Two months before the wedding, I went to inspect our new house and realized the layout had been changed. A new, empty room had been added. It was twice the size of my bedroom, and to make space for it, they had completely knocked down my gaming room. I was baffled. When Leah came home, I looked at her, frowning. “Why did you add an extra room to the blueprint without telling me?” She hesitated, then offered a breezy, careless smile. “Your buddy has no one in Chicago. He’s living in that cramped, miserable studio. Since we’re buying a place, what’s wrong with giving him a space of his own here?” Ah, there it was again. That casual, dismissive tone. What’s wrong with…”Right after I bought a modest car, Leah went behind my back and bought Chase an even more expensive one. Her excuse? “He’s a corporate slave working overtime every night. When he gets off, the trains aren’t even running. It’s so inconvenient. Since I’m practically his family, what’s wrong with buying him a car?” Even my wedding ring—the rare, custom band I had driven across three states to secure—wasn’t safe. The very next day, I saw Chase flaunting the exact same ring on his Instagram. When I got angry, Leah just gave a faint, patronizing smile. “You’re getting married, and he’s still single, moping around all day. I wanted him to feel included. What’s wrong with buying him a ring so he knows we care?” Now, facing the exact same excuse, I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my phone and messaged the realtor to list the house. If she cared about Chase that much, then calling off this wedding… well, what’s wrong with that? 1 “Are you sure you want to sell this place, Drew? And at half the market value?” The realtor sounded incredulous. After all, a property in this neighborhood was highly coveted; no one would sell it this cheap. Especially since it was fully furnished, completely renovated, and move-in ready. “I’m sure,” I replied without a second thought. I had poured my soul into this house. From the layout to the design, I did it all—from the exact shade of paint on the walls to the choice of furniture. Leah had never cared, always brushing me off with a careless, “Do whatever you want.” But it wasn’t until today, during the final walkthrough, that I realized my months of hard work had been remodeled to accommodate another man. To make room for Chase, she had shrunk my bedroom by half and completely demolished the gaming room I had spent weeks planning. If that was the case, this house didn’t need to exist. “Who are you texting?” Leah leaned in to peer at my screen, but I locked my phone before she could see. “The contractors.” “Oh. Well, make sure you tell them Chase’s bedroom needs warm white paint. And get him a high-end dehumidifier. Summer is coming, and he gets miserable in the humidity.” She said it so naturally, as if taking care of him was as vital as breathing. But when it came to me, she had never cared. I suffer from severe eczema. Every humid summer, it flares up, leaving my skin raw, red, and incredibly itchy. I had begged Leah dozens of times to buy a dehumidifier, but she had always rolled her eyes. “Those things are just a marketing scam. It’s a waste of money. The humid season only lasts a few weeks anyway; you can just tough it out.” Pulling myself out of the memory, a bitter, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. “Sure,” I said. At dinner, Chase let himself in, familiar with the keypad code as always. He sat down in his usual chair and took the personalized set of silverware Leah handed him. “What are you standing there for? Scoop some rice for Chase,” Leah nudged me, her voice sharp with impatience. I don’t know when it started, but eating in my own home had begun to feel like working a service job. I had to serve Chase first, and I had to make sure there wasn’t a speck of oil on his plate, or else his neat-freak tendencies would flare up and he’d scowl in disapproval. And Leah would immediately unleash a torrent of criticism on me. “You can’t even wash a plate properly. Is there anything you can do right?” In the past, I tolerated it because he was supposed to be my best friend. Even when Leah only cooked dishes he liked, completely forgetting my severe seafood allergy. Even when Leah raised her glass to drink with him, wrapping a tipsy arm around his shoulders while he accepted it gladly, completely ignoring how it made me feel. I used to just smile it off, keeping my grievances quiet. But now, I was suddenly done tolerating it. I scooped my own food, sat down, and reached for a side dish. Chase froze, his empty bowl still hovering in the air. Leah’s brow furrowed, her voice rising in anger. “Drew, what the hell is wrong with you? Chase hasn’t even been served yet, and you’re already eating?” My grip tightened on my fork. I looked up, staring right at her. “Is he my father or my king? Why am I expected to wait on him hand and foot every single time? Leah, your favoritism is getting embarrassing.” 2 She blinked, caught off guard. Then, she let out a soft laugh, looking at me like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum. “He’s your best friend. Are you seriously jealous of him?” she said, reaching over to ruffle my hair. “I only treat him like family because he’s close to you. I’m just looking out for him.” Then, just like she had a thousand times before, she murmured, “Come on, stop being dramatic.” When Chase’s parents were pressuring him to settle down and he asked Leah to pretend to be his girlfriend for a week back in his hometown, I objected. She pulled her hand from mine and said, Come on, stop being dramatic.”When Chase got lost on a hiking trail in the mountains, she abandoned me on the side of the highway, determined to drive back to find him. I had clung to the car door, pleading with her, only to receive a cold, hard look. Chase is in actual danger right now. I have to go. Stop being dramatic.”The memory faded. I looked down at the shrimp she had just casually dropped onto my plate, losing whatever little appetite I had left. “I’m not hungry.” “Drew, what is your problem now?” The brief warmth in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by sheer annoyance. It wasn’t until Chase gently tugged at her sleeve and reminded her that I was allergic to seafood that a flicker of guilt finally crossed her face. “Oh… let me make you something else then,” she offered. “Don’t bother.” I stood up and went straight to my room, not sparing either of them another glance. As the door clicked shut, Chase’s voice drifted through the hallway. “Is Drew mad? Maybe I should go talk to him.” “Don’t worry about him,” Leah sighed. “He’s just moody. Let’s finish dinner.” A moment later, the sound of laughter drifted from the living room. They were watching a comedy special, talking over it with a comfortable, lively intimacy. Yet when it was just Leah and me at home, she would snatch the remote and shut off whatever I was watching. “Stop rotting your brain with this garbage. You’re slow enough as it is.” I sat down on the carpet, letting out a long, heavy breath. I pulled out my phone. One by one, I began canceling the wedding invitations, the suit rental, and the venue. “Drew, I’m going to drive Chase home,” Leah’s voice called out, muffled by the bedroom door. Before I could even answer, the front door slammed shut. It was pouring outside—the kind of weather Leah absolutely despised. Once, when I was stranded at a mall during a torrential downpour, I called her to ask for a ride. She had been thoroughly annoyed. The rain will die down soon. I’m finally getting some rest at home, do you really have to ruin my day?”But whenever Chase dined at our place, rain or shine, she insisted on driving him back herself. She’d even run through the rain with him, laughing like teenagers as they took shelter under a tree, sharing a private world. My mind drifted back to our college days, to a storm we got caught in. She had pulled me against her chest, cupping her hands over my head to shield me from the rain, swearing she’d protect me from the elements for the rest of our lives. But somewhere along the way, those protective hands had found someone else to shield. Leah didn’t come back until midnight. She crept into the bedroom, trying not to wake me. She lay down beside me, her back turned. The bright glow of her phone screen was impossible to miss in the dark. I rolled over slightly and caught a glimpse of the text from Chase. Leah, the office gave me two movie tickets for tomorrow. Do you want to go with me?”Then, as if to cover his tracks, he quickly added: Drew probably wouldn’t like this kind of movie anyway.”Leah’s thumbs hovered over the screen, hesitating. But tomorrow is Drew’s birthday. I promised I’d spend it with him…”Before she could hit send, Chase’s next text popped up. Haha, it’s totally fine! If you’re busy, I can just go alone!”No, it’s fine. I’ll go with you.”She could never bear to let Chase feel disappointed. And so, out of the three of us, I was always the one left behind. 3 The next morning, Leah actually stayed home instead of rushing out to work early. She set breakfast on the table and pulled out a chair for me. “Drew, breakfast is ready,” she smiled, but her eyes held that familiar, guilty sweetness. It was always the same routine. Before she abandoned me, she had to play the doting fiancée. “Hey, so they just called me in for an emergency shift tonight. I don’t think I can make it back for your birthday dinner.” “How about we make it up to you this weekend? I’ll buy you whatever you want.” Whatever I want. Which meant she hadn’t planned a single thing. Not even a cheap grocery-store bouquet. She couldn’t even bother to go through the motions. Yet for Chase’s birthday, she had been more excited than I was. She spent weeks scouting the perfect restaurant, badgering me to find out what was on his wishlist. When I expressed my frustration, she brushed it off. “I’m your fiancée, Drew. I can’t look bad in front of your best friend! Besides, if I treat him well, he won’t be whispering in your ear telling you to dump me every time we have a fight!” Back then, I had no choice but to lie to myself. Maybe she really just wants to be nice to the people I love.”Maybe she’s just trying to secure our future by keeping my friends close.”But I was done being blind. I met her gaze, my voice flat. “Okay. No worries.” She smiled in relief and kissed my forehead. “I knew it. You’re always so understanding, Drew.” Once the door closed behind her, I began packing. Halfway through, my phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from my mother. “Happy birthday, sweetie!” she beamed. “Look at this—your dad got up at dawn to make his slow-cooked pot roast. I kept telling him you’re a grown man with your own home now, that you wouldn’t be coming back for your birthday. But you know how he is. He wouldn’t listen.” Through the screen, I watched my father bustling around the kitchen, and the tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. My mother froze, her smile fading into instant worry. “Drew? Oh honey, what’s wrong? Is someone hurting you? Where’s Leah? Doesn’t she usually take the day off for your birthday?” I choked on a sob, wiping my face, my eyes burning. “Mom,” I whispered. “I’m not getting married.” “I want to come home. I want to spend the holidays with you guys.” My mother went dead silent for a moment. But she didn’t pry. She just spoke in that soft, steady voice that always made me feel safe. “Drew, whatever happened, your father and I are right here. If you’re not happy there, come home. We’re waiting for you.” When the call ended, the room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Only the sound of my ragged breathing echoed off the walls. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I had finally cried myself out. The house felt too stifling, so I walked down to the riverfront, stopping by a bakery to buy a small, solitary slice of cake. I sat on a park bench, just lighting the candle, when two familiar figures walked into my line of sight. They had just stepped out of the movie theater, laughing and debating where to grab dinner. Suddenly, a kid running past bumped into Chase. He stumbled forward, and Leah instantly caught him, pulling him flush against her chest. They stood there, locked in each other’s arms, their faces flushing red. Neither of them made a move to break the embrace, as if trying to stretch out the sudden, quiet spark between them. Then, Chase’s eyes flicked over, and he froze. “Dr… Drew?” Leah turned slowly, her expression turning blank as our eyes met. 4 I didn’t say a word. I quietly boxed up my cake, stood up, and turned to walk away. I hadn’t even taken a few steps before Leah caught up, grabbing my arm. “Drew, it’s not what you think. He was falling, and I just caught him…” “Caught him, or held onto him?” I looked at her, my voice devoid of emotion. She flinched, opening her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “You really do care about him, don’t you? You’re always so attuned to his every move. Last month, when we went for a walk in the park, you were so glued to your phone you didn’t even notice when I slipped on the wet moss and fell.” Leah’s face drained of color as the memory resurfaced. “My knee was scraped raw. I was in so much pain I couldn’t even make a sound. You walked ten yards ahead before you finally realized I wasn’t next to you.” “I was handling an urgent work email!” Leah pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation. I smiled bitterly, turning my gaze to Chase, who was hovering a few steps behind her. “And what about now? You lied to me, said you had to work overtime, just to spend the day alone with him. Leah, do you ever tell me the truth anymore?” She had no answer. She just looked down, silent. “Drew, don’t blame Leah. I’m the one who asked her out,” Chase stepped forward, his face a mask of remorse. “My office gave me the tickets, and I thought it’d be a waste not to go. Plus, I knew you didn’t care for racing movies.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh, stripping away his polite pretense. “I don’t like racing?” “Chase, senior year of high school, you wanted to see the Formula 1 screening so badly that I helped you sneak out past curfew. Freshman year of college, I rented out a private theater for three of your favorite racing movies just to celebrate your birthday. Now you’re telling me you didn’t invite me because I don’t like racing, so you invited my fiancée instead? Don’t make me laugh.” Chase’s mouth opened and closed, utterly speechless. His eyes welled with tears. “Drew, please don’t be mad,” he choked out. “I really didn’t think it through. I won’t ever contact Leah again. I’ll stay out of your lives. I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault…” The moment his tears began to fall, Leah’s brief flicker of guilt vanished. “Drew, he apologized. What more do you want?” she snapped. “It was just a movie. Do you really have to be this petty?” Just a movie.”Her instinct to shield him, to defend him, to put his feelings above mine—it was all the proof I needed. Her heart had already drifted. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming weariness. Eight years of history, and I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “Okay.” “I won’t be petty anymore. I’m done.” Leah blinked, caught off guard by how quickly I backed down. She seemed to sense that something had shifted, but mostly, she just looked relieved that the fight was over. “Good. Let’s just put this behind us,” she said. “Chase hasn’t eaten all day. I’m going to grab dinner with him. Do you want to come?” It was a purely performative invite. “No. You guys go ahead.” “Alright. Go home and get some rest. Stay safe.” She was already turning to leave, but then she paused, as if remembering something. “By the way, the bridal shop called. They said you returned your wedding suit. Did you change your mind about the style?” “No. I called off the wedding.” “Whatever, just handle it. All suits look the same anyway,” she murmured, not really listening, and walked off. I watched her retreating back and let out a quiet smile. “Okay.” Back at the apartment, I grabbed my pre-packed suitcases and ordered a ride to the train station. Later that evening, Leah returned home earlier than usual. The apartment was pitch black. She called out my name, but only silence answered. Assuming I was just out at another tailor to exchange the suit, she tossed her keys on the counter, sank onto the couch, and dialed the bridal shop. “Hi, is Drew there exchanging his suit? Which one did he end up picking?” “Actually, ma’am, Mr. Luther cancelled the order,” the clerk replied, sounding confused. “He told us the wedding is off.”

