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On a night of torrential rain, my fiancé abandoned me on the side of the road to go comfort his childhood sweetheart. As I stood there, completely drenched and shivering, a Range Rover pulled over in front of me. A tall, incredibly muscular man stepped out of the car and held an umbrella over my head. “With rain this heavy, what on earth are you doing out here, miss?” My eyes drifted first to his prominent, muscular chest pressing against his shirt, and then slowly up to his face. And then, I burst into loud, ugly tears. He panicked instantly, waving his hands frantically. “Holy shit! Please don’t cry! If you’re in trouble, just tell me! I’ll help you!” 1 “Son of a bitch! Is he even human?!” Sitting in the passenger seat of his car, I finished telling my story. The kind stranger was furious, cursing loudly and slamming his fist against the steering wheel. “What an absolute bastard!” “Don’t cry, miss. Here, dry your hair first.” He handed me a clean towel. His movements were incredibly gentle and careful, a complete contrast to the aggressive way he was cursing just seconds ago. He looked at me with deep sympathy, righteous anger burning in his eyes. “Good lord, look at how he treated a sweet girl like you. He’s a disgrace to men everywhere.” The more he talked, the more wronged I felt, and my tears just wouldn’t stop. Even total strangers thought he was completely out of line, yet Nate Sterling genuinely believed he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was an autumn night. I was soaked to the bone, and the freezing wind made me shiver uncontrollably. The man quickly took off his heavy jacket, draped it over my shoulders, and blasted the car’s heater. “Thank you so much.” “Don’t be sad, miss. I’m not a bad guy, I swear. Where do you live? I’ll drive you home. You’ll catch pneumonia if you stay out here.” I gave him my address, and he drove me straight home. That night, Nate Sterling abandoned me to comfort Chloe, his childhood friend who claimed to have severe depression. Instead, it was a random stranger passing by who saved me. Even though I got into the car quickly, I still woke up the next morning with a high fever. While drifting in and out of consciousness in bed, I heard my mom and Nate talking outside my bedroom door. “I was wrong about last night. I came to apologize to Hazel,” Nate said. My mom sighed. “Couples fight all the time. It’s normal. Just go in and talk to her softly. She’ll forgive you.” My mom didn’t know the full story of what happened last night. She assumed it was just a minor, petty argument. After all, I loved him so deeply and desperately. How could I ever stay mad at him? In the past, a few soft words were all it took for me to forgive him. The bedroom door opened. A warm palm rested gently against my forehead. I opened my eyes and looked at him coldly, turning my head to dodge his touch. Nate froze for a second, but his expression quickly returned to normal. His eyes held a trace of apology. “Last night was an emergency. You know Chloe has severe clinical depression. I couldn’t just leave her alone when she was having an episode.” You couldn’t bear to leave Chloe alone, but you could bear to leave me. A bitter taste flooded my throat, and my heart turned completely cold. Chloe constantly weaponized her “depression,” using it to snatch Nate away from me countless times. During our dates. While we were eating dinner. Even when we were lying in bed at night. All it took was a single phone call. No matter how busy or preoccupied he was, he would drop everything and rush to her side immediately. He constantly told me I needed to be “understanding” of Chloe. He swore he only saw her as a little sister. But what kind of “brother and sister” are so intimately close that they fall asleep hugging in the same bed? He claimed it was because Chloe lacked a sense of security and needed to be comforted. Last night, Chloe called him again, crying hysterically and saying she couldn’t breathe. Nate immediately turned the car around. I snapped and we got into a massive fight. His face was full of annoyance. He frantically checked his watch over and over, terrified that if he delayed even one more second, Chloe might do something drastic. “Can you stop causing drama for once?! Chloe is sick! She is a patient! You have absolutely zero empathy!” In that moment, I desperately wanted to know who mattered more to him. I arrogantly, foolishly issued an ultimatum: “You have to choose right now. It’s either me or Chloe.” And then… I was humiliatingly, brutally abandoned on the side of the road. I still remember the freezing, indifferent tone of his voice right before he left: “You are being incredibly cold-blooded right now. Stand here and reflect on your behavior.” The car tires screeched as he sped away, splashing freezing, muddy rainwater all over my dress. It felt like fireworks going off to celebrate Chloe’s ultimate victory. It was late at night. The road was completely deserted. He wasn’t worried that I might run into danger; he was only worried that Chloe might hurt herself. If that kind stranger hadn’t stopped to help me last night, I have no idea what could have happened to me. If he actually felt guilty, why didn’t he call me once during that entire, endless night? Why didn’t he come looking for me? Why did he only show up now? Because he spent the entire night keeping Chloe company, obviously. The agonizing pain of a heart covered in scars had finally gone completely numb. I was just sinking into an endless abyss. From seventeen to twenty-five. I had to face the brutal reality: the man I had loved for my entire youth was rotten to his very core. I would never be his first choice. As long as Chloe existed, the scales in his heart would always, permanently tip toward her. I stared at him, my gaze terrifyingly calm and detached, and spoke slowly: “Nate, I don’t want to marry you anymore.” “Let’s break up.” “I’ll explain everything clearly to both of our families.” My tone was so incredibly calm that Nate’s expression cracked for a split second. He furrowed his brow, familiarly reaching out to tuck the blankets around me. “You’re just speaking out of anger right now. Don’t say stupid things you’re going to regret later.” He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. It was incredibly tender. So tender that it made my nose sting with unshed tears. That’s the cruelest part. I desperately wanted to stop loving this despicable man, but I could still see the ghost of the boy I fell so deeply in love with. It made cutting him out of my life feel like pure psychological torture. “Rest up and get better. I’ll be right here with you.” 2 For the next few days while I recovered at home, Nate visited me every single day. He brought me pastries from my favorite bakery, meticulously fed me my meals, and made sure I took my medicine on time. My parents had originally been against our relationship. They thought Nate was emotionally unstable and unreliable. But I loved him so desperately, and after throwing enough tantrums, they finally gave in and gave us their blessing. Now, seeing Nate acting so attentive and caring, their opinion of him completely flipped. They started treating him incredibly warmly. Nate sat by my bed and said softly, “I already hired the wedding planner. If everything goes smoothly, we can have the wedding by the end of the year.” He held my hand, looking deeply into my eyes: “The venue design is exactly the style you wanted. Your custom wedding dress should arrive soon. Once you recover, we’ll go in for your final fitting.” Maybe God was giving me one final chance to reconsider. Because my fever refused to break, lingering for days. I silently pulled my hand out of his grip. Meeting his shocked gaze, I asked him: “If we get married… what happens to Chloe?” Chloe was Nate’s childhood friend. They grew up on the same street. They had been practically glued together since they were kids. Nate spoiled her like she was his own flesh and blood. He gave her whatever she wanted, and he always, instinctively, prioritized her needs over everything else. It was basically a hardwired reflex. Of course, the “she’s just my little sister” excuse was entirely Nate’s own delusion. In the eyes of their entire friend group, the two of them were soulmates who were destined to end up together. So when Nate finally introduced me to his elite social circle and announced I was his girlfriend… Everyone’s reactions were incredibly complex. But absolutely no one looked happy for us. Especially Chloe. Her face went ghostly pale. She forced a tragic, fragile smile, raised her wine glass, and with tears shimmering in her eyes, said: “Congratulations. I hope Nate and his new girlfriend are very happy together.” That night, Chloe