The boss’s newly hired secretary secretly added my name to the first round of layoffs. She leaned close to my ear and taunted me: “Get out while you can, old hag.” Not only did I not get angry — I signed the resignation form with a smile and walked out without looking back. By the end of the month, the company’s tax audit hit. Tens of millions of dollars in accounts were a complete mess, and not a single cent could be reconciled. The boss was losing his mind in the conference room: “Who laid off my wife? She’s the only one with the master access codes!” HR wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and glanced nervously at the young secretary standing nearby: “Sir, it was… it was your mistress who did it.” Grace walked in carrying a list, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp, piercing taps. She stopped beside my desk. The cloud of perfume around her was suffocating. The office went instantly quiet. Everyone’s eyes drifted over — pretending not to look, but looking all the same. “First round of organizational restructuring. I’ll read the names.” Her voice was deliberately sweet, but her gaze was like a needle, driving straight into me. “Jennifer.” She read out my name, drawing out the last syllable, savoring every bit of it. The air around me seemed to freeze. I was one of the company’s founding employees. The backbone of the finance department. Ten years in, and no one had ever imagined my name would appear on a list like this. Grace loved the effect. She bent down, her red lips nearly brushing my ear, and said in a voice only the two of us could hear: “Get out while you can, old hag.” I caught the scent on her — the same cedar and sandalwood cologne my husband Matthew wore. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t even blink. I simply closed the spreadsheet I’d been working on. Without saving. “Where’s the resignation form?” I asked. My calm clearly caught her off guard. She hesitated for a second, then pulled a sheet of paper from her folder and slapped it down on my desk. “Sign it. You’ll get your severance. The company’s being more than generous.” “Thank you.” I picked up the pen and signed my name in clean, decisive strokes. HR manager Chris came jogging over, his face arranged into an awkward smile. “Jennifer, does… does Mr. Matthews know about this?” “Mr. Matthews is a very busy man. There’s no need to bother him with something this small.” Grace cut in before I could say another word, draping her arm over Chris’s shoulder with an easy familiarity. “Chris, I think we’re going to work together just beautifully.” Chris looked like he was about to break into a cold sweat. I stood up and began gathering the few personal items on my desk. A water bottle. A small plant I’d kept alive for five years. And a photo from the bottom drawer. In the photo, Matthew and I stood in front of a cramped little office — the company’s very first address. We were grinning like idiots. Young, nervous, and full of hope. I stared at it for a few seconds. Then I dropped it in the trash with the rest of the paper waste. Grace watched my every move. She was waiting for the breakdown — the anger, the tears, the desperation. I gave her none of it. I picked up my small cardboard box and walked up to her. “Want to do a handover?” I asked. “No need.” She let out a soft, contemptuous laugh. “Nobody wants your old files. I’m building a brand-new system for this company — something modern, something that actually works.” “Good luck with that.” I nodded, turned around, and walked toward the door. Dozens of eyes followed me across the office. Some held sympathy. Some held regret. Some barely hid their satisfaction. Grace stood with her arms crossed, a queen surveying her newly won kingdom. I didn’t look back. The moment I pushed through the revolving door and stepped outside, the afternoon sun hit me hard. I squinted, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number. It picked up almost immediately. “Hey, Jennifer.” “Simon — is everything ready?” “All set. We can move whenever you are.” I watched the traffic flowing steadily down the street, drew in a long, slow breath, and let it out. “Then let’s begin.”

I went back to the house I shared with Matthew — a house that existed in name only. It took me an hour to pack everything that belonged to me into a few suitcases. There wasn’t much. Over the years, I had poured almost everything I had into that company. This place had always felt more like a hotel room I occasionally slept in than a home. My last stop was the study. I sat down at the private server I kept there and powered it on. The screen lit up to a login interface unlike anything a standard program would generate — no username field, no password box. Just a single cursor, blinking steadily. This was the financial system I had built for the company. I called it the Vault. Ten years ago, Matthew and I pooled everything we had and founded the company together. He handled the tech and marketing side. I handled finance and operations. In those early days, to keep the money safe and maintain absolute control, I personally wrote the underlying code for this system from scratch. It was incompatible with every standard external software on the market. Every port had been physically encrypted. To log in, you needed three keys. The first was the hardware ID of this specific server. The second was the USB security token I wore around my neck — a small, unremarkable thing that generated a rotating dynamic key. The third, and most critical, was a 128-character password that only I knew. It was the due date of the child Matthew and I had been expecting — precise down to the second. That child never made it into the world. From that day on, Matthew changed. He threw himself into work with a kind of desperation, numbing himself — and numbing me along with him. The company grew. We became more successful than we’d ever dreamed. And the distance between us quietly grew into something neither of us talked about. About a year ago, I started noticing unfamiliar perfume on his clothes. Suggestive messages flashing across his phone screen. Anonymous photos arriving in my inbox — him with different women, his arm around each one. I didn’t cry. I didn’t confront him. I started making plans. Under the banner of tax optimization, I quietly set up several subsidiaries overseas. Over time, I funneled the company’s core annual profits into those accounts — in batches, through entirely legal channels. I was the sole controlling party of every one of those companies. Then I established a personal trust fund in my own name. Into it, I methodically transferred all the real estate, stock holdings, and financial assets we had acquired during the marriage. The named beneficiaries were myself, and my parents back home. Matthew had always been hopeless with finance. He watched the top-line numbers — total revenue, headline profit — and left the rest to me. Far from suspecting anything, he had praised my “capital management skills” at multiple board meetings. He had no idea that the commercial empire he was so proud of had been quietly hollowed out from the inside. He owned a beautiful shell. Nothing more. Grace’s arrival was simply the final push. The last domino. And also the most perfect signal I could have asked for to spring the trap shut. A mistress he adored had fired his wife with her own hands — and in doing so, sent him over the edge of a cliff he couldn’t come back from. Could there be a more fitting ending than that? I performed one final backup of the core data on the server, encrypted it, and pushed it to the cloud. Then I hit the format button. The progress bar moved fast. As fast as the ten years of my life that were now behind me. When it was done, I grabbed my suitcases, took one last look around the cold, empty house. My phone buzzed. A bank notification — a $2,000 ATM withdrawal. I smiled. Matthew’s wallet contained a supplementary card linked to my account. He used it for business entertainment. It seemed Grace had already started exercising what she imagined were her privileges as the new woman of the house. Good. Every transaction was documented proof of his infidelity and the illegal transfer of marital assets to a third party. I pulled my suitcase behind me and closed the door. I wasn’t coming back.

A week later, Grace sat in what used to be my office, drunk on a sense of power she had never tasted before. She had ordered the space redecorated in her favorite blush pinks and filled it with expensive scented candles. Matthew indulged her in everything. She had only to want something, and it appeared. She was certain the hard part was over. Jennifer was gone — nothing more than a stepping stone she’d already crossed. But the problems came quickly. End of month. Payday. The new CFO — a high-priced hire, someone with an impressive resume — had spent three straight days staring at the Vault’s login screen. He never got past it. “Ms. Grace,” he said, his expression tight with discomfort, “this system… we can’t get into it at all. It doesn’t recognize any external devices. Standard operations are completely locked out.” “Useless.” Grace didn’t bother softening it. “The company is paying you to solve problems, not stand there and list them.” The CFO’s face cycled through several shades of red and white, but he said nothing. Everyone in the building knew Grace was Matthew’s favorite. “What exactly did Jennifer do when she ran this thing?” “I have no idea!” Grace waved him off. “Bottom line — before end of business today, I want every employee’s paycheck deposited. If that doesn’t happen, you’re fired.” Payroll is sacred. A single day’s delay could set off a firestorm among the staff. Grace smoothed her skirt, walked into Matthew’s office, and shifted into her softest voice. “Matthew, there’s a little snag with payroll.” “What kind of snag?” Matthew was reading a market report. He didn’t look up. “The new CFO can’t get into the old system. Maybe we could ask Jennifer to come back for a day — just to export the data and walk the new team through it?” She kept her tone light, careful. What she actually wanted was to see Jennifer walk back in and perform like a trained helper in front of the entire staff. A final humiliation to crush what was left of her pride. Matthew’s brow creased. He didn’t like hearing Jennifer’s name. She had left so calmly it had been infuriating — like throwing a punch and hitting cotton. It left him unsatisfied in a way he couldn’t quite shake. “Why would we call back someone we let go?” he said flatly. “That makes us look desperate. Tell the CFO to figure it out himself. If he can’t handle something this basic, he can go too.” “But if paychecks don’t go out today, people are going to be upset.” “Then use the reserve fund and wire everyone manually. How hard can it be?” He turned a page. “And tell IT to crack that system or replace it altogether.” Grace left without getting what she came for. Manual transfers. Hundreds of employees. The finance team worked through the night — cross-checking account numbers, calculating withholding, processing each one individually. By the time it was done, the entire department was exhausted and furious. But the paychecks went out. Grace breathed a small sigh of relief. Just a minor inconvenience, she told herself. She had no idea this was only the beginning. The next morning, a much bigger problem detonated. Oceanic Technologies — the company’s largest supplier — sent a payment demand directly to Matthew’s personal inbox. “Matthew, the three-million-dollar invoice from last quarter was due yesterday per our contract. What’s going on?” Matthew summoned the CFO immediately. “Why hasn’t Oceanic been paid?” The CFO was visibly sweating. “Sir, all payments go through the system’s approval workflow. And we still can’t access the system.” “Every contract, every payment record, every approval chain — it’s all locked inside.” “What about backups? Paper files?” “Jennifer implemented a fully paperless process. Everything is in the system.” The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Matthew’s expression went dark. He picked up his phone and called Jennifer for the first time since she’d left. “The number you have dialed is not available.” That automated message ignited something hot and ugly in his chest. Playing hard to get, was she? He didn’t know that at that moment, I was sitting on the deck of a cruise ship sailing toward Phuket, salt wind in my hair and a glass of champagne in my hand. My old phone was somewhere at the bottom of the Strait of Malacca. The new one — new number, clean slate — was sitting quietly in my bag. And that still wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came on the morning of the third day, when two men in uniform walked through the company’s front entrance, their expressions carefully neutral. “Good morning. We’re investigators from the IRS Criminal Investigation division.” “We’ve received a formal, named complaint alleging serious tax fraud by this company.” “This is our official examination notice. We’ll need the legal representative — Mr. Matthews — to cooperate with our investigation.” “Please produce all financial records and tax filings for the past three years. Immediately.”

I heard later that when the investigators walked in, Matthew’s first reaction was contempt. He had them taken to a small conference room, then sat and finished a pour-over coffee at his own pace. He assumed it was a nuisance move — a competitor stirring up trouble, or some minor compliance slip by one of his underlings. He walked into the room wearing his best boardroom smile. “Gentlemen, thanks for making the trip. Our company has always been a model taxpayer. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.” The investigators didn’t return the smile. They opened their files and laid them on the table. “Mr. Matthews. This complaint was filed under a named identity. The documentation is detailed and extensive. Please don’t waste our time. We need the financial data now.” Matthew’s smile went rigid on his face. He called in the new CFO. “Give them whatever they need.” The CFO broke into a full sweat on the spot. “Sir… all the original data is inside the encrypted system. We can’t extract anything.” Silence fell like a hammer. Matthew’s face changed for the first time. He sent the CFO out with a wave and turned back to the investigators with a reconstructed smile. “We’re experiencing a minor system issue. Our technical team is working on it as we speak. Could you give us forty-eight hours?” The investigators looked at him without expression. “Mr. Matthews, we follow procedure. If we don’t have access to complete records by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, we’ll move to compulsory measures.” “Such as freezing your company’s operating accounts.” They stood, picked up their files, and left without another word. Matthew sat alone in the conference room, and for the first time, he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He finally understood. This had stopped being manageable. He shot out of the room, grabbed his phone, and called my number again. Still off. He started working through his contacts like a man on fire. He called my best friend, Susan. “Where is Jennifer? Put her on the phone.” Susan’s voice was ice. “Matthew, you have some nerve calling her. I don’t know where she is.” The line went dead. He called my parents’ house. My mother picked up. “It’s Matthew. Has Jennifer been in touch with you?” There was a long silence on her end. “Matthew… Jennifer said she needs some time to herself.” Her voice was measured. “She asked us not to pass any messages along. And she asked that if you have any decency left, you won’t bother us.” Matthew stood holding the phone, his palm damp. For the first time, he felt something close to panic — the specific terror of realizing the world has quietly walked away from you. He put the phone down on the desk. His chest rose and fell hard. Grace came in wearing that sweetly suffocating perfume, her voice sliding into its familiar register. “Matthew, don’t let her get to you. She’s not worth it. A system is just a system — we’ll build a new one.” Matthew looked up slowly. His eyes had gone somewhere dangerous. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said it quietly. That was worse than shouting. “You think this is a grocery run?” Grace froze, eyes going glassy. Matthew had already turned away from her. A thought had surfaced through the noise. Her desk computer. The server at home. Maybe there was still something salvageable. He grabbed his keys and left at a near sprint.

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I walked out of the airport after five years abroad, my heart full of hope that Harris would keep his promise and propose to me. But he just stood there, his face blank. “Sandy, I’m sorry.” Before I could even process that, he kept going. “That transfer order… I arranged it.” “I deliberately had you reassigned to that remote project out west so I could have space — for me and Ismael.” “She was pregnant back then. I had no choice.” A long silence. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Five years. The desert wind cutting across the flats, brutal heat, sixteen-hour workdays — pure hell. And all of it had been a cage he built for me. “You’re too aggressive, too forceful. I was afraid you’d hurt her.” “I’m not telling you this to ask for forgiveness. I just want you to calm down ahead of time — don’t make a scene.” His voice carried the weight of someone who’d already made peace with what he’d done. I stepped back and dodged his outstretched hand, smiling through tears. “Harris, you turned something that could have ended with dignity into something that never will.”

Harris’s car followed my cab, flashing its headlights twice. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Ma’am, that BMW’s been tailing us. Someone you know?” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. “No.” “Want me to lose him?” “Don’t bother. He knows where I’m going.” The apartment building looked the same as always. Fresh ads were plastered inside the elevator. I dragged my suitcase to the door and pulled out my key. The lock didn’t sound right turning. The door swung open from the inside. Ismael stood there in a silk slip dress, holding a little boy, maybe three or four years old. She saw me. For a second she froze — then she smiled. “You’re back.” The boy clung to her neck and studied me with curious eyes. “Mommy, who’s that?” “Someone who used to live here.” Ismael ran a hand over his hair, then looked at me. “Want to come in? Harris mentioned you’d be back today — I just didn’t expect you so soon.” I looked past her into the living room. Their wedding photo hung on the wall. The couch was new. Children’s clothes were drying on the balcony. “This place…” “Is my home.” Ismael cut me off, her voice gentle. “It has been for five years. The moment Harris got the place, he had me move in.” My suitcase wheel caught in the doorframe. “He said once you left for the west, we’d get married.” The little boy started squirming, impatient to get down. Ismael set him on the floor and he ran straight for the toy bin in the corner of the living room. She leaned against the doorframe, looking me over. “You’ve gotten so thin. It must’ve been rough out there.” I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle. “Will Harris be home later?” “I don’t know.” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you need from him? Money? An explanation?” “Neither.” “Then why are you here?” I looked at her face — carefully maintained, effortlessly composed — and suddenly felt sick. “I’m here,” I said, keeping my voice as level as I could, “to get back what’s mine.” Ismael smiled. “And what exactly do you think you still have here? I threw out your clothes a long time ago. Harris sold your books — said they were taking up space.” “Oh, and those houseplants you were so proud of? They’re all dead.” She paused, then added: “I stopped watering them on purpose.” I turned and pressed the elevator button. Her voice followed me. “Sandy, don’t make a scene. You’ve got nothing left. You can’t win this.” The elevator doors closed. I leaned back against the cold metal wall and shut my eyes. Five years. I thought I was building a career. Turns out I was funding their honeymoon.

