After discovering my husband was cheating on me, I slept with his best friend, Ethan Carter. Do I regret it? No. If anything, I should’ve done it sooner. I pinned Ethan against the wall, biting his jawline lightly before teasing him, “You’re pathetic—you can’t even go after the woman you like.” Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “You’re my best friend’s wife.” “Wife?” I scoffed, tugging on his tie. “Ethan, stop lying to yourself.” My name is Nicole Shaw. A lot of people envy me. They think I hit the jackpot when I married my husband, Ryan Harris. And why wouldn’t they? Ryan went from a fresh graduate to a successful entrepreneur with millions in the bank. Meanwhile, I became a stay-at-home mom after having our son, with a nanny to handle the housework so I could spend my free time at yoga classes, spas, or sipping tea with other wives in the neighborhood. To outsiders, I was living the dream. But I knew better. I’ve known about Ryan’s affair for a long time. Ryan is 38, fit, successful, and in his prime. How could he resist the endless swarm of women throwing themselves at him? Men can’t control their impulses, and even if you try to stop them, they’ll find a way. No matter how well I take care of myself, I’m still a 30-something woman he’s grown bored of. Men are simple creatures—they’ll always want someone younger, fresher. When I first found out, I thought of confronting him. I even considered filing for divorce. But in the end, I chose to endure it. Why? Because of my son, James. He’s only ten years old and idolizes his father. I want him to grow up happy and carefree. Besides, I’m a stay-at-home mom—would I even get custody in a divorce? And if I did, could I give him the life he has now? “Mom, can I get the new LEGO set?” James asked me one day, his innocent smile lighting up his face. Looking at him, I kept reminding myself: all of this is worth it. Men cheating isn’t exactly breaking news. When I was younger, I used to scoff at wives who stayed with their unfaithful husbands, thinking they were pathetic for putting up with it. But now that it’s my turn? I realize staying is the smartest choice. What would divorce get me? A big payout? Ha. Ryan isn’t stupid. If I confronted him, I’d be lucky if he didn’t saddle me with a mountain of debt. I know him too well—he’d do it without a shred of guilt. Ryan controls the money with an iron grip. He’s never let me near the company finances. All I get is the allowance he gives me. Love allowed me to feel joy, anger, and sorrow, but marriage taught me to weigh the pros and cons. I’ve stood by Ryan through thick and thin, helping him build everything he has today. Why should I let some other woman take my place? I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for an entire day. But when I came out, I had learned one of the most important lessons of being a stay-at-home wife: how to keep up appearances. By the time I stepped out, my makeup was flawless once again. That’s when Ethan showed up at the door, carrying a box of crabs. “Nicole, Ryan’s got a business dinner tonight,” he said awkwardly. “He asked me to drop these off for you.” I let out a soft laugh. “A business dinner? Ethan, do you really think I’d fall for that?” Ryan, Ethan, and I all went to college together. Ryan and Ethan were two years ahead of me. They started their business together and have been inseparable ever since. Ethan and I got along well enough that my son calls him “Uncle Ethan.” Ethan’s eyes darted away, avoiding mine. I smiled, glancing over at James, who was busy with his homework in the study. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. I’m not planning on divorcing him.” “I’m sorry,” Ethan murmured, pushing his glasses up nervously. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” I said calmly. “If anything, I should be thanking you.” Ethan looked startled. Because it was true—if it weren’t for his subtle hints, I wouldn’t have figured out Ryan was cheating so quickly. Ethan, caught between loyalty to his best friend and sympathy for me, was in an impossible position. I didn’t hold it against him. Instead, I extended my hand to him with a small, knowing smile. “This will just be our little secret, won’t it?” Ethan hesitated but eventually shook my hand. The touch was brief, and his hand pulled away almost immediately. 