drank heavily. No one could stop her. Nate’s brow remained furrowed in a tight, anxious knot the entire evening. His entire focus was completely monopolized by Chloe. Aside from Nate, I didn’t know a single person in that room. I felt entirely ostracized by their tight-knit group, so incredibly awkward I could only stare down at my phone. When Chloe got blackout drunk, she started crying hysterically and throwing a fit. She refused to let anyone touch her except Nate. In the end, Nate abandoned me. He told me to call an Uber and go home by myself, while he carried Chloe out and drove her home. 3 Before Nate left, he looked furious. Whenever an issue involved Chloe, he seemed to completely lose control of his temper. He looked at me with frustration and annoyance, defending himself: “I told you a million times, she’s just a little sister to me. We are completely platonic! Why do you always have to project such disgusting, toxic assumptions onto everyone?!” Am I the one making toxic assumptions, or are they the ones with something to hide? Honestly, everyone in that room knew the truth. But I wasn’t allowed to say it out loud. The second I said it, I became the villain. After Nate left that night, he didn’t come to see me for several days. My fever eventually broke. A close friend of mine, Leah, was officially launching her new non-profit organization, and the opening ceremony was perfectly timed. Standing near the entrance of the community center, Leah grabbed my hand, pointing excitedly at a man in the center of the room being praised by local politicians. “Look, that’s our primary donor! He’s incredibly generous. When he heard about our youth outreach program, he just signed a check for $500,000 without even blinking.” The man was extremely tall and powerfully built. He stood out massively in the crowd. The second I looked at him, I recognized him. It was the good Samaritan who drove me home that night in the rain. A second later, he turned his head and locked eyes with me. A look of genuine surprise crossed his face, and he walked briskly toward me. “Hey! Aren’t you the girl who was crying her eyes out on the side of the road in the middle of the night?” Leah froze, her expression instantly darkening. “What do you mean, crying on the side of the road in the middle of the night?” The man immediately slapped his own mouth lightly. “Ah, my bad! I shouldn’t have brought that up. Don’t be mad, miss, I didn’t mean to reopen an old wound.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s fine. Honestly, I really need to thank you again. I wouldn’t have made it home safe without you.” He waved his hand dismissively, a booming, hearty laugh escaping him. “Don’t mention it! That’s what neighbors are for.” He was clearly an incredibly kind, straightforward guy. He drove a stranded girl home in the freezing rain, and he was dropping half a million dollars on a local charity. Plus, he just radiated a rugged, protective aura. “By the way, miss, what’s your name?” “Hazel.” “Beautiful name. I’m Carter Vance.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: “So… did you finally dump that piece of garbage boyfriend yet?” At the mention of Nate, my smile turned slightly bitter. “I’m planning to call off the engagement soon.” “Good for you! Let me tell you, where I’m from, a man who doesn’t treat his woman like a queen deserves to be struck by lightning.” Leah, who had been completely out of the loop, stared at me with wide eyes. “Wait… what?! You’re breaking off the engagement with Nate?!” Instead of trying to convince me to reconsider, she slapped her thigh, her eyes lighting up with absolute joy. “HELL YES! You should have dumped that loser years ago!” “He and Chloe are a toxic, narcissistic match made in hell. If I didn’t know how deeply in love you were, I would have told you to run a long time ago!” Sometimes, people refuse to listen to advice. But when life finally slaps them in the face, they learn the lesson immediately. 4 When Nate heard that Leah was launching a non-profit, he also donated $15,000. He was wealthy; to him, it was just pocket change. Even Chloe donated $3,000. Nate used this exact point to lecture me: “I told you Chloe has a good heart. The misunderstandings between you two are just too deep. You need to find a time to sit down and clear the air with her.” In his mind, even after we were married, he had absolutely no intention of cutting contact with Chloe. In fact, he demanded that I learn to get along with her. What was his ultimate goal here? A modern-day harem where everyone lived in harmony under his roof? When Leah found out about the night Nate abandoned me on the road, she was so furious she actually cried. She wanted to refund Nate and Chloe’s donations immediately, but I stopped her. “Don’t let pride get in the way of funding. There are so many kids who need food and supplies. Our current budget is nowhere near enough.” “So when are you going to tell your parents about calling off the engagement? Is Nate actually going to agree to it?” Nate felt completely secure. He wasn’t worried that I would break off the engagement unilaterally. Because technically, he and Chloe hadn’t engaged in any explicitly sexual or romantic physical contact. If I used Chloe as the reason for the breakup, his entire social circle would just brand me as a paranoid, hysterical, jealous woman making a huge scene over nothing. The end of this relationship couldn’t be framed as my fault. While I was trying to figure out a clean exit strategy, Nate invited his friend group out for dinner. Chloe was there, too. His goal was obvious: he wanted to force me and Chloe to “resolve our misunderstandings” and force me to finally accept her presence in our lives. Nate’s world simply could not function without Chloe in it. He would rather force me to swallow my humiliation and pain than ever abandon her. Using group pressure and social dynamics to “mediate” our relationship was nothing but emotional blackmail. When I arrived at the restaurant, Chloe was sitting in the dead center of the private dining room, surrounded by their friends. Her eyes were red, she looked incredibly fragile and tragic, and everyone was fawning over her, comforting her. She was the beloved, protected princess of their elite little clique. She was the only girl in the group, and she grew up alongside Nate. I was just the awkward outsider who suddenly intruded on their perfect dynamic during high school. Back then, I genuinely believed Nate and Chloe were just platonic friends. He rarely even mentioned her name around me. But one afternoon, I went to drop off an umbrella for Nate because it was raining. From a distance, I saw Chloe arguing with him. I didn’t hear what she said, but she ended up crying and sprinting away into the rain. The very next day, Nate officially asked me to be his girlfriend. After that, I didn’t see Chloe around him for a very long time. Until the news of Chloe’s “clinical depression” suddenly broke. Even though Nate’s friends were superficially polite to me, behind my back, they blamed me for Chloe’s mental breakdown. In their eyes, I was the malicious homewrecker who had stolen Nate and destroyed Chloe’s life. “Don’t worry, Chloe. With us here, she wouldn’t dare try to bully you.” “Seriously, Nate, why do you put up with Hazel? She’s the one who needs to apologize, and she has the nerve to show up late?” “Can’t you see how devastated Chloe is? Why do you insist on staying with Hazel? What does she even have to offer?” Right as their toxic gossip reached its peak, I pushed the heavy oak doors open and walked in. The room instantly fell dead silent. The expressions on everyone’s faces were incredibly entertaining, quickly smoothing over into masks of thinly veiled disgust. They reflexively ignored my existence, performatively pouring tea and handing tissues to Chloe, deliberately trying to signal that Chloe was fundamentally different from me, and that I would never, ever be accepted as one of them. I smiled. “What’s with the setup? Are you guys planning to put me on trial?” Nate pulled me down into the chair next to him, frowning. “Hazel, could you please not speak with such a hostile tone? You never used to be like this.” As he said that, his eyes instinctively darted toward Chloe. Seeing her looking like she was about to cry, a flash of deep pain crossed his face, and he looked back at me with sharp reprimand. It was as if I was just being an irrational, dramatic child. He had completely forgotten his promise to love and accept every part of me. Now, just because I made one slightly sarcastic comment, he was already blaming me to protect his precious childhood friend. Honestly, he wasn’t any different from the rest of the people in this room. Deep down, he had never truly viewed me as a real part of his