The next day I went to the office to process my return paperwork. Munir in HR looked up and her expression shifted. “Sandy, your position…” “I know. Ismael took it over.” I set my suitcase in the corner. “It’s fine. Just find me something standard.” Munir sighed and pulled up my file on her computer. “Your five years out west — the official record says you voluntarily requested the frontier support assignment, overcame difficult conditions, and completed the project successfully.” “That’s accurate.” “But,” she lowered her voice, “the outcome reports for all three projects you led — Ismael is listed as first author on every single one.” I went still. “That’s not possible. Those were my—” “You signed off on it.” Munir clicked open a document and turned the screen toward me. “See this? It’s an agreement from five years ago. You signed it, authorizing shared credit for all project outcomes across the team.” The signature was mine. But I had absolutely no memory of signing anything like that. “You left in a hurry back then. A lot of the paperwork was handled by Harris on your behalf.” Munir hesitated, like she wanted to say more, then pulled back. “Sandy, some things… never mind. Go find your desk.” My desk was wedged in the corner next to the printer, buried under a pile of other people’s junk. Colleagues passed by. Some pretended not to see me. Others gave a quick nod. Only Helen came over, dropping her voice. “You’re back? How?” “The project wrapped up.” “So you’re just… here?” She glanced toward Ismael’s office. “Watch yourself. She’s a supervisor now, and Harris is her husband.” I set down my bag. “I know.” That afternoon, my phone rang. Harris. I let it go to voicemail. He called again. Then twice more. On the fourth call, I picked up. “Sandy, we need to talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “Ismael’s pregnant again. The doctor said the pregnancy is unstable — she can’t have any stress.” He sounded exhausted. “Can you just… stay out of our lives for a while?” A child’s voice carried through the phone. “Daddy, Mommy threw up!” “Coming, coming.” Harris said quickly, “That’s all. I’m asking you, please.” The call ended. I stared at the screen, and thought about the day five years ago when the transfer order came through. I’d called him crying. He said: “Wait for me. I’ll be right there.” Then he held me and said: “Go. Think of it as building experience. I’ll wait for you. We’ll get married when you’re back.” That day, there was a faint perfume on him. Not the one he usually wore. Now I knew. It was Ismael’s.

I went to the hospital for a full checkup. The doctor studied the report, his brow furrowing. “Ms. Sandy, your situation…” “Just tell me straight.” “Endometriosis. Severe decline in ovarian function.” He adjusted his glasses. “The likelihood of natural conception is… close to zero.” I held the report. The paper edge dug into my palm. “Is it from the work environment?” “Prolonged high-intensity work, chronic stress, combined with the climate out west…” He paused. “You’re still young. If you start treatment now, there may still be a chance.” I walked out of the exam room. The hallway was lined with pregnant women. They sat rubbing their bellies, their faces soft with happiness. One husband crouched down and pressed his ear to his wife’s stomach, listening for movement. I turned sideways and slipped past them, pushed open the door to the stairwell. The stairwell was empty. I crouched down and buried my face in my knees. Don’t cry. Crying means losing. Three days later — the company’s annual gala. I didn’t want to go, but Helen said, “You’ve been here long enough. Skipping would look bad.” I put on a black dress and stood in the corner of the venue. The lights were bright. The music was loud. Harris walked in with Ismael on his arm. Everyone swarmed toward them. “Congratulations, you two!” “You’re so lucky!” Ismael smiled and said her thank-yous, one hand resting protectively over her stomach the whole time. Harris had his arm around her waist, looking down at her with an expression so tender it was almost unbearable to watch. Someone spotted me and gave a subtle tilt of their chin. The room went quiet for a beat, then picked right back up. Ismael made her way over to me, belly first. “Sandy. Long time.” I held up my champagne. “Congratulations.” “Thanks.” She touched her stomach. “Might be a girl. Harris is over the moon — says she’ll look just like me.” She looked at me, then leaned in and dropped her voice. “You know what Harris told me? He said if he hadn’t gotten you transferred back then, he would’ve been torn for a lot longer.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” she smiled — warm, bright, practiced — “thank you for stepping aside when you did. We wouldn’t have any of this without you.” My hand was shaking. Champagne splashed onto my dress. “Ismael,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Do you know that when you were pregnant with your first child, I was on a construction site out west in negative-thirty-degree weather, running a fever of a hundred and four, nearly dying?” She blinked. “So?” “I called Harris seventeen times. Not one answer.” “That was our anniversary.” She smiled. “He was with me picking out my wedding gown.” I breathed in slowly. She added: “Chanel Haute Couture. Limited edition. The one with the pearl embroidery at the waist.” I had tried on that gown. Five years ago. Harris had said: “When we get married, we’re buying that one.” Turns out he didn’t mean we. I set down my glass and turned to leave. Harris was standing right behind me. I don’t know when he’d gotten there. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Sandy…” “Don’t say my name.” I said. “It makes me sick.” I walked out of the banquet hall. Rain was falling outside. I stood under the overhang and watched the downpour blur the city into nothing. Footsteps behind me. Harris had followed me out. He was holding an umbrella. He held it out to me. “Take it. You’ll catch a cold.” “Why do you care?” He was quiet for a moment. “I know you hate me.” “I don’t hate you.” I said. “I just think I wasted five years on a man who wasn’t worth a day.” “Those five years—” “Those five years,” I cut him off, “I worked sixteen-hour days in the desert. My period stopped for three months. My hair fell out in clumps.” “I pushed through it because I told myself: hold on, get home, and you’ll be married.” His face went pale. “And you,” I almost laughed, “spent those five years getting married, having a kid, and now you’re on your second.” “I’m sorry.” “Sorry fixes what, exactly?” I stared at him. “Harris, I can’t even work up the energy to hate you properly. You just make me feel like a joke.” The rain got heavier. He tilted the umbrella toward me. I pushed his hand away, stepped into the rain. The cold hit me all at once, soaking through everything.

A week later, I got a call from home. Mom was crying. “Sandy, your father’s in the hospital!” I rushed back. Dad — who already had a heart condition — was lying in the hospital bed, his face the color of ash. Mom grabbed my hands. “Someone mailed your father a letter. It said you… it said you were breaking up someone’s marriage. That you were the other woman.” “I wasn’t!” “There were photos!” Mom wiped her eyes. “Screenshots of your messages with Harris. And statements from people at your company.” I snatched the envelope. The photos were doctored. The chat logs were fabricated — but convincingly. The kind of thing that would fool anyone who wanted to believe it. “Dad, let me explain—” My father opened his eyes and looked at me for a long moment. “I believe you.” Then he closed them again. The heart monitor screamed. Doctors rushed in. I was pushed out of the room. In the hallway, Harris was standing there. He was holding a fruit basket. A nurse walked past and murmured, “Harris is such a good man — coming to check on his ex’s father like this.” I looked at him. Then I crossed the hall and slapped him as hard as I could. The basket hit the floor. Fruit scattered everywhere. “You did this.” “I didn’t know—” “You didn’t know?” I grabbed the front of his shirt. “Those photos. Those records. Who else would have them?” He caught my wrists. “Sandy, calm down!” “How am I supposed to calm down!” I was screaming. “If anything happens to my father, I will make you pay for it!” The hospital room door opened. The doctor came out and pulled down his mask. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” My world collapsed in that moment. Three days later, the funeral. My mother wouldn’t let me through the door. “Get out,” she said from behind the closed door. “Your father doesn’t want to see you.” I knelt outside from morning until late afternoon. Harris and Ismael arrived. They bowed their heads in respect. Ismael saw me and said softly, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I looked at Harris. My eyes said everything. His face went white. Ismael touched his sleeve. “Let’s go.” They left. Finally, my mother opened the door. She looked at me, and there was nothing in her eyes but hatred. “Are you satisfied? Your father is dead. Are you satisfied?” I crawled forward on my knees and wrapped my arms around her legs. “Mom…” “Don’t touch me!” She shoved me away. “I don’t have a daughter like you!” I pressed my forehead to the cold tile floor. A few days after my father’s death, I got a call from the company. “Sandy, you’ve been terminated.” HR’s voice was flat. “Grounds: serious violation of professional ethics. During the western project, you maintained inappropriate relationships with multiple male colleagues.” I went straight to the office and barged into HR. “Show me the evidence.” The manager threw a stack of photos on the table. Work site pictures of me with male colleagues, printed with filthy captions someone had added. “This is defamation.” “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” The manager looked at me. “The company can’t keep someone like you on staff.” I went to find Harris. His assistant blocked the door. “Harris is in a meeting.” I waited until dark. He finally came out of the conference room. When he saw me, his step faltered. “I know what you’re going to say.” He spoke first. “This decision came from the company. There’s nothing I can do.” “Harris, you set me up.” “It wasn’t me.” He frowned. “Ismael said—” “Whatever Ismael says, you just go along with it?” I stepped toward him. “She destroyed my father. Now she’s destroying my career. And you’re just going to help her?” He stepped back. “Sandy, calm down.” “I am calm.” I said. “I just want to know — can you sleep at night?” He didn’t answer. I turned and walked to the elevator. When I got downstairs, people were waiting. Seven or eight of them, holding signs. “Homewrecker!” “Get out of this city!” Someone threw something at me — red ink. It poured over my head, soaked through my clothes, dripped down to the ground. I stood there, red running down my skin. Harris’s car came up from the underground garage and stopped at the curb. He got out, broke up the crowd, then turned and looked at me. He sighed. “Sandy, why can’t you just handle things with some dignity? Why does it always have to go this far?” I dragged my hand across my face. Red dripped from my fingers. “Dignity?” I almost laughed. “Tell me how, exactly.” He got back in his car and drove away. I went back to my apartment and found the locks had been changed. My bags were sitting outside the door. The landlord poked his head out. “I packed your stuff. You need to go.” “Why?” “Someone filed a complaint. Said you’re a bad influence on the building.” He waved me off. “I’m not renting to you anymore.” I sat down next to my suitcase. The same suitcase I’d taken out west five years ago. The same one I’d just brought back. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. I sat in a convenience store through the whole night. The city woke up in the morning light. It was beautiful. But I didn’t want to stay in it for another minute.

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My coworker pushed me out of a burning car. He died. His wife was nine months pregnant, about to give birth. His wife pressured me to marry her. I quit my job, took care of her and the baby, and spent six years as a full-time stay-at-home dad. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, dropping him off at preschool. She didn’t want to have kids with me. I said fine. Six years. We never fought once. Until the day at the police station, when six-year-old Jack pointed at me and said — “I don’t know this man. He was trying to kidnap me.” I looked at him, and I just started laughing. Six years of debt. Paid in full. Guess who panicked first after I turned around and walked out of that police station? One of the fluorescent lights in the police station was broken, buzzing and flickering — just like the wire strung tight inside my head. Jack sat in the chair across from the officer, his little legs dangling in the air, wearing the expression of someone delivering righteous judgment. “I don’t know this man.” He pointed at me. Six years old. Clear pronunciation, articulate delivery. I taught him myself. From the moment he started babbling his first words, every sound, every syllable — I corrected them one by one. Including the phrase “I don’t know.” The officer glanced at me, then at Jack, his expression somewhere between awkward and uncertain. “Sir, the child says he doesn’t know you…” I pulled up photos on my phone — my ID and our marriage certificate — and held them out. “Jack. Six years old. He’s my stepson. His mom, Victoria, is my wife.” The officer looked them over, confirmed everything checked out, and visibly relaxed. “Then this must be a misunderstanding. Kids sometimes—” “It’s not a misunderstanding.” I cut him off. Jack was still swinging his legs, completely unbothered. Almost smug. I knew that look. It was the same look Victoria wore when she steamrolled her subordinates in meetings. I crouched down to his eye level. “Jack… tell me. Who taught you to say that?” He scrunched up his mouth. “Mom said you’re not my dad. My dad was a hero. You’re just the guy who lives in our house.” The guy who lives in our house. I turned those words over slowly. The muscles in my jaw twitched. Six years. Two thousand, one hundred and ninety days. Up at three in the morning to prep ingredients. Breakfast ready by five. Dropping him off at preschool by seven. Cleaning the house by nine. Grocery run at eleven. Picking him up at three-thirty. Teaching him to read in the evenings. Telling him stories until he fell asleep. The guy who lives in their house. Yeah. That was about right. The house was in Falcon’s name. The car was in Victoria’s name. The savings were in Victoria’s account. I really was nothing. “Okay.” I stood up. The officer was still saying something — probably the usual “kids don’t know any better” kind of thing. I wasn’t listening. I pocketed my phone and pushed open the station door. The March wind hit my face like a slap, cool and sharp. I stood on the front steps and pulled out my phone. Sent Victoria a text. “Your son is at the Sunshine Road police station. He told them I was a kidnapper. Come get him.” I stared at it for a second, then added one more line. “Let’s get a divorce tomorrow.” Fifteen seconds after I hit send, my phone rang. I declined the call. I didn’t want to hear her voice today. Six years. Everything I needed to say, I’d already said. Whatever was left — it didn’t need saying anymore. I stepped down off the stairs. Behind me, Jack started crying — probably realized no one was coming for him and lost his nerve. In the past, the moment he cried, my legs would go weak. Today, they didn’t. From here on out, I was done looking after him.

What happened six years ago is actually pretty simple. Falcon and I were coworkers. Same project team, desks right next to each other, the kind of guys who grabbed lunch at the cafeteria together. Nothing deeper than that — at most, he’d bring an extra sausage in his lunch and toss one my way. We were pulling an all-nighter and shared a ride home around 2 a.m. He took the passenger seat. I sat in the back. Dead tired, half-asleep, scrolling my phone. Then came the impact. A semi. Running a red light. The front of the car crumpled on impact. The steering wheel pinned the driver instantly. The airbag hit me and my head was ringing. I couldn’t see straight. Falcon grabbed me from the front seat. The traffic investigator told me later — he’d kicked open the rear door first, then shoved me out from behind. Then the car caught fire. He never made it out. At the funeral, Victoria stood there with her nine-month belly, and didn’t cry once. She stood perfectly straight, like a nail driven into the floor. After everyone left, she called out to me. “Balder.” I turned around. “Falcon’s gone,” she said. “The baby comes next month.” “Let me know if you need anything,” I told her. She looked up at me. Her eyes were red around the edges, but there were no tears. “A child can’t grow up without a father. Would you… would you marry me?” I stood in the hallway of the funeral home. Outside, November wind. The overhead lights cast a cold, pale glow. I understood what she meant. I was twenty-eight. No wife. No girlfriend. Falcon had used his life to push me out of that car. I owed him one. “Okay,” I said. One word. Six years on the line. By the time we went to register the marriage, her belly was enormous. The clerk smiled and offered congratulations. Victoria signed the form without expression and passed the pen to me. “I want to say something first,” she said. “Go ahead.” “I’ll have the baby myself. You just help take care of him. After that… I’m not going to have children with you.” I held the pen. A two-second pause. “Fine.” “And,” she looked at me, her tone as flat as if she were closing a business deal, “my career is in a growth phase. I don’t have time to manage things at home. If you’re willing — you could quit your job.” My salary at the time was decent. I was a core member of the project team. “Fine,” I said. She nodded, stood up, and left. Not a single “thank you.” Not once, from start to finish. I didn’t blame her. She didn’t think she owed me one. In her mind, this was a debt I owed Falcon. And maybe she was right. The day Jack was born, I waited outside the delivery room for six hours. A nurse came out carrying a tiny, wrinkled, impossibly ugly baby. “Congratulations,” she said. I took him. My hands were shaking. His eyes were shut tight, and he was screaming his lungs out. I looked at him and thought: Falcon, can you see this? Your son is really, really ugly. But alive. Alive is all that matters. From that day on, I was officially a full-time stay-at-home dad. Twenty-eight years old. Quit my job. Started learning how to mix formula, change diapers, and get a baby to stop crying. The neighbors watched me like I was an exotic animal. “Why is that young guy always out here with the baby?” “He’s probably living off his wife.” “His wife must be some kind of executive. She makes the money, he just hangs around the house.” I heard them. I didn’t explain. There was no point. No way to make it make sense. A grown man, not working, staying home with a kid. In this world, that makes you a freeloader.