2. I had already uncovered the identities of the women Ryan was seeing on the side, but at this point, I couldn’t care less. That is, until I noticed something strange: Ryan had suddenly taken an interest in attending our son James’s school events. In the past, I was always the one who went to parent-teacher conferences. Ryan was “too busy with work” to bother. But recently, after James begged him to come to his school’s sports day, Ryan actually showed up to cheer him on. And ever since then, he’d started making time to pick James up from school. Ryan explained it to me casually: “I went to the school, and James’s teacher gave me a lecture about ‘absent parenting.’ Told me I can’t just ignore my son’s life. So here I am, spending more time with the kid.” Seeing James so happy made me happy too, but something didn’t sit right with me. Ryan wasn’t the type of man to listen to anyone, let alone take advice from a teacher. Call it women’s intuition, but I decided to eavesdrop on one of Ryan’s phone calls. That’s when I found out about his affair with James’s new English teacher, Annie Jo. “Ms. Jo, maybe you can teach me a thing or two as well,” Ryan said, his voice dripping with flirtation. “What’s the rush?” she replied coyly. “If it’s with you, I’ll always have time. Not just a day—a lifetime, if you want it.” Their sickeningly sweet conversation made me want to throw up. Annie Jo was a fresh-faced, soft-spoken intern who had just started teaching at James’s school. She’d only graduated last year, and I’d even exchanged pleasantries with her a few times. James adored her, and up until now, I’d thought she was lovely. I couldn’t believe someone like her would stoop so low. Rage bubbled up inside me, nearly consuming me. I wanted to storm in and scratch Ryan’s face off. How dare he? Cheating was bad enough, but to go after our son’s teacher? Was he not disgusted with himself? And Annie Jo… seriously? She was young, pretty, and had a respectable job. Was she really that desperate? Listening to Ryan’s slimy sweet talk, I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled. But I knew I couldn’t expose them just yet. If I did, James would be the one caught in the middle of the fallout. They didn’t care about my son, but I did. Ryan’s betrayal might have pushed me to the edge, but it was James who kept me from falling. Still, I wasn’t planning to be a doormat anymore. These two deserved a lesson they’d never forget. I didn’t have a solid plan yet, but one way or another, I was going to make them pay. First, I needed proof. So I started following Ryan after work. It didn’t take long to catch him meeting up with Annie—dinner dates, shopping trips, romantic strolls. To an outsider, they might’ve looked like a regular couple. But Annie wasn’t like Ryan’s usual flings. With most women, Ryan was generous, but it was strictly transactional—money for time, affection, and nothing more. But with Annie, he was different. He was patient. If you want to know whether a man really likes someone, just watch how much time he’s willing to waste on her. Part of the reason Ryan played along with Annie’s romantic games was that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted from her yet. They were both skilled players, trading moves in a careful game of seduction. One evening, I watched from the shadows as Ryan dropped Annie off at her apartment. He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head away at the last second. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” she said softly, her voice trembling with fake innocence. “I know this is wrong, but I can’t help myself. When you call me, I get so happy. When you ask me out, I can’t say no…” Ryan pulled her into his arms. “Annie, it’s not your fault. My marriage has been over for a long time. My wife and I don’t love each other anymore. You’re the one I truly care about. Once I divorce her, we’ll get married, okay?” Annie blushed and lowered her head. “But what about James? Will he be okay with this?” “You know how much James likes you,” Ryan said without hesitation. Hearing that, my nails dug into my palms so hard that my new manicure snapped. The physical pain didn’t even register compared to the storm of anger and heartbreak inside me. These two scumbags were plotting to take my son away from me. Did they really think James would accept a homewrecker as his new stepmom? Whenever Ryan and I argued, James always took my side. He was like a little adult, wagging his finger at his father and saying, “Dad, women are supposed to be treated with love. You can’t bully Mom.” I had no doubt that this time would be no different. 