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Under a popular Reddit thread titled “Is there a couple whose breakup was actually better to watch than their relationship?” I left a comment: “Oh, absolutely. My boyfriend and his ex. They share a Border Collie. After they split, my boyfriend kept the dog, but the ex constantly ‘dog-naps’ him in the middle of the night. Last Christmas, she took the dog all the way back to her family’s place in Vermont. My boyfriend was so panicked he blew off meeting my parents for the first time, jumped into his car, and drove five hours through a blizzard just to chase her down. Her packages still get sent to our apartment because she ‘forgets’ to change her default address. We’re talking lace lingerie and boxes of condoms delivered right to our door. Every single time, it drives my boyfriend absolutely insane. I guess you could call them a toxic enemies-to-lovers ship.” A couple of users replied to me almost immediately: “Are you kidding? How do you even stomach that?” “Using a dog as an excuse to mark her territory? That’s sick.” I smiled faintly, looking up at Luke and Nicola walking side-by-side ahead of me. It was supposed to be a rare afternoon for just the two of us, but because Nicola had texted saying she “missed her baby,” it had morphed into an awkward group outing. I looked down at my phone and slowly typed out my reply: “So, I’m planning on leaving him.” 1. Luke and Nicola walked a few paces ahead of me. They stayed close—close enough that their arms brushed occasionally as they swung. They seemed entirely oblivious to it, still laughing and bickering as they always had. Just like they used to back in college. I stepped on their shadows as I followed, a ridiculous thought suddenly slipping into my mind: If I were to quietly slip away right now, how long would it take Luke to notice I was gone? Probably five hours. Last month, when we took our Border Collie, Cooper, to the vet for his annual checkup, we “ran into” Nicola on the way. The two of them had walked ahead just like this, deeply engrossed in a discussion about Cooper’s health—everything from his weight to whether we should have him neutered. They looked like a divorced couple discussing the upbringing of their child. I couldn’t find a way into the conversation, so I just trailed behind them, keeping my distance. Eventually, a thick crowd of pedestrians separated us. The light turned green, and as people rushed past, someone bumped into me. I fell hard on the pavement, a sharp, white-hot pain shooting through my ankle. I called out Luke’s name. Ten times. Each louder than the last. But he never turned around. He had one hand on Cooper’s leash, and the other was hovering protectively near Nicola’s waist, guiding her through the crowd. They crossed the street, lost in their own world. From two in the afternoon until seven in the evening. For five hours, he had no idea how I had limped off the street, or how I had sat alone in the emergency room, swallowing down the pain while waiting for a cab. All he knew when he got home was that Cooper’s lab work looked great and that the vet didn’t recommend neutering him at his age. When he finally saw me sitting on the couch, his only reaction was: “Oh, there you are. I figured you’d just headed home early.” My disappearance was nothing more than a minor footnote in his afternoon. “Molly!” Luke suddenly turned his head and called out to me, snapping me back to the present. “Keep up. Don’t go crying to my mom about this later.” After I sprained my ankle, Luke’s mother had called him three days in a row to lecture him about his neglect. He was convinced I had run to her to play the victim. I pressed my lips together and walked up to Luke’s left side. Nicola glanced at me, her smile bright and effortless. “Hey, you look a little down, Molly. Don’t overthink things, okay? Luke and I are completely incompatible as partners. I would never get back together with this idiot.” “Shut up,” Luke scoffed, though there was no real heat in it. “Who are you calling an idiot?” They kept bickering, their eyes bright with a familiar, shared amusement. “Am I wrong? Cooper is a boy, and you put him in that ridiculous pink fleece coat. You’ve lost your mind.” The air went still for a second. Luke didn’t snap back this time. Instead, he stole a cautious glance at me. “I bought that coat,” I said quietly. Nicola’s smile didn’t falter, though her expression cooled. “Oh.” “And I bought the leash you’re holding, too,” I added. Whenever we took Cooper out, Nicola always found some excuse to take the leash from me. When she held it, her movements were so practiced, so maternal, that she looked like the dog’s true owner. It left me looking like an awkward acquaintance who had just been invited along to fill space. Luke cleared his throat and handed a frisbee to Nicola. While she walked ahead to toss it for Cooper, he turned to me, his brow furrowed in frustration. “Why do you have to make things so tense?” he whispered. “She barely gets to see the dog. Why do you have to pick a fight over a leash?” Barely gets to see him? I stared down at the tips of my sneakers, my throat tightening. “She came by to drop off dog food last week and stayed in our living room for three hours. The week before that, she spent twenty-five minutes in our entryway picking up a package. And thirty-five days ago, she snuck in at two in the morning to ‘borrow’ him. We were half-naked in bed, Luke. We had to scramble for our clothes like we were the ones getting caught in an affair.” I looked up at him. “Does every single time have to be a special exception?” Luke took a deep, sharp breath. “Molly, how old are you? Can you please be a little more mature about this?” “We went to college together. We share professional contacts. Are we supposed to act like complete strangers just because we broke up?” “Besides, she promised she wouldn’t come over in the middle of the night anymore. She raised Cooper for two years. Wanting to check in on him is completely normal.” Normal. An ex-girlfriend who sneaks in at midnight, sends her lingerie to our address for two years, and leaves a lipstick or an earring behind almost every time she visits—he called that normal. I had tried to set boundaries so many times. But Luke always had an excuse ready. I was overreacting. I was too sensitive. It wasn’t like they were going to get back together. Every single defense was mounted for Nicola’s sake. And the only thing expected of me was to be “the cool, understanding girlfriend.” But if I was really just overreacting, why did my chest feel like it was collapsing? A few yards away, Nicola called out to Cooper as he ran back with the frisbee. “Come to Mommy, sweet boy!” That word—Mommy—had felt like a physical splinter lodged in my throat for the past two years. It had defined the entire span of my relationship with Luke. Sometimes, it made me feel like an intruder in a family they had already built. And yet, after they broke up, it was Luke who had pursued me. A college-aged couple walked past us on the trail. They paused, their eyes darting between me, Luke, and Nicola. After a moment, the girl gasped in recognition. “Wait, are you guys the legendary debate couple from State U? I used to watch your tournament videos online!” “Oh my god,” her boyfriend chimed in. “I can’t believe you guys are still together. Did you get married?” “My favorite college ship is actually endgame!” Luke and Nicola didn’t correct them. They just shared a soft, nostalgic laugh. They had been broken up for four years, yet to the rest of the world, their chemistry was still so obvious that I was practically invisible—even while wearing a jacket that matched Luke’s. A profound, exhausting wave of emptiness washed over me. I felt like a prop in their play. Swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth, I took a step forward. “They broke up years ago,” I said, my voice cutting through their quiet laughter. “I’m Luke’s girlfriend.” I looked at the two of them and forced a cold smile. “But honestly, the way they still cling to each other? It’s pretty pathetic.” 2. I didn’t wait to see their reactions. I threw out a quick, bitter “Have fun with your little family,” turned on my heel, and walked away. I walked as fast as I could, desperate to put distance between myself and their stares. I wanted to get out of sight before the tears spilled over, before the sob catching in my throat broke free. I wanted to keep at least a shred of my dignity intact. My phone suddenly buzzed in my hand. My heart skipped a beat. Is it Luke? Is he calling to apologize? With shaking fingers, I pulled up the screen. When I saw the caller ID, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped me. Jesus, Molly. What were you even hoping for? I took a deep breath, composed my voice, and answered. “Molly, sweetie,” Luke’s mother said, her voice warm and maternal. “Are you two coming over for dinner tonight? I made that pot roast you love.” “Helen, I—” The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her we were breaking up. Helen’s health wasn’t good. Last month, when she found out Luke had left me to deal with my sprained ankle alone, she had worked herself into such a state that her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She often reminded me that if I hadn’t been there to perform CPR when she had her heart attack in the middle of the street a few years ago, she wouldn’t be here today. I had never expected that the sweet woman I saved would turn out to be Luke’s mother. That chance encounter had ultimately paved the way for my four-year unrequited crush to become a reality. When Luke and I started dating, Helen had been overjoyed. She remembered the birthdays Luke forgot. She offered the quiet, gentle warmth that Luke never seemed to have copy-pasted for me. My boyfriend spent all his energy defending another woman, but his mother always stood firmly in my corner. “Helen, I don’t think I can make it tonight. I have some work stuff I need to wrap up.” She sighed softly, reminding me to rest and not push myself too hard. Listening to her gentle voice, I bit my lip as tears silently tracked down my face. They tasted hot and incredibly salty. This is it, I thought. It’s over. I took a cab back to the apartment we shared and began packing my things in silence. We had lived together for a year and a half, but the apartment was practically a museum of Nicola’s presence. Her claw clip still sat on the edge of the bathroom sink. A package containing a size-medium lace underwear set—which she claimed was sent to our address by mistake—was still sitting on the counter. She had slowly, methodically invaded my life, and Luke had let her. Or rather, he had refused to see it. Just as I zipped my suitcase, the front door clicked open. Luke walked in, Cooper trotting in behind him. Luke’s face was set in a cold, hard stare. “Give me your phone.” “What?” “Molly, don’t play dumb with me!” He shoved past me, knocking my suitcase to the floor, and grabbed my purse, tearing through it to find my phone. He was frantic. He was moving so violently that the metal buckle of my bag sliced a long, red line across my forearm. I stared at the blood welling up, momentarily stunned by the pain. “Are you insane? What is wrong with you?” “What’s wrong with me?” He finally pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and shoved the screen directly into my face. “Look at what you did! Look at the mess you made!” “Nicola is being absolutely dragged online because of you! Do you have any idea what people are saying to her?” On the screen was the Reddit thread I had commented on hours ago. My response had skyrocketed to the very top of the thread, racking up thousands of upvotes and replies. Almost every single comment was calling Nicola out. “A good ex acts like they’re dead. What is her problem?” “This is disgusting. How does she have the nerve?” Luke’s voice was actually trembling. The sheer, protective agony he felt for Nicola was written all over his face. “People found her Instagram. Her comments are flooded with hate, and her DMs are even worse. Molly, were you trying to ruin her life?” I stood there, looking at him. I slowly wiped the blood from my arm with a tissue and shrugged. “Did I say a single thing that wasn’t true?” Luke blinked, momentarily speechless. I looked him dead in the eye. “Tell me, Luke. Which part of that post was a lie?” “Do you want to know why people found her account? Because she put herself out there. She earned every single bit of this.” Luke’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off, my voice rising to a shout. “Shut up! Just shut up and listen to me!” My hands were shaking—not from the cut on my arm, but from a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated rage. The dam had finally cracked, and I was done holding it back. “We’ve been together for two years. She has come to this apartment fifty-four times, and every single time, she posts something about it on social media.” “Last Christmas, my parents were waiting to meet you. You promised you’d be there. Do you remember where you actually were?” Luke shifted his weight, a brief flash of guilt crossing his eyes. I let out a harsh, watery laugh. “You ignored my calls. You ignored my texts. I had to sit there in front of my family, making up pathetic excuses about how busy you were, telling them you were on your way.” “But you weren’t busy, were you? You were driving through a snowstorm to chase Nicola down. You even stayed to eat Christmas dinner with her family.” “Do you know what it felt like when I saw her post on Instagram? A photo of the three of you with the caption: ‘Our little family, finally back together.’” “Now she’s getting mean comments online, and you’re ready to burn the world down to protect her.” “But when, Luke? When were you ever going to protect me?” He slowly set my suitcase back upright. His breathing was heavy, but he didn’t look at me. I sank onto the floor, burying my face in my knees. “If you’re still so in love with her, why didn’t you just stay with her? Why did you have to drag me into this?” Cooper trotted over, whining softly as he licked the palm of my hand. Luke stood over me, silent for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he held out my phone. “I deleted the post. It was getting out of hand.” “You…” He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something else, but he never got the chance. His phone rang, and the sound of Nicola’s muffled sobbing on the other end instantly snapped him to attention. “Her head’s in a really bad place right now. I need to go check on her,” he said, his voice tense. “Molly, stay here. Wait for me to get back, and we’ll figure this out.” I didn’t say a word. I just kept my face pressed against Cooper’s soft fur. Just before the front door clicked shut, I asked quietly, “Since you saw the thread, I assume you saw my reply to the comments too, right?” He didn’t answer. The heavy thud of the door was his only response. I took the silence as his agreement. We were over. 3. I had no idea when Luke would return. After New Year’s, we had gotten into a massive fight over Cooper. Luke had spent half the night smoking on the balcony, and the very next morning, he packed Cooper up and took him to Nicola’s place. Within a week, Cooper had gotten hurt twice and ended up running away. That day, I had been caught in a downpour, running around the neighborhood looking for the dog until my fever spiked to 102 degrees. But the second Luke heard Cooper was missing, he grabbed his coat and bolted. He searched all night. When he finally came home, he was covered in the distinct scent of Nicola’s perfume. I didn’t know how long he’d be gone this time. I sent a text to Helen, asking if she could watch Cooper for a few days. Within minutes, she called. “Molly, are you and Luke really that busy with work?” she asked, sounding confused. “He told me he had to go out of town for a conference, too.” I froze, then let out a quiet, hollow laugh. It seemed Luke and I shared one final, tragic piece of synergy. The excuse he had used to go comfort Nicola was the same one he always used: a business trip. A seven-day trip. After a few polite words, I hung up the phone. I filled Cooper’s automatic feeder to the brim and made sure his water bowl was overflowing. As if sensing something was wrong, Cooper tugged gently at the hem of my jeans, looking up at me with wide, soulful eyes. I forced myself to look away and gently nudged him back. “I’m not your mom, Cooper,” I whispered. I grabbed my suitcase, opened the door, and didn’t look back. I checked into a cheap motel near my office. For the next week, I threw myself into my work, finalizing my resignation and wrapping up my remaining projects. My text thread with Luke was a ghost town. The last message from me was a week old: “What do you want for dinner?” I scrolled up, reading through our history. Nearly every exchange was a monologue. I would send him photos of interesting clouds, or snapshots of my lunch. He never replied to those. The only times he text-bothered to type a response was when I mentioned taking his mother to her doctor’s appointments—which earned a brief “Thanks”—or when I asked about buying Cooper a new toy—which got a “Whatever you think.” But his texts with Nicola were entirely different. She would text him to remind him of Cooper’s vaccine schedule, or send him old photos of Cooper as a puppy at two in the morning with captions like: “Miss him so much. Can’t sleep.” He always wrote back. Sometimes a simple “Yeah,” sometimes “Get some rest,” and sometimes they would chat for hours. I remember my fingers shaking the day I had confronted him with those messages. Luke had just shrugged, completely unfazed. “Go ahead and read them. Show me where we talked about anything other than the dog.” And he was right. They hadn’t. But Cooper was the invisible thread that kept them bound together, and I was the one caught in the middle, slowly suffocating. My phone vibrated. It was a text from Luke. “Has Cooper been good? Did you put Neosporin on that cut on your arm? Don’t let it get infected.” He didn’t even know I had moved out. He had no idea the cut had already scabbed over. He was too busy being active in Nicola’s Instagram comments. He had spent the last week taking her to therapy appointments and driving her to the beach to clear her head. He was even fighting with trolls in her comments section: “Who says exes can’t be friends? Grow up.” “I’ve screenshotted all these comments. If the harassment doesn’t stop, we will be pursuing legal action.” I stared at the ceiling of my motel room, my mind completely blank. I opened our chat and typed out a question: “When you first asked me out, was it because you actually liked me? Or did you just think I was a safe, convenient option?” I stared at the words for a long time. Then, letter by letter, I deleted them. It didn’t matter anymore. The answer wouldn’t change where we were. On my very last day of work, my phone started ringing off the hook. Luke’s name kept flashing across the screen. After the fifth call, I finally picked up. The background was a chaotic mess of static and Nicola’s hysterical sobbing. Then came Luke’s voice, sounding completely drained of life. “Molly, you need to get to the vet hospital right now. Cooper is dying.”

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I was the sole heir to the country’s largest fortune, the undisputed golden boy of Manhattan’s elite. When my childhood friend, Naomi, returned to the States, I threw a lavish welcome-home gala in her honor. But her boyfriend, Brody, didn’t see it as a friendly gesture. Without warning, he backhanded me across the face, then dumped an entire glass of scotch over my head. “I know your type,” he spat, pointing a finger at my dripping face. “The ‘best friend.’ You’re nothing but a pathetic dog in heat, waiting for her to slip up.” Naomi grabbed his arm, but instead of apologizing, she just waved me off. “He’s got a bit of a temper, Wyatt. Just let it go.” Out of respect for our shared childhood, I swallowed my pride. I let it go. But Brody didn’t stop. At a private villa party, he tore my clothes off, started a live stream, and branded me a home-wrecking parasite. Then he turned to Naomi, screaming, “He came the second you called! You still want to tell me you guys are just friends?” “If you want me to believe you, slap him ten times right now. Do it, and I’ll do whatever you want!” The other trust-fund kids in the room froze, terrified to intervene. But Naomi just laughed it off, draping an arm around my shoulder. “Wyatt, do me a favor and play along, okay? I’ll make him apologize to you later.” I let out a cold, bitter laugh. It was time to pull the plug on the Lennon family empire. … The sting of Brody’s hand against my cheek echoed through the VIP lounge. “A guy hanging around a crowd of women? You’re just waiting for a chance to slide into Naomi’s bed.” He sneered, pointing a finger directly at my face. “Take a look in the mirror, pretty boy. You think she’d ever actually want you?” Instantly, the private room fell dead silent. Several heirs of New York’s most prominent families stared in absolute horror, holding their breath. I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. Since the day I was born, I’d been at the absolute top of the social food chain. I had never, not once, suffered an insult, let alone a physical blow. And now, some nobody had just slapped me—in my own venue. Suppressing the white-hot rage simmering under my skin, I stared him dead in the eye. “What makes you think I would ever be interested in Naomi?” “Brody!” Naomi hissed, tugging at his sleeve. “What are you talking about? He’s my best friend.” “Oh, please!” Brody turned on her, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “What kind of ‘best friend’ sends holiday texts every single year? Who spends millions throwing a welcome-home gala for you? I know guys like him. They act like brothers, but they’re just waiting to crawl into your bed. He’s a dog in heat.” “Apologize,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Apologize to my ass,” Brody sneered. He grabbed a glass of scotch off the table and dumped it directly over my head. Only then did Naomi snap. “Enough! You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends!” Then, she turned to me with a dismissive wave. “He’s just hot-headed, Wyatt. Do me a favor and let it slide.” Naomi and I had met when we were six. By seven, her family had moved her abroad. But her grandfather had been our family’s estate manager for twenty years. He was meticulous, loyal, and had raised me like his own. On his deathbed, his only request was for me to look out for his granddaughter. Naomi’s feelings meant nothing to me. But I owed her grandfather everything. I took a slow, deep breath. Then, I picked up a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and poured it slowly, deliberately, over Naomi’s head. I pointed at Brody. “Keep him out of my sight. Next time, you’ll be the one begging.” Naomi froze, her forced smile tightening, before she dragged a protesting Brody out the door. Before leaving, Brody looked back and rolled his eyes. “Fake.” Once they were gone, the other heirs crowded around me. “Don’t let it get to you, Wyatt. Naomi is just a social climber who doesn’t realize who you actually are in this town,” Logan offered, his voice laced with concern. “Seriously, women who want Wyatt could line up from Central Park to Wall Street. Naomi isn’t fit to tie your shoes.” “Her family’s entire logistics business only survives because of your charity. Talk about ungrateful.” “But her boyfriend is seriously unhinged. What was that freakout even about?” “Nobody loses their mind like that for no reason,” I muttered, turning my gaze to Logan, the most well-connected guy in our circle. “Look into it. Find out exactly what Naomi has been telling him.” Logan’s face shifted. He stepped outside to make a few calls. When he returned, his expression was a mix of disbelief and fury. “Wyatt, Naomi is completely delusional.” “All those holiday texts your grandfather had his assistant send? She told Brody you wrote them yourself. She said you bought her all those luxury gifts. And those investments you threw her family’s way? She’s been telling everyone in New York that you’re desperately in love with her.” “And tonight’s dinner? She told Brody you begged her to come so you could finally propose to her.” He angrily pulled up his phone and showed me a screen. Naomi had just posted a photo on Instagram wearing a provocative corset. The caption read: “Sometimes a man needs a little healthy competition to behave. Looks like someone is finally ready to play some kinky games tonight.” I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. So that was it. She was using me as a pawn to make her boyfriend jealous. My kindness was nothing but a prop in their toxic relationship dynamic. I tossed my phone onto the table and looked at Logan. “Kill every single contract we have with the Lennon family. Put the word out: anyone who does business with them is blacklisted from West Enterprises.” If Naomi didn’t know her place, I was happy to teach her. The next morning, every project Naomi was handling came to a grinding halt. Several companies who had already signed contracts with her preferred to pay massive termination fees rather than risk my wrath. Within a week, the Lennon family’s cash flow dried up entirely. Their stock plummeted, and they were on the brink of bankruptcy. Panic-stricken, Naomi called me dozens of times, begging for a meeting. When I blocked her, she resorted to staking out the West Headquarters day and night, sending luxury gifts worth millions to my office, pleading for mercy. I ignored all of it. Until a week later, when Logan called to invite me to his birthday party at a private rental villa. He insisted I had to show up. But the moment I pushed the villa’s heavy double doors open, I froze. There was no Logan. No party. No familiar faces from our circle. Instead, Brody sat in the center of the living room, arms crossed, surrounded by a dozen of his rough-looking friends. Before I could turn around, a heavy hand shoved me hard from behind. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. The guy who had pushed me walked over to Brody, a smirk on his face. “Brody, this is the ‘best friend’ you were talking about?” “Even if he stripped naked, Naomi wouldn’t look twice at this loser.” “Exactly. How could he compete with what you and Naomi had in Europe? She drove halfway across London just to get you those exclusive pastries you wanted!” Brody smirked, soaking in the praise. When his eyes landed on me, his face twisted into a snarl. He stepped forward and slapped me across the face. “You shameless piece of trash! You couldn’t stop throwing yourself at her, could you?” “Last time I called you a dog, you didn’t learn. What are you doing here today? Creeping around again?” This was the second time he had laid hands on me. My vision went white. I surged forward, delivering a brutal slap right back that knocked him off balance. “Are you insane? Logan invited me here!” “Bullshit!” Brody shrieked, shoving me hard. I lost my footing on the polished marble floor and went down. “Naomi rented this place for our anniversary!” Brody yelled, pointing a trembling finger at me. “She told me everything. She said after the gala, you ruined her family’s business out of spite! She said you’ve been stalking her day and night, and she only tolerated you because of some childhood pity! She even told me to be more understanding!” “Well, I’m not her!” Brody screamed. “Homewrecking trash like you deserves to burn!” I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Naomi had been begging me on her knees for mercy, yet she told Brody I was the one stalking her? Logan’s birthday invitation was a setup. Fine. If Naomi wanted to play dirty, I was done being civil. I reached into my pocket and dialed Logan’s number. “Logan, get some security over to the lakefront villa right—” Before I could finish, Brody snatched the phone and slammed it onto the marble floor, shattering it to pieces. “Still trying to play the victim and call for help?!” His friends crowded around, sneering. “I know his type. Plays the innocent friend by day, behaves like a cheap whore by night.” “You’re too soft on him, Brody. That’s why he keeps lingering around Naomi.” “Teach him a lesson. Otherwise, guys like him will climb into any bed they can find.” The toxic encouragement fueled Brody’s rage. He lunged forward, striking me across the face again. The blow was so hard my vision blurred, and my head slammed against the floor. “You hear that? I’m doing the world a favor by cleaning up trash like you!” Suddenly, Brody stopped, his eyes locking onto the gold necklace around my neck. He lunged and yanked it off. “What’s this? There’s an ‘L’ engraved on the back. You still want to deny you’re obsessed with Naomi Lennon?!” “Give it back!” I screamed, lunging for his hand. “That belonged to my mother! It has nothing to do with Naomi!” My mother had passed away when I was seven. Before she died, she had spent forty-nine days kneeling at the family temple, coughing up blood in her final days, just to pray for this amulet to keep me safe. It was the only physical connection I had left to her. I would die before I let anyone ruin it. Brody let out a cruel chuckle. “Nice story.” He tossed the delicate gold chain onto the marble floor, looked me dead in the eye, and brought his heavy boot down hard on it— “No!” The scream tore from my throat, but two of his friends pinned my arms behind my back. I could only watch, paralyzed with horror, as my mother’s final legacy was crushed into unrecognizable pieces of bent gold. Brody grinned, leaning down to whisper, “That’s what happens when you try to touch what’s mine. I told you I’d break you.” Just then, the front doors burst open. Naomi stood there, holding a takeout bag. When she saw the state of the room, the bag slipped from her fingers, spilling food all over the floor. “What… what did you do?” Brody grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head up. “You said he wouldn’t leave you alone, right? I’m teaching him a lesson. He’ll never show his face in front of you again.” “Brody!” Naomi looked like she was about to throw up. She rushed over, trying to pull his hands off me. “This is Wyatt! Wyatt West! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I brought him here so you two could make peace!” But Brody was entirely manic now. He threw me back to the floor and kicked me squarely in the chest. “So what if he’s Wyatt West? He’s still just a pathetic, desperate third wheel!” He turned to Naomi, his eyes bulging. “You’re defending him? You still claim you don’t have feelings for him?” “I’ll tell you what, Naomi. Slap him ten times right now. Prove your loyalty to me, or we’re over!” Before Naomi could move, I gathered every ounce of strength left in my body, stood up, and delivered a devastating blow across her face. My eyes were bloodshot with pure hatred. “I will ruin you both for this.” “You dare touch my girl?!” Brody went feral. He grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling with such force I felt my scalp tearing, and slammed my forehead straight into the sharp edge of the coffee table. My ears rang. Thick, warm blood began to trickle down my face, pooling in my eyes. I couldn’t move. “That’s more like it,” Brody whispered, turning to Naomi with a sick, twisted grin. “We’ve already crossed the line. Might as well go all the way.” “Are you going to hit him or not? If you don’t break him now, he’ll never learn.” Naomi hesitated. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Then, she stepped forward. There was a strange, dark excitement in her eyes. “Wyatt, Brody just has a temper. Just endure it for a bit.” I stared at her, unable to comprehend the betrayal. The force of her hand sent my head spinning. Brody laughed, a manic, high-pitched sound. He ripped at my suit jacket, tearing the fabric apart, before yanking my trousers down to my knees. His friends pulled out their phones, eagerly recording my humiliation. “Look at the great Wyatt West now. Let’s see how arrogant you are after this. Let’s see you try to seduce another man’s woman.” Naomi looked down at me, her voice cold and detached. “Don’t blame me, Wyatt. You shouldn’t have angered Brody. He’s a psycho, and I can’t control him.” “I will see you in hell, Naomi,” I spat, blood mixing with saliva. Brody’s eyes lit up with a wicked idea. He grabbed a phone from one of his friends and opened a live-streaming app. He typed out a humiliating, sensational title: “CATCHING A WEALTHY HOMEWRECKER IN THE ACT! LIVE REBENTING!” He instantly dropped fifteen thousand dollars to boost the stream. Within two minutes, over ten thousand viewers flooded the room. “Wait, is this real? Are they actually beating someone up?” “Hold on, he looks familiar… is that Wyatt West, the heir to West Enterprises?” “No way. The West family keeps him heavily guarded. Why would he be getting beaten up like a common dog?” “Beat him! Homewreckers deserve everything they get!” I screamed, trying to curl my body to cover myself, but Brody laughed, grabbing my legs and pulling them apart. Every vein in my forehead throbbed with agony. Naomi knelt behind me, pinning my shoulders down, holding me tightly against her chest. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Don’t worry, Wyatt. Even if you’re ruined after this, I can always take pity on you and marry you.” Brody stood between my legs, waving at the camera. “This guy has some real talent, folks. Pretends to be her best friend, but he’s been begging for her touch every single night. You guys want to see what a billionaire heir looks like underneath all those expensive suits?” “Don’t you dare!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Watch me,” Brody sneered, reaching down to pull my legs wider. Right then, the heavy double doors of the villa were kicked open with a deafening crash. Logan stormed in, flanked by a dozen armed police officers. “Step away from him!”