When Jack was a year and a half, he learned to say “Mama.” Victoria happened to be home that day — she’d been working until one in the morning and had just walked in the door. Jack pulled himself up against the playpen railing and reached for her. “Mama! Mama!” Victoria froze for a second, then crouched down and held him. Smiled — rare, for her. I stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the dinner I’d kept warm for her. “Did you teach him to call you something too?” she asked. “I tried,” I said. “He still gets confused.” Jack turned and looked at me. “Da—” Something warm moved through my chest — but Victoria’s expression shut down. “Don’t teach him to call you Dad.” Her voice was quiet, but cold. “His father is Falcon. You’re Balder.” My hands went still around the plate. “Then… what should he call me?” “Uncle.” I looked at Jack’s small, confused face. He was barely a year and a half. He didn’t understand any of it. “Fine.” After that, Jack called me “Uncle Balder.” When Jack was three, Victoria got promoted to department director. She took her team out to celebrate. Didn’t invite me. I cooked a full dinner at home and waited until eleven at night, reheating the food three times. She came home smelling like wine. I took her bag and jacket. “You should eat something. Drinking on an empty stomach will wreck you.” She waved me off. “Not hungry. Tired.” “I made some oatmeal—” “I said I’m not hungry.” She frowned at me. “Are you deaf?” I stood in the entryway, her jacket still in my hands. “…Okay. Get some rest then.” I hung up her jacket, cleared the table, and packed everything into the fridge. The oatmeal, I finished myself. Victoria wasn’t a bad person. She just didn’t see me as a person. No — she did see me as a person. A utility. The one who cooked. The one who watched the kid. The one who handled the household. The one who paid the building fees. The one who signed for packages. Every task had my name on it. But not a single one left room for me. When Jack was four, Victoria’s mother came to stay for a month. Her name was Clara. She was a piece of work. First day in the door, she found me cutting vegetables in the kitchen. “Balder, Victoria says you quit your job?” “Yeah. I stay home with Jack.” “A man who doesn’t work.” She dropped her bag on the couch. “What kind of example is that. If I were twenty years younger, we wouldn’t need you here at all.” My knife stilled for a moment. I didn’t say anything. She kept going. “And don’t act like you’re being wronged. You get to live in this house and spend Victoria’s money. That’s already more than you deserve.” For that entire month, Clara found something to say to me every single day. “You didn’t mop that properly.” “Why is Jack coughing? What kind of job are you doing?” I endured it. Falcon’s life for mine. That was the trade. His wife and her mother could say what they wanted. I could take it. But there were some things I couldn’t. When Jack was five, he started the advanced preschool program. The teacher asked them to draw “My Family.” Jack brought the drawing home to show me. Three figures: a tall mom, a small version of himself, and a dad floating in the sky. The dad in the sky had a circle around his head. A halo. I wasn’t in the picture. “Jack,” I pointed at the paper. “Where am I?” He tilted his head, thought about it, then drew a small figure in the corner. “Who’s that?” “The babysitter.” I stared at the stick figure tucked in the corner. The corner of my mouth pulled. “Jack, I’m not the babysitter.” “Mom says you’re the person who takes care of us,” he said, completely earnest. “Isn’t that what a babysitter does?” I handed the drawing back to him. “Go wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.” That evening, when Victoria got home, I showed her the drawing. “Did you tell Jack I was the babysitter?” She was swapping out her heels for slippers, not looking up. “When did I say that? He came up with it himself.” “You told him I was ‘the person who takes care of you guys.’” “Isn’t that what you are?” She finally looked up. Calm. Level. “You don’t work. You don’t bring in money. You cook and pick up the kid every day. If that’s not ‘taking care of us,’ what would you call it?” I looked at her. She looked back at me. No emotion on her face — the way you’d look at a wall. Or a piece of furniture. Something you could swap out whenever it suited you. “Fine.” I turned and went back to the kitchen. When Jack was five and a half, Victoria signed him up for a taekwondo class. The instructor’s name was Porter. Two years younger than me, six-two, strong jaw, bright eyes, and a grin full of white teeth. Jack loved him. “Coach Porter is so cool!” “Coach Porter said I did great today!” “Mom, Coach Porter says I’m ready to compete!” Every time I picked Jack up from class, Porter would stop to chat. After a while I realized he wasn’t asking about Jack. He was asking about Victoria. “Has Jack’s mom been busy lately?” “Jack’s mom looked a little tired the other day. Everything okay?” “Jack’s mom has such a beautiful name.” I looked at his cheerful, open face. Porter. Heads up — she’s married. To me. I know, I know. I might as well be invisible. But legally, I’m still here. I didn’t say any of that. Not out of generosity. I just didn’t want to embarrass myself. On Jack’s sixth birthday, Victoria actually took a half day off work. That almost never happened. I cooked a full dinner and baked a cake from scratch — chocolate, Jack’s favorite. I was up at four in the morning to make it. Spent two hours on the frosting. We lit the candles. Jack squeezed his eyes shut to make a wish. “I wish Mom would always be with me… and…” He opened his eyes, looked at Victoria, then looked at me. “…and I wish that person would hurry up and leave.” Victoria didn’t react. The lighter slipped in my hand. “Which person?” I asked. Jack looked at me, eyes wide and guileless. Six-year-olds don’t know how to hide what they feel. He didn’t hate me. He just genuinely, sincerely believed — I was someone who didn’t belong. Victoria said quietly, “Okay. Make a wish and blow.” Jack took a deep breath and blew. The candles went out. Smoke curled up in thin ribbons, blurring his little face. I clapped once. “Happy birthday.” My voice came out steady. My hands were just a little cold.

Back to now. After the thing at the police station, I went home. I opened the door. The apartment was spotless — I’d mopped before I left that morning. The kitchen counter was wiped clean. The fridge was stocked with three days’ worth of groceries. Six years of habit. I walked into my room — the guest room, to be exact. Victoria had the master. In six years of marriage, we’d never shared a bed. The guest room was small. A twin-size bed. A wardrobe. I opened the wardrobe. There wasn’t much inside. Being a stay-at-home dad didn’t require a wardrobe. A few worn-in T-shirts and jeans were more than enough. I pulled out a suitcase and packed. Clothes. Two books. An old watch — my dad’s, the only thing he left me. Fifteen minutes, done. Six years of living, compressed into a single carry-on bag. Unbelievably light. I set the house keys on the shoe rack and took one last look around. The family photo on the living room wall didn’t have me in it. Jack’s growth wall had a few shots where you could catch my profile — I’d been caught in the frame while wiping his mouth, the kind of angle they couldn’t crop out without cutting him too. I laughed once, quietly. Grabbed my suitcase and walked out. The door shut behind me with a soft click. Clean. Final. In the elevator, I pulled out my phone. Victoria had texted back. “I picked up Jack. What is your problem? Why are you being like this?” “Tell me when you want to go tomorrow. I’ll make it work.” Ten seconds later: “Are you serious?” “Never been more serious.” A long silence. Then she called. I picked up. “Balder, are you out of your mind? You’re actually taking what a kid says literally?” “Victoria Hills.” I used her full name. My voice came out steadier than I expected. “Every single word he said — you put it there.” “I never—” “He called me ‘the guy who lives in their house.’ He drew me as the babysitter in his family portrait. His birthday wish was for me to disappear. Today at the station, he said he didn’t know me.” I leaned against the elevator wall. “Once is just kids being kids. Twice is picking things up at home. Three times, four times — Victoria, you might as well have carved ‘Balder isn’t family’ into his forehead.” Silence from her end. I kept going. “I owed Falcon my life. I didn’t owe you anything. Six years — debt paid, with interest. From today, you and I are done.” “You—” “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. We’re filing for divorce.” I hung up. The elevator opened on the ground floor. Outside, full sun. March sunlight hit my shoulders. Warm in a way that almost didn’t feel real. I wheeled my suitcase out of the building. Three steps out, my phone rang again. Clara. “Balder! You get back here right now! You think you’re too good for us now?!” I held the phone a few inches from my ear. Her voice still rattled my skull. “Six years you ate Victoria’s food, slept under Victoria’s roof, and now you just walk out?! What is wrong with you?!” I took a slow breath. “First — the house was Falcon’s. Not Victoria’s.” “Second — I never spent a dollar of her money. Everything in that house came out of my own savings.” “Third—” I smiled a little. “Your daughter hasn’t said a kind word to me in six years. And today her son told the police I was a kidnapper.” “So I’d love for you to tell me — who exactly is the one without a conscience?” I hung up and blocked the number. Like stepping out of a long, hot shower. I flagged down a cab. “Riverside Inn, on Carlton Street.” Small place I knew. Clean, quiet, around a hundred a night. More than enough. For the first time in six years, I didn’t have to arrange my day around what time Victoria came home or when Jack needed to eat. That whole afternoon, I lay on the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was white. There was a water stain in one corner. I stared at it for two hours. My head was empty. Not sad. Just — empty. For six years, every minute of every day had been full. Wall-to-wall, no gaps. Now, without warning, there was nothing. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I rolled over and picked up my phone. Scrolled through my contacts. Friends? Haven’t talked to any of them in six years. Old coworkers? Quit six years ago. Family? Both parents gone. Only child. I stared at the barren contact list. Almost laughed. Twenty-eight to thirty-four. The best six years of a man’s life. I gave them to a woman who never loved me and a kid who never claimed me. Stupid? Incredibly. But I don’t regret it. Falcon shoved me out of that car with his life on the line. That was real. These six years — that debt is cleared. From right now, Balder’s life belongs to Balder. I put down the phone and closed my eyes. Slept better than I had in six years.

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Everyone knew Ethan and I loved each other to our very core. To save me, he’d given me the only bottle of antitoxin, ready to die himself. To protect him, I’d used my body to shield him from a kidnapper’s knife, taking a fatal blow for him. Everyone thought we’d be together forever. But the day after he proposed, I dumped him cold-turkey and married Liam, who had been pursuing me for ages. Even after my betrayal, Ethan held no grudge. He still loved me like before. Later, when my daughter had a car accident, he even sacrificed his leg to save her. Even Liam, who despised Ethan to his very core, was eventually moved by Ethan’s unwavering love for me and became his good friend. When Ethan was unexpectedly diagnosed with a terminal illness, Liam even insisted on donating a kidney to him. But when I heard the news, I acted completely out of character. I gave Liam the cold shoulder. I insisted, “Liam, if you insist on giving a kidney to that Ethan, then we’re getting a divorce immediately!” Liam tried to reassure me, telling me not to worry about him. My daughter, Lily, also cried, begging me to save her Uncle Ethan. But I stared into Ethan’s deep, loving eyes, gave a cold laugh, and my voice was absolutely resolute. “Who’s worried about you? What I want is for Ethan to die a miserable death!” “If you dare to give him even half a kidney, I’ll divorce you completely, even if it means losing custody of Lily!” “Save him or choose me. You decide!”

The hospital room fell silent. Liam stared blankly at Ethan, then at me, pleading, “Summer, now’s not the time for games.” “I know you’re afraid I’ll misunderstand our relationship. I admit I used to think the worst.” “But he broke a leg to save our daughter. It would be heartless to just let him die!” Grandma Betty, who was sharing the room with Ethan, also nodded, looking at me with some reproach. “Exactly.” “Summer, we all saw how good Ethan was to you.” “Even if you married someone else and don’t like him, there’s no need to be so cruel and doom him to die.”

After delivering my harsh words in the hospital room, I drove straight home. The moment I walked in, I saw my parents, David and Brenda, and Liam’s parents, Robert and Carol, sitting in the living room, their expressions extremely serious. Brenda was about to speak when Carol stopped her. She sighed, looking at me with a touch of helplessness, and said calmly, “Summer, we know about Ethan’s situation.” “My dear, are you still worried that we’ll think something’s going on between you and Ethan, which is why you won’t let Liam help him?” “If that’s the reason, please don’t overthink it.” “After all, we’ve watched Ethan grow up since he was a child. Even if you two were together before, we wouldn’t misunderstand.” “Besides, Liam doesn’t mind, so why are you so set against it?” Seeing Carol’s understanding expression, I didn’t say a word and turned to leave. But Brenda rushed over and grabbed my arm, her face thunderous. “Summer, how did you become so cold-blooded?” “You broke up with Ethan cold-turkey back then, and less than a month after dumping him, you married Liam. Any other man would have hated you to death!” “But Ethan not only didn’t hate you, he’s been so good to you and Liam all these years. Where can you find a good man like that?” “Do you know that both your kidney and Liam’s are a match for Ethan, but he absolutely refused to use yours!” “Even if you don’t like him anymore, considering his feelings for you all these years, you shouldn’t doom him to die!” I coldly pushed Brenda’s hand away, glanced at her anxious expression, and smiled slightly. “So what? Did I force him to be good to me?” “All these years, because of him, Liam and I have argued countless times. He knows that better than anyone!” “A menace like him, if he dies, good riddance! I can finally live a quiet life then!” “You want me to save him? Dream on!” The moment my words fell, I received a harsh slap from Brenda. Her eyes red-rimmed, she pointed at me, trembling and yelling, “You beast, you’re an animal!” “How did I give birth to such a callous and ungrateful wretch! Instead of appreciating others’ kindness, you want to kill your benefactor!” I clutched my face, suppressing the sting in my nose, and was about to retort when Carol, who had come to mediate, pulled me aside. She sighed, comforting Brenda while trying to persuade me. “Summer, I watched you grow up and I know you’re a good child.” “Tell me honestly, do you have some unspoken difficulty? Or did Ethan hurt you by being with another woman, making you so ruthless?” I glanced at Carol and sneered, “Other things I can’t say, but when Ethan was with me, he absolutely never dated another woman.” Carol looked puzzled. “Then why do you hate him so much? Even after he broke a leg to save Lily, you still won’t forgive him?” I suppressed the emotions surging within me and said calmly, “Forget breaking a leg. Even if he died for Lily, it would be what he deserved!” “As for the kidney donation, my stance has always been clear.” “If Liam donates to him, I will divorce him.” “If any of you find a suitable kidney donor for Ethan, I will retaliate to the end!” “If you don’t mind being my enemy, then try me!” With that, I stormed out. After all, I run the family business now. No matter how much my parents objected, they wouldn’t dare completely fall out with me. As for Liam’s family, I control several key businesses, so they wouldn’t dare cross me. But as I got into the car, Sarah, my assistant, who had been following me, couldn’t help but ask, “Summer, I’m really curious, why are you so determined?” “Because before, I thought you and Mr. Ethan had a great relationship, and Mr. Liam doesn’t even mind, so why are you so…” I looked at Sarah and said, word for word, “Precisely because I once truly and deeply loved Ethan, I now have to watch him die!” Sarah looked bewildered. “Did Mr. Ethan do something to wrong you in the past?” I suddenly froze, as if struck by something, an aching emptiness in my chest. After a long while, I lowered my head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “No, Ethan truly loved me deeply and never betrayed me.” “When I accepted his proposal before, I was genuinely sincere, wanting to spend my life with him.” But now, everything has changed. Now, I only want Ethan. To die.