life. The good news was: I didn’t care anymore. Chloe forced a tragic, brave smile, sniffled quietly, and raised her glass of juice toward me. “Hazel… in the past, I was immature and didn’t understand boundaries. I caused too much trouble for you and Nate. It was my fault. I’m apologizing to you now, and I really hope you can forgive me.” The young woman looked at me with an expression of profound sorrow, mixed with a defiant, stubborn glint in her eye. It was obvious she wasn’t actually sorry at all. I didn’t even bother standing up. I just stared dead into her eyes. “Chloe, are you actually diagnosed with clinical depression? Or are you just faking it?” The second the words left my mouth, Nate violently grabbed my wrist. His face contorted with rage, looking like he genuinely wanted to murder me. “HAZEL!” Chloe’s expression completely shattered. Her face went stark white, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into hysterical, gut-wrenching sobs. “Hazel… how could you possibly say something so cruel?” The entire room erupted in fury, pointing fingers at me. “Hazel, are you even human?! Who the hell jokes about something like that?!” Coincidentally, one of my close friends worked in the exact psychiatric hospital where Chloe claimed to receive treatment. I had asked her to check the system. Chloe’s name was completely absent from all patient records. I had actually told Nate about this before. But he refused to believe me. After all, Chloe had genuinely been admitted to the ICU for a “suicide attempt” in the past. I watched the chaotic, screaming room with absolute, deadpan calm. Nate was deeply offended by my cold, emotionless reaction. His eyes were full of profound disappointment. “You never used to be like this.” “You never used to be like this either.” I laughed. “Did you forget the promises you made to my parents?” “We haven’t even been engaged for that long, and you’re already teaming up with outsiders to bully me.” “Nate, you are truly an incredible fiancé.” His face cycled through several shades of red and white. His friends were yelling loudly, aggressively demanding that Nate “be a man” and put me in my place. Nate gritted his teeth, and ultimately, chose to stand firmly by Chloe’s side. “Hazel, you need to apologize to Chloe.” His voice was soft, almost like he was coaxing me. He was coaxing me to lower my head and submit to the woman he shared an ambiguous, emotionally entangled history with. My nose stung with a sharp, burning sensation. I suddenly realized that I had never, truly seen the real him. Or maybe, I had just projected my own idealized fantasy onto him. And now that I had finally accumulated enough disappointment, I could see his true face with absolute clarity. Everyone loves a man with a strong sense of responsibility, empathy, and devotion. But when a man distributes that responsibility, empathy, and devotion generously to every woman around him… he’s not a good man. He’s just a communal space heater. My eyes burned hot. Without saying a single word, I picked up the glass of iced water on the table and threw it directly into Nate’s face. The entire room gasped in shock. Nate’s face went completely, terrifyingly dark. Whatever final shred of patience he had for me instantly vanished. “Hazel, have you lost your fucking mind?!” The man sitting next to Chloe lunged forward, his face twisted in fury, raising his hand to hit me. With tears still blurring my vision. I grabbed a heavy glass tumbler and smashed it directly into his face. SMASH. It hit him square in the nose. Blood instantly gushed everywhere, and the sheer pain made him howl in agony, tears streaming down his face. “You’re all a bunch of brain-dead dogs. I’m done playing your pathetic little games!” I grabbed my designer purse and turned to leave. Nate chased after me, grabbing my wrist tightly, refusing to let go. “Hazel, you are going to apologize to them right now! If you don’t, how are you ever going to interact with my friends after we get married?!” I wouldn’t interact with your fucking friends even if you paid me! I swung my free hand around and slapped Nate hard across the face. “If you care about them so much, why don’t you just marry them instead?!” Even if I hadn’t already decided to cancel the wedding, why the hell would I ever care what these irrelevant losers thought? “You are being completely irrational!” “You are coming back inside with me right now!” Chloe, who had followed him out, tried to intervene, pulling at our arms. “Nate, please! This is all my fault. Please don’t fight with Hazel over me!” In the chaotic scuffle, someone shoved her hard. Chloe fell to the floor, scraping the palms of her hands on the pavement. She winced, her face going pale from the pain. Seeing her injured, Nate completely abandoned our argument, immediately dropping to his knees to frantically check on Chloe. “I’m fine. I just really don’t want you two to ruin your relationship because of me.” Chloe had an incredibly innocent, pure aesthetic. When she cried, she looked heartbreakingly fragile. Nate could never bear to see his precious “little sister” shed a single tear. And now, he truly, deeply hated me. “Hazel. If you refuse to apologize to Chloe right now…” “Then I think we need to cancel the wedding.” Using the wedding to threaten me? That was exactly what I had been praying for. Since I managed to secretly record the entire conversation on my phone, everyone would clearly hear Nate prioritizing an outsider and trying to force his fiancée to submit. When I leaked the audio, the blame would fall entirely on him. I didn’t have the energy to waste another breath on these two. I turned around to walk away. But Nate blocked my path again. As we struggled, a massive hand suddenly grabbed Nate by the shoulder and shoved him violently backward. Nate stumbled, nearly losing his balance, his brow furrowing in anger. “Who the hell are you?!” I stared blankly at the man who had just appeared. Carter Vance glared at Nate with a terrifying, aggressive scowl, pointing a thick finger directly at his face. “Who am I? I’m your worst fucking nightmare!” “Are you incapable of using your words like a man?! Why the fuck are you grabbing her?! You dress like a Wall Street executive, but you act like a complete degenerate! If there weren’t security cameras here, I’d rip that arm off and use it to scratch my dog’s back!” This guy could curse like a sailor without even pausing for breath. I didn’t know Carter was not only kind-hearted, but also an elite-tier trash talker. Nate’s face flushed a violent shade of red. He wasn’t the type to get into screaming matches; he literally didn’t know how to respond to street-level aggression. “What I do with my fiancée is none of your business!” Carter’s eyes went wide. He looked at Nate, then looked down at Chloe sitting on the floor. He nodded slowly, a disgusted smirk on his face. “Ah. So you’re the absolute scumbag who abandoned this sweet girl on the side of the road in the freezing rain to go hook up with your side-piece.” “I have a great eye for reading people. One look at you, and I knew exactly what you were. You and this little green-tea manipulator are clearly screwing around behind her back, and you have the audacity to come out here and torture a good woman.” “What century do you think this is? Are you trying to build a harem?!” Chloe had never been spoken to with such vulgar, brutal disrespect in her entire life. Her face turned just as pale as Nate’s. “What kind of garbage are you spewing?!” Carter shot her a freezing, contemptuous glare. “A girl like you is so toxic I could use you as rat poison, and you’d still smell like cheap perfume. Don’t sit there trying to play the innocent victim when you know exactly what you’re doing.” He wrapped his massive, muscular arm around my shoulders, pulling me protectively behind his back. Seeing this, Nate suppressed his fury and reached his hand out toward me. “Hazel. Come here.” Carter immediately launched another devastating verbal combo. “Come where?! Who the hell do you think you are, ordering her around like a dictator?!” “If I hadn’t happened to drive by and pick her up that night, she could be the victim on tonight’s True Crime broadcast! You abandoned your own fiancée shivering in the freezing rain, just so you could go snuggle up in a warm bed with your side-chick!” Nate was 6’1″, which wasn’t short. But standing next to Carter, he was still half a head shorter. Combined with Carter’s massive, heavily muscled frame, the physical intimidation factor was completely unmatched. He looked incredibly aggressive and scary, but standing behind him, I felt an overwhelming, profound sense of safety. When Nate’s friends had ganged up to bully me, I didn’t cry. When he stood by Chloe’s side and demanded I apologize, I didn’t cry. But suddenly, hearing a total stranger forcefully validate all the trauma and injustice I had suffered… Having someone finally stand up for me… I couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears just started falling. Carter was a pro at talking trash, but he clearly had no idea how to handle a crying woman. Seeing my tears, he panicked, stammering awkwardly for a few seconds. Finally, he leaned down and whispered softly in my ear: “Don’t cry, Hazel. Give me a minute, I’ll find some guys to beat the shit out of him later.” My tears stopped instantly. I was supposed to be deeply upset, but his comment caught me so off guard I actually laughed. “Assault is a felony.” He winked at me conspiratorially. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it quietly. No one will ever know.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “444437”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was pregnant, and I was craving strawberries. I bought two pounds of them, brought them home, washed them perfectly clean, and called my husband and mother-in-law to come have some. I went to my bedroom to change my clothes. When I came back, the plate was full of pale, white cores. The bright red, sweetest tips of the strawberries had been bitten off by my husband. The middle parts had been gnawed away by my mother-in-law. My mother-in-law, her mouth dripping with juice, pushed the plate toward me: “Emily, eat! They’re so sweet!” I stared at the pale, leftover bottoms of the strawberries. Stuck to the fruit were gross, dark green bits of garlic and spinach that had fallen out of my mother-in-law’s teeth! I grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over. I turned, walked out the front door, and called my mom. “Mom, you were right. I’m getting the abortion.” 1 I had been talking about wanting strawberries for a week. David promised to buy them for me every single day. And every single day, he came home from work looking like a beaten dog, dragging his feet, and giving me a shameless smile: “Sorry, honey, I totally forgot!” His mother would stand off to the side, doting on her precious son. She’d hand him a cold beer, massage his shoulders, and then throw a passive-aggressive jab at me: “What’s so special about a fancy fruit anyway? You don’t have to eat it today. I’ll buy it for you tomorrow!” I was furious. I complained to David: “Your mom says she’ll buy them for me every day, and I still haven’t had a single strawberry all week!” The moment I brought up his mother, his face darkened: “Do you know how old she is? It’s hard enough for her to come all the way out here to take care of you, and you have the nerve to order her around?” His tone made my blood boil. “Then send her back home! Who asked her to take care of me?!” David’s eyes grew cold. He clenched his jaw and didn’t say another word. We had been fighting about this constantly lately. I was so sick and tired of it. As my best friend put it: “Just tolerate it. It’s his mom. If he’s the kind of guy who abandons his mother the second he gets a wife, you couldn’t rely on his character anyway.” I sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Fine. I’ll just buy the damn strawberries myself tomorrow! 2 I specifically asked to leave work half an hour early. I took a long detour to an upscale organic grocery store just to buy them. I never used to have cravings like this. It was definitely the pregnancy. Not getting to eat what I was craving was making my entire body physically uncomfortable. When I got home, my mother-in-law, Martha, was sitting on the couch with drooping eyelids, knitting baby booties. I had told her previously that no one puts babies in hand-knitted itchy wool booties anymore. She didn’t listen, so I stopped caring. Let her do what she wants. When she looked up and saw the carton of strawberries in my hand, her sarcastic attitude immediately flared up. “Oh, so you actually bought them? Wow, young people these days are so spoiled. Eating whatever they want, whenever they want. Back in my day, the men got the best cuts of the roast, and the women ate the scraps and gristle.” I couldn’t be bothered to respond. At this point, my strategy with her was just to pretend she didn’t exist. Just as I was heading to the kitchen to wash the fruit, the front door clicked open. David was home. He walked in completely empty-handed, acting like an overgrown infant, holding his arms out so his mommy could take his coat. “The project is finally over, Emily. I’ll spend lots of time with you these next couple of days.” I looked at him and let out a cold laugh. “You’re home so early. Where are my strawberries?” He slapped his forehead. “I forgot. I’ll go buy them right now.” Martha quickly grabbed his arm. “Come back here! You’re exhausted, don’t run back out. See, no one loves you as much as your mother.” After saying that, she shot a vicious, sideways glare at me. I turned into the kitchen, washed the strawberries thoroughly, and popped one into my mouth. God, it was so sweet! I looked down and realized I was still in my work clothes. I set the bowl of strawberries on the dining table. “Have a couple. I can’t eat all of these myself anyway.” I went to the bedroom, changed into my loungewear, and came back out. My strawberries were ruined. A plate full of pale, white bottoms. Not a speck of red left. David had already rolled off to his study to play video games. Martha, chewing loudly with juice staining her lips, pushed the plate toward me: “Emily, eat! They’re so sweet!” 3 I had waited a week for these strawberries! I bought them, I washed them, and I only got to eat exactly one! I didn’t even need to guess. The sweet, red tips were definitely bitten off by David, and the middle parts were gnawed on by Martha! Ever since Martha moved into our house, this was how she and David divided food. If I cooked a steak, David got the tender center cuts, and Martha happily took the fatty edges. Martha was even proud of it. She used to say that when David’s father was alive, she wasn’t even allowed to eat the fatty cuts. Now, her status had been elevated! I stared at the leftover strawberry bottoms on the plate. On several of them, I could clearly see the dark green bits of leftover spinach and garlic that had dislodged from Martha’s teeth. Wilted, dark green muck smelling of garlic, stuck to the remaining quarter-inch of fruit… and she wanted me to eat it? Eat my ass! My stomach violently churned with intense nausea! These were my strawberries! This was my house! I was shaking uncontrollably with rage. “AHHH!” I screamed, grabbed the edge of the table, and flipped it into the air! The cute, ceramic piglet plate crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. It looked like it had been violently executed. I grabbed my coat, snatched my purse, and slammed the door behind me. In the fraction of a second before the door clicked shut, I heard David’s panicked voice: “What’s going on?! Emily, where are you going?!” 4 Where was I going? Yeah, where was I going? I lived in this city with no family and no close friends. I had no one to rely on. I only had David. And until recently, I actually thought I had love. What an absolute joke. I was delusional. I walked laps around our neighborhood complex for a long time, letting the cold air calm me down. A decision I had been agonizing over for weeks finally cemented itself in my mind. I dialed the one number that would never, ever reject me. The moment the call connected, I couldn’t hold back my sobs: “Mom, you were right! I’m getting the abortion!” Before I could say another word, my phone was violently snatched from my hand. I could hear my mom’s panicked voice projecting from the speaker: “Emily! Emily, what happened?! Emily!” It was David. He looked absolutely furious as he hung up the call. “Stop acting crazy! It’s such a trivial thing, is this really necessary?!” The tears I had been desperately holding back finally spilled over. I stared at him with pure stubborn defiance. “Give me my phone.” He frowned, extending his arm high into the air. I was six inches shorter than him; I couldn’t reach it. “Can you stop running to mommy and daddy over every little inconvenience? We’re married. If there’s an issue, we discuss it! You literally flipped our dining table, and I didn’t even yell at you. Can you stop throwing a tantrum? You’re making a joke out of us in front of the neighbors. Let’s go home and talk.” I jumped up furiously, trying to snatch the phone from his grip. “Give it to me! I have nothing left to say to you. Go live with your mother!” He raised his arm even higher, getting agitated: “When it comes down to it, you just despise my mom! You are so incredibly disappointing!” 