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I spent half a million dollars to retrofit a thirty-year-old brick walk-up with a state-of-the-art external elevator. I did it because my parents’ knees were failing, yet they couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the neighbors they’d shared a life with for decades. I hated seeing them struggle, so I paid for the whole thing out of pocket. I even hired a dedicated property manager, Todd, specifically to oversee the elevator’s maintenance and keep the building’s common areas pristine. But then came the afternoon I went back to the old neighborhood to surprise them. I found my mother, Helen, clutching the cold brick wall of the stairwell, her spine curved like a bow, dragging her frail body up the concrete steps one agonizing rise at a time. … I bolted up the stairs, lunging to grab the heavy grocery bags from her hands. “Mom! What are you doing? Why are you taking the stairs? Where is the elevator?” My sudden appearance startled her. A flicker of sheer panic and guilt crossed her face. “Oh… sweetie. It’s nothing. Really. I just… I wanted to get a little exercise, work my legs a bit…” “Exercise?” I looked at her knees, which were trembling so violently she could barely keep her balance. Then I glanced out the stairwell window at the sleek glass shaft of the elevator just a few yards away, its indicator light glowing a warm, functional green. “The elevator is right there. Your joints are shot, Mom. Why on earth are you climbing the stairs?” Helen lowered her eyes. Her lips parted, trembling slightly, but no sound came out. I supported her weight, guiding her slowly up to the sixth floor and into the apartment. My father, Robert, was sitting on the worn living room sofa watching the evening news. When he saw me walk through the door, he froze. I helped Mom onto the sofa, settling her down before looking directly at him. “Dad. Tell me the truth. How long has it been since either of you used the elevator?” A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. Neither of them would look at me. I walked over to the entryway console, grabbed the electronic key fob hanging from the key hook, and marched back downstairs. I stepped up to the elevator panel. I swiped the fob. A sharp, sterile beep echoed in the quiet lobby. The LCD screen flashed a cold, white message: [ACCESS DENIED] I swiped it again. Same result. Standing alone in front of the locked glass doors, I pulled out my phone. When I had commissioned the elevator’s installation, I insisted the security firm grant me master administrator privileges on the cloud portal. I logged in and pulled up the system’s activity logs. Three months ago. June 17th, at 2:13 AM. Someone had accessed the admin panel and permanently deleted the access credentials for Unit 601—Robert and Helen Davis. The IP address used for the deletion traced back to Unit 602. Right next door to my parents. Lois Jenkins. The self-appointed president of the building’s informal co-op board. I scrolled down further. Over the last ninety days, the elevator had logged thousands of successful trips. Every resident in the building was using it. There were even dozens of unfamiliar names and faces swiping through the security doors at all hours. Everyone was using it. Everyone except my parents. For three entire months, my mother and father—both in their late sixties, both dealing with severe osteoarthritis—had been forced to climb sixty-six concrete steps to their apartment. Every single day. I locked my phone, squeezing it so hard the metal frame bit into my palm. I walked back upstairs. Inside, Mom was watching me with anxious, pleading eyes. “Talia… sweetie, it’s really not a big deal. The stairs are good for me, really…” I didn’t answer. I sat down beside her, gently taking her rough, worn hand in mine. Then I dialed Todd, the property manager I paid twelve hundred dollars a month to retain. “Todd,” I said when he picked up. “Who deleted my parents’ elevator access?” There was a brief, tense pause before Todd let out a nervous, forced chuckle. “Oh, Ms. Davis! Hey. Uh, yeah, about that… the system had a minor software glitch during the last update. I’ve been meaning to get out there and reprogram it. It’s on my list for this week…” “A three-month software glitch? And you’re just getting to it now?” Todd stammered, his tone quickly shifting from apologetic to defensive. “Look, Ms. Davis, it wasn’t entirely my call. Lois… Mrs. Jenkins from the board, she came to me. She said your parents keep pressing the wrong buttons, holding up the cabin, and disrupting the other tenants. The board held an emergency vote, and the residents unanimously agreed to temporarily suspend Unit 601’s access until we could resolve the issue.” “And why wasn’t I notified of this ‘vote’?” “Well… Lois was supposed to send the formal email. I assumed she did.” Before I could reply, a sharp, nasal voice cut through the line. Lois was clearly standing right next to him. “Listen here, Talia,” Lois said, taking the phone from Todd. “It’s just not practical having your parents use the lift. They’re slow, they get confused, and they block the doors. We have to think about the collective convenience of the building. You, as a business owner, should understand that.” “Understand.” The elevator I had built with half a million dollars of my own money. The property manager whose salary came directly from my bank account. And I was supposed to understand why my parents were barred from using it. I hung up without saying another word. Mom immediately clutched my sleeve. “Talia, please… just let it go. Lois has lived here forever. She has everyone on her side. If you make an enemy out of her, we’ll never hear the end of it.” “Mom,” I said, turning to look her in the eyes. “Did your knees get this bad because you’ve been climbing six flights of stairs for three months?” She flinched, her gaze darting away. Her silence was all the answer I needed. I closed my eyes and took a long, slow breath. I was not letting this go. Not for a single second. I made sure they were settled for the evening. “Dad, Mom, stay inside tonight. Let me handle this.” Mom’s eyes were wild with worry. “Talia, please don’t start a fight. She’s popular in the building…” “Mom,” I said, my voice quiet but hard as iron. “People who are actually good don’t force senior citizens to climb stairs.” I went down to my car, opened my laptop, and remote-logged into the elevator’s security server. The smart-access system was top-of-the-line; every single fob swipe, every floor selection, and every motion-sensor trigger saved a high-definition video capture to the cloud. I began pulling the data from the last ninety days. The picture that emerged was sickening. First, the IP log confirmed the deletion command had come from Lois’s router. Todd hadn’t just looked the other way; he had handed her his master admin password. Second, out of the four thousand-plus trips logged over the summer, nearly forty percent belonged to people who didn’t live in our building. I analyzed the traffic patterns. Heavy usage from 7:00 AM to 9:00 AM, and again from 5:00 PM to 7:00 PM. Commuter rush hours. Then it clicked. Our building sat in a historic, highly desirable neighborhood where almost none of the neighboring brick walk-ups had elevators. The properties shared connected alleyways and back courtyards. Lois and Todd had taken my private, half-a-million-dollar elevator and turned it into a commercial toll booth. They were selling monthly key fobs to commuters and neighboring tenants who wanted a shortcut to the upper street levels. I dug deeper into Todd’s backup server directories and found a hidden Excel ledger. External users were being charged fifty dollars a month. Over the last ninety days, they had activated sixty-seven rogue key fobs. Sixty-seven times fifty, times three months. Over ten thousand dollars in cash, split neatly between Lois and Todd. It was a perfect, shameless scam. I closed my laptop and dialed Lois directly. “Lois,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “Restore my parents’ elevator access. By tomorrow morning.” A beat of silence. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so direct. Then she let out a patronizing laugh. “Talia, sweetie, it’s not that simple. The co-op board made a collective decision. If you have a grievance, you’re welcome to raise it at our next quarterly meeting.” “When is that?” “Oh, whenever everyone is free. Sometime next month, probably.” Next month. Another thirty days of my mother dragging her failing joints up those concrete steps. “Lois,” I said quietly. “Yes?” “That HOA voting sheet you showed Todd… you forged the signatures, didn’t you?” The line went dead quiet. The smugness vanished from her breathing. “What… what are you talking about?” “I have the master admin logs, the password transfer record, the facial-recognition captures of forty-seven non-residents, and the bank ledger for the ten thousand dollars you and Todd pocketed.” “I have everything.” The silence stretched. I could hear her breathing turn shallow and ragged. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its sweetness, replaced by a brittle, defensive hiss. “Talia, don’t be ridiculous. What money? You’re making things up. I could sue you for slander…” “Go ahead,” I said. “See you in court.” I hung up. An hour later, Mom sent me a text: “Talia, Lois brought a group of neighbors to our door. She’s telling everyone you threatened her. Your dad didn’t open the door, but they stood in the hall shouting at us for twenty minutes before they left.” Then: “Please don’t get involved. I’m okay.” I replied with two words: “Wait for me.” The next morning, at five o’clock, a sharp, chemical odor penetrated the gaps in my parents’ front door. When Dad opened it, he froze. The entire wooden door had been covered in thick, dripping red spray paint. Scribbled across the center in jagged, ugly letters were the words: [GREEDY BITCHES]. Dad stood there in the quiet dawn, staring at the paint. He didn’t call me. He didn’t yell. He simply went back inside, fetched a bucket of soapy water and a scrub brush, bent his aching back, and began to wash. He scrubbed for two hours. But the cheap enamel had already soaked deep into the wood grain. It wouldn’t come clean. Inside, Mom sat on the sofa, her back to the door, staring blankly at the wall. Her shoulders were shaking. They didn’t tell me. I saw it myself. When I renovated their apartment, I had quietly installed a Ring camera disguised as a brass peephole, along with a small, high-definition dome camera tucked into the hallway molding for their security. I was sitting in an early morning executive meeting when the motion alert popped up on my phone. I opened the app and watched my sixty-five-year-old father, shivering in his slippers at dawn, desperately scrubbing red paint off his door. I quietly walked out of the conference room, stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city, and watched the entire video. Then I rewound the footage to 4:53 AM. A figure in a dark hoodie had walked up the stairs, carrying a can of spray paint. He stepped directly up to Unit 601 and began spraying. When he turned to jog back down, his hood slipped. The camera caught his face perfectly. Derek, Lois’s nephew, who lived on the third floor. I saved the clip and kept scrolling through the archives from the past three weeks. It was worse than I could have imagined. Mom’s mail and packages had been taken from the lobby seven times. Four times by Todd. Three times by Lois’s daughter-in-law. Bags of rotting household waste and wet vegetable scraps were left on my parents’ welcome mat weekly. Once, Dad had gone down to get his blood pressure medication. He met a group of neighbors on the third-floor landing. They lined up across the narrow stairs, refusing to let him pass. The audio on the dome camera captured their voices clearly: “Hey, Robert, isn’t your daughter some big-shot corporate executive? Why is she letting you choke on these stairs with the rest of us?” Dad had kept his head down, murmuring an apology, and squeezed past them to continue his walk. Later that week, a laminated notice was taped to the lobby mirror: “NOTICE REGARDING UNIT 601’S EXPLOITATION OF COMMON RESOURCES. By unanimous resident agreement, it is recommended that Unit 601 vacate the premises to restore peace and safety to the community.” Signed, “The Oakridge Co-op Committee.” From that day on, my mother had stopped leaving the apartment entirely. I sat in my office, watching three months of systematic torment play out on my screen. I closed the laptop, picked up my phone, and emailed my legal counsel: “Prepare a full criminal and civil filing. Charges to include malicious destruction of property, harassment, civil rights violations, extortion, and corporate embezzlement.” Then I called Todd. He answered, his voice dripping with defensive arrogance. Lois had obviously assured him they were legally covered. “Look, Ms. Davis, let’s not make a scene. We’re all neighbors here. If you’re so worried about your parents, maybe it’s time to move them out of a community-focused building. You can’t run this place like your personal fiefdom.” “I pay your salary,” I said, my voice dead and quiet. “And you and Lois made ten thousand dollars off my property.” “What do you think I’m going to do to you?” I hung up before he could answer. The next morning, Mom’s prescription ran out. She needed her heart medication, so she decided to make the trip to the pharmacy. Six flights of stairs. Seventy-two concrete steps. She went down slowly, her hand white-knuckled on the cold steel railing. As she reached the turn of the fourth-floor landing, the motion-sensor light failed to click on. The stairwell was in total darkness. The concrete was slick with humidity from the morning rain. Her foot missed the edge of the step. She lost her grip on the railing. She tumbled down the concrete flight, crashing violently against the metal-reinforced landing of the third floor. Her scream echoed through the hollow stairwell. Her left leg was bent at an unnatural, horrific angle. The fractured bone had breached the skin, tearing through the fabric of her trousers. She lay there shivering, her face turning a pale, waxy gray, unable to form a coherent sentence through the agony. Robert heard the noise. He ran down from the sixth floor, his chest heaving. When he saw her, the blood drained from his face. “Helen! Oh my god, Helen!” He dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over her, terrified to touch her. “Don’t… don’t move me,” she whispered, tears cutting paths through the dust on her face. “Call 911… please…” Dad dialed 911 with trembling hands. The dispatcher said the ambulance was on its way, but traffic was backed up due to the storm. It would be fifteen minutes. But she was on the third-floor landing. Without the elevator, the paramedics would have to carry a heavy gurney up three flights of narrow, wet stairs, then navigate a compound-fracture patient back down. The slightest slip could cause permanent nerve damage. Dad scrambled to the third-floor elevator doors. He swiped his key fob over and over. “ACCESS DENIED.” “ACCESS DENIED.” He began pounding on the apartment doors of the third floor. Unit 301. Unit 302. Unit 303. No one opened. He heard footsteps shuffle toward the peepholes inside, then quiet retreats. A hallway light beneath a door went dark. “Please!” Dad screamed, his voice cracking. “Help us! Helen fell! Her leg is broken! We need the elevator!” No one opened a door. He ran down to the second floor, pounding on every unit. Then the first. Nothing. In desperation, he ran out into the pouring rain, sprinting toward Todd’s basement apartment at the side of the building. Todd had the manual override key. Dad pounded on the door until his knuckles bled. Todd finally opened it. He was wearing a dry, clean sweatshirt, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Mr. Davis? What’s the emergency?” “Todd! Helen fell down the stairs! Her leg is broken, she’s bleeding! Please, use the override key! Let us get her down to the lobby before the ambulance arrives!” Todd looked at his watch, then out at the torrential downpour. He feigned a look of deep regret. “Gee, Mr. Davis, I don’t know. The elevator security protocol… I can’t just bypass the system without authorization from the board. Lois has strict rules about building liability.” “What rules?! She’s bleeding on the concrete! Override it!” Todd shrugged. “I can’t risk my job, Mr. Davis. Your daughter threatened to sue me. If Lois finds out I went rogue, I’m done. Get Lois to sign off on it, and I’ll turn it on.” Dad didn’t waste another second. He turned and ran back out into the freezing rain, sprinting toward the adjacent entrance. Lois lived in Unit 602. With no lift, Dad had to run up six flights of stairs. His heart was already pounding dangerously, his lungs burning, but he forced himself up. He reached the sixth floor and pounded on Lois’s door. Lois opened it, looking him up and down with a cold, dry sneer. “What’s the racket, Robert?” “Lois! Please! Helen fell! She’s severely injured on the third floor! We need the elevator to get the medics up there! Please tell Todd to turn it on!” Lois leaned against the frame. There was no pity in her eyes. Only a sharp, calculating gleam. She reached onto the console table behind her and picked up a pre-printed document. “Well, Robert. I’m not an unreasonable woman.” She thrust the paper toward his face. “But your daughter called me, threatening legal action, turning the whole building against me. We’re living in fear here.” “You want the elevator? Sure. Sign this, and I’ll call Todd right now.” Dad looked down at the paper through his tears. “OAKRIDGE CO-OP PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT: Unit 601 hereby forfeits sole ownership of the external elevator structure, transferring all deeded rights to the Oakridge HOA Board.” “What… what is this?” Lois smiled. “It means the elevator belongs to the building now. Your daughter can’t threaten to shut it down or sue us. Sign it, and I’ll save your wife.” “I can’t sign away her property…” Lois shrugged, slowly closing the door. “Fine by me. Let the paramedics carry her down the stairs in the rain. Let’s see how that leg holds up.” Dad’s hands shook so violently the paper rattled. With a hollow, broken sob, he dropped to his knees on her welcome mat. “…Please… just save her… I’ll sign… I’ll sign whatever you want…” Lois’s lips curled into a triumphant grin. She looked down at my father, kneeling at her feet, and handed him a pen. “Sign here, and I’ll make the call.” Dad took the pen, his hand trembling as the tip touched the paper. “If anyone signs that paper, I will personally ruin your life.” Lois froze. I stepped out of the stairwell. Behind me were four attorneys in tailored suits. Behind them, two armed, uniformed police officers. And behind them, a camera crew from the city’s largest local news network, their lenses already recording.