It wasn’t until late at night that I returned home alone. But the moment I entered the bedroom, the smile on my face froze. Liam was sitting on the bed, staring at me intently. Everything in the room had been changed. Books Ethan liked to read were on the desk, and the flowers in the vase had been replaced with Ethan’s favorite roses. In front of Liam was an empty medicine bottle. I remained silent, but Liam didn’t give me a chance to ignore everything. He slowly said, “Summer, have you truly forgotten these things?” “Even if you’ve forgotten everything else, you can’t have forgotten this, right?” He tapped the medicine bottle, sighed, and said with a solemn expression, “I really hated Ethan before, especially right after we got married.” “It sounds ridiculous, but I wrongly thought you two were still seeing each other and even confronted him.” “But no matter how much I hit him, he didn’t fight back, and finally he showed me this.” “That’s when I found out that when you two went on that expedition into the Amazonian rainforest, both of you were bitten by venomous snakes, but there was only one bottle of antitoxin.” “He gave the only bottle to you, and almost died from the snake venom himself…” “After that, I understood. He truly loves you. I can never compare to him.” “But I also know that without him, you wouldn’t be who you are today, so now, I truly see him as a benefactor.” As he spoke, he stood up and wrapped his arms around my waist, sighing into my ear, “Summer, I don’t know why you broke up with him cold-turkey back then, but believe me, I’m genuinely willing to save him.” “I swear, I won’t tamper with the surgery to harm him.” “You don’t have to worry about our marriage being ruined by him, nor do you have to worry about me doing anything to him.” “Let’s help him together, okay?” Liam’s words were so sincere that I was almost moved. But I remained silent, just staring intently at that small medicine bottle, almost in tears. I never forgot how much love and pain I felt when I thought I was going to die and saw Ethan give me the chance at survival. So I didn’t hide my feelings. “Liam, I admit, even today, I haven’t completely forgotten Ethan.” “His kindness to me, every moment we shared in the past, I still remember.” “I can even say that I still love him.” But the next second, I fiercely pushed Liam away and said coldly, “But precisely because of that, I *must* send him to his death!” “Only when he’s dead can my life return to normal, and our marriage can continue!” Liam looked at me with a complicated expression. After a long while, he slowly said, “Summer, to hide your guilt, you’d actually want someone who loves you to die.” “I’ve lived with you for five or six years, why did I never realize how malicious you are?” “Will you treat me the same way if I ever get in your way?” I couldn’t be bothered with him and was about to leave. But four-year-old Lily suddenly pushed open the door, her eyes red, and sobbed as she rushed into my arms, asking in a baby voice, “Mommy, please save Uncle Ethan, okay?” “Uncle Ethan got so badly hurt saving Lily. Lily doesn’t want Uncle Ethan to die!” I stared at my once beloved daughter, my smile icy cold. “Oh really?” “Well, too bad. Your Uncle Ethan is going to hell very soon.” I turned to leave, but accidentally bumped into Lily as I walked past her. My daughter fell to the floor, instantly crying out in pain. Liam immediately picked up Lily, glaring fiercely at me. “Summer, Lily is just a child, why would you say such cruel things to her!” “Ethan and I must have been blind back then, to have fallen for a woman like you!” “You don’t deserve to be Lily’s mother!” Lily huddled in Liam’s arms, crying her heart out. Her eyes, looking at me, also became filled with rejection and disgust, and she cried out, “Mommy’s bad! Lily doesn’t want a bad mommy!” “Uncle Ethan is a million times better than Mommy! Lily wants to go find Uncle Ethan!” Listening to the child’s shrill, piercing voice, all my previous annoyance suddenly surged up. I simply turned my head and said fiercely to Lily, “Fine, you can go find him now.” “Once I freeze all your bank cards, you and your Uncle Ethan can starve together!” Lily immediately fell silent, but her red eyes still glared at me fiercely. Liam looked utterly disappointed. “Summer, do you have any humanity left?” “Even to your own daughter, you’re this cruel?” I gave a cold smile, completely unfazed. “I told you, anyone who stands with Ethan is my enemy, and Lily is no exception.” “Liam, are you that eager to play the cuckold? To the point where you’d fall out with your own wife just to save a man who used to pursue her?” “Or do you have some unspeakable癖好 (secret fetish)?” Liam’s face instantly changed, and a flicker of guilt passed through Lily’s eyes. I didn’t bother with them anymore and simply went to a hotel. On the way, Sarah told me that the last bit of Ethan’s family assets had also been completely devoured by my company, Su Group. Seeing my triumphant smile, she still looked puzzled. “Summer, do you really have no feelings left for Ethan?” I shook my head. “No. From beginning to end, the only person I loved was Ethan.” Sarah looked even more confused. “Then why are you so against Mr. Liam donating a kidney to Ethan?” “After all, it’s Mr. Liam’s body that’s being harmed, not yours. Why do you care so much?” My eyes suddenly turned sharp and ruthless, and I sneered, “My love for Ethan doesn’t conflict with my desire for him to die.” “Now that all of Ethan’s family assets are in my name.” “It’s time to unveil this grand scheme.”

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On Christmas Eve, I braved the heavy snow, hurrying home. On the way, I scrolled through a trending post. [My family’s parasite insists on coming for Christmas dinner, but we just want a cozy holiday as a family of three. How do we subtly tell her to get lost?] I remember thinking, *seriously? In this day and age, people still have such freeloading relatives? They totally deserve to be shunned.* The top-voted comment was particularly nasty: [Just change the front door code, pretend you can’t hear the knocking. After she freezes for two hours, she’ll leave.] I chuckled, shaking my head at my phone, and texted Brenda, my mom, that I was almost there. She instantly replied with a warm “Waiting for you,” and my heart swelled. Half an hour later, I stood at my front door and entered the code three times. The lock’s cold voice prompted: [Password incorrect.] Thinking the lock was broken, I was about to knock when I heard laughter from inside. Through the crack under the door, I saw Kevin, my brother, snapping photos of a lavish spread of food. The next second, a new update popped up on my Ins feed from Kevin. [Christmas dinner without outsiders is true family bonding! Merry Christmas, everyone!] In that photo, Mom and Dad were smiling more relaxed than I’d ever seen them. On the table, there were only three place settings. My hand, raised to knock, froze in mid-air. The chill in my heart was far more biting than the wind and snow.

In this house, I paid the mortgage. I covered the utilities. I sent money for living expenses every single month. Yet, on Christmas Day, I was the superfluous “outsider.” I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the bitter ache welling in my chest. *Maybe it’s a misunderstanding?* *Maybe Kevin’s “outsider” referred to some other unwanted guest?* My hand trembling, I dialed Mom’s number. The ringtone chimed a few times from inside the house, then was abruptly hung up. Immediately after, a SnapChat message arrived. **[Olivia, we’re watching TV, and it’s loud, so we can’t hear. How much longer until you arrive? Drive safely, no rush.]** A lie. A complete and utter lie. I was standing right outside the door. From inside, I distinctly heard energetic rock music, not a Christmas special. And they definitely heard the phone ring; they just deliberately hung up. My knuckles turned white as I clutched my phone. Still unwilling to give up, I pounded hard on the door. “Dad! Mom! I’m home! Open the door!” The music inside abruptly cut out for a second. Then, Kevin’s cracking voice rang out. “Seriously? Why is that freeloader here so early? Such a buzzkill.” Mom’s hushed voice followed. “Shh! Lower your voice! Don’t let her hear you.” “Who cares if she hears! She just *had* to come back and annoy everyone on Christmas. She never considers if she’s even wanted.” Kevin complained carelessly, but his footsteps were coming toward the door. A sliver of hope sparked in my chest. *At least they’ll open the door now, right?* However, the footsteps stopped right at the door. Through the thin wood, I heard Kevin’s sneering laugh. “Olivia, the password changed. You know how forgetful you are.” “What’s the new password?” I asked, struggling to control my anger. “The new password, huh…” Kevin drew out the words. “It’s the sum of our family of three’s birthdays. You can figure it out.” *A family of three.* Dad, Mom, Kevin. Sure enough, there was no place for me in this family. My mind buzzed. “Kevin, stop messing around. It’s snowing heavily out here, and I’m freezing. Open the door!” “If you’re cold, just jump around a bit to warm up.” Kevin smirked. “Besides, Mom said the lock is a bit finicky; it takes a while to open. Why don’t you stand outside and think about why you always have to come back and be annoying during the holidays?” My eyes widened in disbelief. *Reflect?* *What did I do wrong?* *Because I worked hard all year and just wanted to come home for a warm meal?* Just then, my phone vibrated again. The trending post had a new reply. **OP: [That parasite knocking at the door is annoying, but listening to her shiver outside while we eat king crab inside feels amazing! Thanks for the tips, everyone!]** The post included a photo taken through a peephole. In the picture, I was covered in snow, looking disheveled, like a stray dog. At that moment, all the blood in my veins turned to ice. *It turned out the person who posted about a “parasite” in the family was my own brother, Kevin!* *And that “parasite,” mocked by the entire internet, with suggestions to freeze her for two hours until she leaves?* *That was me.*

I stared at the photo, my eyes burning, yet unable to shed a single tear. *Who was the real parasite here?* I paid the down payment for this house. I paid the $12,000 monthly mortgage. I covered Kevin’s tuition and living expenses for all four years of college. Even the king crab they were eating right now? I’d specifically ordered it on Amazon and had it shipped home last week! Now, the real parasites were sitting in *my* house, eating *my* food, trying to freeze *me*, the owner, to death outside? Fury broke through my reason. I suddenly lifted my foot and kicked the door hard. “Kevin! I know you’re in there! Open this door!” “This is *my* house! What right do you have to lock me out?!” The loud bang startled the neighbors. Mrs. Davies, from across the hall, poked her head out, looking surprised. “Oh, isn’t that Olivia? Why are you shouting outside on Christmas?” A flurry of commotion erupted inside the house. Perhaps worried about looking bad, the door finally opened. Mom appeared in the doorway, her face grim. There wasn’t a hint of concern in her eyes, only reproach. “What are you shouting about! Are you trying to make sure everyone knows you’re back? You’re an adult, act like it! No manners!” I was stiff from the cold, my hand clutching my suitcase trembling. “Mom, why did the password change? Why didn’t you answer my call? What’s with Kevin’s post?” Mom’s gaze flickered, and she stepped aside. “Come in first, we’ll talk inside. It’s Christmas, don’t make a scene out here.” I dragged my heavy suitcase into the entryway. A rush of warm air hit me, mixed with the scent of seafood. But this warmth didn’t belong to me. In the living room, Kevin was sprawled on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a crab leg still dangling from his mouth. Dad sat next to him, picking a succulent piece of crab meat and placing it on Kevin’s plate. On the dining table, there were indeed only three place settings. My usual spot was piled high with clutter and delivery boxes. When I entered, Dad didn’t even lift an eyelid. “Now that you’re back, shut your mouth. Don’t bring your bad vibes into the house.” I froze. “Dad, I’m part of this family too. Is me coming home for Christmas considered ‘bad vibes’?” Dad slammed his forks onto the table. “Look at all that snow on you! You’re getting water all over the floor! Can’t you even clean yourself up?” “And kicking the door the moment you arrive! What kind of behavior is that? Is this what you learned in the big city?” I looked down at myself. My puffer coat was soaked with melted snow, my shoes completely wet. Kevin, meanwhile, was wearing a brand-new Adidas tracksuit—the Christmas gift he’d cried and begged me for last month. Over three hundred dollars. I gritted my teeth and pushed my suitcase aside. “Where are my slippers?” The shoe cabinet was empty. My pink fluffy slippers were gone. Mom emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming plate of dumplings. “Oh, those old slippers were worn out. I threw them away a couple of days ago. Haven’t had time to buy new ones. Just use those shoe covers for now.” She pointed her chin towards a blue plastic shoe cover nearby. They were for the plumber. Kevin burst out laughing. “Mom, look at her in those blue shoe covers! Doesn’t she look like she just stepped out of surgery?” “Hahahaha, Olivia, your outfit is so unique. Want me to take a picture for Ins?” With that, he actually raised his phone to snap a photo of me. I rushed over and slapped his phone out of his hand. “Kevin! Haven’t you had enough?!” The phone landed on the carpet, unbroken. But Kevin reacted as if he’d suffered a massive injustice, letting out a wail. “Dad! Mom! Look at her! She hits me the moment she comes home! And she tried to smash my phone!” Dad abruptly stood up, grabbing the ashtray from the table and hurling it at me. “You damn brat! You’re out of control!”

The ashtray grazed my ear, smashing into the mirror in the entryway. With a *CRASH*, the mirror shattered, glass shards flying, one slicing my cheek. A sharp sting. I touched it, and my fingertips came away stained with blood. The living room fell silent. Dad seemed surprised that he’d actually hit me. He paused, then defiantly yelled again. “What are you looking at! It’s your own fault for not dodging! Useless!” Mom gasped and rushed over, not to check my wound, but to frantically pick up the phone from the floor. “Oh no, this is the latest model! It cost over a thousand dollars! If it’s broken, you couldn’t pay for it even if we sold you!” I stood amidst the shattered mess, watching this absurd scene unfold. My face was bleeding, and my heart was bleeding. “Mom, that’s my face. I’m hurt.” I pointed to the bloodstain on my cheek, my voice hoarse. Mom glanced up at me, then impatiently waved her hand. “What’s the big deal about a scratch? Just put a band-aid on it! Stop being so dramatic!” “If Kevin’s phone is broken, that’s real money! How much is your ugly face even worth?” Kevin got his phone back, checked it, and confirmed it wasn’t broken. Then, triumphantly, he made a mocking face at me. “Exactly, you’re already ugly, a broken face just means you can get plastic surgery. Maybe then someone will actually marry you.” “And if you hurt me, don’t you think my millions of followers will come for you?” Millions of followers? I scoffed. “Those followers of yours, aren’t they all from talking trash about having a ‘crazy older sister’?” “What? Are you done playing innocent now that you’re sucking blood from the source?” Kevin’s face changed. “You snooped through my phone? You invaded my privacy!” “You locked your sister out and posted it online for clout. Is that ‘privacy’?” I advanced toward the dining table, step by step. The plate of king crab, barely touched, its red shell gleamed mockingly under the light. I reached out and flipped the table over. “Since I’m a parasite, since I’m an outsider, then nobody gets to eat this meal!” A *CRASH* and clatter. Plates, forks, king crab, dumplings—everything crashed to the floor, sauce splattering everywhere. That lavish Christmas dinner instantly became trash. “Ah—! My king crab!” Kevin shrieked as if he’d been physically wounded. Mom screamed and rushed over, shoving me. “Are you insane! Olivia! Have you lost your mind?!” “That’s money! You wasteful brat! If you don’t want to eat, then leave! Why flip the table?!” Dad’s face was livid with rage. He grabbed the nearby solid wood chair, ready to throw it at me. “I’ll kill you today, you ungrateful daughter!” I dodged, and the chair slammed onto the floor with a dull thud. “Go ahead! If you have the guts, kill me!” My eyes red-rimmed, I stared at them intently. “Kill me, and see who pays your mortgage after this! Who buys Kevin designer brands! Who takes care of you in your old age!” That sentence seemed to hit their Achilles’ heel. Dad’s raised hand froze in mid-air. Mom also stopped her cursing, her eyes flickering. Kevin, however, scrambled up from the floor and pointed his finger at my nose. “Don’t threaten us with the mortgage! This house is in Dad’s name! What does it have to do with you?!” “Besides, you make so much money, what’s wrong with spending a little on family? You *owe* us!” “Mom and Dad raised you, isn’t it your duty to give back?” *I owe them?* From childhood, the best food went to Kevin, new clothes went to Kevin. I wore my cousin’s hand-me-downs and ate leftovers. I earned my college tuition by working part-time, and my living expenses from odd jobs. After graduation, I worked my butt off. As soon as my paycheck arrived each month, more than half of it went to them. For this house, I drained three years of savings and took out online loans just to scrape together the down payment. All because Mom said Kevin needed a house for his wedding, or his girlfriend’s family wouldn’t agree. To get my name added to the property deed, they made a huge scene, eventually forcing me to sign an agreement. The agreement stated that although the house was in Dad’s name, I would pay the mortgage. Once Kevin got married, half the house would be transferred to me. Now it was clear this was a complete and utter scam.

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My father was a raging alcoholic. Every time he got drunk, he’d abuse me and my brother, Leo. Afterward, he’d always throw a few hundred dollars at me as compensation. I accepted it calmly, sometimes even buying him his favorite greasy burger and a cheap bottle of whiskey. The neighbors tried to call the police for me, but I shook my head. I touched my bruised arm and smiled faintly. “If he hits me twice more, Leo will be hit twice less.” Until that night, when he got drunk again and pushed Leo off a tall building at a construction site. Robert’s slap landed, and I heard the crisp snap of teeth colliding. One side of my face burned. My mouth filled with the taste of iron. A banknote fluttered to my feet. “Take it! Take the damn money!” “This is your old man’s generosity, go buy something good to fix yourself up!” Robert’s neck was thick and red, his chest heaving, spittle flying onto my face. I said nothing, bending down to fumble for the money on the ground with fingers still swollen from being stepped on. The money was stained with my and Leo’s blood. But I knew, money was the only thing that could buy us what we needed. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with my sleeve, lifted my eyelids, and stared fixedly at him. “What are you staring at?! Stare at me like that again, and I’ll gouge your eyes out and pickle them in booze! Now, go get me my alcohol!” He roared, then slumped onto the blackened wicker chair. The chair groaned under the strain. In the corner, Leo cowered behind the old kitchen counter, trembling. His arm was red and swollen, covered in purple belt marks. I walked over, squatted down, and touched his burning wound with my cold fingers. Leo flinched sharply, lifting his head. His eyes were filled with hatred. “Sarah… it hurts…” he squeezed out a groan. “Bear with it,” I whispered into his ear, my voice icy. “It will be over soon.” I stood up, clutching the fifty-dollar bill in my hand, and walked out into the dusty wind. The convenience store had a strange smell. I slapped the money onto the counter. “Mr. Henderson, I need a gallon of the nastiest rotgut.” “The kind that feels like it’s burning a hole through your gut.” The owner looked at the slap mark on my face. “Oh, Sarah, child, why do you put yourself through this?” “Your father beats you like this, and you still serve him?” “Yeah, that Robert is an animal.” “If I were you, I’d have put rat poison in his drink long ago.” The men hanging around were just spitting and talking loudly. I ignored them, watching expressionlessly as Mr. Henderson poured the murky liquid into a plastic jug. Next door, I bought two pounds of fatty cuts of pork. When I returned home, Robert was already passed out on the table, snoring like a freight train. I slammed the jug of liquor onto the table. The dull thud startled him awake. He suddenly sprang up. “My booze! Where’s my booze!” “Did you, you wretched girl, steal my liquor?!” He snatched the jug, pulled off the cap, and guzzled it down. The murky liquid streamed down his stubble, wetting his greasy undershirt. “Dad, here’s some braised pork, eat it while it’s hot.” “It’s all fatty, smells delicious.” I pushed the plate of pork in front of him, my voice submissive. Robert grabbed a piece of fatty meat and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing until his chin was dripping with grease. “Mmm… Sarah’s so devoted… much better than that bastard brother of yours…” “That bastard is nothing but a burden…” As he spoke, he suddenly raised a hand and slapped himself hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the empty shack, making Leo in the corner flinch. “Dad’s at his wit’s end… Dad truly is at his wit’s end…” “Sarah, don’t blame your old man…” He burst into tears, snot and tears smearing his face. I stood in the shadows, watching him with cold eyes. I pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from my pocket – an accident insurance policy. In the dim light, I checked the effective date over and over, a cold smile playing on my lips. Three more days. Just three more days, and his life would be worth something. Robert cried enough, then took another large gulp of alcohol, letting out a burp that sprayed onto my face. “Sarah… you drink too… it won’t hurt anymore if you drink…” “You’ll see your mom if you drink…” He held the bottle out to me, his bloodshot eyes staring. I quietly watched the vein in his neck throbbing wildly. I calculated in my mind how much longer that vein would beat. “I won’t drink, Dad. I don’t hurt.” I said softly. The shack was damp and stuffy, filled with a foul smell. I rubbed balm on Leo’s back wounds. With each stroke, his muscles tensed, but he bit his lip and didn’t utter a sound.