3. But soon, I came to a painful realization—my beloved son, James, was never on my side. All along, it had been nothing more than my own wishful thinking. This weekend, Ryan said he wanted to take James out for some “father-son bonding time.” He told me it was just the two of them, so I wasn’t invited. Like always, I played the role of the dutiful wife, smiling and waving them off at the door. But as soon as they left, I changed into casual clothes and followed them. And, of course, I caught them halfway through the drive as they picked up Annie Jo. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to hold back my anger. A bitter smile spread across my face. There’s no way my son would be won over by a few cheap tricks. James might be young and innocent, but he’s a sharp kid. These days, kids know far more than we think—exposure to the internet and media makes sure of that. Even if parents or teachers don’t explain certain things, they figure it out on their own. At least, that’s what I told myself. But I was wrong. James wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Annie join them. On the contrary, he was thrilled. “Aunt Annie! It’s so much fun getting to hang out with you!” he exclaimed, his excitement practically bouncing off the car windows. Inside, I was screaming. James, she’s not your sweet teacher anymore—she’s the homewrecker trying to become your new mom! But James couldn’t hear me. The three of them spent the day happily wandering around the amusement park. I followed at a distance, watching as they laughed and played together. When they were done, they headed to a cozy little family-owned restaurant for lunch. After their meal, they continued to a nearby mall, buying clothes and toys for James. James’s smile never left his face that entire day. At one point, I heard him tell Annie, “Aunt Annie, you have such great taste! I don’t really like the stuff my mom picks out for me.” Then he added, “Aunt Annie, I wish you were my mom. My mom’s always bossing me around—telling me what I can’t eat, what I can’t play with. We don’t have anything in common. You’re way cooler than her.” And then, the final blow: “My mom’s like a tiger sometimes, always yelling. You’re so much gentler than she is.” Ryan glanced over at him with a smirk. “So, what if Aunt Annie actually became your mom? Would you be okay with that?” James paused for a second, then shrugged. “Hmm… I’d have to think about it.” In that moment, their voices faded as my world spun around me. I felt dizzy, like the ground had been ripped out from under me. I had accepted Ryan’s infidelity—I had resigned myself to it. But I never expected to fail so completely that I couldn’t even hold onto my own son’s love.

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For seven years, I’ve been two people to my boss: during the day, his meticulous assistant, Ms. White; and at night, his obedient, mysterious girlfriend. Until just now, when my boss calmly said, “I won’t be coming back tomorrow.” “Don’t try to stop me. This house is yours now—as compensation for the past seven years…” Me: “Okay.” “…Scarlett, after I leave, I won’t be returning.” Me: “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Boss: “???” 0The night before we broke up, Holden bought me a sexy nightgown. As I looked at his deep, composed gaze and the restrained, almost puritanical expression on his face, I couldn’t help but laugh. I never thought a man as serious and uptight as him would pull out something like this on our last night together. Excited, I slipped into the nightgown. But as things heated up, I heard him murmur a name: “Scarlett.” Not “Ms. White,” but Scarlett. I met Holden the year I graduated college. By day, I was Ms. White, his ever-dedicated assistant who handled every little detail of his life. By night, I was his secret, obedient girlfriend. No one except Holden’s senior assistant, Zoe, even suspected that I was anything more than just his employee. Seven years. From 22 to 29, I stayed by his side. Even Zoe once told me, “If I were you, I would’ve made a move ages ago to secure my place. You’re the only woman around him—beautiful, smart, and hardworking. You’re perfect together!” Her words, filled with envy, almost made me believe I had a chance to become the future Mrs. Holden. But then tonight happened. After seven years of loyalty, Holden looked at me and said calmly, “Ms. White, I won’t be coming back tomorrow.” There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—perhaps even reluctance? Reluctance? Ha! If there was even a shred of truth in that, he wouldn’t have spent the past seven years calling me nothing but Ms. White, both in public and in private. I lowered my gaze, feigning sadness, waiting for his explanation. Sure enough, he continued. “I’m meeting the heiress of the Lee Group tomorrow. It’s a blind date and dinner.” He paused briefly. “This apartment