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Liam Reynolds ran out on our wedding. He left to see his ex-girlfriend, Grace, the woman who had abandoned him five years ago when he was on the verge of being permanently crippled. The grand ballroom, filled with hundreds of Boston’s elite, erupted into a chaotic murmur. I clutched the edge of his tuxedo jacket, my fingers white, forcing my face to hold together under the crushing weight of their stares. “Please,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Don’t do this. Not right now.” A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. But then, one by one, he peeled my fingers off his sleeve. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I have to go.” “I need to hear it from her. I need to know why she was so ruthless back then.” Through the gasps and whispers of the crowd, Liam walked away. He didn’t look back. Not once. My father, whose fragile heart had been failing him for years, shook with a sudden, violent rage. Before my eyes, his face drained of color, and he collapsed heavily onto the marble floor. “Dad!” The world shattered. I fell to my knees, my mind fracturing as I desperately tried to revive him, eventually forcing my breaking body to get him to the hospital. Sitting outside the emergency room, my knees pulled to my chest, my phone buzzed in my hand. Two notifications popped onto the screen. The first was from Grace Mallory: “I told you. The moment I came back, Liam would never choose you. You lost again.” The second was from Liam: “Give me thirty days. Let’s take a break. After that, I promise I’ll love only you. Completely.” I stared at the screen, my eyes as empty and cold as a dead sea. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. This time, I wasn’t going to let myself lose. … The red light of the operating room burned for three hours, casting a harsh, bloody glow over the sterile hallway. My father had undergone a double bypass two years ago. He had warned me, back then, that Liam wasn’t the right man. He had told me Liam’s heart was too heavily guarded, too cold. But I had been stubborn. I had convinced myself that Liam loved me, that five years of devotion had earned me a place in his soul. Now, those delusions felt like a physical slap across my face, leaving me suffocating in the quiet corridor. My mother sat beside me, her hands shaking, tears wetting her collar. “What are we going to do, Nancy? If your father doesn’t make it… I can’t…” “He will,” I interrupted her, my voice hard, though it was more to comfort myself than her. “Dad is strong. He won’t leave us.” But my voice betrayed me. It shook with a terror I had never felt before. Right then, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a video from Grace. It was set in a dimly lit hotel suite. Liam was standing there, looking disheveled and frantic, confronting her. “Why did you come back?” he demanded. Grace didn’t answer. But Liam was already unraveling, his eyes rimmed with red. “You walked out without a word, and now you think you can just reappear and ruin my life? Grace, how can you be so selfish?” I walked away from my mother, stepping into the quiet, deserted stairwell to watch. As I watched this man lose his mind on screen, a strange sense of detachment washed over me. He looked like a stranger. My best friend had told me, more than once, that Liam was too detached, too calm with me. I had always brushed it off. “Men like Liam—men at the top of the food chain—don’t wear their emotions on their sleeves,” I’d said. “I understand him. That’s just his nature.” But watching the screen, the truth settled into my bones with a freezing certainty. Liam “could” lose control. He “could” tremble, cry, and beg. But those raw, bleeding emotions weren’t reserved for me, his bride. They were solely for Grace. I closed my eyes, forcing down the sharp, twisting pain in my chest, and pressed play again. In the video, Grace remained silent under his barrage of questions, simply watching him with a quiet, knowing gaze. And then, Liam let out a bitter, defeated laugh. In an instant, all his anger and resentment seemed to dissolve. He stepped forward and pulled her tightly into his arms. “Just don’t leave again…” he whispered. As her head rested on his chest, Grace looked directly at the camera. Her eyes were sharp, filled with a triumphant malice meant only for me. The video cut to black. I smiled, a pathetic, self-deprecating sound escaping my throat. Outside the hospital windows, a sudden crack of thunder split the sky, and the rain began to pour, blurring the city lights. So that was what it looked like when Liam loved someone. In five years, I had never once felt the warmth of that fire. I wiped my eyes, swallowing the metallic taste of grief, and walked back to the waiting area just as the heavy double doors of the ICU swung open. I rushed to the surgeon, my throat tight. “Doctor, how is my father?” “We managed to stabilize him,” the doctor said, pulling off his mask. “He’s out of immediate danger.” He paused, looking at me with a grave intensity. “But you must understand, Nancy—no more shocks. His heart cannot handle another ounce of stress.” “I understand,” I said, my body tight as a bowed string. “It won’t happen again. Thank you.” My mother let out a loud sob of relief, collapsing into a chair as my father was wheeled out on a gurney. Looking at his pale, sunken face, I wanted to slap myself. Why had it taken me this long to finally wake up? An hour after we settled my father into his room, a doctor in a pristine white coat pushed the door open. “Ms. Parker? I’m the cardiologist specializing in hypertension. Mr. Reynolds sent me over to check on your father.” Almost simultaneously, my phone buzzed. A text from Liam: “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this would affect your father so badly. I’ve sent a top hypertension specialist to the hospital. He’ll take care of him.” I stared at the screen, my hands shaking so violently I almost dropped the phone. It was laughable. Five years. We had been together for five years, and he didn’t even know what kind of heart disease my father had. I forced my voice to remain steady as I looked at the specialist. “We don’t need you. Please leave.” Once my father was asleep, I walked down to the OB-GYN wing of the hospital for my own appointment. But as I passed one of the exam rooms, a familiar voice stopped me cold. Through the cracked door, I saw Liam. He was holding Grace, whose face was pale, his eyes filled with a desperate, frantic worry. The doctor asked, “Can you describe the symptoms?” Before Grace could speak, Liam answered, the words tumbling out of him without a second thought. “Her cycle has always been irregular, and she gets cold easily. Her constitution is fragile. We tried holistic herbal teas before, but they didn’t seem to help much.” I stood frozen in the hallway, my feet feeling as heavy as lead. Every detail he rattled off about Grace’s body felt like a needle driving deep into my chest. He didn’t even know what was killing my father. But he remembered every minor detail about an ex-girlfriend he hadn’t seen in five years. A cold, bitter smile touched my lips. I pulled out my phone, dialed my lawyer, and asked him to draft a divorce petition. Then, I pushed open the door to the next clinic. “I’d like to schedule a termination, please.” The doctor looked up, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “I remember you, Nancy. When you were here last month, you were so happy when we confirmed the pregnancy. Are you sure…?” My heart seized. The bitterness spread through my veins like poison. A month ago, while Liam was away on a business trip, I had felt sick. The test had been positive. I hadn’t told him. I wanted to surprise him today, right after we said our vows. I never imagined Grace would return. I never imagined he would leave me standing at the altar, a laughingstock for the city’s high society. I was still wearing my wedding dress, the white silk wrinkled and stained, making me look utterly pathetic. “I’m sure,” I said quietly. “I see things clearly now. Please just book the appointment.” The doctor sighed, a look of profound pity in her eyes. “Alright. Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM, Room 1. Just check in at the desk.” I nodded and walked back to my father’s room. When I opened my phone, the group chat with our mutual friends was blowing up. Liam had just added Grace back into the group. “Welcome back, Grace! I knew you and Liam would find your way back to each other.” “Exactly. You two belong together.” “Uh… guys, Nancy is still in this chat. Don’t forget.” The chat went dead silent. I stared at the screen, feeling a cold amusement. These people had only accepted me because of Liam. They had never actually respected me. A second later, a notification popped up: “You have been removed from the group by Liam Reynolds.” My lips parted, completely dry and bloodless. A private message from Liam followed immediately: “I’ll add you back in a month. Be good.” I stared at the text for two seconds, didn’t reply, and deleted the thread. Once the procedure was done tomorrow, there would be nothing left to tie me to him. Three days later, my father was awake, the abortion was behind me, and I walked back into the Reynolds Group headquarters to submit my resignation. Just as I sat down at my desk in the executive suite, the elevator doors slid open. Liam and Grace stepped out together. Liam stopped in front of my desk. “How is your father’s blood pressure?” I clenched my hands in my lap, my voice dripping with quiet sarcasm. “Thanks to you, Mr. Reynolds, he’s doing wonderfully.” Liam’s jaw tightened. He clearly didn’t like this new, sharp edge to my voice. He was used to the Nancy who hung on his every word, the Nancy who lived to please him. Frowning, he looked away and turned to Grace, his expression instantly softening into something gentle, almost eager to please. “You’ll start as the Chief of Staff in the executive office,” Liam said to her. “Once you’re familiar with the operations, I’ll move you to the project development team.” Grace shot me a brief, calculating look. “Sounds wonderful. But I’m completely new to this, Liam. Maybe Nancy can train me?” I looked up, my blood boiling. “I refuse.” Grace didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look angry; she just waited quietly for Liam to speak. Sure enough, his cold, authoritative voice cut through the air. “You don’t have the right to refuse.” “Nancy, the office isn’t a playground. Your personal feelings don’t dictate how we run things.” He gave my hollow eyes a dismissive glance, gripped Grace’s hand, and led her into his private office. My hands and feet went numb. Outside, the sky grayed, and a sudden flurry of snow began to fall, the cold wind rattling the glass. I shivered, sitting frozen at my desk while the quiet snickers of the other assistants drifted over from the breakroom. By the afternoon, I had just finished typing up my formal resignation. Before I could print it, Liam called me into his office, his face dark with fury. He threw a heavy leather folder at my feet. “Nancy, do you think this business is a joke?” “A three-million-dollar contract, and you put down thirty million! The entire board is scrambling to clean up your mess!” I picked up the document, my heart stopping. “That’s impossible.” I had double-checked that file a dozen times, especially the figures. There was no way I had made that mistake. My eyes drifted to Grace, who was sitting on the sofa. The tiny, satisfied curve of her lips made my eyes narrow. “It was you.” No wonder she had been so eager to learn this morning, hovering over my shoulder for hours. It wouldn’t have been hard for her to watch me type in my password. “Nancy!” Liam roared, his voice trembling with anger. “Are you really going to shift the blame to someone else?” I took a deep breath, forcing my hands to stop shaking. “Let’s check the security footage then. Miss Mallory might not know this, but that little decorative bear on my desk is actually a motion-activated camera.” Grace’s face stiffened for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Liam hesitated. Watching him waver, my heart sank further into the dark. Before he could make an excuse, I grabbed Grace’s arm and pulled her out into the main office. The entire executive assistant pool gathered around. “Nancy, what are you—” Liam started, but I ignored him. I clicked open the camera’s local feed on my monitor for everyone to see. The timestamp showed 12:23 PM, right when the rest of the floor had gone down for lunch. Grace walked up to my desk, sat in my chair, and opened my laptop. The footage showed, in high definition, her changing the digits in the contract. Liam’s face turned incredibly pale. The whispers started instantly. “It really was Grace? Why would she do that?” “Why do you think? She’s his ex. It’s a setup. I wonder who Liam is going to back.” “My money’s on Grace. You guys weren’t here years ago; you don’t know how crazy he was about her.” My spine stiffened. I forced myself not to show weakness, trying to ignore Liam’s heavy silence. Then, Grace did something unexpected. She looked at me, smiled slightly, and turned to Liam. She didn’t even try to deny it. “I did it,” she said simply. “I framed her. You can fire me.” She locked eyes with him. “Liam, are you going to fire me?” I looked at him, too. Surely he would. The evidence was right there, and she had confessed. There was no excuse left. I held my breath, waiting. After a long, agonizing silence, Liam looked away from Grace. “This matter is closed. I will personally cover the financial losses caused by the error.” Grace smiled, her eyes gleaming with triumph as she threw me a mocking look. The entire office fell quiet, stunned. My chest felt hollow, as if I had been struck by a physical blow. “On what grounds?” I asked, my voice cracking despite my efforts to keep it steady. Liam looked at me, his tone matter-of-fact. “Grace is my girlfriend now. She made a lapse in judgment, but as her partner, I’ll take responsibility for her mistakes.” A raw laugh broke from my throat. “Your girlfriend…” “Liam, did you forget we have a marriage certificate? Legally, she is nothing but a—” “Nancy!” he snapped, cutting me off, his eyes flashing with a cold, warning glare. “She is not.” I looked down at the polished floor. I finally understood where Grace’s absolute confidence came from. It wasn’t cleverness. It was Liam’s unconditional protection. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Fine,” I whispered. “She isn’t.” Once he dismissed the onlookers, he stepped closer to me, his voice softening as he tried to wrap his arms around me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” “Nancy, I told you—just thirty days. After that, I’m all yours.” I kept my hands flat against my sides, forcing a polite, blank smile. “I believe you.” “Actually, I have a few documents that need your signature.” I slipped my resignation letter and the divorce agreement into the middle of a thick stack of standard vendor contracts and handed them to him. The sudden shift in my mood caught him off guard, but seeing that I was no longer arguing, he let out a sigh of relief. He signed them without looking. Back at my desk, I scanned the signed divorce agreement and emailed it to my attorney, then sent the resignation letter to HR. Then, I sat quietly, waiting for the clock to strike five. At dusk, I took one last look at the office where I had spent five years of my life. I unclipped my ID badge and laid it on the desk. In the parking garage, Grace was leaning against the driver’s side door of my car. I tried to ignore her, but she stepped into my path. “You see? I told you. The moment I came back, you were out.” “Nancy, if you have any dignity left, sign the papers and go. Why hold onto a man who doesn’t love you?” I stopped walking, looking at her with cold amusement. “Really? But until those papers are filed, Grace, you’re just the side piece.” “You—!” Her face contorted in rage, and she threw her hand forward, slapping me hard across the cheek. “You bitch!” Just then, the heavy door to the elevator bay opened, and Liam stepped out. He saw the whole thing. “Grace,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He looked at my red, swelling cheek for three seconds. I waited for him to yell at her. Instead, he looked at me. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I apologize on her behalf. To make it up to you, our wedding next month will be twice as grand.” Grace smirked, wrapping her arm around his. My entire body went numb. My throat burned with a sudden, sharp ache. Without waiting for my answer, he led Grace away toward his car. The garage fell into a deafening silence. I stood there alone, the side of my face throbbing into numbness. And I finally accepted the truth. Liam didn’t care how Grace had abandoned him. He knew she had slapped me, knew she had set me up, knew exactly how manipulative she was. And yet, he loved her anyway. Grace was right. I had lost. My first loss was three years ago. She had sent me a text telling me that Liam kept her photo in his wallet, and that no one was allowed to touch it. I hadn’t believed her—until I found it late one night. When I threw it away, Liam yelled at me for the first time in our relationship. My second loss was a year ago. Grace told me that every year on May 6th, the anniversary of her mother’s passing, Liam would go to the cemetery with her. That day happened to be my mother’s birthday. I had begged him, cried, asked him to cut ties with Grace’s family and come home with me. But Liam had simply shaken my hand off and walked out the door without looking back. My third loss was at our wedding, when he abandoned me at the altar. And this was my fourth. I pushed the feelings down, unlocked my car, and was about to start the engine when my mother’s name flashed on the screen. When I answered, her voice was broken, choked with a terrible, violent sobbing. “Nancy… your father… he’s gone…” My chest tightened, a cold panic seizing my throat. My hands shook so badly I could barely grip the steering wheel as I sped toward the hospital. But when I arrived, there was only a bed, and a stiff white sheet pulled over a silent shape. My legs gave out. I collapsed by the bedside, my hands trembling as I reached out to touch his cold forehead. “Dad?” The tears came in a blind, choking rush. “Dad, please…” “What happened? He was fine yesterday! Why did this happen?” My mother was weeping so hard she could barely breathe. “Some woman… she sent your father a message… telling him you had been discarded… telling him to make you let go…” I closed my eyes, my teeth grinding together until they ached. Grace. Just then, the door pushed open, and Liam stepped in, a look of heavy guilt on his face. “I’m so sorry, Nancy,” he said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around my shaking shoulders. “Grace didn’t mean for this to happen. She was just scared, she…” I shoved him away with every ounce of strength I had left. I stared at him, my heart a hollow, bleeding ruin. “Liam… how did I ever love someone like you?” “Get out. Get out!” His face tightened, and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. “I’ll make this up to you. I’m already planning the new wedding. In thirty days, I’ll send Grace away, and it will just be you and me. I promise.” “Take some time to calm down.” Then, he turned and walked out. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, there was nothing left inside me but a cold, hard hatred. The next morning, my mother and I held a small, private service for my father. By evening, we had bought two one-way tickets to Los Angeles, leaving Boston behind forever. But before I boarded the plane, I made one last stop. I met with the general manager of the estate where Liam was planning our “rescheduled” wedding. I handed him ten thousand dollars in cash, along with three packages. “Deliver these to Liam Reynolds in exactly thirty days,” I said. These three surprises… he would remember them for the rest of his life.