5 I clawed at his arm, jumping wildly to reach the phone. He gripped my wrist tightly, trying to pin me down. That was when Martha came running out of the building. While she was still a good thirty feet away, she suddenly sprinted, dropped to her knees, and did a dramatic baseball slide right across the pavement, stopping right in front of me. Smack! She slammed her forehead onto the concrete. “Oh, my dear daughter-in-law! You’re taking my life away! Please stop jumping around, if anything happens to my grandson, how will I ever face your parents in the afterlife?!” Watching her performance, I completely froze. I knew she was a two-faced actress, playing sweet to my face and talking trash behind my back. But I never expected a theatrical display of this magnitude. David couldn’t handle it. He reached down to pull his mother up. “Mom, what are you doing?!” Then, he turned his head and glared at me with vicious eyes: “Hurry up and help my mom up!” I help her?! I’ll help you straight to hell! Martha used David’s leverage to stand up. She immediately started slapping her own face, over and over again. “I was wrong! I am a sinner! I shouldn’t have eaten your strawberries! Please don’t be mad at me, just come home with me.” David was completely broken by this. Tears were literally welling up in his eyes. “My mom is literally begging you, what more do you want?! I admit I was wrong, okay?! Tomorrow I will buy out the entire farmer’s market so you can eat all the strawberries you want!” Because of their loud, dramatic wailing, neighbors were starting to gather. Seeing that she had an audience, Martha’s acting kicked into overdrive. “I shouldn’t have eaten the strawberries. I don’t deserve to eat them! I didn’t know my daughter-in-law valued those fruits more than my life! Back in our rural village, wild berries grow everywhere in the mountains! If you love them so much, Mom will go pick them for you! Just stop fighting with us, please come home. I came here with a good heart to serve you, but if you can’t tolerate me, I’ll leave! I’ll never come back! I’m just old and useless!” The surrounding neighbors started pointing fingers at me. “Am I hearing this right? Over some fruit? Is she serious?” “Exactly. She couldn’t bear to part with a few bucks worth of fruit. That breaks an old woman’s heart!” “Parents give their absolute all to their kids, and look at how the kids treat them. Can’t even let her eat a strawberry.” “It’s so hard being old! If you don’t help, they say you’re lazy. If you do help, they say you’re a burden. Might as well just die when you get old.” I watched as the crowd threw their judgmental words at me like poison darts. Some people were even pulling out their phones to record me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed at the top of my lungs: “Her! That old hag! She wanted me to eat the scraps she spat out! Strawberries covered in her garlic and spinach spit! If I handed them to you, would you eat them?!” 6 I was going insane. I was shivering with pure anger. I ground my teeth together and glared at David: “Give me back my phone. Give it to me!!!” His eyes were bloodshot. He looked at me with unadulterated hatred. I had never seen him look at me like that before. It was like I wasn’t his wife. I was the murderer who killed his entire family, and he loathed my very existence. I used every ounce of my strength to punch him in the chest: “I told you to give me my phone!” Smack! He slapped me across the face! I fell hard onto the pavement! A second later, my phone started ringing in his hand. He glanced at the screen. Then, using all of his strength, he violently hurled my phone at the concrete. The screen shattered into a million pieces. The ringtone died instantly. Silence. In the fraction of a second before the screen went black, I saw the caller ID: Mom. My mother! I reached my absolute breaking point. Shaking with fury, I used all my strength to spring up from the ground and delivered a brutal kick directly to David’s groin. He let out a horrifying howl, clutching his crotch, and dropped to his knees in agony. I scrambled to grab my shattered phone to run. But Martha grabbed me in a death grip. In the chaotic pulling and shoving, my vision blurred, and everything went completely dark. 7 When I opened my eyes, I was back in the bedroom of our apartment. Beside the bed, David was sitting with his head slumped forward, his hands gripping his hair tightly. I heard footsteps approaching, so I quickly squeezed my eyes shut. “David, you need to eat something. You’re going to break your mother’s heart.” “I don’t want to eat. Mom, shouldn’t we take her to the hospital? It’s been all night. I’m worried something’s wrong.” “Oh, please! I’ve been through this, would I harm my own grandson? She’s fine, pregnant women are just frail. Especially her, she refuses to eat this and that, so picky. You spoiled her into having these bad habits! Plain food builds a strong body. Women these days act like they’re laying a golden egg when they get pregnant. When I gave birth to you, I was still bleeding when I pulled my pants up and went to the kitchen to cook dinner.” David’s voice sounded like he was trying to suppress his panic, wavering unsteadily. “Times are different, Mom. Emily has never suffered a day in her life.” Martha’s voice suddenly dropped her usual sweet facade and became ice cold. “If she hasn’t suffered, then she needs to suffer now. What woman doesn’t suffer? When the baby comes, are you going to carry the burden of this whole house alone? Are you going to serve her every day? She actually dared to kick you! You should have beaten her to a pulp! If you don’t break her terrible habits now, you’ll be the one suffering later. Come eat with Mom! Ignore her! If she doesn’t wake up soon, I’ll take a sewing needle to her lip, I guarantee that’ll wake her up.” After a long pause, the shuffling footsteps slowly faded away. David left the room and closed the door. The room was dead silent. I slowly opened my eyes, feeling like I had just woken up from a terrifying nightmare. 8 David and I were college classmates. He chased me relentlessly for four years. I loved sleeping in, so every morning he would run to the dining hall to grab hot breakfast sandwiches and deliver them to my dorm. When I had an internship fifteen miles off-campus, he rode his bicycle through traffic just to bring me my favorite candied fruit from a street vendor. During the first heavy snow of winter, I opened my curtains to find a massive snowman outside my window, and him standing next to it, his face red from the freezing cold. I knew he came from a poor background, but if he had a dollar, he was willing to spend ninety cents on me. When I finally agreed to date him, our entire department was shocked. Everyone said his sheer willpower and persistence wore me down. The guys marveled that relentless stalking actually worked. The girls were horrified, asking if I had gone legally blind. After graduation, we dated for three years. He took care of my every need. When he proposed, the diamond ring cost him over three thousand dollars. I knew that was money he had saved by working multiple side jobs from dawn till dusk. Even though the diamond was tiny, I was moved to tears. Back then, I deeply believed in a popular saying: Don’t judge a man by how much money he has; judge him by how much of it he is willing to spend on you. I truly believed he would treat me well for the rest of my life. Who cared if he was a little broke? We could build our wealth together. 9 When I told my parents I was going to marry him, my mom fought me tooth and nail. Our relationship became incredibly strained over it. I even slammed my hand on the table and yelled at them: “I only asked for your opinion out of respect! I don’t need your permission to get a marriage license, and you can’t stop me!” My mom looked at me with eyes full of disappointment and heartbreak. She pressed her lips tightly together and didn’t speak for a long time. In the end, they couldn’t stop me. My mom yelled: “Fine! If you marry him, we won’t give you a single dime for the wedding!” I was so arrogant. I told her I didn’t care about their money anyway. But on the actual day I got married, my dad slipped a bank card into my hand. He sighed heavily. “Your mother has a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Whether you understand it or not, she is truly looking out for you. But I sincerely hope you made the right choice. Emily… you are our entire world. Do you know how hard it is for parents to watch their child willingly walk into hardship? Remember, if anything ever happens, call us immediately.” At the time, I was actually thrilled. I thought I had won the war against my parents!!! 