“Sarah, I want to kill him.” Leo suddenly spoke, his voice cold. My hand froze, the balm dripping onto the sheet, spreading a dark red stain. “Don’t be silly,” I reprimanded in a low voice. “Murder means prison, we still need to live our lives.” “Then how much longer do we have to wait?” He turned his head, his eyes fixed on mine. “Soon.” I pulled up his shirt, covering his scars. “Once that day comes, we’ll be free.” Outside the shack, Robert’s loud voice drifted in, him bragging to his coworkers. “I tell you, having a daughter is like having a goldmine!” “When she gets married, the dowry will be at least fifty grand!” “Robert, you’re full of it. Your girl’s as skinny as a rail.” “Who’d pay that much money?” “Bullshit! My girl’s slender!” “Besides, she’s obedient! If I tell her to go east, she won’t dare go west!” A burst of laughter followed. My heart remained unmoved. That evening at dinner, I crushed a bottle of disulfiram, an alcohol deterrent, and mixed it into Robert’s blood pressure medication bottle. The book said disulfiram, if consumed with alcohol, would trigger violent psychotic episodes within 5-10 minutes. Robert suspected nothing, grabbing a handful of pills and shoving them into his mouth, washing them down with a large gulp of the rotgut. “Why does this medicine taste a little bitter?” He smacked his lips, frowning. “Good medicine tastes bitter, Dad. This is imported, it works really well.” I lied without batting an eye. After a few more drinks, the medication kicked in. Robert became agitated, pacing around the room, his eyes bulging. “Ghosts! There are ghosts! That dead bitch is back!” “She’s here to claim my life!” He pointed at the empty corner, screaming and waving an empty liquor bottle. Leo and I huddled in the corner of the bed, watching him go mad with cold eyes, calculating that the medicine was indeed working! The next morning, Mr. Jenkins from the neighboring village came knocking. He was a local contractor and also a pimp. “Robert, Sarah’s not getting any younger, I see.” “That limp Mr. Davies from the next town is offering ten thousand dollars as a dowry…” My hand, washing clothes, abruptly stopped. To my surprise, Robert suddenly flew into a rage, smashing the bottle of liquor Mr. Jenkins had brought. “Get out! You old scumbag!” “Who said I’m selling my daughter?! My daughter is going to college!” He grabbed a shovel and went after Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Jenkins scrambled out of the shack. I was stunned. Late that night, I was woken by grinding teeth. I saw Leo sitting on the bed. Moonlight shone on his face. He held a rusty pair of scissors, hovering them over Robert’s head. I scrambled up, snatched the scissors, and clapped my hand over his mouth. “Are you crazy?! Didn’t we agree I’d be the one to do it!” I hissed into his ear. Leo turned his head to look at me, his face full of grievance. “Sarah, I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m afraid he’ll sell you again.” “I don’t want to be separated from you.” I hugged his frail body, tears streaming uncontrollably. “It won’t happen. I’ll never abandon you.” The next day, Robert sobered up. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a photo of Leo and me. We were smiling happily in the picture; it was taken when Mom was still alive. A tear dropped onto the photo, landing on Mom’s face. “Sarah… take good care of your brother from now on… Dad’s a piece of trash…” “Dad’s sorry for you both…” He mumbled, his voice hoarse. I stood outside the door, listening to his repentance, my mind solely on that spiked bottle of liquor. The sky was gloomy, storm clouds gathered. On the construction site, the wind howled through the scaffolding. A thirty-story building, with only a few steel pipe railings. Robert was on the night shift today, guarding building materials on the rooftop. I used the excuse of bringing him food, and with Leo, slipped into the construction zone, avoiding all cameras. After climbing thirty flights of stairs, my legs were trembling. “Sarah, it’s here.” Leo pointed to the railing near the edge, his voice calm. Leo pulled an adjustable wrench from his backpack and handed it to me.

“Sarah, do it. Just two turns.” “No one will ever find out. It’ll just be an accident.” I took the wrench, my palms slick with sweat. I squatted down, gritting my teeth, and jammed the wrench onto the nut fixing the railing. The nut was rusted solid. I used too much force, and my fingernail snapped, bleeding. “My turn.” Leo pushed me aside, picked up a crowbar, and inserted it into the steel pipe’s connection point. With a soft “CRACK,” the weld snapped, and the steel pipe wobbled. We then poured a layer of used engine oil onto the steel pipe. Leo looked at the trap, a faint smile on his face. After all this, we packed up, ready to head back the way we came. As we reached the second-floor stairwell, a cough suddenly came from a dark corner. “Cough, cough… Who’s there! Trying to steal my rebar, huh?! Stop right there!” It was Robert’s voice. I grabbed Leo’s hand and was about to run for the exit. “Sarah? Leo? What are you two doing here?” Robert emerged from the shadows, holding a flashlight. The bright light blinded me. I instinctively tried to hide the backpack behind my back. “Dad… I… I saw it was going to rain today, so I brought you some warm clothes.” I stammered an explanation. Robert looked at us suspiciously, his gaze lingering on our muddy shoes. “Why didn’t you call me if you were bringing clothes?” “This construction site is full of hazards, what if you fall?” He grumbled, pulling a plastic bag from his pocket and stuffing it into my hand. “Take it! These are calcium supplements, for Leo.” “The kid’s too short.” I clutched the bag of calcium, still warm from his body heat. “Thank you, Dad. You… be careful up there, the wind’s strong.” “Don’t drink too much.” “Alright, alright, now hurry home and do your homework!” “You two just annoy me! You two burdens!” He waved a hand, turned, and walked upstairs, his back stooped. I watched his silhouette disappear, the cold wrench in my backpack digging painfully into my back. Late that night, the heavy rain arrived as expected, lightning tearing across the sky. Thunder shook the construction site, all sounds drowned out by the rain. Leo and I, wrapped in raincoats, climbed to the top floor. In the shack, Robert sat by the railing, holding a liquor bottle. I had spiked that bottle with half a bottle of disulfiram, and with the liquor’s strong taste, he hadn’t noticed. After drinking half a bottle of the doctored liquor, Robert’s eyes bulged, his face contorted in madness. “Drink! All of you, drink!” “Tonight, us two men won’t stop until we’re drunk! Hahaha!” Seeing us enter, he slammed the bottle onto the table. “Sarah! Leo! You’re just in time!” “Look, your mom’s here to pick us up! She’s flying in the sky!” He pointed at the night sky outside, a twisted smile on his face. Suddenly, his expression changed. “No! You bitch! How dare you bring another man here!” “You’re making a fool of me!” He grabbed a wooden stool and smashed it fiercely into the air. Wood chips flew. He turned, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Leo. “It’s you! You bastard!” “You’re the one who led your mom astray! You must be her and that other man’s bastard! You want to hurt me, don’t you!” He lunged forward, clutching a broken stool leg. “Run! Run!” I shouted, pushing Leo toward the railing. Leo screamed, turning to run, his steps faltering. “I’ll cleanse this family today!” “I’ll kill you two dogs! Die, both of you!” Robert ran wildly on the muddy ground, chasing Leo. Leo reached the railing, stopping abruptly. He turned to look at Robert, then leaned backward. Half his body instantly hung in the air. “Ah! Help!” Leo let out a scream. Robert reached him, saw Leo falling, and his expression froze. The murderous intent in his eyes instantly turned to terror. “Leo!” He roared, threw away the stool leg, and lunged without hesitation. He grabbed Leo’s collar tightly, trying to pull him back. The railing couldn’t bear the weight of two people. “CRACK!” A muffled snap. The steel pipe came loose, and the railing instantly collapsed. Robert lost his balance and tumbled over with the railing. Leo, however, using Robert’s push, flipped back onto the platform. He lay on the ground, panting, his eyes calm. Robert didn’t fall immediately; he grabbed onto the rebar at the edge of the platform. He hung suspended in mid-air, the heavy rain washing over his face. “Sarah… save me… pull your old man up…” “Please, pull your old man up…” He saw me, and desperation exploded in his eyes. I walked to the edge of the platform, looking down at him. Rainwater ran from my hair into my eyes, stinging. I slowly squatted down, reached out my hand, and placed it over his. “Dad, didn’t you say living was too tiring?” I said softly. Robert was stunned: “Sarah… what are you doing… I’m your dad…” “I’m your own father…” “I know.” I nodded, forcing a smile. “So, I’m sending you to see Mom. She’s been waiting for you down there for a long time.” With that, I exerted force, one by one, prying his fingers open. Just as he was about to fall, a sudden chill ran down my spine. Behind me, in the rain, I heard extremely faint footsteps. Robert stared intently at the shadow behind me, his face contorted with terror. “Run!!” The next second, before I could act, he actually let go of the hand he was using to save himself!

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My mother always said that people don’t learn from being told; they learn instantly from experience. When I was little, I reached for a kettle of boiling water, and she just stood by and watched coldly. I screamed and cried when I got burned. “Good, it hurts,” she said. “If it doesn’t hurt, you won’t remember.” I didn’t know how to read traffic lights, and she didn’t warn me; instead, she urged me to walk faster. I got hit by an electric scooter and was thrown flying, needing seven stitches. But she told me, “Getting hit once will teach you a lesson for life. It’s a good thing.” I became cautious and composed. To escape my toxic family, I studied hard and got into a top university. My mother, however, believed it was a testament to her successful parenting. She’d tell everyone that this was how you had to raise kids – talking sense was useless; they’d understand once they suffered a loss. Later, when she made a spectacle of herself in our upscale neighborhood, I stayed silent. When she got completely taken in by a scamming group, I watched her fall right into their trap with cold eyes. Doesn’t she love learning from experience? Then let her have her fill!

After my dad passed away, my mom packed up bags and bags, saying that after raising me for so long, it was time for her to come enjoy the good life in the big city. But she didn’t even make it into the complex before security mistook her for a thief and detained her. When I arrived, my mom was being pinned against a wall by a security guard. Her hair was disheveled, and she was flailing wildly. “Let me go! My daughter lives here! What right do you have to grab me?!” People around us were holding up their phones, pointing and whispering. “That lady was climbing over the fence just now, acting so shady. She definitely looks like trouble.” “No decent person would do that. I heard thieves these days target fancy neighborhoods.” “She’s pretty quick on her feet, probably a veteran.” “Bullshit! I’m not a thief!” My mom struggled violently, spitting on the ground. “Get my daughter! I want my daughter!” I walked over. The security guard saw me and looked like I was his savior. His neck and face were covered in bleeding scratches; she’d clearly put up a fight. “Are you family?” the guard asked me. I nodded. “She didn’t have an access card and insisted on forcing her way in. I told her visitor registration was an option, but then she refused when I asked for her ID!” The guard’s face was flushed with anger. “She took a detour to climb the fence and was mistaken for a thief by patrol. Not only was she foul-mouthed, but she hit me!” “So what if I hit you! You worthless security guard, who do you think you are! How dare you stop me? I’m going to report you!” My mom yelled, her face pressed against the wall, twisting her head back. The guard’s face darkened. “Call the police,” I told the guard. “You shouldn’t have to put up with this for nothing.” The guard was stunned. “After all, experience teaches you instantly.” I shrugged indifferently. “So let’s make sure she learns her lesson.” That’s when my mom finally spotted me. “You little brat, say that again?!” Her voice shot up, piercingly sharp. “Your own mother is being bullied like this, and you’re siding with an outsider! Do you have no conscience?” “Do you know how hard it was for me to raise you? Your dad just died, and you treat me like this? If you’d come out and picked me up earlier, would I have had to climb the fence? Did you even give me an access card?” “I did.” My mom didn’t react immediately. “I gave it to you on Dad’s funeral day. It was on your nightstand.” She opened her mouth, her eyes blank, then a look of sudden realization dawned on her. “You ungrateful girl! You didn’t even remind me! I thought it was just some useless ad flyer and already threw it away!” “Remind you?” I chuckled. “Mom, don’t you always say that you only learn when you suffer a loss? I was just trying to help you develop your organizational skills. Experience teaches you instantly; next time, you’ll remember to put things in their proper place.”

Some people around us snickered. “That lady is something else, so unreliable and still blaming her daughter.” “Poor girl, stuck with a mom like that.” My mom’s face flushed then paled, her lips trembling for a long time before she finally managed to blurt out, “Don’t give me that nonsense! Just make them let me go!” “Alright, two choices.” I pulled out my phone. “First, you apologize to the security guard and pay for his medical expenses. Second, the police take you in, and you face detention and fines. You choose.” “You ungrateful wretch! I gave birth to you, I raised you…” “Choose.” She glared at me, her eyes bloodshot. More and more people gathered to watch the scene. The security guard lowered his restraining device, also waiting. Seeing her delay, I lost patience and started dialing numbers, ready to call the police. “Wait!” She finally lowered her head, squeezing out through gritted teeth: “I’m sorry.” The security guard didn’t say anything. She gritted her teeth, pulled out a handful of crumpled bills from her pocket, and shoved them into the guard’s hand without counting. “That’s all?” I frowned, turning to the guard. “If that’s not enough, maybe you should scratch my mom a couple of times too. Otherwise, she won’t learn her lesson.” “I’ll get it! I’ll get it, alright?!” My mom shrieked, shooting me a furious look, and pulled out a few more bills. I nodded, and only then did the security guard accept it. I swiped my access card, and my mom dashed inside as if escaping. Once inside the apartment, she started yelling obscenities. “You unfilial daughter! You sided with an outsider to make your mother suffer! And you made me apologize to that worthless security guard? Does he deserve it?” “That rotten security guard looked down on me! This isn’t over; I’ll make him pay!” I nodded. “Go ahead and do whatever you want. After all, you learn your lesson when you suffer a loss.” She was choked into silence by my words and stormed back to her room in a fit of rage. The next day, I was at work, my phone bombarded with messages. My mom sent a pile of photos, all of the persimmon trees in the complex. “Can I pick these?” she asked me. I ignored her. “If you don’t answer, I’m picking them.” A while later, she added, “Watch how I get back at that rotten security guard. I’ll make sure he loses his job.” I smirked coldly. Go ahead and cause more trouble. Let’s see how big a fall you take this time. When I got home that evening, I opened the door and froze. The living room was completely filled with persimmons; there was nowhere to even step. My mom sat on the couch, legs crossed, happily munching on snacks. Several empty persimmon peels were on the table. “You’re back.” She beamed with triumph. “Today I finally got my revenge.” “You picked all the persimmons?” “Yes! Not a single one left!” My mom gloated. “Today I saw that security guard watering the trees, so these persimmons must be his. I’ll let him grow them! I’ll let him act all smug! I picked them all bare, I’ll infuriate him!” I was silent for two seconds. “These are ornamental persimmons. You can’t eat them.” My mom’s hand, cracking snacks, paused. “And he didn’t plant them; it’s his job to water and maintain them.” “Bullshit!” She slammed down a snack peel. “His job? Why would he be so dedicated, watering them so carefully? I’m telling you, he planted them!” “Rich people are so stuck up! They look so good, but you can’t eat them? Who are you trying to fool?” She grabbed a persimmon, rubbed it on her clothes, and took a big bite. “These are all pretty sweet, aren’t they?” Chewing on the persimmon, she grew smug again. “Even if he didn’t plant them, with the persimmons gone, his boss will definitely chew him out. That’s called increasing his workload!” I looked at her, saying nothing. “You little brat, why are you staring at me?” “The complex has surveillance cameras,” I reminded her. She paused, then waved a dismissive hand. “So what about cameras? What’s the big deal about picking a few rotten persimmons? Are they going to arrest me?” No sooner had she spoken than the doorbell rang. I went to open the door. The property manager stood at the entrance, next to a police officer in uniform. “Hello, Officer,” the officer said, flashing his badge. “Is your mother home?”