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For over a year, I’d been hooking my coworkers up with gourmet lunch boxes from my father’s high-end restaurant, The Miramar. It was a premium two-protein, two-side combo that normally retailed for eighteen dollars. I charged them only ten. Everyone was thrilled with the arrangement. Until Garrett, our new intern, arrived and looked at my lunch program as if he’d uncovered a heinous crime. “Ten bucks for a two-and-two combo? Are you kidding me? That’s highway robbery,” Garrett announced to the open office, his voice dripping with righteous indignation. “I can get this made for five. If you’re pocketing five bucks a pop, and you do a hundred boxes a day, that’s five hundred dollars. My god, that’s a hundred and eighty thousand a year. You’re literally buying a new car off our backs. This is insane!” Chelsea tried to defend me. “Actually, Garrett, it’s a pretty great deal. Anything decent outside costs at least eighteen. Tyler is basically charging us cost price.” “Plus, The Miramar is a massive chain,” another coworker added. “It’s impossible to get a reservation there, let alone takeout. They literally set up a custom lunch line just for our office. It’s not even open to the public.” Garrett scoffed, shaking his head as if we were all incredibly naive. “Cost price is ten dollars? Are you kidding? Pork is dirt cheap right now. Even if you packed the box full, it wouldn’t cost ten bucks. And that ‘exclusive, not-for-takeout’ line? It’s a total marketing gimmick. My uncle runs a restaurant. I know exactly how this industry works.” He leaned against a cubicle wall, crossing his arms. “If you guys trust me, I can get you the exact same setup—pure cost, two proteins, two sides—for five bucks.” He looked around, holding his hands up in mock humility. “I’m just trying to help out. I don’t want a single penny. I just can’t stand watching someone treat their own colleagues like cash cows.” One by one, hands started shooting up around the room. For the first time in a year, I felt a wave of pure relief wash over me. This thankless chore—one that was costing my family a hundred thousand dollars a year in losses—was finally someone else’s problem. 1 Today’s lunch had just arrived. It was our signature two-protein, two-side lunch box. Today’s main was slow-braised short ribs—five thick pieces of tender, marbled meat—alongside a whole, herb-roasted chicken quarter. For the sides, there was an organic tomato-paste pasta and a sesame-marinated chicken salad. It came with a side of house-pickled relish and a bottle of fresh-pressed seasonal fruit juice. This was the exclusive lunch program my father’s culinary team prepared daily for my office. For a year, the standard had never dropped. It normally retailed for eighteen dollars, but I charged my colleagues only ten. “Tyler, these short ribs are unbelievable. Is your chef Michelin-starred?” “The chicken is huge, I can barely finish it. The flavor is incredible.” “The tomato are so refreshing. The dressing is perfect.” “I live for this fruit juice. You can actually taste the real fruit pulp. You can’t buy this anywhere.” These were the compliments I heard every single day. But today, Garrett shattered the peace. “What? You pay ten bucks for this? You guys are getting ripped off. The actual cost is five dollars max!” He pointed a finger at me, looking like a savior of the working class. “Tyler, man, we’re coworkers. Taking advantage of us like this is just dirty.” My fork paused mid-air above my bowl of plain pasta. Five dollars? The organic tomatoes and chicken alone cost more than that. Was he planning to serve them synthetic meat? Chelsea spoke up. “It’s not expensive, Garrett. A lunch like this would easily be eighteen to twenty dollars anywhere else, and the quality wouldn’t touch this. Honestly, I can’t even finish mine.” “The Miramar is a top-tier national chain,” another colleague chimed in. “It’s clean, it’s reliable, and we know we’re eating high-quality food.” Garrett smirked. “Reliable? Those ribs are clearly cheap, frozen imports. Probably sitting in a commercial freezer for six months. That’s how you get food poisoning.” “And the chicken? Classic 45-day factory-farmed birds pumped full of hormones. Eat enough of that and your endocrine system is toast. My uncle’s in the business, I see this stuff all the time. Restaurant margins are insane because they use garbage.” He lowered his voice, looking around conspiratorially. “I’m not trying to stir the pot, but if the food is really so great, how come Tyler doesn’t eat it? The kitchen makes him a completely separate meal. Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?” The room went dead silent. People stopped chewing. The delicious lunches suddenly looked like toxic waste. Courtney gagged slightly, pushing her plate away. She glared at me. “Tyler, do you want to explain this?” “We get that you want to make a buck, but you shouldn’t be feeding us dangerous, low-grade food just to line your pockets.” The murmurs of agreement rippled through the office like wildfire. “Seriously, if you wanted to make a profit, just tell us. Charge us fifteen or eighteen. But don’t lie about it being ‘at cost’ while feeding us garbage that could make us sick.” “Tyler, is your conscience really okay with this?” I stared at them, speechless. What profit? My family’s brand had been built over decades on a strict “never frozen” policy. We didn’t even use standard commercial meats. The short ribs were locally sourced, organic beef, and the chickens were free-range, organic-certified. The ten dollars I charged didn’t even cover the raw ingredients. Labor, utilities, packaging, and delivery were entirely absorbed by my father’s flagship kitchen. My dad had run the numbers last month. We were losing nearly a hundred thousand dollars a year on this little favor—essentially the cost of a brand-new luxury car, gone, just so my coworkers could eat well. Garrett covered his mouth, feigning regret. “Oh man, my bad. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to ruin your side hustle.” “It’s just… I grew up in this business. I used to do the books for my uncle’s diner. A lunch box like this costs five dollars to make, max. If you guys want to save some cash, I can talk to him. He’ll do it for five dollars, completely at cost.” Courtney’s eyes lit up. “Garrett, seriously? Five bucks for two meats and two sides?” “Of course. We’re a team here. Why would I lie to you? Think of the money you’ll save for coffee or drinks.” The excitement in the room was palpable. “Count me in! Put me down for the whole month.” “Me too! I’m in.” They crowded around Garrett’s desk, clamoring to sign up. Courtney walked past my cubicle, giving me a smug, tight-lipped smile. “Tyler, you see how it is. No one wants to pay your bloated prices anymore. You should probably refund everyone’s pre-payments.” Without saying a word, I pulled up my Venmo and transferred every single dollar of their remaining lunch balances back to them. Then, I called my dad. “Dad, shut down the office lunch service. We don’t need to deliver here anymore.” On the other end of the line, I heard my dad let out a massive sigh of relief. “Thank God. We can finally stop hemorrhaging money.” 2 I hung up and went back to my plain noodles. I didn’t eat the lunch boxes, but it wasn’t because the food was bad. I had major gastrointestinal surgery last year and was still on an incredibly strict, bland diet. No oil, no spice, no heavy seasoning. For the past twelve months, my daily fuel was plain millet porridge and simple handmade wheat noodles in clear broth. As the Venmo notifications chimed on my coworkers’ phones, the complaints started. “Well, we got this month’s refund, but what about the past year?” someone grumbled. “That’s an extra hundred and fifty a month we overpaid. Over eighteen hundred dollars a year. That’s a couple of luxury bags right there.” “One-fifty a person, times twenty people… that’s three grand a month he was skimming. More than his actual salary! He was literally using our hard-earned money as his personal allowance.” “No wonder he wears designer clothes and those nice watches. We paid for them.” I didn’t bother explaining. No one would ever believe that a millionaire’s son was working a mid-level logistics job for “experience,” let alone that his family was losing a hundred grand a year to feed them. They would just see any defense as a guilty cover-up. I took my last bite of noodles, sealed the plastic container, tied it in a bag, and walked to the trash can. The loud thud of the container hitting the bottom of the bin cut right through their murmuring. Every eye in the room locked onto me. I saw disgust, disdain, and a heavy dose of self-righteous fury. I looked back at them, keeping my voice cool and even. “If you truly believe I’ve defrauded you, feel free to file a report with the Better Business Bureau. If you have concerns about the food quality, contact the Department of Health. The Miramar is happy to cooperate with any official inspection.” With that, I turned and walked out. Chelsea hurried out after me, watching my expression closely. “Tyler, are you okay?” I shook my head. “I’m fine. Honestly.” “They’re just jumping to conclusions. I know you weren’t ripping us off.” I offered her a small smile. “Thanks, Chelsea. But really, I’m okay.” Losing this burden was actually a dream come true. A year ago, Courtney had tasted a bento box my dad’s chef had prepared for me. She begged me to bring her one, offering to pay. At first, it was just her. Then a couple of others joined. Soon, it grew to the entire department. Every day, I had to coordinate menus, taking down everyone’s hyper-specific dietary needs and preferences. Hank had severe type 2 diabetes; his meals had to be completely sugar-free. Janice hated cilantro. Greg was severely allergic to shellfish. Bobby couldn’t handle even a hint of spice. I had to meticulously label and double-check every single order. For a year, not a single person had gotten sick. My dad used to tease me: “Your coworkers are treated like royalty, Tyler. You’ve never paid this much attention to my diet.” I had poured my energy, my time, and my family’s money into keeping them happy, only to be branded a criminal. When I got back to my desk, Garrett sidled over, wearing a look of performative guilt. “Hey, Tyler, man. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your thunder or anything. I was just trying to do right by the team.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Everyone says you’re a super chill guy. You aren’t mad at me, right?” Mad? Why would I be mad? He had just saved my family a hundred grand. I wanted to buy the guy a drink. “No,” I said, keeping my face blank. “Not mad.” He grinned, throwing an arm around my shoulder with unearned familiarity. “I knew you were a team player! Hey, since you already have everyone’s dietary restrictions and preferences written down, do you mind forwarding me that spreadsheet? Save me the trouble of making a new one.” “Oh, and one more thing. Since you won’t be needing that heated delivery van anymore, do you think I could borrow it? It seems like a waste to let it just sit there.” I stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sheer audacity. That van was a specialized, medical-grade heated food transport vehicle with built-in UV sanitization, purchased specifically for this daily run. And this kid—who had just accused me of poisoning our coworkers for profit—had the nerve to ask to borrow it? My chest tightened with a sudden, sharp spike of anger. I looked at his smug, innocent face, pulled his arm off my shoulder, and uttered two words: “No way.” His smile vanished instantly. “Wow, Tyler. Seriously? It’s just a van. You aren’t even using it anymore. What’s the big deal?” A few coworkers immediately chimed in. “Honestly, Tyler, that’s so petty. You made so much money off us, you probably bought that van with our cash anyway. The least you can do is let Garrett use it.” “We’re all trying to get by, Tyler. Don’t hold a grudge just because Garrett found a better deal for us. It makes you look really small-minded.” “Yeah, it’s just a vehicle. You’re hoarding it out of spite because he exposed your little racket.” The words stung, sharp as needles. A year of labor. A year of bespoke, gourmet meals tailored to their health needs. A massive financial loss for my family. And this was the thanks I got. I looked at them, my gaze turning icy. “The van belongs to the restaurant group. If you want to lease it, contact their corporate office. I don’t have the authority to lend it out.” “And let me make this very clear: I have never made a single cent off any of you. If you want to sue me or report me, go right ahead. I welcome it.” “But if I hear one more slanderous word about my character, I won’t hesitate to involve my family’s legal team.” 3 The office fell quiet for a moment. Garrett flushed red, muttering something under his breath before slinking away. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from him. [Tyler, this spreadsheet is insane. Hank needs sugar-free? Janice can’t have cilantro? Bobby needs zero spice? It’s all cooked in one big pot, how am I supposed to separate all this?] [Are you sure you didn’t just make these up to make it look hard?] He was implying I was sabotaging him. As if our kitchen hadn’t spent a year meticulously prepping individual portions. I texted back: [Ask them yourself.] At five-thirty, I clocked out. For the first time in a year, I didn’t have to stay late to verify menu adjustments or call the head chef to remind him about Hank’s low-glycemic meals. I drove home with the windows down, feeling lighter than air. Just as I poured myself a glass of water at home, my phone rang. It was Janice, the HR manager. “Tyler, I heard about what happened today. Garrett’s a bit blunt, but you shouldn’t take it personally. He’s just looking out for the team.” “The thing is, we’ve gotten really used to The Miramar’s food. If you can match Garrett’s five-dollar price, we’d be happy to keep ordering from you.” “We won’t make a big deal about whatever margins you were making before. Just have the kitchen use the same high-quality ingredients, and we’ll keep supporting your family’s business. We don’t want to make things difficult for you.” I nearly laughed out loud. The sheer entitlement was breathtaking. She was acting as if she were doing me a favor by offering to let us lose even more money. “No, thank you,” I said flatly. My family had money. If I wanted to feed them for free, we could afford it. But these ungrateful parasites didn’t deserve a single crumb. Janice paused, her tone turning sharp. “Fine. I gave you a chance to make things right. Don’t come crying to me when you regret it.” “I won’t.” I hung up and actually laughed. The hot potato had officially been passed. 4 The next day, Garrett’s lunch delivery arrived thirty minutes late. The office was practically growling with hunger. But when they opened the containers, the room went quiet. The “short ribs” were mostly bare, gristly bone with tiny shreds of meat. The chicken drumsticks were dry, shriveled, and tiny. Chelsea tried to take a bite of hers, but it was so tough she had to yank it with her teeth and chew endlessly before finally giving up. The vegetables were a limp, yellowish mush, and the rice was gray and dry, smelling like it had been sitting in a damp cellar for years. I glanced over from my desk. The food was swimming in a strange, reddish oil that had an unpleasant, chemical sheen. Someone muttered, “Why do these ribs taste so weird? They’re totally bland, and they smell… kind of fishy?” “This chicken is like leather. I can’t even chew it.” “The rice is yellow. Why does it taste bitter?” Everyone turned their eyes to Garrett. Garrett was busy stuffing a relatively decent-looking piece of meat into his mouth. “Tastes fine to me,” he said, talking around his food. “This is organic, pasture-raised pork. It’s not that soft, commercial stuff. It’s leaner, which means it’s packed with nutrients.” “And the chicken is free-range. That’s why it’s firm. It’s real muscle, not fat.” “The rice doesn’t have that fake shine because it’s completely natural and unprocessed. Most commercial rice is coated in synthetic wax to make it look pretty, which is incredibly toxic. Honestly, why do you think some people only eat noodles instead of rice?” I quietly enjoyed the fresh, homemade wheat noodles my mom had packed for me, ignoring his pathetic attempt at shade. Chelsea defended me. “Stop taking shots at Tyler. He’s not even in the lunch program anymore. He brought his own food because he likes noodles. It has nothing to do with the rice.” Garrett smirked, looking around as if he’d just won an argument. “Sure, Chelsea. Or maybe he knows he got caught. The Miramar probably threw in those free noodles as part of his kickback. Otherwise, why is he still getting food from them?” Courtney looked at Chelsea with a knowing, nasty smile. “Honestly, Chelsea, you keep defending Tyler so hard. Do you have a crush on him or something?” “Seriously,” another coworker chimed in. “Lying just to defend a guy who ripped us off? Have some self-respect. Garrett’s lunch is perfectly fine. It’s way cheaper, and we aren’t getting scammed.” Chelsea’s face turned bright red with embarrassment and anger. Frustrated and unable to find the words to argue, she slammed her chopsticks down and walked out of the breakroom.