is yours now. Consider it my thanks for the past seven years.” Then, with a hint of condescension, he added, “Ms. White, I hope you won’t waste time trying to change my mind.” This apartment was worth a fortune—located in the heart of the most expensive city in the country. “Okay,” I said. Holden blinked, caught off guard. Maybe my response was a little too enthusiastic? I quickly lowered my head, forcing out a few tears before looking up again, ready to deliver the same heart-wrenching performance I’d perfected over the years. But Holden simply placed a luxury shopping bag on the table in front of me. The next second, I pulled out the skimpiest, sexiest nightgown I’d ever seen—so revealing that even I, a woman, was taken aback. I looked up in shock. Holden’s expression was as serious as ever, but when he noticed my stunned gaze, a faint blush crept up his chiseled face. Then, just barely visible in the dim light, I saw his earlobes turn red—so red they looked like they were bleeding. 0

Me: “…” What the hell? This stoic, “old-school” man could blush? And damn, it was sexy. Unfortunately for me, I’ve always been weak when it comes to good looks. I studied his handsome, restrained expression—the way he sat perfectly upright, his white shirt buttoned all the way to his neck—and felt my lips curl into a mischievous smile. In seven years of dating, Holden had always been so rigid. Even in our most intimate moments, he was precise and methodical. Same time, same place, same positions, every single time. I never expected that on our last night together, he would make such an audacious request. Excitement bubbled up inside me. Smiling, I slipped into the nightgown right in front of him, then straddled his lap. Holden’s entire body went rigid, his eyes darkening as he struggled to remain composed. “Relax,” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear. “Don’t panic.” I didn’t want him to suddenly bolt and ruin my fun, so I whispered soothing words to keep him grounded. Everything unfolded naturally, just like the past seven years—except this time, Holden seemed determined to shed his uptight image. He tried things he’d never done before, as if letting go of his usual restraint. Then, caught up in the moment, he murmured softly, “Scarlett.” Not “Ms. White.” Scarlett. But so what? At the end of the day, men like him always pull up their pants and leave. So, I’ve always believed in beating them to the punch. I opened my eyes the next morning, sunlight streaming through the windows. With a sigh, I turned over and kicked Holden off the bed. The thud was satisfying. For a man who’d spent his life as a powerful CEO, this was probably the first time he’d been literally kicked out of bed by a woman. Holden sat on the floor, stunned. I stretched lazily, then spread my arms with a smile. “Sorry, Mr. Holden. As of today, this apartment—and everything in it—is mine. That includes this bed.” I gestured toward the door. Holden’s jaw tightened, his expression growing colder. For the first time, I didn’t back down. I met his icy glare head-on, refusing to budge. Finally, he stood up, straightened his clothes, and regained his usual aura of cold authority. But as he reached the door, he suddenly turned back. Looking down at me with an unreadable expression, he said, “Ms. White, once I leave, I won’t be coming back.” He paused, his tone softer but still distant. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else to say to me?” 0

Me: “… Don’t let the door hit you on the way out?” Holden’s face darkened, colder than I’d ever seen it. I reached out, shoved him out of the apartment, and slammed the door shut. As Holden’s ever-dedicated assistant, I usually started work at 7 a.m. sharp, preparing his schedule for the day. Today was no different. On the carefully planned schedule I’d drafted yesterday, I added one more item with a blank expression: • 8:00 PM: Dinner with Lee Group heiress. I booked the reservation at one of Holden’s favorite upscale restaurants, in the exclusive VVIP private dining room reserved only for him. I even gave the restaurant manager specific instructions: the evening should be romantic, elegant, and intimate—perfect for a first date. The manager, a longtime collaborator of ours, couldn’t contain her excitement. After all, in all the years she’d worked with us, this was the first time Holden had ever booked a romantic dinner with a woman. “And he’s 35 now,” she gushed. “It’s about time he settled down. This Lee heiress might just be the future Mrs. Holden!” She gave me a knowing look, to which I responded with an equally enthusiastic grin. I even hinted