My mom heard the commotion and sprang up from the couch. Seeing the police, she panicked. “What’s wrong?” Her voice trembled. The officer walked in, saw the floor covered in persimmons, and frowned. “Did you pick these persimmons?” My mom’s face instantly went white. “I… I just picked them for fun.” “For fun?” The property manager scoffed. “Those are Japanese Sweetheart Persimmons, a valuable ornamental variety. One plant costs over four hundred dollars! They finally bore fruit, and you picked every single one, not a single one left!” My mom’s legs went weak, and she leaned on the couch to steady herself. “The surveillance cameras clearly captured everything,” the property manager pulled out his phone. “You were picking from one in the afternoon until five, running back and forth over a dozen times!” “Destroying other people’s property, a significant amount, constitutes a criminal offense. You’ll have to come with us.” The officer pulled out handcuffs. “I didn’t know!” My mom’s voice was shrill and piercing. “I really didn’t know! I thought they were just ordinary persimmons!” She sharply turned her head and glared at me. “You! You knew all along, didn’t you? I asked you if I could pick them, why didn’t you answer me?” I said nothing. “You did it on purpose! You deliberately set me up!” She lunged at me, trying to hit me, but the officer quickly intervened. “No hitting!” A crowd of neighbors had already gathered at the door, craning their necks to look inside. “Isn’t that the one who climbed the fence yesterday?” “It really is her. Now she’s picking ornamental persimmons? That’s wild.” “Take her away, take her away, stop her from causing more trouble here.” My mom’s face turned a deep crimson, and she roared, “You dare lay a hand on me?! Taking someone away just for a few rotten persimmons? What kind of world do we live in?!” No sooner had she finished speaking than her face suddenly changed. She clutched her stomach and slowly bent down, squatting. “Ow…” Her face was pale. “Stop faking it!” The property manager frowned. “You were just trying to hit someone, and now you’re putting on an act again?” “I’m not faking it, my stomach hurts so bad…” Her body went limp, and she collapsed directly to the ground, writhing and clutching her stomach. Then a terrible stench filled the air. The neighbors covered their noses and backed away. “Oh my God!” “What is that awful smell?!” “She had an accident!” A puddle spread on the floor, and my mom was curled up in it, her face pale and yellowish, forehead covered in sweat. “Eating seven or eight persimmons in one go, and ornamental ones at that,” I looked down at her. “It’s a miracle she didn’t get sick earlier.” She gasped for air, her mouth open. “Quick… take me to the hospital.” The officer also covered his nose and retreated to the door. “Let’s call an ambulance first.” The property manager made the call. My mom lay in that mess, in pain and reeking, trembling all over. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with hatred. “Mom,” I leaned against the doorframe, “didn’t you say that experience teaches you instantly?” She glared at me, her lips trembling. “This time, that should be enough to remember for a lifetime, right?” The ambulance arrived. As the stretcher was carried out, everyone in the hallway tried to get out of the way. When she was lifted into the ambulance, she was cursing. “You heartless monster, you conspired against your own mother, may you be struck by lightning! Ow… you just wait, I won’t let you off…” My mom was taken to the emergency room. She had her stomach pumped and was put on an IV drip. Because I insisted on not paying for her, saying it would help her learn her lesson, she had to use her own retirement savings to cover the cost of the persimmons and medical bills. After this incident, my mom was quiet for a few days. But soon, I noticed she seemed to be plotting something. A few times I saw her whispering with Linda, the neighbor from the next bed. Both of them immediately stopped when they saw me. I knew Linda; she lived in our complex too. Her daughter supposedly ran some investment business and was always dressed in flashy jewelry. Every time she came to the hospital, she carried bags and bags of tonics, and my mom’s eyes would light up.

One day, I came home from work and found she had already been discharged. My mom stood in the middle of the living room, dressed neatly, with a suitcase beside her. Linda had her arm linked with my mom’s, and they were as close as sisters. “You’re back?” My mom’s face held a smug, triumphant smile. “I’m not living here anymore.” “I raised you all this time, only to raise an ungrateful wretch.” She took two steps forward, pointing her finger at my nose. “Let me tell you, I’m not relying on you anymore. I’ve found a way to make money, and when I get rich, don’t come crying and begging me!” Linda chimed in, “Exactly, relying on yourself is better than relying on anyone else. It’s never too late for a strong woman to start her own business! I told you, this kind of daughter, we can just pretend we never had her!” I almost laughed out loud. “What kind of opportunity could you possibly have?” My mom, however, became even more smug. She pulled out her phone and shoved it in front of my face. “See? Invested a hundred bucks yesterday, cashed out a thousand today! Linda’s daughter is a big boss, helping people get rich, a 10x return on investment!” I looked at the phone, then at my mom’s excited face. “10x return?” “Yes! With a little effort, it can even double!” She grinned, her eyes narrowing into slits. “I’ve finally figured it out. What’s the point of all that education? Still unmarried at your age, nobody wants you. Look at Linda’s daughter, how capable she is!” Linda patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t rush, dear. I’ll introduce you to a wealthy businessman later; you can start a new chapter in life. You look so young, not like you’re over fifty, someone will definitely want you.” My mom was grinning from ear to ear. “Alright,” she picked up her suitcase. “I’m leaving. Don’t come looking for me anymore.” I stood at the door, watching her walk out. “Mom.” She turned back. “If you keep this up, you’re going to regret it.” Her face darkened. “Bullshit! You’re just jealous, aren’t you?” Linda pulled her along. “Don’t mind her, let’s go.” The two of them stepped into the elevator. Before the doors closed, she was still smiling. After moving out, my mom seemed like a changed person. My Ins feed was flooded by her posts every day. Yesterday, she posted her bank balance: fifty thousand dollars. Caption: Follow the right people, do the right things, and money will practically throw itself at you. The day before yesterday, she posted photos from a fancy party. She was wearing an ill-fitting evening gown, arm linked with an old man’s, smiling with a face full of wrinkles under the crystal lights. Caption: Happiness, it’s never too late to pursue. Three days ago, she posted gifts. A pile of fake designer bags and watches, obviously bought wholesale, with flashy, sparkly packaging. Caption: Linda is too generous! I told her not to, but she insisted. This is a true friend! Below every post, she’d leave comments mocking me: Some people’s education went to waste, they don’t know how to respect their parents! People with narrow vision are like this, making a meager salary every month, they’ll never get rich in their lifetime! So laughable! A couple of days later, the HOA called me. “Your mom brought someone to look at the apartment today, saying she wanted to sell it urgently, even twenty thousand dollars below market price was fine. I asked her where she’d live after selling, and she said in a mansion. Is… are you aware of this?” I said, “Don’t worry about her. Let her sell it.” The person on the other end paused. “You’re not going to try to convince her otherwise? That’s your family’s old apartment.” “I can’t convince her,” I said. “Besides, she’s determined to self-destruct, and I can’t stop her.” Three days later, the apartment was sold. My mom sent me a voice message, background noise loud, like she was at a celebratory banquet. “You little brat! The money’s in my account! This time I’m investing two hundred thousand, and in a couple of days, it’ll be two million! Then I’ll buy a mansion and hire a maid, and you can get on your knees and beg me, I still won’t let you in!” I didn’t reply. I blocked her. My cousin, Taylor, called. “Chloe, your mom told me to tell you that she’s hosting a dinner at a five-star hotel the day after tomorrow. She’s invited all the relatives and said you absolutely have to come. She wants to publicly embarrass you.” “Tell her not to worry; I’ll definitely be there.” Taylor’s tone was worried. “You’re really going? Aren’t you afraid she’ll cause a scene?” I chuckled. “How else can I watch the show?” After all, the police were also ready to make their move. Not only was I going, but I was also preparing a big surprise for her. Since she loved having experience teach her, I would give her a lesson she’d never forget.

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1 On the night of our fifth wedding anniversary, Tristan slipped my wedding ring off my finger and slid it onto the hand of his childhood friend, Isla. I reached out to take it back, but he placed his hand over hers, holding her still. “It is just a ring. What is the big deal if she tries it on?” Isla said softly, “If Evelyn is upset, I will take it off right now.” Tristan frowned. “Don’t be so petty, Evelyn. Isla is just trying it.” The cold chime of the system rang in my head. [Target Favorability: 100.] [He is waiting for you to get jealous.] [Please comfort him immediately.] In the past, I would have swallowed my pride, pushed down my hurt, and walked over to soothe him. After all, I was a system task completer. As long as his favorability remained at max, I would be allowed to stay in this world forever. But this time, I looked at my bare ring finger and spoke softly in my mind: “System, I abandon the mission.” [Confirm abandonment of all rewards?] “Confirmed.” [Departure sequence initiated.] [Countdown: Seven days.] As the cold voice faded, a row of semi transparent numbers floated before my eyes: Seven days. This was all the time I had left in this world. Tristan was still holding Isla’s hand. Perhaps sensing that I was unusually quiet, he finally looked up at me. “Evelyn, what is with that look on your face?” The system screen glowed above his head. [Favorability: 100.] [Current Emotion: Anxious.] [Inner Desire: Wants the host to snatch the ring back.] Staring at those maxed out numbers, a sudden wave of absurdity washed over me. Seven years. For seven years, I relied on those three digits to endure Tristan’s endless cold shoulders. He abandoned the birthday dinner I spent all day preparing just to go to Isla. He told his friends that marrying me was nothing more than a habit. Every single time, I comforted myself with the thought that his favorability was at one hundred. But no matter how high that number was, it couldn’t warm my bare finger. I drew my hand back. “It is nothing.” Tristan’s frown deepened. “If you really dislike it, I will tell Isla to take it off.” Isla’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Tristan, it is fine. Really.” She reached up to slide the ring off. But Tristan held her hand, his voice growing even colder. “Keep it on. I want to see just how long some people can pretend to be generous.” The system chimed again. [Target safety levels dropping.] [Host is advised to show possessiveness immediately.] I stood in silence. A flash of triumph crossed Isla’s eyes. I picked up my glass of warm water and took a quiet sip. Tristan’s expression darkened by the second. In the past, I would have demanded answers with teary eyes. He would have mocked me with biting words, and when I turned to leave, he would say something even harsher to force me back. Through this game, he reassured himself of my love, and I reassured myself of his favorability. We wasted seven years in this endless loop. But today, I was simply tired. When the dinner ended, Tristan walked ahead. Isla followed closely at his side, wearing my wedding ring. Walking a few paces behind them, I heard the system whisper: [Departure countdown: Six days and twenty three hours.] Tristan turned to look at me. “Aren’t you coming?” I spoke softly. “Tristan, she can keep the ring.” His steps came to a sudden halt. 2 When we got back to our apartment, Isla followed us inside. She claimed the ring was too valuable and wanted to return it to me face to face. Yet, as she stood in the hallway, her fingers kept stroking the band. It was obvious she didn’t want to take it off. Tristan sat on the sofa, watching me with cold eyes. “Evelyn, stop throwing a tantrum and take the ring back.” Isla bit her lip. “Evelyn, Tristan was just teasing you. Please don’t be mad at him because of me.” I walked into the closet and pulled out my suitcase. Tristan’s face paled instantly. The system’s warnings blared in my mind. [Target Favorability: 100.] [Current Emotion: Panic.] [Host must stop packing immediately.] Yet when Tristan spoke, his voice was like ice. “Who are you trying to threaten by packing? If you leave me, do you really think you can survive in some cheap rental outside?” I folded my clothes one by one. Actually, I didn’t own much. Our home was filled with items Isla had brought over. The scented candles, the paintings, even Tristan’s ties were all chosen by her, cluttering up half our space. My belongings were tucked away in a single corner drawer. I used to pick fights over this. Tristan would call me dramatic, and the system would whisper: [He loves seeing you jealous for him.] And so, I swallowed my hurt over and over again. But I didn’t want to swallow it anymore. Seeing me ignore him, Tristan lunged forward and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. “If you want to leave, fine. But you leave behind everything I ever bought you.” Isla quickly intervened. “Tristan, don’t. Evelyn will be heartbroken.” Tristan’s jaw tightened. “She was acting so generous a moment ago. Let her return everything then.” I nodded. “Okay.” I reached into the suitcase and pulled out a pale gray scarf. It was the first gift Tristan had given me when his favorability reached max. Years ago, he had been burning with a fever so high he couldn’t recognize anyone. I carried him on my back through a snowy night for two blocks before I managed to hail a cab. When he woke, he scoffed and said I was being nosy, but the next day, he sent me this scarf. The system had told me: [Target Favorability: 100. He is thanking you.] I cherished that scarf for years. Even when the edges began to fray, I couldn’t bear to throw it away. Now, I placed it gently on the sofa. Tristan’s eyes flickered with a sudden tremor. Next, I took out my watch and an old keychain, placing them all before him. Finally, I unclasped the necklace from around my neck. The small silver pendant contained the screenshot of the system’s first notification of a successful milestone, my only physical proof of existence in this world. Tristan’s voice went hoarse. “Evelyn, what are you doing? Are you really trying to draw such a clean line between us?” I kept my eyes down. “It was always meant to be clean.” A brief smile touched Isla’s lips before she quickly masked it. She picked up the scarf. “This is so old and worn out, Evelyn. Tristan, you really had terrible taste back then.” She gave it a careless tug, causing the loose threads along the edge to unravel. I watched the scarf I had protected for seven years get ruined in her hands, yet my heart remained perfectly still. Tristan frowned. “Isla, put that down.” Isla gasped, her eyes turning red. “I just thought since Evelyn doesn’t want it anymore, there is no point keeping it around.” Tristan looked at me. He seemed to be waiting for me to explode with anger. The system flashed: [Target is waiting for the host to show that she cares.] I simply zipped my suitcase shut. “If she likes it, she can have it.” Tristan’s face drained of color. In that exact moment, the system screen flickered: [Departure countdown: Six days. Host emotional connection severed: 20%.] 3 The next morning, I went to the office to finalize my transfer documents. The relocation order to the southern branch had been approved two weeks ago. I had planned to tell Tristan on our anniversary, but then he slipped my wedding ring onto Isla’s finger. There was no longer any need to discuss it. The HR manager looked at me with concern. “Evelyn, are you sure about this transfer? The southern branch is just starting up. It is going to be incredibly difficult.” I signed my name. “I am sure.” The system chimed: [Host signed long term relocation agreement. Departure sequence stable.] I packed my files and stepped out of the meeting room. Tristan’s name flashed on my screen. I let it ring until it stopped. He called a second time, then a third, until the phone finally fell silent. Staring at the screen, I felt a strange sense of detachment. Usually, the system would warn me: [Target safety levels dropping. Please reply immediately.] I used to be so afraid of his mood swings, terrified he would lose control or lock himself in his study again. But later, I realized he knew perfectly well how to care for someone. He could speak softly to comfort Isla, he remembered her fear of the dark, and he would hand her water the moment she frowned. All of his gentle, human warmth was reserved for others. For me, there was only that hollow one hundred favorability score. In the afternoon, Isla sent me a photo. In the picture, she was sitting on our marriage bed, wearing my wedding ring on her finger and my silver pendant around her neck. Evelyn, please don’t misunderstand. Tristan said these things were just eyesores, so he asked me to put them away. I stared at the silver pendant. That was my system anchor. If it was destroyed, the physical pain of my departure would be severe. I typed back a simple reply: Put it back. Isla sent a voice message almost instantly, her tone dripping with distress. “Evelyn, I had no idea this was so important to you. I will take it off right now.” The next second, my phone rang. As soon as I answered, a sharp shattering sound echoed from the other end. My chest tightened. Isla sobbed, “Tristan, I am so sorry. I just wanted to return the necklace to Evelyn, but the chain snapped.” Then, Tristan’s voice cut through the receiver. “Evelyn, is there no end to this? It is just a cheap necklace. Did you really have to terrify her over it?” I held the phone, my fingertips turning cold. Red warning screens flashed in my mind: [System anchor damaged. Departure pain index rising. Host must retrieve the fragments immediately.] I spoke quietly. “That necklace is very important to me.” Tristan let out a harsh laugh. “What of yours isn’t important? The ring is important, the scarf is important, and now this cheap necklace is important too. Evelyn, does the entire world have to revolve around you before you are satisfied?” I closed my eyes. “I am coming back to get it.” Tristan paused. “You are coming home?” His voice softened slightly, and his emotional panel lit up: [Target Favorability: 100. Current Emotion: Anticipation. He thinks the host is willing to turn back.] I didn’t bother to explain. When I reached the apartment, Isla was crying on the sofa. The broken silver pendant lay on the coffee table. Tristan stood beside her. His eyes lit up for a fraction of a second when he saw me, but he quickly masked it. “Apologize to Isla.” I bent down to gather the fragments. Isla suddenly reached out, placing her fingers over one of the sharp pieces. “Evelyn, it cut my hand.” I looked up at her. Tristan grabbed my wrist in a tight grip. “Didn’t you hear her? She is hurt. Apologize.” I looked into his eyes. “Tristan, this belongs to me.” Anxiety flashed in his eyes. “Your thing hurt her, so you must apologize.” The system chimed: [Departure countdown: Five days. Host existence index weakened: 10%.] The framed photo on the coffee table flickered. In the picture, the details of my face grew slightly blurry. Tristan didn’t notice. He kept his eyes locked on me, waiting for me to bow my head. I picked up the last fragment. “I am sorry.” Isla froze. Tristan stared at me, dumbfounded. In the past, he feared nothing more than this quiet, empty tone. I clenched the sharp shards in my palm, letting the edges pierce my skin. The phantom pain of the damaged anchor shot straight to my chest, but I didn’t even flinch. 4 By the fourth day, my body began to feel lighter. It wasn’t an illusion. Standing before the mirror, I saw that my reflection had faded slightly, looking almost transparent. The system chimed: [Departure countdown: Four days. Erasure of host existence from this world commencing.] I packed my transfer documents into my bag and headed to the hospital to pick up my medical records. On my way, my phone rang. It was my doctor. “Evelyn, your test results are back. The long term use of those physical stabilizers has caused severe damage to your system. If you still hope to have children, you need to come in for a thorough checkup as soon as possible.” I held the phone, standing in the hospital corridor for a very long time. I had once desperately wanted a child. Spending seven years in this world, I wanted to have a connection that truly belonged to me. But a task completer’s body was altered by the system. To conceive, I had to take bitter, experimental medications. I had hidden them from Tristan, taking them faithfully for two years. Every time the system told me his favorability was at one hundred, I would tell myself to wait just a little longer. Wait for him to learn how to love me. Wait until we were a real husband and wife. But now, I was leaving. There would be no child. I tucked my phone away and walked toward the clinic entrance, but Tristan’s car screeched to a halt right in front of me. He stepped out of the vehicle, his face pale and tense. “Where are you going?” “The hospital.” Tristan’s gaze darkened. “The hospital again?” Isla climbed out of the passenger seat, a clean white bandage wrapped around her wrist. She said softly, “Evelyn, I know you are still angry with me, but please don’t use your health to guilt Tristan.” Tristan’s expression hardened. “Evelyn, you threw a tantrum over a necklace yesterday, and now you are faking an illness today?” I looked at him, feeling a bone deep exhaustion. “Move.” Tristan grabbed my wrist. “You are going nowhere today. I will call your manager and handle your leave. You are staying home to clear your head.” I met his gaze. “Tristan, I really need to go to the hospital.” The system chimed: [Target Favorability: 100. Target is waiting for the host to yield. Host is advised to comfort him.] Isla spoke with tears in her eyes. “Tristan, is Evelyn trying to run away again?” Tristan’s breathing hitched. His greatest fear was my departure. He roughly pulled me into the car. “Since you love disappearing so much, you can stay right where I can see you today.” I stopped fighting. I watched the hospital fade into the distance. In four days, I would leave this world. Perhaps I would never need to know the results of those tests anyway. When we got back, Tristan confiscated my phone and my documents. He locked me inside the master bedroom, his voice harsh. “You can come out when you have learned to behave.” Through the wooden door, I heard Isla’s hushed voice. “Tristan, won’t this just make Evelyn angrier?” Tristan snapped, “She has simply been spoiled.” I sat down against the door. The blue screen floated before my eyes: [Departure countdown: Three days and twenty three hours. Erasure of host existence in progress.] Outside, Tristan’s phone lit up. He glanced down. On his lock screen, the wedding photo of us had changed, the outline of my shoulder beginning to dissolve into empty space.