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There was an emergency at the office, so I had to ask my fiancé, Wyatt, to pick up my parents from the train station. It was their first time visiting the city. Half an hour later, he sent a single-character reply: “K.” A faint sense of unease settled in my chest, but I brushed it aside. It wasn’t until I got home after work to find the apartment completely dark and empty that the dread turned into a cold certainty. I rushed back out, heading straight for the station. It was ninety-five degrees outside. Three heavy wooden crates of home-grown sweet potatoes had split open, scattering the purple tubers all over the concrete walkway. My father, suffering from severe heat exhaustion, was slumped against a stone planter, while my mother used the plastic cap of a water bottle to feed him tiny, careful sips of water. Wyatt had never shown up. Instead, he had simply sent my father a text: “I’m tied up. Just download the new AI assistant app and look up the bus route.” But my father used a twenty-dollar prepaid flip phone. He was holding the scuffed, plastic brick to his ear, his voice trembling and incredibly small as he spoke to the automated voicemail greeting over and over again: “How do we get to my daughter’s place? Please, just tell me where to go.” When they saw me running toward them, my parents tried to force a smile, though their eyes were bloodshot and watery. My mother nervously pulled at the frayed hem of her cardigan. “Don’t be mad at Wyatt, sweetie. It’s our fault. We’re just too old for this high-tech stuff. We caused trouble.” Shaking, I opened my phone. Wyatt’s childhood friend, Chelsea, had just posted an update. In the photo, Wyatt was gently helping her parents into a sleek, rented luxury RV. [Mentioned offhand that my dad gets car sick, so Wyatt took the afternoon off and rented an RV to pick them up from the airport. Sweeter than a real son.] I knelt down and took my father’s shaking, calloused hand. The scratched screen of his phone was still lit up, displaying the outgoing call log to Wyatt. Forty-three calls. Every single one had been declined. I swallowed my tears, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Dad, the AI isn’t the problem.” “It’s the man. He’s rotten to the core.” 1 My father’s IV ran until nine at night. He lay on the ER cot, his face pale and waxy, his dry lips parting slightly with a tremor. “Caitlin, this must have cost a fortune. I brought cash.” He reached with shaking fingers toward the waistband of his trousers, trying to unbutton a hidden pocket my mother had hand-sewn into the lining. I pressed my hand over his, my throat feeling as though it had been scraped with sandpaper. “It didn’t cost much, Dad. I already paid for it.” In reality, I had Wyatt’s credit card in my wallet, but I instinctively used my own savings. From the moment that forty-third call went unanswered at the station, I knew I didn’t want to owe him a single cent ever again. When I finally brought my parents back to the apartment, Wyatt was already home. He was lounging on the sofa in his cashmere sweatpants, his AirPods firmly in his ears. Hearing the front door click, he looked up, his eyes lingering on my parents’ wrinkled, sweat-stained clothes for a fraction of a second. “Hey, you made it. Must be brutal outside.” His voice was polite, perfectly smooth, and entirely hollow. Then he pointed toward the entryway. “Slippers are on the second shelf of the shoe rack. And Helen, Robert’s boots have quite a bit of dried mud on the soles. Could you put them in a plastic bag once he takes them off? That entryway rug is custom-woven wool. It’s incredibly difficult to spot-clean.” My mother, who had been about to step onto the mat, froze mid-motion. She looked down at my father’s dusty work boots, panicked, and took two steps back, retreating entirely into the concrete hallway outside our front door. “Oh… oh, of course. I understand.” She knelt on the hard floor of the corridor, pulling the heavy boots off my father’s feet herself. She wiped the soles with the clean hem of her shirt before she dared carry them inside. My father stood awkwardly in the entryway, rubbing his hands together. He reached into his worn canvas duffel bag and pulled out a heavy glass jar. “Wyatt, I harvested this clover honey myself. Caitlin told us you lecture a lot at the university and your throat gets dry. This will help.” He held it out with both hands, offering it like a peace offering. Wyatt took out one AirPod. He didn’t reach for the jar. Instead, he gave a small, indulgent smile. “Thanks, Robert, but I only drink single-origin espresso. No sugar.” He paused, adjusting his posture. “Besides, raw, unpasteurized honey from private, unregulated hives carries a pretty high risk of botulism and heavy metal contamination. If I get sick, I miss work. You should probably just keep it for yourselves.” My father’s hands froze in mid-air. A deep, agonizing flash of humiliation crossed his weathered face. Slowly, he pulled the jar back, tucking it into the absolute bottom of his bag. His voice was barely a whisper. “Oh… I see. I don’t know much about science. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” Wyatt tapped his AirPod back in, turning his attention back to his iPad screen. “It’s fine. Just use your phone to search things if you’re unsure. Caitlin, why don’t you take them to get showered? They have… that damp, crowded transit smell on them.” His tone was entirely natural, as if he were simply pointing out a draft in the room. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, digging my fingernails into my palms until they drew blood. Minutes later, his phone rang. Wyatt immediately pulled out his AirPods, put the call on speaker, and his voice transformed. It became warm, patient, and incredibly attentive. “Mr. Clifford! Yes, that smart neck massager was from me.” “You can’t find the power button? No problem, let me walk you through it.” “Feel that raised metal button on the left? Hold it down for three seconds, then slide it up. That’s level one.” Chelsea’s father laughed warmly on the other end. “Oh, Wyatt, you kids and your high-tech gadgets. My old bones can barely keep up. Thanks for your patience.” Wyatt chuckled, his tone entirely devoid of any irritation. “Come on, Mr. Clifford. It’s no trouble at all. It’s our job to help our elders navigate these things. Don’t think twice about it.” I stood in the hallway, watching my father creep along the edge of the baseboards toward the guest room, avoiding the wool rug as if it were a minefield. It’s our job to help our elders navigate these things. Then what was telling my father to ask an AI? 2 The next day was Saturday. I wanted to take my father to a local clinic to follow up on his heart rate after the heatstroke. As we stepped out of the guest room, I found Wyatt standing in the living room holding a sleek black smart speaker. He plugged it into the outlet right outside the guest room door and turned to my parents. “Helen, Robert, I’m usually swamped with work, and Caitlin has her own schedule. You probably don’t know how to run the smart systems in this apartment.” He tapped the top of the speaker. “I set up this home assistant for you. If you want to turn on the TV, use the washing machine, or don’t know how long to microwave something, just talk to it. It’s smarter than a person, and it won’t get annoyed no matter how many times you ask.” My mother’s eyes lit up with a mixture of fear and awe. “Oh, that’s amazing. Thank you so much, Wyatt. We promise not to be a burden.” Wyatt nodded, satisfied, and checked his watch. “I have to head out. Probably won’t be back for dinner. Help yourselves.” As the door clicked shut, I saw a text flash on his screen from Chelsea: [Wyatt, my dad wants to try that new Michelin-starred spot downtown, but I heard bookings are blocked out a month in advance!] Wyatt’s reply was instant: [Already taken care of. I used a connection through the dean to get a private room. I’ll pick you all up at eleven.] I stood frozen in the hallway, the blood in my veins turning to ice. I had asked Wyatt about that exact restaurant a month ago, mentioning how rare it was for my parents to visit and how much I wanted to treat them to a nice meal there. Wyatt hadn’t even looked up from his screen then. “Places like that are about the ambiance and the upcharge. Your parents prefer simple food; they wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. It’s a waste of money.” At eleven o’clock that night, I got up to get a glass of water and noticed the guest room door was slightly ajar. The room was pitch black. By the faint glow of the hallway light, I saw my father kneeling on the carpet in front of the smart speaker. He was wearing his reading glasses—the ones with a broken temple held together by blue painter’s tape. In his hand was the manual Wyatt had tossed on the counter earlier. My mother had accidentally spilled some soup on the sofa cushion and had tried to wash it, but couldn’t get the smart washing machine door to unlock. My father leaned close to the speaker, his voice a low, heavy-accented whisper. “Uh… hi, AI. Excuse me… how do we open the… washer?” The speaker pulsed with a cool blue light. An artificial, robotic voice responded: [I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please repeat your command in a clear voice.] My father broke into a sweat, clearing his throat and trying to enunciate perfectly. “AI. Washing… machine. How… open?” The speaker replied: [Searching for: “How to wash a machine.” Here is what I found…] My father stared at the glowing blue light, completely lost. He sat back on the floor, defeated. Then, slowly, he raised his calloused hand and slapped himself across the face. A sharp, flesh-on-flesh crack cut through the quiet of the apartment. “Stupid…” he whispered, his voice cracking with tears. “Even a machine looks down on you. How is Caitlin supposed to hold her head up in this family?” I stood outside the door, biting my hand to keep from sobbing, tears streaming down my face. This was Wyatt’s pride and joy—his high-tech solution to every inconvenience. It was a mirror, reflecting his deep-seated arrogance and my parents’ painful humility. 3 Sunday afternoon brought uninvited guests. Wyatt didn’t give me any warning; he simply walked in with Chelsea and her parents. “Mr. Clifford wanted to see the river view, and my place has the best angle,” Wyatt explained naturally as he kicked off his shoes and took Chelsea’s mother’s designer handbag. Chelsea clung to her father’s arm, her voice sweet and high. “Wyatt, I hope we aren’t interrupting anything with Caitlin. My dad’s arthritis has been flaring up from all the walking, so we’re moving a bit slow.” I came out of the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit and met Wyatt’s eyes. His gaze landed on the plate, his brow furrowing slightly. “Caitlin, go grab that German physical therapy device from my study drawer for Mr. Clifford.” I froze. “That’s for my dad.” I had bought it just yesterday. Because of my father’s heat exhaustion at the station, his lower back and legs had been aching. I had ordered it through a friend from an overseas medical supplier, spending nearly a thousand dollars. The box hadn’t even been opened. Wyatt’s face darkened with familiar, condescending impatience. “Your dad’s spent his whole life doing heavy farm labor; his joints are chronically worn out. A precision device like that won’t do anything for him. Mr. Clifford has acute inflammation from the cold weather. It’s different.” He lowered his voice. “And when I bought this place, Mr. Clifford pulled some strings to get me a builder’s discount. We owe him. Go get it.” He was so reasonable, so clinical, weighing every human interaction like a transaction. My father, who had just come in from the balcony after hanging up the laundry, heard us. Panic flickered in his eyes. He quickly set the laundry basket on a chair and stepped forward. “Caitlin, I don’t need that thing! My back is tough, let’s not waste the electricity.” He gave Chelsea’s father a warm, placating smile, bowing slightly as he handed over the boxed device. “Here, sir, please use it. My son-in-law bought the best; it’s bound to work wonders.” Chelsea’s father took the box with two fingers, giving a dry, dismissive nod. Wyatt knelt on the carpet, carefully peeling open the packaging. He attached the therapy pads to Mr. Clifford’s knees, adjusting the settings with extreme care. “How’s that, Mr. Clifford? Is it too intense?” “It’s perfect, Wyatt. You always think of everything,” Chelsea’s mother beamed. My father stood there, rubbing his hands together, looking completely out of place. To ease the awkwardness, he reached for a microfiber cloth on the kitchen counter. “I’ll… I’ll wipe down the coffee table. You folks chat.” “Robert,” Wyatt called out, not even looking up from his remote. “That coffee table is sintered stone. You can’t use a wet cloth on it; it leaves streaks. If you have nothing to do, feel free to rest in the guest room. The Roomba will handle the cleaning.” My father froze, the cloth clutched in his hand. He looked like a child caught doing something wrong. Slowly, he hid the cloth behind his back, bowed his head, and crept back to the guest room along the wall. As the door clicked shut, I heard Wyatt murmur to Chelsea: “Older folks always need to feel useful, but honestly, it just slows everything down.” The paring knife clattered onto the kitchen counter. I took a deep breath, turned, and walked into the guest room. 4 The next morning, my father began coughing violently in the bathroom. I pushed the door open to find a splash of dark crimson in the sink. The severe heatstroke from the station had triggered a latent cardiovascular crisis. “Caitlin, don’t tell Wyatt…” my father whispered, clutching his chest, terrified of being an inconvenience. My hands shook as I texted Wyatt: My dad is coughing up blood. Can you contact someone to get him into an emergency specialist slot? Wyatt replied instantly. But it wasn’t a message. It was a block of AI-generated text. [Based on your description, coughing up blood may indicate a severe cardiovascular event. It is recommended to visit the nearest tertiary hospital. You can book an appointment via the hospital’s portal. The steps are as follows: Step 1, download the app…] Looking at that sterile, automated reply, my heart died. I closed the app, wiped my tears, and called an Uber to take my father to the State Medical Center. The diagnosis was grim: he needed an immediate coronary angioplasty and stent. “Our cardiology unit is world-class, but Dr. Mercer is the only surgeon who can perform this delicate of a procedure this week,” the doctor said, reviewing the scans. “His schedule is booked through next month. Your father can’t wait that long. You should see if you have any personal connections.” Dr. Mercer was Wyatt’s university mentor. Wyatt visited him every holiday, and they were incredibly close. I dialed Wyatt’s number. It rang for a long time before he answered. “Wyatt, my dad needs emergency heart surgery. Can you call Dr. Mercer? The doctors say it’s urgent.” Silence on the line. Then, “Caitlin, aren’t you overreacting? I sent you the booking instructions. It’s normal for older people to have heart issues. They can manage it with medication.” “The doctor said he needs surgery now! He’s coughing up blood!” I raised my voice. Wyatt sighed. “Look, stop yelling. I already used Dr. Mercer’s emergency slot for this week.” My body went rigid, the blood rushing in my ears. “Used it? On who?” “Chelsea’s uncle,” Wyatt said, his voice completely matter-of-fact. “He runs an import-export business. His time is literally money. He had a mild arrhythmia, so I gave him the slot.” My hand shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. “An arrhythmia? My father is spitting up blood! He is fighting for his life!” “Caitlin!” Wyatt’s tone grew icy. “Stop using emotional blackmail. Resources have to be used where they matter. Chelsea’s uncle can secure corporate sponsorship for my research grant next semester. What can your father do?” “He’s an old farmer. Even if he gets the surgery, what social value does he have other than eating up resources for a few more years?” The sterile, cold air of the hospital hallway crawled up my spine. I opened my mouth, but suddenly, the words dried up. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Wyatt seemed to realize he had gone too far, and his voice softened a fraction. “Look, I’ll send you a link. I integrated the latest system into it. Have your dad check it periodically to see if there’s a cancellation. We live in a digital age; he needs to learn to adapt.” The line went dead. And in that moment, any lingering hope I had for us was gone. That afternoon, after settling my parents into a temporary ward, I went back to the apartment. Wyatt wasn’t there. I pulled out my largest suitcase and packed our lives into it. We didn’t own much anyway. When everything was packed, I walked over to the sintered stone coffee table. I slipped off my diamond engagement ring and set it gently on the polished surface. Then, I closed the door behind me. No slamming. No sound.

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On the day of my wife Elena’s funeral, a man with a face carved from pure grief walked through the chapel doors. He didn’t leave after placing a single white chrysanthemum on the casket. Instead, he walked straight toward me. “To be honest, I’ve envied you for thirty years.” My brows knit in confusion. He let out a bitter, humorless laugh, his eyes welling with tears as his gaze drifted to the framed portrait of Elena. “For thirty years, she gave me everything. Her love, her time, her money—she was never stingy with any of it.” He paused, turning his head to look at me, his eyes burning with a deep, unresolved resentment. “But she had one absolute rule. I was never, under any circumstances, allowed to appear in front of you.” A cold dread seized my chest. “What the hell are you talking about?” He let out another soft laugh. “I mean that for the thirty years you two were married, she was with me.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there as the blood drained from my face. My eyes stretched wide, my lungs begging for air. The sudden, suffocating weight of thirty years of betrayal and lies crashed over me. A violent rush of heat surged to my head, and the chapel floor rushed up to meet me as I collapsed beside her casket. … When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the altar on our wedding day. “Jason, do you promise to love me and be with me for the rest of our lives?” I stared at her in silence for a long, agonizing moment. Then, I took the platinum band from the velvet box and tossed it directly down the drain of the nearby baptismal font. The romantic, beautifully decorated chapel fell into a suffocating, dead silence. The hands of our friends and family, poised to clap, froze in midair. Elena looked up at me, her face a mask of utter bewilderment. “Jason?” She didn’t raise her voice or scold me. Instead, she immediately reached out and grabbed my hand, her eyes filled with frantic worry. “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Is it me?” I looked down at her, memorizing the soft curves of her face. She looked exactly the way she did in my memories. For thirty years, she had looked at me exactly like this. No one in our social circle would have ever dared to say Elena didn’t love me. They all said she loved me more than her own life. Even when we got into that horrific car crash years later, her immediate, instinctual reaction had been to throw her body over mine. She hadn’t cared that she walked away with three broken ribs, as long as I didn’t have a scratch. Yet, this very woman—the one who supposedly loved me to the point of madness—had built our entire life on a thirty-year lie. I closed my eyes, forcing down the suffocating wave of nausea rising in my throat. Under her frantic, searching gaze, I slowly pulled my hand from her grasp. My voice was entirely devoid of emotion. “We’re done. The wedding is off.” Her pupils dilated in terror, and the color drained from her lips. “What?” She scrambled to grab my arm again, her voice shaking so hard she could barely form the words. Her eyes darted around the room, full of desperate, trembling panic. “Is it the crowd? Is this whole big production too much pressure? Did I push you too hard?” She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t be angry.” I remained silent. The longer I stood there, the more she unraveled. My sister, Lucy, was completely bewildered. She dropped the confetti popper she was holding and rushed up the altar steps, her forehead creased in deep concern. “Jason, what are you doing? You and Elena have been head over heels for each other since high school! She worships the ground you walk on. What is wrong with you?” A sharp, unbearable ache pierced my chest. Lucy was right. We had loved each other for so many years. But the deceit had lasted even longer than the love. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I ignored my sister’s demands. Under the stunned, whispering glares of a hundred guests, I turned around and walked out of the church. I had barely stepped through the front door of our townhouse when Elena burst in behind me, breathless and disheveled. She threw her arms around me from behind, burying her face in my back. Her entire body was trembling. “Jason, please. Just tell me what I did wrong. I’ll change it. I’ll fix whatever it is. Just don’t throw us away.” I pried her arms off me and stepped back. The embrace that used to feel like a warm sanctuary now felt like ice against my skin. I turned to face her. “Fine. Let me ask you one thing. Are you keeping any secrets from me?” For a fraction of a second, her face stiffened. If I hadn’t spent two lifetimes learning every line of her expression, I never would have caught it. “No,” she said, her voice steadying. “I swear, Jason. Absolutely nothing.” Watching her lie so effortlessly, my heart plummeted into a cold, dark abyss. There was nothing left to say. I turned on my heel and went upstairs to the guest room, locking the door behind me. Around midnight, a muffled vibration woke me. Through the thin wall, I heard Elena whispering. She called my name twice to check if I was asleep. When I didn’t answer, the quiet jingle of her car keys echoed down the hallway, followed by the soft click of the front door. In the dark, I opened my eyes. I quietly got out of bed, grabbed my jacket, and followed her. I needed to know. I needed to see the shape of the ghost that had haunted our entire marriage. An hour later, her black Porsche Cayenne pulled up outside a historic, secluded brownstone in Boston’s South End. Elena got out, her face set in a grim, dark expression, and went inside. I pulled up a block away and opened the tracking and audio-monitoring app I had stealthily installed on her phone while she was in the shower earlier that evening. I slipped my headphones on. Immediately, a muffled, furious argument filled my ears. “Did I not make myself clear?” Elena’s voice carried a cold, venomous authority I had never heard from her before. “Unless I reach out to you first, you do not call me!” A man’s voice answered, frantic and hysterical. “Why? Why do I have to hide? I knew you were marrying him today! If he gets to be your husband, what the hell am I to you?” Elena’s response was ice-cold. “I love him. You? What are you, Mason? I warned you. Stay away from Jason. Do you understand me?” A long silence followed. Then, the sound of the man sobbing softly. Elena’s tone softened, turning into a coaxing, manipulative purr. “Just be good. I’ve already set up your position in the project management department at Kingsley Enterprises. I can give you everything except my last name. If you want a child, we can do that too. Just don’t cross my line.” Outside, in the cold cabin of my car, I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Tears fell silently, hot and fast, blurring the dashboard lights. The argument in my headphones dissolved into whispers, followed by the unmistakable, quiet sounds of intimacy. I took a long, trembling breath, pulled up my email, and opened the acceptance letter from Oxford University. In my past life, I had rejected the doctoral fellowship to stay by her side. This time, she wasn’t worth the sacrifice. “Mason…” The name clicked. In my previous life, a man named Mason had indeed worked in our corporate project division for a short time. No wonder he looked familiar at the funeral. A bitter, mocking smile touched my lips. She had kept her secret hidden right under my nose the entire time. By the time I returned home and crawled back into bed, it wasn’t long before Elena slipped back into the house. She crawled under the covers and snuggled into my chest, her breathing slowing into a peaceful rhythm within minutes. The next morning, she was up early, preparing breakfast as if nothing had happened. “I made your favorite crab-meat crepes,” she said, offering a bright, warm smile. Watching her act so perfectly innocent, a wave of intense physical revulsion washed over me. I wondered how many mornings in our past life—mornings I had cherished as peak happiness—had been preceded by nights she spent in another man’s bed. I ignored her outstretched hand and left the plate untouched. “I said we’re done. Do you have a hearing problem?” Her smile faltered, her hands freezing over the counter. A flash of raw panic crossed her features. “Jason, I’m not letting you go.” I let out a harsh laugh. “What, you don’t want to lose this townhouse? Fine. I’ll pack my bags and leave today.” “No!” she cried out, her shoulders slumping as she saw the absolute indifference in my eyes. “I’ll go. You stay here. Just… please, don’t make any permanent decisions yet. Give yourself some time to cool down.” She untied her apron, her face pale and defeated, and quietly left the house. By the afternoon, as I was gathering my documents for the UK visa, my phone buzzed. The GPS tracker showed Elena’s phone was back at the South End brownstone. I decided to go there. I wanted to confront them, tear down her web of lies once and for all, and put a clean end to this nightmare. But when I arrived, her black Porsche was already tearing out of the driveway. I trailed her at a distance, my heart sinking further with every turn until she pulled into the parking lot of a private women’s health clinic. The air felt thin. I followed her inside and watched from a distance as Mason held her hand, guiding her toward an examination room. I stood near the door, which was left slightly ajar. “Congratulations,” the doctor’s voice drifted out. “You’re pregnant. About five weeks along. The fetus is developing perfectly.” Mason’s face lit up with pure ecstasy. Elena’s lips pressed into a tight line, her expression unreadable. “Elena, we’re having a baby! You’re going to be a mother!” Mason threw his arms around her, practically weeping with joy. She offered a small, flat smile. “Yeah.” They left the clinic and got back into her car. I followed them back toward the brownstone, the audio monitor in my ear springing to life again as another fight erupted. “What the hell do you mean?!” Mason’s voice was cracking with disbelief. “You want me to let Jason raise my child?!” “Are you insane? That’s my kid!” Elena’s voice remained practical, devoid of any maternal warmth. “Jason was in an accident when he was young; he’s sterile. I’ll take a year-long remote consulting assignment out of the country to give birth in secret. When I bring the baby back, we’ll present it to Jason as an adoption. He’ll never know the difference.” I slammed my foot on the brakes. The screech of my tires was drowned out by the thunderous, erratic beating of my own heart. The child. Everything clicked. Every single puzzle piece of my miserable past life fell perfectly into place. In my past life, exactly one year after our wedding, Elena had sat me down. She comforted me about my