that if everything went smoothly, she could expect a nice reward. The manager’s enthusiasm doubled, and she promised to make the evening absolutely perfect. Meanwhile, I focused on my work as usual, as if nothing had happened the night before. The only small difference was the pink roses that reappeared on my desk that morning. For the past year, I’d been throwing them straight into the trash without a second thought. But today, I paused. Instead of tossing them, I carefully unwrapped the bouquet, grabbed a large red mug I usually used for water, and filled it halfway. I trimmed the stems with scissors during my lunch break, arranged the bouquet in the mug, and placed it on my desk. At 29, I was in my prime—a confident, mature woman. Over the past seven years, I’d worked tirelessly to become the perfect assistant for Holden. I’d pushed myself to meet his every standard, both professionally and personally. During work hours, I was diligent and meticulous. Outside of work, I honed my appearance and skills. I learned foreign languages, perfected my makeup and wardrobe, and even studied the inner workings of Holden Enterprises. I memorized the structure of each department, the preferences of key clients, and the secrets behind the company’s success. I wanted to be indispensable. And I succeeded. Even now, at 29, I was often the subject of admiration during business trips. It wasn’t uncommon for partners to send me flowers as a token of interest. But the person who sent these pink roses was different. Despite my repeated insistence that I didn’t want flowers from strangers, this mysterious sender had been sending them every single day for an entire year—rain or shine. It was… intriguing. At 6 p.m., Holden finished his last meeting of the day. As his thoughtful assistant, I was ready to remind him of his upcoming dinner with the Lee heiress. I’d even gone the extra mile and prepared an expensive diamond necklace as a gift for her. But just as I was about to walk into his office, Zoe stepped out. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Scarlett, Mr. Holden said he already has a gift prepared for Miss Lee. You don’t need to worry about it.” She paused, then added, “Oh, and… he said you don’t need to accompany him tonight. You’re free to go home early.” … So this is what freedom feels like? For a moment, I was overwhelmed with joy. Zoe, however, looked at me with a pained expression. She sighed heavily, her voice filled with sympathy. “Scarlett, don’t take it too hard, okay?” Me: “…” “Thanks for your concern, Zoe,” I replied calmly. “But I’m fine. Really.” Zoe didn’t believe me. She frowned, her eyes filled with even more pity. “Scarlett, there’s no need to pretend to be strong,” she said gently. Me: “…” Before I could respond, Zoe’s expression suddenly brightened. She glanced around, lowered her voice, and pulled me aside. “Scarlett,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I know things didn’t work out with Mr. Holden, but when one door closes, another one opens…” I blinked at her, confused. “I know a great guy,” she continued, her tone filled with excitement. “He’s successful, handsome, and every bit as impressive as Mr. Holden. Do you want me to introduce you?” Wait, what? Zoe’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Her usually serious demeanor had completely disappeared, replaced by an almost giddy excitement. My instincts told me that this “great guy” must be someone truly exceptional. I hesitated, trying to resist. But then Zoe pulled out her phone and enlarged a photo of the man she was talking about. The man in the photo was breathtaking. He had sharp, masculine features, fair skin that was somehow even paler than mine, and naturally rosy lips. But his eyes… They were those charming, almond-shaped eyes I couldn’t resist. How was I supposed to say no to that? I bit my lip, trying to summon the willpower to decline. “Zoe,” I began hesitantly, “I just broke up with someone—less than 19 hours ago. Isn’t it a little too soon to meet someone new?” Zoe’s expression turned even more sympathetic. “Scarlett, you’re clearly still heartbroken,” she said softly. “But listen to me—this guy is perfect. He’s the CEO of the company next door. He’s in amazing shape—unlike Mr. Holden, he works out for two hours every day.” “… Okay, but—” “He has an eight-pack.” “!” “And he’s only 26. That’s practically a whole decade younger than Holden.” “!!!” I stared at Zoe, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Zoe,” I said seriously, bowing deeply, “thank you for your kindness!” It wasn’t my fault—I swear! Blame Zoe for offering too much!