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1 Chris chose white camellias for my veil three years ago. He had bred the hybrid himself and would name it after me. It was his way of showing his commitment was a one-of-a-kind promise. On our wedding eve, I went to the nursery, eager to see the blooms I had waited three years for. But when I pushed open the greenhouse door, I froze. The branches that should have been heavy with white blossoms were bare. The gardener looked away. “Mr. Chris took them all this morning. He needed them for the bridal suite. Miss Rosemary is pregnant and cannot stand the smell of raw soil, so he wanted her to get used to the scent of the cut flowers first.” I stood there, the air catching in my throat. Rosemary was his first love, the woman he had adored years ago. She had returned less than two months ago and was the reason he had broken his promises to me repeatedly, leaving me behind without a second thought. Seeing my face, the gardener offered a quiet word. “Mr. Chris said they will bloom again next month.” I looked down and let out a soft laugh. Some things, once severed by the person you trust, never grow back. My phone buzzed. It was the email confirming my overseas transfer. I wiped a stray tear and smiled. It was fine. Camellias would bloom just as beautifully in the winter of another country. … I should have gone straight to my car after leaving the nursery, but my feet carried me toward the old conservatory anyway. That was where Chris had first started cultivating those camellias. Three years ago, when he brought me there for the first time, he had smiled and promised that the space would be redesigned. He said the best spot would be reserved for our wedding photos. He had promised a white bench, a glass-walled flower room, the vintage string lights I loved, and that single bush of camellias grown only for me. He called it our secret garden. Even then, a small, foolish part of me clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe the flowers were just being moved temporarily. Maybe he had a logical explanation. But as I drew closer to the conservatory, the sound of a woman’s laughter drifted through the glass. I stopped. Through the window, I saw Rosemary. Her long hair was pinned half-up, and one hand rested gently over her slightly rounded stomach. Chris stood right behind her, holding a single, perfect white camellia. He leaned down and carefully tucked it behind her ear. It wasn’t just one flower. Several freshly cut stems lay on the table beside them. The very flowers meant to grace my wedding veil were now being placed, one by one, into another woman’s hair. Rosemary touched the blossom at her temple, smiling up at him. “Is it too much?” Chris looked at her, his eyes soft. “Not at all.” She glanced down at her stomach, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “But you cut all of them. Won’t Audrey be upset when she finds out?” Chris paused for a fraction of a second. “These flowers were always meant for you.” I stood outside in the cold, watching the scene play out in absolute silence, before I turned and walked away. Back in my car, I sat for a long time. I pulled up the transfer offer from headquarters on my phone. I had left the email sitting in my inbox since last week. The branch in Adelaide needed a new regional creative director, and they wanted to know if I could step into the role within three days. Before, I had been trying to figure out how to balance my life after the wedding. I had been hesitant to leave everything behind. Now, there was nothing left to weigh. I tapped reply and typed a single line: I accept the position. As the email sent, a sudden emptiness settled in my chest, accompanied by a strange sense of relief. I had finally carved out a way out for myself. I remembered how Chris had looked at me three years ago when he named that camellia. He had looked so sure when he said I was the only one he would ever marry. It turned out that when someone falls out of love, they can forget their own promises with terrifying ease. And I was finally done trying to keep those promises alive for him. 2 The day before the wedding, I still showed up at the venue. It wasn’t because I couldn’t let go. It was because I had personally designed, structured, and managed every single detail of this event. The vendors, the guest list, the timeline, they were all my responsibility. I refused to let my professional integrity fall apart. But the moment I walked into the ballroom, I realized just how humiliating the day was going to be. The door to the bridal suite was wide open. Several stylists stood in a circle, and a designer was carrying the main bridal gown toward the mirror. I recognized that dress instantly. I had spent six months customizing it. And the woman standing in front of the mirror, wearing it, was Rosemary. She stood in the place that belonged to me, trying on the veil, the necklace, the bouquet. Everyone in the room knew I was the lead coordinator for this wedding, and they all knew my history with Chris. Nobody dared to speak, but their eyes followed me. That heavy, knowing silence was far worse than any whispered gossip. Rosemary turned around just as Chris walked in. “Is it too tight?” he asked, bending down to adjust the waistline of the dress. “A little,” Rosemary said. Chris immediately looked at the designer. “Loosen it here. She needs to be comfortable.” Then he knelt to smooth out the train, asking if she was tired and needed to sit down. I stood near the edge of the stage, my fingers gripping the clipboard so hard the paper began to tear. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to be romantic, and it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to care for someone. He simply chose not to give those things to me. Soon, the jewelry consultant arrived with the wedding ring. When the black velvet box was opened, my breath hitched. It was a camellia-shaped diamond ring, the delicate petals wrapping around a brilliant center stone. One glance was all it took to recognize it as an exact realization of a sketch I had drawn for Chris three years ago. At the time, I had jokingly told him that if we ever got married, I wanted a ring shaped like a camellia. He had simply smiled and said he would remember. I thought he had forgotten. He hadn’t. He had just saved the design for someone else. The people around Rosemary were whispering about how lucky she was, praising Chris for being so thoughtful and involved in the design. Listening to them, I suddenly remembered last winter when I suggested we get a pair of simple silver bands, costing no more than fifty dollars. Chris had dismissed the idea, saying rings were nothing but an empty, performative gesture. Now, the truth was glaringly obvious. The rings weren’t the problem. I was the one who wasn’t worth the effort to him. Our friends began to arrive. At first, a few of them instinctively called out to me as the bride-to-be. But a second later, they saw Rosemary walking out of the suite in the bridal gown, wearing the camellia ring, her hand clasped firmly in Chris’s. The expressions on their faces shifted from confusion to awkward realization. Before long, everyone silently accepted the new arrangement. Rosemary was the bride, and I was left standing behind the soundboard, looking like a complete stranger at my own wedding. During a brief lull in the schedule, I finally managed to pull Chris aside. “Whose wedding is this, Chris?” He looked at me, showing neither panic nor guilt. “The wedding is still happening,” he said calmly. “We’ve just changed the bride.” My clipboard slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. With those few words, he shattered whatever dignity and hope I had left. To him, this wedding wasn’t a sacred promise, an identity, or the culmination of our seven years together. It was just an event, a production where the lead actress could be swapped out at the last minute. I stared at him. “So you expect me to stand here as the coordinator, watching her wear my dress, my ring, and celebrate my wedding?” Chris frowned. “Rosemary just wants to experience what a wedding feels like. Her situation is delicate right now, and she’s emotionally unstable. Once she gets this out of her system, you and I will still get married later.” I didn’t say another word. 3 On the morning of the wedding, I arrived earlier than anyone else. I checked the lights, the sound system, the guest list, and the floral arrangements. I refused to let my personal grief interfere with my work. But the smoother the preparation went, the more bitter it tasted. I was using my own hands to send another woman down the aisle. In the dressing room, Rosemary called out to me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Audrey, could you help me adjust the clasp on this necklace?” I walked over and fastened it for her. “My shoes are rubbing a bit,” she added, looking down at her feet. “Can you check if we need to put some blister pads on the heels?” I knelt down and applied the pads for her. Once the stylists and assistants left the room, Rosemary asked me to step out onto the balcony with her. As soon as the glass door shut behind us, a small, triumphant smile spread across her face. “I know this wedding was supposed to be yours.” I remained silent. She gently ran a hand over her stomach. “And I know about the camellias in the greenhouse. Chris used to guard them like treasure, telling everyone they were grown just for you.” She paused, her eyes locking onto mine. “But what of it? Flowers are just objects, and people change. I’m the one standing at the altar today, so everything here belongs to me.” “What is your point, Rosemary?” Her voice grew even softer, carrying a sharp, quiet edge. “The wedding is just the beginning. The marriage license will be mine, too.” My heart skipped a beat. Satisfied with my reaction, she continued. “The baby needs a legal father, and Chris won’t leave us without status. He’s taking me to the courthouse at nine o’clock this Friday morning to sign the papers.” Nine o’clock on Friday morning. Those words rooted me to the spot. Just a few days ago, Chris had casually reminded me that we were going to get our marriage license this Friday morning. It had never been a promise to me. It was nothing but a stalling tactic to keep me quiet while he handed my entire life over to Rosemary. Seven years of devotion, and in the end, I was left with absolutely nothing. It was almost comical. Over the last few months, he had constantly asked me to be more understanding, telling me that since I had already been with him for seven years, I shouldn’t throw a fit over a single day. To him, my seven years of loyalty weren’t love, they were just a sunk cost. The more reluctant I was to walk away, the more leverage he thought he had over me. Chris walked out onto the balcony a moment later, looking for her. He didn’t notice the tension in the air. His immediate instinct was to check on Rosemary. “Why are you out here in the cold?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to support her. “It was getting a bit stuffy inside,” Rosemary replied sweetly. Chris nodded, then glanced at me, giving orders as if it were second nature. “Make sure there are no mistakes during the vows and the ring exchange.” He spoke to me as if I were a hired hand, not the woman he had spent nearly a decade with. I looked at him and realized I didn’t want to ask any more questions. The answers were written clearly on the wall. The wedding wasn’t mine, the marriage license wasn’t mine, and perhaps my place in his life had never been truly irreplaceable. When the ceremony began, I stood at the side of the stage, watching Chris take Rosemary’s hand and lead her down the aisle that had been decorated according to my dreams. The guests clapped, cheered, and took photos, while I felt entirely detached from the world around me. Right before the vows, Chris pulled me aside one last time. He looked at me with the same familiar expression he always used when trying to placate me. “Don’t ruin this. The wedding is just a show; the license is what matters. If you don’t make a scene today, I’ll take care of everything else afterward.” That final sentence crushed the last lingering speck of hope in my heart. Even now, he genuinely believed I would continue to endure, continue to wait, and continue to let him drag me along. But he was wrong. This time, I was done. 4 As the vows began, I remained at the edge of the stage. The officiant asked the groom for his pledge. Chris looked at Rosemary, and without a single moment of hesitation, he spoke the words. “I do.” The room erupted into applause. Standing just outside the warmth of the spotlights, the sound faded into a dull hum. The words I had waited seven years to hear had finally been spoken, but they weren’t meant for me. I couldn’t watch another second of it. While everyone’s attention was fixed on the altar, I quietly slipped away to the dressing room. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t fall apart. I simply gathered my things with absolute calm. I took off the uncomfortable high heels that had begun to blister my feet, leaving them on the floor alongside the veil and the bouquet I had prepared for myself. Then, I pulled a document from my bag, a signed authorization form to put the townhouse up for sale. It was supposed to be our marital home. Now, it was just an asset to be liquidated. The price didn’t matter, as long as it sold quickly. With that final task complete, I grabbed my suitcase and slipped out through the back exit of the hotel. No one noticed my absence. Inside, the new couple was exchanging rings to the sound of cheers and flashing cameras. When you finally decide to walk away from a relationship, it can be so quiet that not a single soul notices your departure. Once I was in the cab, I sent a message to the real estate agent, telling them to proceed with the listing immediately. Then, I headed straight for the airport. At the hotel, the celebration continued. It was only after the ring exchange, when Chris went back to the suite to retrieve some documents, that he finally realized I was gone. The listing agreement for our townhouse sat on the vanity, a silent goodbye more devastating than any screaming confrontation. I later heard that the moment he saw those papers, he turned completely pale. He ran out of the room like a madman, searching the venue, but my car was already gone from the parking lot. By the time the plane taxied onto the runway, I was sitting by the window, looking down at my phone. There were over a hundred missed calls. Without a trace of emotion, I popped the SIM card out of the tray, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the waste bin.