10 After he finished his Master’s degree, I compromised and moved across the country with him to this city. The night before we left, I peeked through the crack in my parents’ door. My mom was sobbing against my dad’s chest. “It’s my fault. I raised her to be too naive.” My heart ached, but I swore to myself that I would build a beautiful life and prove that my choice was right. I’d show them. In the beginning, things were sweet. But everything changed the moment I got pregnant and Martha moved in. I always knew he grew up in a rural area. But when we got married, Martha didn’t even attend the wedding. His excuse was that she was in poor health, had never traveled, and it was too far away. I even said at the time: “Then we should go visit her! We’re getting married, I can’t just never meet my mother-in-law.” His eyes darted nervously. “You’ll meet her eventually. The living conditions out in the country are rough, I’m afraid you won’t adapt. My mom is a great person, she won’t mind.” It wasn’t until I got pregnant that my husband said: “We’re both so busy, and you really need someone to take care of you right now. Why don’t I bring my mom out here? She can cook for you. Ordering takeout every day isn’t healthy.” I thought it was a good idea. I planned to treat her like my own mother. I firmly believed I could build a good relationship with her. Reality proved I was dangerously naive. Her “cooking for me” meant that if David was home, there was fresh food. If he wasn’t, she would heat up three-day-old leftovers and serve them to me. If there were a few good cuts of meat in a dish and I grabbed one with my chopsticks, she would literally snatch it from my bowl and put it in her son’s. She constantly tried to brainwash me. She’d say pregnant women who did hard labor had easier deliveries. She’d brag about washing cloth diapers in freezing well-water in the dead of winter. She constantly talked about how tough she was, how much she suffered, and how she sacrificed her blood, sweat, and tears to raise David. Whenever she told these stories, mother and son would stare at each other, eyes brimming with tears! The most infuriating part was that after she memorized my phone passcode, she constantly snooped through my phone. I had reached my limit. I asked David multiple times to send his mother home, saying I didn’t need her taking care of me. He just glared at me coldly: “She is my mother! Blood is thicker than water! Now that I have a good life, shouldn’t she get to enjoy it? Are you disgusted by her?!”

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On the day the San Francisco earthquake hit, Liam told me he had joined the hospital’s emergency response team and was leaving that very night. I calmly packed his suitcase for him. As he dragged it toward the front door, I stopped him and asked, “Do you think you really know me?” He looked back at me, frowning, clearly confused by the question. “Like… what’s my Myers-Briggs personality type?” I smiled faintly. “Never mind. Have a safe trip.” We had an appointment at City Hall this Thursday to get our marriage license. To make that happen, I had worked overtime for the better part of a month just so I could take a half-day off during the workweek. But after he derailed my plans time and time again, I realized our relationship had reached its absolute limit. 1 Perhaps because I hadn’t been an emotionally supportive girlfriend during this brief separation, Liam took the initiative to call me at 11:30 PM on Thursday. It sounded like he had belatedly realized today was the day we were supposed to get married. His voice was exhausted as he offered apologies. I stared at the blinking cursor on my Word document. I had been sitting there since 10:00 PM and had managed to type exactly two lines. Only other fiction writers understand the absolute agony of writer’s block. His phone call chased away a fleeting spark of inspiration in my brain. Just like every other time he broke a promise, it made me incredibly irritable. Naturally, my tone wasn’t great. “Yeah, I know. Get some sleep.” I was about to hang up when he quickly added, “The hospital will give me a few days off when I get back. We can go get the license then.” A person with good morals probably shouldn’t say something upsetting to a doctor who is risking his life to save earthquake victims. But I believed that dragging things out would only cause more pain. Since he wasn’t going to be part of my future plans, he shouldn’t be interrupting my present. My work was important to me, too. “I’m afraid that won’t work,” I rejected him coldly. “Liam, from now on, my reasons for taking time off have nothing to do with you.” “What does that mean?” He paused for a moment before asking. “It means we’re breaking up.” I sounded like I was reading a corporate memo. “We’ve had a lot of happy memories over the years, but regardless, I wish you all the best in the future.” I hung up, blocked his number, and deleted his contact. To make a clean break, I even unfriended him on Venmo. That weekend, I packed up everything that belonged to him and had it delivered to his old apartment. I changed the passcode on my front door, deleted his fingerprint access, and then unblocked his number just long enough to text him: When you get back from SF, go straight to your own apartment. Don’t come here. Then, I blocked him again. That night, Liam used a random phone number to call me. He patiently and gently apologized again. “Chloe, it was wrong of me to postpone getting our license without talking to you first. But I thought you would understand. I am a doctor first, and myself second.” “I know,” I replied, my fingers flying aggressively across my mechanical keyboard. “I genuinely praise and admire your decision to volunteer in the disaster zone. But if you think our problems are just because you postponed a piece of paper… Liam, you’re insulting my intelligence.” “If you’re going to keep acting oblivious, stop calling me. It does nothing but ruin my mood.” Before today, I was willing to speak to him politely when breaking up. But after seeing an article published by the media company I used to work for, everything about Liam suddenly made me sick. Even though it was an entertainment gossip blog, during a massive event like the San Francisco earthquake, they pivoted to disaster coverage. However, the writers were still gossip columnists at heart. Under a clickbait headline like “Race Against Time: Gorgeous Doctors Perform Joint Brain Surgery,” the article subtly tried to ship the two attractive neurosurgeons involved. The handsome doctor was Liam. The gorgeous doctor was the woman he had secretly written about ten years ago on a postcard at a tourist trap: “Unrequited love is miserable. I’m just waiting for the woman I love to break up with her boyfriend.” I don’t know what state of mind a twenty-one-year-old Liam was in when he wrote that sentence. But ever since I accidentally discovered that photo with his desperate confession written on the back, all the strange, subtle shifts in Liam’s behavior recently made perfect sense. 2 Her name was Audrey Vance. She started pre-med at Boston University in 2006 and had been working in the neurosurgery department at Mass Gen ever since graduating. She came from a family of doctors, was currently thirty-four, three years older than Liam, and had started college at sixteen. That meant she was five academic years ahead of him. Because it was so long ago, it was hard to find much information about Audrey’s college days online. I only managed to piece together that she was a standout graduate, hailed by her peers as a child prodigy. But recently, BU posted an announcement that Audrey was returning to give a guest lecture. The high-res photo attached to her bio showed a striking, radiant woman. That face perfectly aligned with the young, immature girl I had seen in Liam’s family photo albums. The conclusion was glaringly obvious: Liam and Audrey grew up together. When I first flipped through those albums, I was curious about the little girl who appeared so frequently from childhood through high school. Then, she just vanished from the photos. At the time, Liam’s tone was casual. He just said she was a neighbor, their families were close, so they took a lot of pictures. But after her family moved to Boston, they lost touch. Audrey’s guest lecture at BU was scheduled for Saturday, June 29th. On that exact day, Liam and I had planned to go to a used bookstore to hunt for some rare editions. Early that morning, before breakfast, he looked hesitant and distracted. Finally, he told me that a doctor he deeply admired was giving a lecture at a university nearby, and he really wanted to go watch. For some reason, my mind instantly flashed to the announcement I had seen about Audrey’s lecture. BU live-streamed all their guest lectures now. I sat in front of my computer for ninety minutes and watched the whole thing. The content was almost identical to every other “outstanding alumni” speech I had suffered through during my own college years. It was the standard formula: her childhood dreams, her hard work in high school, her clear career planning in college, wrapped up with some motivational chicken soup for the wide-eyed undergrads in the audience. She mentioned a few rare clinical cases she had encountered, but since she was still relatively young, her experience was mostly just observing senior surgeons. If Liam was genuinely interested in those rare cases, reading the actual medical journals published by those senior surgeons would have been far more educational. In short, there was absolutely no professional reason for Liam to waste his time listening to that lecture. But thinking about it practically, they grew up together, and judging by the photos, they were close. It was perfectly normal to want to catch up and grab a meal after not seeing someone for years. So why couldn’t he just look me in the eye and tell me he was going to see her? When Liam got home, it was already evening. Beneath his usual calm expression, I could sense a hidden, bubbling joy. He immediately offered to take over the cooking. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed, watching this tall, incredibly fit man look effortlessly handsome while flipping a spatula. “What did you have for lunch?” I asked him. “Braised chicken,” he replied. “With a friend?” I pressed. He glanced at me quickly. “Why do you ask?” I smiled. “If a lecture was good enough to make you cancel our plans, it probably attracted other med school alumni too. I figured you might have run into an old classmate.” He turned off the stove. In the moment it took him to slide the food onto a plate, the joyful fish swimming beneath his calm surface suddenly went completely still. “Yeah, I ran into an old classmate. We caught up for a long time.” “What about you? Did you find the books you were looking for?” he deflected. “No,” I said, feigning disappointment. “I was only going to try my luck today anyway.” Liam was an incredibly smart and observant man. If he hadn’t been completely intoxicated by the joy of reuniting with the woman he had loved for a decade, he probably would have noticed something when he came home from the lecture to grab his car keys. My everyday slippers weren’t by the front door. Which strongly implied I was home. I literally listened to the front door open and close. I watched through the living room security camera as he grabbed his car keys—something he rarely did, as he hated driving. And then, I checked the dashcam app on my phone and watched him drive Audrey Vance to the airport. “Next time. I’ll take a day off and go with you next time. We’ll definitely find the books you want,” he promised. 3 Audrey’s home was in Boston, and so was her career. It was hard for two neurosurgeons living on opposite sides of the country to maintain a spark. The little flutter of excitement from their reunion slowly faded over time. But then, Audrey was coming back. I only found out by chance. My alma mater, MIT, posted an article about an upcoming symposium featuring “Outstanding Young Innovators.” Audrey’s name was on the list. The date was Monday, July 29th, at 9:00 AM. I didn’t click the article to read all the bios. Her resume was just so impressive that they used her name in the headline as clickbait. It was impossible to miss. Monday, July 29th, was also the day Liam and I were scheduled to have our wedding photo shoot. We were supposed to try on five different outfits—two for indoor shots, three for outdoor locations. As he was getting ready to leave for work that morning, he hesitated. Once we were in the elevator, just the two of us, he finally spoke. “Chloe, the hospital is running a free clinic today, and I really want to volunteer. It’s just for the morning. We can still try on the outfits in the afternoon.” The hospital Liam worked at did occasionally set up free clinics outside the main entrance, usually on Mondays, from 10 AM to 4 PM. It was late July. The humidity was suffocating, making the city feel like a giant sauna. Standing outside a heavily air-conditioned hospital in this heat to run a free clinic was absolutely miserable work. Fine. He was a saintly doctor. I told him to go. After he left, I used the excuse of booking a Groupon for a hotpot place—$100 off a $300 meal for new users—to log into his phone. In reality, I just opened his transit app to check his subway history. He tapped in at the station near our apartment. He tapped out at the MIT station. Getting to MIT required transferring from the Red Line to the Green Line. His hospital was a straight shot on the Orange Line. A moment later, I closed the app and handed his phone back. “You should stay at the clinic for the afternoon too. I suddenly got swamped with work,” I said. He didn’t question it. He just nodded. Maybe that was the exact moment the idea of marrying him started to curdle in my mind. The receptionist at the bridal studio had told me earlier that the couple booked for the afternoon slot had a sudden emergency, and asked if Liam and I could swap with them. Given how insane both of our work schedules were, getting everything done today would have been perfect. But I didn’t ask Liam’s opinion immediately. I waited. I waited to see if he had the self-control to stay away, to see if he would choose to go see Audrey. I ended up going to the bridal studio alone that afternoon. The studio was completely unsympathetic and informed me that downgrading from a couple’s shoot to a solo portrait session didn’t qualify for a partial refund. Furious, I went and ordered a massive Korean BBQ combo meant for four people and ate it by myself. I brought the leftovers home. Liam asked if I had gone out with coworkers. I told him I went alone. He paused, then asked why I didn’t invite him. “You were busy,” I replied. We had been dating for three years and living together for two. He knew that when I was mad, my default response was a cold, sarcastic attitude. He didn’t coddle me, mostly because whenever he messed up, he would take the initiative to apologize. Like that time. Like right now. I used to soften up whenever he apologized. I would comfort myself by thinking that if we were going to be married for decades, fights were inevitable. If we were committing to a life together, we needed to be forgiving. Besides, in many other aspects of our life, he was incredibly accommodating to me. Now, it just felt completely hollow. His apology was as sincere as ever. He admitted his mistake first, and then proposed a solution. “I’ll take tomorrow off. We’ll go try the outfits together,” he said. I shoved the leftover BBQ into the fridge, turned around, and stared at him expressionlessly. It felt like he suddenly didn’t know me at all. I liked my life meticulously organized. If one of my plans was disrupted without warning, I got angry and irritable. Especially when the disruption wasn’t due to an unavoidable emergency. “So, I have to take tomorrow off too?” “In your mind, your work is a career, and my work is just a hobby?” A flash of guilt crossed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll schedule my time off around your days off.” “Don’t bother,” I replied. “Since you don’t care about it, it doesn’t matter if we take the photos or not.” Before walking into the bedroom, I looked at him with deadly seriousness. “You need to think long and hard about this marriage.” 4 Why didn’t I just break up with him right then? Why was I willing to give him another chance? Because the blueprint of my entire future was covered in his fingerprints. My original plan was to get the marriage license first, and then lay all my cards on the table about Audrey. I knew him well enough to believe that once everything was out in the open, he would sever any lingering romantic ties. Until I saw him and Audrey together in San Francisco. The night air in the suburbs was crisp and clean. Julian stood next to me, his voice so soft it felt like a breeze could blow it away. “So, why did you finally decide to end it? Do you think he intentionally went to SF to see his old crush?” I shook my head, turning to look at him with a smile. “Because the universe loves me.” “The postcard from ten years ago, the headline in the university newsletter, the article on my old company’s website… don’t you think that’s way too many coincidences?” I looked at him, my eyes bright. All the gloom from my fights with Liam had evaporated. “Plus, tonight, when I drove out here… I thought I could push past my hatred of driving. But I couldn’t. You have no idea how miserable I was the entire drive over here.” “I hate driving, period. So far, I haven’t met a single person or encountered a single situation that makes driving not feel like a chore. So you can imagine… when Liam chose to drive