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My mom runs a boutique selling silk nightgowns. The prices are steep: 2,000forashortone,2,000 for a short one, 2,000forashortone,4,000 for a long one. Yet, women flock to the store, swearing that her nightgowns are made from fabric so fine it makes their skin soft and their complexion glow like spring. But when my sister asked for one, Mom refused. Unhappy with the rejection, my sister decided to sneak into the storage room and take one for herself. That night, I overheard strange noises coming from the storage room. My mom runs her nightgown boutique next to a small nail salon. Her shop is quite unique: it only sells women’s nightgowns, and they’re available in limited quantities—just ten a night, sold only after sunset. One evening, a group of young women, dressed to the nines, gathered outside the shop, giggling nervously and shoving each other but refusing to step in. “Hey, pretty ladies! Why don’t you come inside?” I peeked out from behind my mom and waved at them. The most striking of the group—an older girl with long, flowing hair—flipped her hair dramatically and gave a coy laugh. She nudged one of the younger, blushing girls forward. “Mrs. Carter, do you still have any left? Get my little sister here a nightgown, would you?” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The longest, most form-fitting one you have!” “There’s still stock,” Mom replied, a faint smile on her face. The girl blushed, a soft pink spreading across her cheeks as she muttered awkwardly. “Well, uh, the last one I bought… I accidentally tore it.” She winced. “Mrs. Carter, can you please pick another one for me? I promise I’ll be more careful this time!” Mom’s expression immediately soured. “How many times have I told you? These silk nightgowns are made from the rarest material—you couldn’t put a price on them! If you buy one, you have to take care of it! How on earth did you ruin it?” “Oh, it’s because… well… it felt so good on my skin that I… never mind! Please, Mrs. Carter, just one more! I’ll pay whatever it costs. I promise to treat it better this time!” “Fine.” She clung to Mom’s arm, pleading until Mom reluctantly nodded. “Short ones are 2,000,longones2,000, long ones 2,000,longones4,000,” Mom said curtly. She gave the older girl a once-over and frowned at the excitement practically radiating off her. “For you, it’s double this time. $8,000. And you’ll have to put it on here in the store. No taking it home.” “Deal!” The girl stomped her stiletto heel in triumph, her face lighting up with joy. “Eight thousand dollars?!” The younger girl gasped, her face contorting in disbelief. She cast a cautious glance at Mom, and when she saw Mom wasn’t upset, she whispered to her sister. “Sis… are these nightgowns really worth that much? I mean, eight grand? Do you know how many hours we’d have to work scrubbing old men’s feet to make that kind of money?” “Trust me,” her sister said confidently. “Mrs. Carter’s silk nightgowns are unlike anything you’ve ever worn. Once you put one on…” Her voice trailed off, and her expression turned bashful. “Let’s just say they’re magical. They make you feel amazing. You’ll see for yourself. And once you wear one, you won’t have to worry about scrubbing feet anymore—you’ll have rich men chasing after you instead.” The younger girl hesitated, then finally nodded. “Mrs. Carter, please remember what I said. Get her the longest, most form-fitting one!” Mom smiled mysteriously, running her hands over the younger girl’s waist and sizing her up. “Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty in stock tonight—long ones, short ones, whatever you want.”

Mom led the two sisters to the back of the shop, where she slowly slid open a hidden door. “Wait… why do we need to go to the basement just to pick out a nightgown?” The younger girl stared nervously at the dark staircase leading down. She swallowed hard, her unease written all over her face. Mom gave her a cryptic smile. “A nightgown like this is different from anything else you’ve worn. The fit has to be perfect—length, size, everything. Otherwise, you won’t get a good night’s sleep.” Before the younger girl could protest, her sister grabbed her hand and pulled her down the steps. I watched as the hidden door closed behind them. Bored, I plopped down on the floor, waiting. Mom had always told me I wasn’t allowed in there. She said kids shouldn’t see what was inside—it wasn’t “appropriate.” But I wasn’t a kid anymore. Pouting, I pressed my ear against the door, straining to catch any sounds. What I heard was… strange. Rustling noises, faint murmurs, and the occasional sharp cry. Were they fighting over the same nightgown in there? I was puzzled. After two hours, I finally heard loud voices from behind the door. It sounded like they had made their choice. Brushing the dust off my pants, I stood up. Sure enough, a moment later, the hidden door creaked open, and Mom emerged with the two sisters. Both of their faces were flushed, but the younger one looked like she could barely stand, her legs trembling. The older sister was now wearing a short, fitted slip dress, while the younger one had on a long, sleek nightgown. But… they didn’t seem that long to me. I frowned in confusion. Still, they did look different—prettier somehow. The girls waiting outside the shop gasped when they saw the transformation. “Wow, your skin looks so radiant!” “And your complexion—it’s glowing!” The younger girl—apparently called Ann—touched her flushed cheeks, embarrassed but pleased, and hid behind her sister. Mom grinned, helping the girls out the door with a touch of pride. “This is just the immediate effect,” she said. “The more you wear it, the better it gets. We only sell to girls recommended by regulars. Save up your money, and you can all buy one someday.” “But remember this.” Mom’s expression turned serious, almost eerie. “These fabrics are extraordinarily rare. You must treasure them. Wear them with care.” “Whatever you do, don’t let them tear again.”