inability to have biological children and gently suggested we adopt. Around the same time, she took a year-long sabbatical to oversee an overseas project. Back then, I had felt so much guilt over my physical limitations. I thought a child would complete our family, so I eagerly agreed. I burst into a fit of breathless, hysterical laughter, tears streaming down my face. The child I had raised for thirty years—the boy I had poured my entire soul, energy, and love into—was Mason’s. I gripped the steering wheel, my body shaking so violently I could barely breathe. A dry, painful sob tore through my throat, leaving my eyes stinging and red. Through the headphones, Elena’s voice was absolute and unyielding. “This isn’t up for debate, Mason. I promise you, we can raise our second child together. But this one goes to Jason.” And Mason, weeping, surrendered to her terms. I sat in my idling car, laughing until my chest ached. Every memory of my “happy” past life was nothing but a carefully orchestrated play, a sickening monument built on betrayal. Thirty minutes later, I walked up the steps of the South End brownstone and rang the bell. “Who is it?” Mason’s voice called out. He opened the door, and the moment his eyes landed on me, his entire body froze. His breath hitched. “J-Jason…” I pushed past him without a word, walking straight into the living room. Elena was just coming out of the bathroom, drying her hair. The towel slipped from her fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud. Her eyes stretched wide with terror. I looked around. Her personal belongings were scattered everywhere. On the mantelpiece sat a framed photo of the two of them, smiling and holding each other. We stood on opposite sides of the room, the silence stretching between us like a physical wire. My hands were numb, cold as ice. “You said you had nothing to hide,” I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of my fury. “What is all of this?” Elena finally snapped out of her stupor. Her face turned deathly pale, and she rushed forward, grabbing my shoulders. “Jason, please, listen to me! It’s not what it looks like!” Being this close to her, the faint scent of Mason’s cologne on her skin turned my stomach. It was the final spark on a fuse that had been burning for two lifetimes. “Get your hands off me!” I wrenched myself away and struck her. The sharp, stinging slap echoed through the quiet house. Elena’s head snapped to the side, her cheek instantly flushing a deep red. Mason let out a roar of anger and lunged forward, shoving me back. “Are you insane?! You don’t lay a hand on her!” I stumbled backward against the wall. Before I could steady myself, Elena turned on Mason like a wild animal, her face contorted in rage. “Get upstairs! You don’t get to touch him! Get out of my sight!” Mason stared at her, utterly stunned, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “He knows, Elena. Do you seriously think you can go back to him now?” He looked at me, his eyes gleaming with a sick sense of victory. “Elena is pregnant, Jason. With my baby.” Elena’s face drained of what little color it had left. “Mason! Shut up!” I looked at them both, my expression hardening into a cold, mocking sneer. “Why stop him? Let him speak. I’d love to hear how many other things I’ve been blind to.” “Jason, please…” Elena pleaded. Mason ignored her, a desperate, weeping pride in his voice. “The night you graduated? She told you she was in New York working on a project with her academic advisor. She wasn’t. She was here, with me.” “Mason, I swear to God!” Elena screamed. “The wedding decorations you liked? I chose them,” Mason sneered, stepping closer. “The vows she said to you? I wrote them. She just memorized the script.” “And the baby? This isn’t even the first one. There were two others before this. She just didn’t keep them.” Every word felt like a physical blow to my chest. My face grew paler with every sentence, the room beginning to spin. My chest tightened, a familiar, terrifying pressure squeezing my heart. I had a congenital heart condition as a child; though I had surgery, the sudden shock was too much. My breathing grew rapid and shallow, and before I could reach for a chair, my knees gave out, and the world went black. When I woke up, the hospital room was dark. Elena was sitting by my bedside, her head resting in her hands, looking entirely defeated. The moment she heard me move, she bolted upright, her eyes wide with frantic concern. “You’re awake! Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” I stared at the ceiling, refusing to look at her. After a long, heavy silence, she leaned closer, her voice soft and coaxing. “Jason… I only did this because of us. You can’t have biological children. Instead of raising a stranger’s child with absolutely no connection to either of us, wouldn’t you rather raise a baby that shares my blood? I did this for you. Can’t you see that?” I turned my head to look at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. She was entirely serious. My pain, my humiliation, the fact that she had treated me like a fool for half my life—none of it mattered to her. She honestly believed she was doing me a favor. A violent tremble shook my entire body. I pointed toward the door. “Get out. Get the hell away from me.” Elena bit her lip, slowly pulling the hospital blanket up to my chest. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Just… try to rest. Don’t excite yourself.” The moment she closed the door, it clicked open again. Mason walked in, his eyes gleaming with a toxic, petty satisfaction. “There’s one more thing you should know,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting down with a smirk. I stared at him coldly. “Five years ago, when you submitted your college applications,” Mason said, leaning in. “Elena was the one who changed your choice.” My heart stopped. “What did you say?” He let out a quiet giggle. “It wasn’t her clumsy little sister who messed up your computer. That was just a story they made up to keep you happy. Elena did it herself. She logged into your portal and rejected your Yale acceptance so you’d have to go to Boston University with her. I watched her do it.” A rush of old memories flooded my mind. After high school graduation, I had trusted Elena with all my passwords. When my admission letter came from Boston University instead of Yale—where I had been a shoe-in—I was devastated. I had suspected her for a fleeting moment. But when I went to her house to confront her, her younger sister, Chelsea, had dropped to her knees, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. ““I’m so sorry, Jason! I thought it was just a game! I didn’t know I was changing your real applications!”” Elena had immediately sent Chelsea abroad to study, cutting off her allowance as “punishment,” and spent weeks holding me, crying and apologizing for her sister’s stupidity. I had let it go because Chelsea was punished, and because I was happy enough to at least be going to college with Elena. It was all a lie. A beautifully choreographed play written, directed, and starred in by Elena. Mason smiled, satisfied with the damage he had done, and quietly slipped out of the room. I sat in the hospital bed as the night bled into dawn, staring blankly at the wall. My heart felt hollow, like an empty chamber where a life used to be. At mid-morning, the door opened. Elena walked in carrying a bag of warm breakfast. She began setting the containers on the bedside table, her movements so careful, so dedicated, as if my nourishment was the only thing that mattered in her world. It was sickening. “Why?” I asked, my voice dry and hollow. Elena paused, looking up in confusion. “What do you mean?” “Why did you change my college application?” Her hands froze. After a long pause, she let out a soft sigh. “Didn’t you want to be with me? You didn’t need Yale anyway. The Kingsley Group will eventually be yours. I just wanted you by my side. I didn’t want you to have to work so hard.” The sheer, arrogant entitlement of her words broke something inside me. I grabbed the bowl of hot porridge and threw it directly at her chest. “That was my life, Elena!” I screamed, my voice cracking with pure, unadulterated hatred. “Do you have any idea how hard I worked for that acceptance?!” The hot liquid splattered across her expensive coat, but she didn’t even flinch. She just looked at me, her expression entirely rational. “I did it because I love you.” I let out a low, bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Love? You call this love? Sleeping with another man is love? Forcing me to raise his bastard child is love? Destroying my dreams is love?!” I stared at her, my eyes burning. “Your love is a disease, Elena. It’s disgusting.” Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Calm down,” she said, her voice dropping into a chilly, commanding tone. “I’ve already rescheduled the wedding. I expect you to move past this so we can start over.” She stepped closer, her voice laced with a subtle, sharp threat. “I’ve already sent out the new invitations to your parents and friends. If you don’t want them to be humiliated in front of everyone, you will show up on Thursday. Don’t make this ugly, Jason. You know you can’t leave me.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out. The room fell silent. I closed my eyes, a cold, dark resolve settling over me. She thought she could use my parents to force my hand? Not a chance. I picked up my phone, called my parents, and told them everything. I told them to pack their bags immediately and block Elena’s number. The next evening, as my flight to London climbed into the sky, I looked out the window. I knew Elena and I were finally over. But I wasn’t going to let her walk away unscathed. I had left a very special wedding gift waiting for her.

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Margot fell in love with my roommate at first sight. She snapped a candid photo of him and dropped it into our university’s most notorious, invite-only group chat for trust-fund kids. [Does anyone know who this guy is? Ten grand to whoever gets me his number.] Someone replied almost instantly. [I have it.] But they made a typo. They sent her my number instead. Margot and I dated exclusively online for the entirety of winter break. It wasn’t until the spring semester started, when we finally met face-to-face, that she realized the massive mistake. She stared at me, thought about it for a long, agonizing minute, and then offered a compromise. “We break up. You help me get Wyatt. And when it’s done, I’ll give you a blank check. Write whatever number you want on it. Do we have a deal?” 1. Margot’s attitude was remarkably sincere. We went to the same university, but this was the first time she was truly looking at me. I, on the other hand, had stolen hundreds of glances at her over the years. In my mind, she was always this effortlessly aloof creature, as if nothing in the world was quite worthy of her attention. But now, for Wyatt, she was being incredibly generous. She literally slid a blank check across the table. “Don’t worry,” she told me, her voice smooth. “The second I get back, I’m going to wring Delaney’s neck for this.” I knew who Delaney was. A notorious rich kid with a reputation for chaos. She was the one who had accidentally sent Margot my number. I clenched my hands under the table, forcing my breathing to steady. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.” There wasn’t much point in hesitating. Yes, I liked Margot. I liked her a lot. But at the same time, I was desperately broke. I just hadn’t expected my first foray into love to end in such a pathetic, transactional disaster. A gust of freezing wind tore past us, and I instinctively pulled my scarf tighter around my neck. Margot looked at me sideways, her eyes as dark as ink. She sighed. “I’m sorry.” It suddenly hit me that the day she first added me, it had been snowing just like this. I had just gotten back home from the bus station, standing in the freezing snow, reading her friend request over and over again. We had gone to the same high school. I had memorized her profile picture and screen name years ago. And now, we were college juniors. Six whole years had passed. My hands had literally shaken when I hit accept. Her first message to me had been: [Hey, I’m Margot. I saw you this afternoon, thought we should get to know each other.] That fleeting moment was the happiest of my entire life. Only now did I realize that from the very beginning, the whole thing had been nothing but a beautiful, cruel illusion. 2. After getting Wyatt’s permission, I passed his number to Margot. Wyatt wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but he had this golden-retriever, sun-kissed energy that naturally drew people in. He had plenty of girls chasing him. But obviously, none of them could compete with Margot. He sat on his bed, phone in hand, typing out a message to her before looking up at me, thoroughly confused. “How do you even know Margot?” I fell silent for a second. I swallowed the truth. “Randomly got added. We never really talked.” Wyatt looked relieved. “Man, I’m so nervous. I don’t even know how to talk to a girl like her. Do you really think she’s into me?” I nodded. “Yeah.” I grabbed my textbooks and walked out of the dorm. Just as I reached the bottom of the library steps, my phone buzzed. It was Margot. [I want to take him to dinner tomorrow. Does he have any allergies? What kind of food does he like?] I took a deep, heavy breath. I rested my thumb on the screen and scrolled up. Just a few weeks ago, she had been calling me by my childhood nickname. For two months, we had texted from the second we woke up until we fell asleep. She knew every tiny detail about what I liked. Before we were supposed to meet, knowing I had a sweet tooth, she had actually spent days learning how to bake a complicated French pastry from scratch. Wyatt’s tastes were the exact opposite of mine. [He hates sweets. He likes it spicy,] I typed back. The three typing dots appeared, vanished, and appeared again. A long silence stretched over the digital space before she finally replied. [Okay.] Staring at that single word, I locked my screen. Sometimes, the sheer whiplash of life makes you want to laugh out loud. Just days ago, she was the one coaxing me to sleep, texting me things that made the blood rush to my face. [I’m not a good girl, you know,] she had teased.[You’ll find out when we meet.] But when we finally met, the only thing she left me with was an apology. 3. Margot didn’t text me often after that. Only occasionally, to ask for intel on Wyatt’s preferences. I played my part dutifully. If I knew the answer, I gave it to her straight. Then came the day I walked back into the dorm to find Wyatt shivering under his blankets, looking awful. I pressed a hand to his forehead. He was burning up. Right on cue, Margot’s name flashed on my phone. [Is Wyatt in the room? I’ve been calling him but he’s not picking up.] I quickly explained that Wyatt was running a high fever. Her reply was instant. [Help him downstairs. I’m pulling the car around.] I texted back a quick ]Okay.] The problem was, I had badly sprained my ankle a week prior. Hauling Wyatt’s dead weight down three flights of stairs was agonizing. By the time we made it to the lobby doors and I saw Margot, my grip slipped for just a second. Wyatt bumped into the doorframe and nearly crumpled to the ground. Seeing this, Margot sprinted out of her car. Her brow was furrowed, her voice icy. “Jonah.” “You almost let him fall.” Swallowing the sharp, shooting pain in my ankle, I quickly muttered, “I didn’t mean to.” Margot didn’t even look at me. She just wrapped her arm around Wyatt and guided him into the passenger seat. I stood there on the pavement for a long time, watching her taillights disappear. So this is what it feels like. Watching the person you love meticulously care for someone else. 4. For a long time after that, Margot vanished from my inbox. Once Wyatt got back from the hospital, they started FaceTiming every single night. Our other two roommates would occasionally pop into the frame, cracking jokes or saying hi to her. Except me. Every time she called, I retreated to the furthest corner of the room, completely silent. She used to call me like that. Back then, I really believed we were the start of a great story. Then, one evening, Wyatt was in the shower. He had left his phone on his desk. It rang, loudly and persistently, for a solid minute. “Hey man, can you answer that for me?” Wyatt yelled over the water. I looked at the screen. Margot’s name was glowing brightly. She had already called three times. She was probably panicking, worried he had spiked a fever again. I hesitated, then tapped the green button. Margot’s voice came through the speaker, impossibly soft. “Wyatt?” A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. I pressed my lips together. “He’s in the shower.” A beat of silence. Then, Margot spoke, her tone shifting into something definitive. “It’s you.” Of course she recognized my voice. “Yeah,” I replied. The line went quiet. I had delivered the message. I thought about it, and started to pull the phone away to hang up. Suddenly, her voice came back. “I didn’t mean to snap at you the other day.” I gripped the phone. I didn’t know what to say. It took me a long time to force out two hollow words. “It’s fine.” She seemed caught off guard that after such a long pause, that was all I had to offer. She let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Right.” That night, for the first time in weeks, Margot texted my actual phone. It felt like a fragile olive branch. [Thanks for answering today.] Margot’s devotion to Wyatt was bordering on obsessive. She showered him with expensive gifts. A PS5, a vintage Rolex, limited-edition sneakers. So much stuff he could barely fit it in his closet. But despite it all, Wyatt seemed frustrated. “She treats me amazing. But I don’t get it. It’s been over a month, and she still hasn’t made it official. Does she want me to make the first move?” One of the roommates leaned over, curious. “Have you guys kissed? Hooked up?” Wyatt shook his head. “No.” He paused, looking almost embarrassed. “Honestly, we haven’t even held hands yet.” I sat on the sidelines, listening in absolute silence. “I heard Margot has never dated anyone,” another roommate chimed in. “She’s practically royalty on campus. Before you, she never looked twice at a guy. You gotta step it up, man. Lock it down.” But I remembered winter break. We had been texting for barely two weeks before she confessed her feelings to me. My guess? She had gotten burned by rushing in with me, and now she wanted to take it agonizingly slow. Either way, it didn’t matter. They were bound to make it official soon. I just didn’t expect to run into Margot the very next night. 5. She was playing volleyball on the campus courts with some friends. I was just passing by when a stray ball slammed hard into the side of my head. The girl who hit it came jogging over, breathless. She took one look at the forming bruise on my temple and grabbed my arm. “Shit, sorry. Come on, I’m taking you to the clinic.” I looked up. The stadium lights were blinding. The girl finally got a good look at my face and froze. Right at that moment, I saw Margot walking up from behind her. Her face was dangerously dark. “Delaney,” Margot warned, her voice low. It suddenly clicked. This was Delaney. The girl who had accidentally handed Margot my phone number. Margot’s eyes dropped to where Delaney’s hand was wrapped around my arm. There was no warmth in her expression. “You’re just taking him to the clinic. Do you really need to be grabbing him like that?” Delaney immediately dropped my arm like it burned her. In the end, they both escorted me to the campus hospital. Thankfully, it was just a mild concussion. Throughout the whole ordeal, Delaney wouldn’t stop hovering, asking me rapid-fire questions. [Does it hurt? Do you need water? Are you dizzy?] Margot just stood by the wall, arms crossed, wrapped in a suffocating silence. It wasn’t until we were leaving the clinic that Delaney casually pulled out her phone. “Hey, let me get your number? Just in case you feel weird later, I can cover your medical bills.” I blinked. Before I could even open my mouth, Margot let out a cold, sharp laugh. “That’s Jonah. The guy you tricked me into dating for a month. You already have his number.” Delaney cursed under her breath. “Holy shit, it is you. I completely forgot when I even added you.” “Your last name is the same as Wyatt’s, right? I totally got you two mixed up in my contacts.” I tightened my jaw. “A few weeks ago, I was supposed to be a volunteer for a campus event you were organizing. You reached out to me online.” The event had been canceled, so we had never actually crossed paths. Delaney’s eyes lit up with sudden realization, a bright smile breaking across her face. “Right! Wow, small world. I guess we were destined to run into each other.” 6. That night, not long after I got back to my dorm, I got a text from Delaney. [Feeling better?] [Yeah,] I typed back. The little typing bubble popped up on her end. It stayed there for a solid five minutes. Finally, the message came through. [Margot almost killed me over that mix-up. I wanted to text you and apologize back then, but she wouldn’t let me. Said the damage was done and I shouldn’t poke the bear.] [But since we actually met today, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.] I thought about it for a second, then replied. [It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.] I set my phone down and went to take a shower. When I came back out, there was an absurdly elegant pastry box sitting on my desk. The packaging alone screamed luxury. Wyatt was lounging on his bed. “Margot bought those. I hate sweets, so I just split them between you guys. Smells pretty good, though.” I glanced over. My other two roommates were happily digging into their boxes. Maybe it was just the steam from the shower, but my throat felt incredibly dry. My voice came out raspy. “I’m cutting carbs. I’ll pass.” 7. Wyatt and Margot’s relationship seemed to be sailing smoothly. But secrets don’t stay buried forever. It didn’t take long for him to find out about the whole ‘wrong number’ fiasco. It happened at an off-campus party. Someone had too much to drink and let it slip to Wyatt. “Hey man, heard you’re rooming with the fake boyfriend. What’s he look like? Bet he’s not half as good-looking as you.” “Who knows, though. Delaney hasn’t shut up about him all week…” Wyatt came back to the dorm completely furious. In front of all our roommates, he grabbed me by the collar and punched me square in the jaw. He spat out a warning, telling me to stay the hell away from Margot. I tasted copper and was just about to push back when my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Margot. [Wyatt knows. He has a temper. Just let him vent, please. Consider it repaying the favor you owe me.] During winter break, when we were on a late-night call, my grandmother had taken a bad fall and hit her head. I was entirely alone, terrified, and broke. Margot had instantly stepped in. She made the calls, got my grandmother transferred to a top-tier hospital, and even secured an elite neurologist. She had been so apologetic back then.[“I’m stuck in New York, I can’t leave. Otherwise, I’d be right there with you.”] She had no idea that just the simple act of her caring so much was enough for me. And now, she was calling in the debt. I stood there in the dorm, bleeding, and texted back: ]Okay.] Then, I looked at Wyatt and apologized. After lights out, the other two guys were still whispering, trying to stroke Wyatt’s ego. “Always the quiet ones, right? Doing sneaky shit behind your back.” “Seriously, who tries to move in on another guy’s girl?” Wyatt laughed, the tension finally leaving his voice. “She’s not even officially my girl yet.” I lay in the dark, my face throbbing. It was definitely going to bruise by morning. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the sickening ache left by Margot’s text. 8. When it rains, it pours. The next day, during my shift at an upscale restaurant, I was still so distracted by the previous night that I completely zoned out. A customer bumped into me, and I ended up wearing a tray of iced cola. Combined with the ugly purple bruise blooming on my jaw, I looked utterly pathetic. The customer was livid, screaming about two tiny drops of soda on his designer shirt and demanding I pay for the dry cleaning. I was exhausted. Bone-tired. I looked up, and there, standing near the host stand, were Margot and Wyatt. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Looking at them, you’d think they were cut out of a magazine. The perfect, wealthy couple. When Wyatt noticed me, he let out a scoff of disgust and tried to pull Margot toward their private booth. Margot had Wyatt’s trench coat draped over her arm. She stopped and looked in my direction. Her eyes skipped over my soaked uniform, landing squarely on the bruise on my face. Her lips parted slightly. She looked like she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She slowly pulled her gaze away, turned, and followed Wyatt into the dining room. I watched her walk away, fighting back the humiliating sting of tears. I swallowed my pride, apologized profusely to the angry customer, and cleaned up the mess. At the end of my shift, the manager pulled me aside. He told me someone from the private booths had formally complained about me. He had no choice but to let me go. “It was a guy about your age,” the manager sighed. “What the hell did you do to piss him off?” I kept my head down. I didn’t answer. That night, I missed the last bus to campus. I stood alone in the biting cold wind, scrolling aimlessly on my phone, and saw Wyatt’s latest Instagram post. A photo of him and Margot at the beach. He was smiling; she was looking slightly away from the camera. They looked flawless together. The caption was simple: ]Finally official.] I stared at the screen until the edges of the photo blurred. Right then, a banner notification slid down from the top of my screen. A text from Margot. Her tone was utterly clinical. [I’ll have Keeley drop off the check for you in a few days.] I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask her: ]When Wyatt complained to the manager and got me fired, were you sitting right next to him?] Seeing me so broken and pathetic, was she relieved she dodged a bullet? Or, for the sake of those two months we spent talking every night, did she feel even a fraction of guilt? In the end, I typed a single word. [Okay.] 9. Wyatt made sure the whole world knew they were dating. His social media became a shrine to Margot. But none of that was my business anymore. To replace the restaurant job, I picked up two new part-time gigs. I was constantly running, leaving before dawn and crashing after midnight. One afternoon, I was standing on a busy street corner handing out flyers when Delaney found me. She had just gotten back from an out-of-state academic competition. She stood before me, looking travel-worn but wired with energy. She reached into her bag and handed me a folded check. “Margot told me to give this to you.” I hesitated. “Didn’t she say someone named Keeley was going to bring it?” Delaney coughed, looking a little guilty. “I heard about it and intercepted it. Margot doesn’t know, so… don’t tell her, alright?” I pressed my lips together. “I won’t.” Margot and I were never going to speak again anyway. Delaney let out a visible breath of relief. Then, without asking, she grabbed half the stack of flyers from my hands. “I’ll help.” When we finally finished, we walked back to campus together. Under the glow of a streetlamp, I turned to say goodnight. She stared at me, her eyes catching the light, and asked a question that came entirely out of left field. “I never asked you. Aside from that whole fake-dating disaster with Margot… have you ever actually had a girlfriend?” My heart skipped a beat. I opened my mouth to answer.