Audrey to the airport that day, the sheer joy he felt had to completely overpower his hatred of driving.” “So…” Julian prompted. “So, everything happens for my benefit,” I said. “The universe favors me. It was telling me not to wait until decades from now, when Liam is on his deathbed, wondering if his life would have been different if he had just been brave enough to chase the woman he truly loved.” “I know that once you’re dead, nothing matters anymore, but just the thought of him harboring that kind of regret makes me sick to my stomach.” Julian was a professional chess player I had met by chance, a world runner-up. We met in a bookstore run by an incredibly eccentric owner. Membership was ten dollars a month, and you could read any book in the store for free. The AC was always blasting, and the decor and vibe were absolutely perfect. But there was a catch: absolutely no books could be bought or borrowed. If you wanted to read, you had to stay in the store. In today’s hyper-fast world, almost no one has the patience to sit quietly in a bookstore. Combined with its hidden location, the place was virtually empty. I only found out about it because I loved hunting for rare editions. When I realized this store had a massive collection of out-of-print books, I felt like a massive idiot for spending a thousand dollars on eBay for a vintage magazine set that originally retailed for twenty bucks. When the night breeze finally felt too cold, I got ready to drive Julian back. He waved his phone at me. “It’s going to be a minute. I ordered an Uber.” “If you hate driving, calling a car is a much better option.” “I hope you don’t mind me interfering.” Talking to Julian was incredibly comfortable. He easily matched my wavelength, and everything he said was exactly what I wanted to hear. For example— The day Liam came back from San Francisco was a Saturday. He dragged his suitcase to my front door, the dim hallway lighting unable to hide his exhaustion. I thought about his apartment, which hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. Whether he cleaned it himself or hired a maid, it would take time. In a moment of weakness, I let him in. He froze in the entryway. I said, “You don’t need to take off your shoes. Just come in.” His slippers were no longer on the shoe rack. “Are you going straight to bed, or do you want to eat something first?” I asked. His tall frame stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, his suitcase making him look travel-worn. “You sentenced me to death. You owe me an explanation.” I didn’t hide anything. I told him straight out that I knew about his past crush on Audrey, and that I knew he was still obsessed with her. Honestly, I wasn’t mad that he used to have feelings for someone else. Audrey was an incredibly impressive woman. If he hadn’t tried to have his cake and eat it too, I would have just thought he had great taste in women. “I admit it,” he said after listening to me, his face blank. “I handled that poorly.” “After her lecture, I cut contact with her. Running into her in SF was a complete coincidence. We’re both at critical points in our careers. Volunteering for disaster relief looks great on a resume when it’s time for promotions. You know how this works.” “I know,” I said, completely unfazed. “I also believe you went to SF purely to help people, not to see her.” “But you know me. I believe in fate. The universe putting that article right in front of my face was its way of telling me that your connection isn’t severed, and that you and I were only ever meant to be a stepping stone.” “There is no ‘unsevered connection,’ Chloe. She’s married. Her husband is a cop. She has an adopted daughter. She’s incredibly happy.” I froze, staring at him in disbelief. “She’s married and you’re still obsessing over her? That’s completely unethical.” “So all your assumptions were just a huge misunderstanding,” Liam countered. “Hiding my meetings with her and keeping a ten-year-old postcard was wrong, and I apologize. Can we move past this?” His pleading tone softened my heart for a fraction of a second. But I am as stubborn as a mule. Once I make a decision, I rarely change it, even if it’s the wrong one. We had the most explosive fight of our entire relationship that day. The golden window for earthquake rescue is 72 hours. He hadn’t slept properly for 72 hours, had to deal with this relationship disaster, and came home to a stubborn mule like me. Anyone would have lost their temper. He said, “Chloe, we aren’t kids anymore. This isn’t college where you date if you feel like it and dump someone if you’re bored.” He continued, “You chose to marry me for purely practical reasons. You say I want my cake and eat it too? What about you? You don’t even know how to be in a relationship. You just picked a husband who checked your boxes, someone who could be useful to you. You factored in so many selfish variables when you chose me. Look at how much I’ve tolerated since we got together. Why can’t you tolerate me just this once?” It felt like he was trying to collect interest on every grievance he had ever suffered with me. I looked at him, looking as deflated as a popped balloon. I felt no pity, no heartbreak, only rage and a sense of absolute absurdity. “Oh really? Tell me, how exactly did I use you for my own gain?” He pressed his lips together and stayed silent. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Aside from my corporate day job, I was also a novelist. After we met, I constantly asked him questions about neurosurgery to write a medical workplace drama. It got published and the TV rights were sold. I pocketed nearly a million dollars from the IP rights. I had done this before. My ex-boyfriend was a corporate negotiator, and I used his professional knowledge to write a book that also sold film rights. I never hid that from Liam. “Deep down, you think I only date guys so I can mine them for research to sell books? You think you’re just a cog in my money-making machine? “That is hilarious, Liam. If I just wanted professional advice, I could pay consulting fees to dozens of elite professionals. I can write workplace dramas, get them published, and sell the film rights because I have a sharp commercial eye and raw talent. I don’t need to play emotional games just to steal some medical jargon. I’m above that. “Yes, I am practical. I chose you because you come from a good family, you have elite degrees, and you’re incredibly handsome. Why else would I choose you? Do you really think someone with my average background, average education, and average job isn’t good enough for a golden boy like you?” Spitting out every thought in my brain in one breath, I watched his face drain of color. The last shred of affection I had for him evaporated. “I’m so sorry to break it to you, but I think I’m pretty fantastic. I’m good enough for anyone.” I slammed the door and left. After driving a few miles, I suddenly realized it was my apartment. Rookie mistake. Julian found me at a Dave & Buster’s. I was aggressively playing the claw machine. When you’re in a terrible mood, the whole world seems to conspire against you. I had blown way too much money on tokens, but I couldn’t grab a single plushie. I wanted to kick the machine through the wall. Julian plucked three tokens from my basket and started operating the joystick beside me. “When you play chess, you have to calm your mind. The same goes for the claw machine.” He handed me the Lotso Bear I had been failing to win for twenty minutes. “You look like you’re having a terrible time. Do you need someone to vent to?” As an introvert, I usually processed my problems internally. I rarely vented to anyone. But that day, I followed Julian to a spot with a beautiful view of the city skyline at night. Whenever Julian spoke, if he included a philosophical point or life advice, he always used chess as a metaphor. Coincidentally, I had outlined a novel a long time ago about a male chess prodigy. I had shelved it because my own understanding of chess was pathetic. I recognized Julian because I had watched his tournament videos on YouTube while researching the book. Maybe Julian could provide the inspiration I was missing for that story. Sometimes I hate how my brain works. The more chaotic and frustrated I feel, the more aggressively rational I become. “I use the silent treatment. I refuse to communicate. I have a million toxic flaws as a girlfriend, and I admit all of them,” I said, staring at the distant moonlight, my tone stubborn. “But he tried to use my flaws to justify his betrayal. I can’t accept that.” Julian looked up at the moon. The soft silver light washed over his face, highlighting his sharp jawline perfectly. “A rose’s thorns are part of its beauty, even if they draw blood.”

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