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1 Five years after my biological mother finally brought me home, a text message suddenly popped up on my phone. Now that you have the family you’ve longed for, are you very happy? The sender was me, five years ago. Back then, I was still lying in a narrow bed at the orphanage, completely consumed by the sudden, overwhelming joy of finally having a family. I remember holding the little welcome gift my mother had given me, carefully typing out my hopes for the future, word by word. But right now, my mother was busy punishing my younger sister for her dropping grades. In front of my sobbing sister, she slapped my face until my skin turned a bruised purple and my eardrum ruptured. Then, she forced me to the floor, grinding the heel of her boot over my fingers, crushing them against the cold hardwood. She stared down at my sister, her voice cutting through the room like ice: “I can’t bring myself to hurt you, Hailey, so I am using her as your example. If you don’t study hard, this is the pathetic, trampled life you will live. Anyone will be able to step on you.” Terrified by the violence, Hailey wept hysterically, begging and swearing that she would never neglect her studies again. Only then did our mother finally lift her foot off my bleeding hand. I swallowed the copper tang of blood in my mouth, using my broken, trembling fingers to slowly type a reply. Don’t go home with her. Not all reunions are born out of love. … The blood was pooling in the back of my throat. Unable to hold it back any longer, I let out a harsh, ragged cough, splattering red across the polished floor. Hailey shrieked, clutching our mother’s sleeve in desperation. “Mom, please! I’ll study, I swear I’ll study! Stop hurting Alicia! She… she’s coughing up blood!” Margaret’s expression remained terrifyingly gentle as she pulled Hailey’s hands away. In one swift, brutal motion, she grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my swollen, distorted face up so Hailey was forced to look directly into my eyes. “If you feel sorry for her, then you had better remember this pain,” Margaret whispered, her voice smooth and venomous. “The next time you fail an exam, the punishment your sister receives won’t be as simple as a few slaps.” Hailey nodded frantically, her eyes darting away from me in sheer guilt. Seeing that her message had been properly beaten into her younger daughter, Margaret’s face softened into a satisfied smile. I kept my head bowed, fighting back the choking bitterness in my chest, and pressed send on the message I had just written. Five years ago, Margaret had walked into the orphanage, weeping as she wrapped her arms around me. She told me she had spent years searching for me, that she wanted to bring me home and make up for every single day we had lost. But by then, Hailey had already been spoiled into a rebellious, untouchable terror. She skipped classes, talked back, and caused chaos wherever she went. No one could control her. Until the day Hailey was caught shoplifting at a local grocery store and refused to apologize. Faced with her daughter’s stubborn defiance, Margaret had forced me to wear a cardboard sign that read “THIEF” around my neck, making me kneel outside the store entrance to apologize in Hailey’s place. It was only when Hailey saw me humiliated in public that she panicked, crying as she finally begged the store owner for forgiveness. Having tasted the success of this twisted method, Margaret began to use me as a tool to train my sister. Whenever Hailey talked back or lied, Margaret would pierce my lip with a sewing needle. Whenever Hailey got into fights at school, Margaret would tie my hands to the school gates, making me stand there in the freezing rain to humiliate her into obeying. Slowly, Hailey became the perfect, obedient daughter. And slowly, my body became a canvas of scars. Gently wiping the tears from Hailey’s cheeks, Margaret cooed, “There, there, don’t cry anymore. Were you scared, my darling? Mom booked a table at your favorite restaurant. Let’s go have a wonderful dinner, alright?” Hailey nodded tearfully, then looked back at me, her voice trembling. “Can we bring Alicia with us?” Margaret’s face instantly hardened. She cast a cold, repulsed glance in my direction. “Alicia still has to pay for your mistakes. She will remain on her knees until tomorrow morning. From now on, whenever you do your homework, she will kneel beside your desk. She will only be allowed to stand when your grades improve.” Hailey’s head drooped, her shoulders shaking with silent guilt. I bit my lip, my nails digging into my palms until the skin broke, but I couldn’t feel the physical pain anymore. My heart was already numb. “Go on, change your clothes,” Margaret urged, her voice light again. “If we’re late, we’ll lose our reservation.” Hailey turned back, giving me one last look filled with sorrow and helplessness, before she walked out. As they opened the front door, they ran into our next-door neighbor. The neighbor smiled warmly at Hailey before turning to Margaret. “Oh, Margaret, you really know how to raise a child. Hailey used to be so wild, but look at her now, she’s so polite and disciplined.” She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a low whisper. “Is that your older girl inside? She’s incredibly tough. I could hear the blows from my living room, but she didn’t make a single sound.” Margaret didn’t show a hint of shame. Instead, her chin rose with pride. “Hailey is still young and reckless. Someone has to show her the real cost of making mistakes.” With a light laugh, the heavy front door slammed shut. Kneeling on the freezing floor, I felt as though an invisible hand was squeezing the remaining life out of my chest. Just then, my phone vibrated. A new message flashed on the screen. Why are you lying about Mom? You have no idea how much she wanted me back. She already had a daughter, but she told me I was the one she missed the most. I stared at the glowing screen, my mind spinning. I was actually speaking to my past self across time. It felt like holding the key to my own destiny. My hands shook as I frantically typed a response. I am you, five years in the future. Please, listen to me. Do not go home with her. You are not her daughter. You are just a whip she uses to keep your sister in line. 2 A few minutes later, the screen lit up again. I don’t believe you. Mom loves me. She told me so. Love? I stared at the word, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. It was true. When she first brought me home, Margaret really did seem to love me. She had wept when she saw how painfully thin I was. She cooked elaborate meals every single day, and within a few months, I had gained ten pounds. She blamed herself for losing me, trying to make up for my lost childhood by taking me to amusement parks on every holiday. She bought me pink cotton candy, took beautiful portraits of me on my birthday, and stayed by my bedside without sleeping a wink whenever I ran a fever. “Alicia, sweetie, don’t be scared,” she would whisper, stroking my hair. “Mom is here. I’m never going to leave you again.” Even Hailey, spoiled as she was, used to pout and complain that I had stolen all of our mother’s affection. That brief period of my life had felt like a beautiful, fragile dream. So when Margaret used me to punish Hailey for the first time, I was devastated, but I forced myself to believe she had no choice. I told myself she was just desperate. It was only much later that I realized her love came with a hidden price, a weapon that would eventually destroy me. My tears dripped onto the glass screen, blurring the text. I forced my shaking fingers to type one last warning. Her love is a knife. And she is going to use it to carve you to pieces. I lost track of time before the front door clicked open again. When Margaret walked in and saw me still kneeling but holding my phone, her face contorted with rage. Without a word, she lunged forward and kicked me squarely in the shoulder. My head collided violently with the sharp edge of the dining table. A blinding flash of pain tore through my skull, and a warm, thick crimson began to obscure my vision. Margaret’s screaming voice echoed in my ears. “I told you to kneel and reflect, and you’re playing on your phone?” “Because of your pathetic attitude, Hailey will never understand the weight of her actions!” My vision swam, and I reached out blindly, trying to explain. “Mom, please, I wasn’t… I was just…” Before I could finish, a resounding slap delivered with full force struck my other cheek. “So you’ve learned to talk back to me now, have you?” Margaret sneered. “Clearly, you haven’t learned your lesson. Slap yourself until both sides of your face are even. Maybe that will help you remember.” Hailey, shrinking back in the corner, grabbed Margaret’s arm, her voice trembling. “Mom, stop! I get it now, I really do! Please don’t make her do this!” Margaret shook her off, her voice cold and unyielding. “If she treats her punishment like a joke, how will you ever learn? Alicia, start. If you don’t hit yourself a hundred times, you won’t be allowed to stop.” Swallowing the bitter tears, I raised my hand and let it fall against my own face. Margaret let out a sharp scoff. “Are you starving? You hit like a coward. You’re completely useless.” She stepped forward, swung her arm wide, and delivered a blow so heavy my head spun, my left cheek instantly swelling. Rubbing her palms with a sigh of irritation, she muttered, “Keep that exact level of force.” Under her watchful eye, I raised my hand again and again, striking my own flesh until my eyes were swollen shut, my lips split and bleeding, and my face turned a sickening shade of purple. Only then did she signal me to stop. Looking down at the ruin of my face, Margaret finally seemed satisfied. She knelt down beside me. My entire body tensed, my eyes shutting tightly in anticipation of another blow. Instead, she opened a tube of ointment she had prepared beforehand and began gently dabbing it onto my bruised skin. My body shuddered at her touch. She paused, letting out a long, weary sigh. “Alicia, you have to understand why I do this. We are a family. We rise and fall together.” “You are the sensible one. You have to help me guide your sister. Only when she becomes disciplined and successful will our family finally have peace.” She took an alcohol wipe and began cleaning the cut on my forehead. The stinging pain was agonizing, but I didn’t pull away. Summoning the last shred of my courage, I looked at her through my swollen eyes and whispered, “Mom… can you please stop using me to teach Hailey?” “Every night, the pain keeps me awake. And… I can barely hear anything out of my right ear anymore.” Margaret froze for a brief second. Thinking I had finally reached her, I reached out and gently took her hand. “Mom, you brought me back because you loved me, right? So please…” Slap! Another sharp blow struck my right ear, sending a deafening, high-pitched ring through my head. “How dare you try to manipulation me?” Margaret spat, her face twisted in anger. “I thought you were the good daughter, but you’re just trying to play the victim to ruin this family!” I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was gone, drowned out by the torrent of her familiar, venomous curses. I was forced to kneel there for the entire night. When morning arrived, my phone screen flickered to life. I still don’t want to believe you. Unless… you can prove it to me. 3 I raised the phone camera, capturing a photo of my bruised, unrecognizable face. But my thumb hovered over the send button, paralyzed. My mind kept betraying me, drifting back to the early days. I remembered the warm bowls of soup she used to cook for me, the comfort of her embrace when I was sick, and the soft smile on her face when she told me I was her good girl. Those memories were fading, but I clung to them like a lifeline. I looked at the calendar on the wall. There was only one month left before Hailey’s college entrance exams. Maybe once she passed her exams, this nightmare would end. Maybe Margaret would go back to loving me the way she used to. With a heavy heart, I deleted the photo. Suddenly, my phone rang. Margaret’s voice on the line was devoid of any warmth. “Alicia, get to Hailey’s school right now.” Terrified that something had happened to my sister, I ran out of the apartment as fast as my legs could carry me. When I reached the principal’s office, I found Margaret sitting with a dark, furious expression, while Hailey stood in the corner, her eyes red from crying. My chest tightened, and I instinctively took a step back, trying to slip away. “Alicia, get in here,” Margaret’s cold voice cut through the air. The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, looked shocked when she saw my swollen face, but she quickly masked her concern and turned back to Hailey. “There is only a month left before the final exams. This is the most critical period of her high school career, and yet, Hailey was caught in a romantic relationship on school grounds.” “If this ruins her chances at college, the consequences will be devastating.” “We weren’t dating!” Hailey cried out, her voice cracking. “I just didn’t understand some of the study questions, so I asked him for help!” Mrs. Gable sighed, pulling up a photo on her phone and showing it to Margaret. “She is still lying. Look at how close they are. Their faces are practically touching. This is clearly a physical relationship, and she is using studying as an excuse.” Due to the angle of the photo, the two teenagers did indeed look as if they were kissing. “No, that’s not true!” Hailey sobbed, shaking her head wildly. “I swear we weren’t…” “Silence!” Margaret roared, her voice cutting Hailey off. “Is this the real reason your grades have been slipping?” Without warning, Margaret lunged forward, grabbed me by the hair, and began dragging me toward the door. Mrs. Gable jumped up in alarm. “Mrs. Chen, what are you doing? Please, let’s discuss this calmly!” Margaret kept her grip on my hair, her voice tight with controlled fury. “Don’t interfere, Mrs. Gable. The only way to make Hailey understand her mistake is to make an example out of her sister.” Mrs. Gable looked at my bruised face, opened her mouth to speak, but ultimately remained silent. Hailey ran after us, sobbing as she clawed at Margaret’s hands. “Mom, please! I wasn’t dating him! Just leave Alicia alone!” Ignoring her cries, Margaret dragged me all the way to the school gates, where students were walking by. In the middle of the crowded pavement, she began tearing at my clothes. I clung to her legs, begging for mercy, while Hailey fell to her knees, weeping hysterically. But Margaret remained entirely unmoved. I curled my body into a tight ball, trying desperately to cover myself, as waves of pure humiliation and despair washed over me. Pointing her finger at me, Margaret glared at Hailey, who was shaking on the ground. “Do you see this? This is what happens when you don’t value your own dignity!” “If you keep seeing that boy, this is exactly how cheap and ruined you will end up!” Hailey slowly pushed herself up from the ground, her face streaked with tears. The pressure she had carried for years finally snapped. “I hate you!” she screamed, her voice echoing across the courtyard. “Why do you always use Alicia’s body to punish me? I told you, we weren’t dating! Why do you have to ruin her to prove your point?” “This family is a living nightmare!” Without looking back, she bolted out of the school gates and ran down the street. Margaret stood frozen, staring at the empty space where her daughter had just been. “Why… why didn’t she listen this time?” she muttered to herself. “It must be because the punishment wasn’t severe enough.” She pulled out her phone and dialed a number. “Find me one of the vagrants from the streets near the old district.” 4 A few minutes later, a beat-up van pulled up beside us. Terrified, I begged Margaret not to let them take me, but she dragged me into the back of the van without a hint of remorse. The vehicle rattled down the road, eventually stopping outside an abandoned, desolate factory on the edge of the city. Margaret hauled me out of the van by my hair, throwing me onto the dirt floor before turning to the disheveled man who had climbed out after us. She held up her phone, her voice completely flat. “He’s all yours. My younger daughter is behaving like a cheap delinquent. I want her to see exactly what happens to girls who lose their way.” The man grinned, revealing a row of rotted, yellow teeth, and began stepping toward me. I scrambled backward, my voice raw from screaming. “Mom, please! Don’t do this to me! Please!” Margaret switched her phone to video mode, her face completely blank. “Alicia, if Hailey doesn’t learn her lesson today, her entire life will be ruined.” But what about my life? In the next second, rough, dirty hands tore away the last of my clothing. I screamed, fighting with every ounce of strength I had left, but I was no match for him. Every inch of my skin was bruised, subjected to a sickening violation that made it hard to breathe. A few yards away, Margaret watched through her screen, a faint, cold smile playing on her lips as she captured every single detail. Finally, she nodded. “That’s enough. Let her go, I have what I need.” The man grumbled, reluctantly pulling away, and took the cash Margaret held out before leaving the factory. I lay on the filthy floor, shivering violently, my chest hollowed out by a pain so deep it felt like a physical wound. The last lingering shred of love I had held for my mother shattered into dust. I reached out, picked up my phone from the dirt, and took a picture of my broken, ruined self. I sent it to the number from five years ago. This is the hell she will build for you. Don’t come back. Then, I dragged my broken body toward the stairs, slowly making my way up to the roof of the factory. Margaret didn’t even notice I was gone. She was busy sending the video to Hailey, typing out a message with frantic excitement. Look closely, Hailey. If you don’t want to end up like your sister, break up with that boy immediately. Your mother only wants what’s best for you. If you keep defying me, I will let him finish what he started. Be a good girl and come home to apologize. I stood at the very edge of the concrete roof, looking down at her. My heart felt completely empty. I wondered, if I had refused to go home with her five years ago, would any of this have happened? I closed my eyes and let myself fall backward into the empty air. As the wind rushed past my ears, my phone vibrated one last time in my hand. I understand now. I won’t go with her. Down below, Margaret’s phone rang. It was Hailey’s homeroom teacher, her voice filled with deep regret. “Mrs. Chen, I am so incredibly sorry. It was a misunderstanding.” “We checked the security cameras. Hailey and the boy were indeed just looking over a textbook. There was no relationship.” Margaret froze. “Really? That’s… that’s wonderful.” “It’s fine… Alicia’s punishment will just serve as a warning for the future. It will keep Hailey on the right path.” She hung up the phone and looked around, realizing the space around her was empty. “Alicia?” She ran out of the factory doors, but the yard was quiet. The only thing she found was a shattered phone lying in the dirt, its cracked screen still glowing.

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