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On the Fourth of July—the day we were supposed to get married at City Hall—my girlfriend vanished. No calls. No texts. Just dead silence. It wasn’t until late that night, scrolling through social media, that I saw the post she had forgotten to hide from me. “From twenty to twenty-eight, our youth finally finds its forever.” Attached were two photos. One was a stamped, official marriage certificate. The other was a wedding portrait where she was leaning into a stranger’s shoulder, her smile bright, radiant, and completely unfiltered—the kind of laugh she used to save only for me when we were younger. With trembling hands, I tapped open the comments. Before I could even type a question, I saw a comment from Tyler, my best friend. “Congratulations to these two old souls. Finally overcame everything to be together! ~” My chest tightened. I dialed Tyler’s number, my fingers shaking. Silence hung heavily over the line before he finally admitted the truth. “Yeah, Jack. They’ve been together for eight years. Everyone in our circle knew.” “We weren’t trying to hurt you. We were just worried you’d overreact and make a scene. It would have been ugly.” “Jude and Ashley… they just fit better, you know? It hasn’t been easy for them to get to this point. We’re all friends here, Jack. Just… try to be the bigger man.” The tears that fell were cold, but they burned a hole straight through my chest. Twelve years. I had been with Ashley for twelve years. And for eight of them, she was in love with another man. Everyone knew. And everyone had agreed to keep me in the dark. … Like a masochist, I kept scrolling through the comments. It wasn’t just Tyler. So many of our mutual friends had left congratulations. “Jude is the absolute best. If you ever break his heart, Ash, I’m coming for you first!” That was Lauren, Ashley’s best friend. Just last week, she’d hugged me and called me the best brother-in-law a girl could ask for. “Married to the love of her life! So happy for you, Ashley! Drinks on me tonight!” My college roommate. “Let’s celebrate, guys, but remember to keep this on the down-low for my sister and Jude’s sake. Don’t let you-know-who find out.” Sam, Ashley’s younger brother. A few years ago, when his startup was failing, he borrowed eighty thousand dollars from me, claiming I was the only brother-in-law he’d ever accept. “Of course! We would never let the dragon ruin the Prince and Princess’s happily ever after!” Cody, the new intern at Ashley’s firm. He was clumsy and constantly on the verge of being fired, until I stepped in, mentored him, and saved his job. I tilted my head back against the wall, desperately trying to force the tears back. I was the “dragon.” I was the “you-know-who.” A punchline in their encrypted group chats, the obstacle to a fairytale. The feed refreshed, and Ashley’s post suddenly vanished. A second later, my phone rang. It was her. “I’m so sorry, Jack. There was a massive server crash at the office today, and I’ve been buried in crisis meetings. I haven’t even looked at my phone.” “Things are going to be crazy for a while. Let’s put the courthouse appointment on hold, okay?” “By the way… did you see anything interesting on social media today?” Her voice was tight—a clumsy, nervous probe. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I tried calling you, but I’ve been at the hospital with Mom all day. I haven’t had time to look at my phone.” “Go back to work,” I said quietly. “The marriage license… we’ll talk about it when you’re free.” My mother’s health had been failing for years. Last year, she was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. The oncologist told us that, with luck, we might have three years. Her only remaining wish was to see me marry Ashley before my thirtieth birthday. Today was that birthday. She was lying in her hospital bed, eager to see the marriage certificate. And I couldn’t give it to her. Because Ashley was already another man’s wife. I slumped against the hospital corridor wall, running a hand through my hair. The tears blurred the screen of my phone. I wiped it clean and noted the location of their celebration party, which I had memorized from one of the comments before Ashley deleted the post. The Gilded Spoon, Room 302. When I pushed open the heavy door to the private room, a shower of glittery confetti rained over me. Through the shimmering air, I saw Ashley wrapped in Jude’s arms, kissing him so deeply she looked breathless. Our friends were there, phones raised, capturing the romantic moment. Then I stepped in, and the illusion shattered. The room went dead silent. Gasps echoed. People looked away, unable to meet my eyes. Jude looked at Ashley, then at me. “Hey babe, is he a friend of yours? Everyone looks a bit tense.” “Jude, he’s—” Ashley stammers. “I’m Ashley’s boyfriend,” I interrupted, staring directly at Jude. “I know you two have been together for eight years. But she and I have been together for twelve.” “If you don’t believe me, I can show you the videos.” I unlocked my phone and pulled up the albums. Twelve years of history, laid bare. The first video: High school graduation. Ashley, speaking as the class representative, looked out at the crowd and said into the microphone, “My dream isn’t just Harvard. It’s Jack Davis.” The second: College quad. We were holding hands, and she pulled out a set of car keys, her cheeks flushed. “I know how hard it is for you to take the bus to the hospital to see your mom every day. Take this. It’s a cheap used car, but I promise I’ll buy you a better one someday.” It was a three-thousand-dollar beat-up sedan, but it was every penny she’d saved from her part-time jobs. The third: A cramped studio apartment. A tipsy Ashley clung to me, demanding I record her. “I swear to God, Jack, I’m going to make sure we have a good life. I’m never marrying anyone but you.” The fourth: Her company’s IPO celebration. The room was packed with our friends, chanting, “When are you guys finally getting hitched, Jack?” Ashley looked at the camera, her eyes full of devotion. “The house is being renovated. We’re going to City Hall on Jack’s thirtieth birthday.” Today was my thirtieth birthday. The day we promised to bind our lives together. And she spent it marrying someone else. The last video ended. The silence in the VIP room was deafening. These people—my best friend, my close companions—they were the witnesses of our love story, and they were also its betrayers. Jude’s face turned pale, his fists clenching as his eyes reddened. Ashley stepped in front of him, shielding him like a martyr, looking at me with desperate resolve. “Jack, stop. That’s enough.” “It’s my fault. All of it. I couldn’t let go of what we had, but I fell hopelessly in love with Jude. You’re innocent, and so is he. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Leave him out of this.” Jude shifted behind her, subtly twisting the new wedding band on his finger, projecting the quiet confidence of a legal husband. “Look, man, anyone would be devastated in your shoes. I get it,” Jude said. “But Ashley and I are married now. She’s my wife. Whatever lies ahead, we face it together. Ashley is a good, kind soul. If you want financial compensation, just name your price. We will do what we can.” Financial compensation? Twelve years of my life, reduced to a check? Before I could speak, Tyler cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Come on, Jack. Let it go. Ashley and Jude didn’t plan this. Love is messy. You can’t just claim priority because you were there first. I’m telling you this as your best friend—walk away with your dignity and take the settlement. If you make a scene, who’s ever going to want to marry you?” I looked at Tyler, stunned. My throat felt like it was filled with lead. Then came Sam, Ashley’s brother, and the others. “Jack, you’re a good guy, but Jude is great too. I wish both of you could be my brother-in-law, but my sister had to choose. She loves him more. I’m sorry.” “Jack, it’s obvious she loves Jude to her core. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have married him. Let her go.” Ashley and Jude stood closely pressed together, with the rest of our friends forming a human wall behind them. I was on the outside. The fight left me. I felt like a sponge wrung dry. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the worn, scratched key to that old used car. I placed it gently on the table. I had driven that car for ten years, never replacing it even when we could afford better. Now, I was returning it. Along with twelve years of youth, love, and friendship. “Fine,” I said quietly. “I’m out.” “Jack!” Ashley called after me, her voice sharp with sudden panic. I didn’t pause. I didn’t look back. I took a cab to the hospital. Mom looked unexpectedly lively today, a flush of color in her cheeks. She handed me a peeled apple, her eyes bright. “Jack, how did the wedding photos go? Show me the certificate!” My throat tightened, a bitter sting rising in my nose. I didn’t know how to tell her. I couldn’t bear to break her heart. Just as I gathered the courage to speak, the door opened. Ashley walked in. She sat on the edge of the bed and began massaging Mom’s legs, just as she had done for years, offering a warm, soft smile. “Jack thought the photos didn’t turn out well, Mom. We sent them back to the studio for touch-ups. We’re going back to City Hall in a few days. I’ll make sure you’re the first to see the certificate.” Hearing Ashley call her “Mom” instead of “Mrs. Davis” brought tears of joy to my mother’s eyes. She didn’t notice the cold tension between us. I grabbed Ashley’s arm and pulled her out into the hallway. “I walked away,” I hissed, my voice low but furious. “What more do you want from me?” She wrapped her arms around my waist, familiar and warm, sighing against my chest. “Jack, twelve years. Do you really want to throw all of that away?” “You’re another man’s wife,” I said, tearing myself from her grip. “I don’t play the part of the side-piece.” I turned to leave, but she blocked my path, throwing herself into my arms with a desperate, surprising strength. “During college, when I was saving up to buy you that car, I worked at a coffee shop. That’s where I met Jude,” she sobbed, holding onto me. “I was so timid back then, always getting bullied by customers. He protected me. One night, a client slipped something into my drink at a company event. Jude got me out of there, but by the time we reached the hotel, the drug was too strong… we couldn’t stop ourselves.” “I tried to end it. But I couldn’t bear to hurt him. For eight years, Jude stayed in the shadows, never demanding anything, never complaining. I owed him. I had to give him the marriage license to make up for it.” The realization hit me like a physical blow. Eight years. It wasn’t just a number. While I was smiling over the keys to a cheap car, she was in a hotel bed with him. While I was cooking her favorite dinner in our tiny apartment, waiting for her to come home, she was eating with him. A thousand moments of pure, naive happiness, built on a foundation of betrayal. “You were in danger, and you didn’t call your boyfriend? You called a stranger?” “Enough! I don’t care about your origin story. Get out of my sight!” I raised my hand, fueled by a sudden, blinding rage. Ashley flinches, closing her eyes, expecting the strike. But my strength evaporated. I let my hand drop, feeling nothing but a profound, exhausting emptiness. Ashley clung to me tighter. “I gave the legal paper to Jude, Jack. But everything else—my love, my money, my time, my devotion to your mother—nothing changes. It’s all still yours.” “In fact, there’s a new experimental treatment trial in Europe for advanced stomach cancer. Let’s take her there together, okay?” I closed my eyes. Ashley had been good to me over the years. If Jude hadn’t existed, I would have called myself the luckiest man alive. My career had stalled because I spent so much time caring for my mother, but Ashley never cared that she made more than me. She bought me whatever I wanted, took me wherever I wanted to go, and spent nights with doctors discussing my mother’s treatment. She paid the medical bills. I couldn’t leave her. Not yet. Not until my mother was safe. Life fell into a hollow routine. I stayed in the townhouse we had bought together, working by day and staying at the hospital by night. Ashley was busy with her new husband and rarely called. Her absence felt like a reprieve. One evening, I bought a bag of steamed dumplings—my mother’s favorite—and walked into her room. But she wasn’t alone. Two young men were sitting by her bedside. My heart dropped. “Tyler? What are you doing here? And why is he here?” My mother smiled warmly. “Jack, Tyler brought his friend over to keep me company. Such a sweet, polite boy, Jude is. It’s a shame his wife is running around on him with some lowlife. Don’t worry, Jude, people who cheat always get what’s coming to them.” Jude stood up, smoothing his jacket. He looked at me with a cold, cruel smirk, then turned back to my mother. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Davis. Cheaters always get what’s coming to them.” “So, when does your son get his? Actually, he already did. It’s just that the universe decided to punish you instead. Late-stage stomach cancer… I’d say that’s a fair trade.” My mother’s face drained of color. She trembled, clutching her chest. “What… what are you talking about?” Tyler stepped forward, throwing two booklets onto her lap. “He’s saying your son is a homewrecker, Mrs. Davis. Ashley and Jude are legally married. Jack knows this, but he’s still living in her house, using her money to pay for your treatment. That’s marital property. Jude has every right to claw it back!” My mother stared at the date on the marriage certificate. July fourth. My thirtieth birthday. A dark, violent cough racked her chest, and she spat blood onto the white sheets. “Mom!” I screamed, lunging for the emergency call button, but Tyler and Jude grabbed my arms, pinning me back. “Your mother said it herself,” Jude whispered in my ear. “Homewreckers deserve to suffer. If she doesn’t die today, you’ll never learn to stay away from my wife.” “Let her go. Ashley’s money doesn’t grow on trees. Why should she waste it on a dying old woman and her leech of a son?” I looked at Tyler, begging him. “Tyler, please. She’s dying. Help me.” Tyler only scoffed. “We’re not brothers, Jack. Jude is my brother. You’ve always had to be better than me, haven’t you? Smarter, better-looking, with a gorgeous girlfriend. I hated your pity. This is your karma.” I was pinned to the floor, watching my mother struggle for breath. The heart monitor beside her beeped frantically, then slowed, before flattening into a long, continuous, terrifying tone. She was gone. A primal scream tore from my throat. I broke free, grabbed the small paring knife on the bedside table—the one she used for my apples—and lunged at them. “I’ll kill you both!” Suddenly, the door flew open. Ashley stepped in, catching only the tail end of the chaos. “Jack, are you insane?!” she screamed, throwing herself in front of Jude to shield him. I tried to pull back, twisting my wrist at the last fraction of a second to avoid her chest. The blade sank deep into my own shoulder, warm blood splattering across Ashley’s face. She caught me as I fall, her screams echoing down the sterile corridor. “Jack!”

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