That evening, my sister came home sobbing uncontrollably. It turned out that her boyfriend of four years had dumped her. The reason? He said she was ugly. “Mom! I can’t live like this anymore!” she wailed. “How is it that you’re so gorgeous, but my sister and I turned out like this? Are you even our real mom?” Mom avoided her gaze, brushing it off with a casual excuse. “Oh, don’t blame me—it’s your dad’s fault. He passed on all the bad genes to you.” But we’d never even met our dad. Not once in our entire lives. “I don’t care!” my sister screamed. “Mom, everyone says your silk nightgowns can make women beautiful! I want to wear one too! I want to be just as stunning as those girls next door—you know, the ones who work at the nail salon? I’ll show Jason what he’s missing!” She begged and pleaded, demanding a silk nightgown so she could “transform,” but Mom refused. She wouldn’t explain why, only mumbling something about it being “for her own good.” Of course, my sister wasn’t having any of it. That night, she dragged me out of bed, shaking me awake. “You’re coming with me. We’re stealing one of those nightgowns.” “I know where Mom hides them,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “They’re in the basement under the storage room. Once I get my hands on one, I’ll look just like Mom—beautiful, with a perfect body. Jason will regret ever leaving me!” She was already imagining her ex crawling back to her. I, on the other hand, was panicking. “What if Mom catches us?” I whispered, trying to talk her out of it. But she wouldn’t listen. The storage room was far scarier at night. When the hidden door creaked open, the narrow staircase leading to the basement was pitch black. We stood at the top, staring into the darkness. Neither of us dared to take the first step. Finally, the temptation to be beautiful won out, and my sister mustered up her courage. She ran her hands along the damp walls, making her way down blindly, step by step. Every few steps, she’d glance back at me, her face pale, as if she expected some terrible creature to leap out from the shadows and drag her away. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, either. I’d seen how other people cared for silk fabric—how they’d hang it out in the sun to keep it fresh and dry. So why did Mom’s silk nightgowns have to be stored in such a dark, creepy basement?

Suddenly, there was a loud bang from the basement. I jumped, my heart racing. “Sister! Are you okay?” I called down, ready to run after her. “Don’t come in!” she shouted back. “I’m fine! It’s just… ahhh!” “Did you fall? Are you hurt?” I could hear her voice, trembling and breathless, but instead of sounding hurt, she sounded… excited. “I’m fine!” she called back, her voice muffled. “I found them! Mom’s nightgowns! Don’t come down here—I’ll put one on and come back up, okay?” She told me to stand guard outside the basement door, making me promise not to let Mom catch her in the act. Before I could argue, she slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside. An hour passed. Then another. I was pacing back and forth, panicking. “Sister! Hurry up! Mom always wakes up early—if she catches us, I’m dead!” I banged on the door, whispering urgently. But she didn’t answer. Instead, strange noises started coming from the basement. Rustling, thudding, and—was that crying? “Sister? Are you okay? What’s going on in there?” I pressed my ear to the door, my hands clammy with sweat. For a moment, everything went quiet. Then, finally, I heard her voice again—weak and trembling. “I’m fine,” she said, though she sounded like she could barely breathe. “It’s just… this nightgown is too long. It’s really hard to put on. Don’t come in!” Her words didn’t match her tone. She sounded fragile, almost like she was running out of air. I couldn’t help but wonder—what was she doing in there? Curiosity got the better of me. I crouched down and peeked through a crack in the wooden door. At first, I couldn’t see anything. The basement was so dark that it felt like staring into a void. But as my eyes adjusted, I began to make out a blurry figure.

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In the seventh year of my marriage to Hector Smith, I proposed divorce. At that time, Hector was deeply in love with his secretary, Yael Larson. Meanwhile, I reconnected with Zack Cooper, my childhood friend and also my attending physician, after a long separation. Everyone had said that I was his beloved, his one and only wife. But then he openly bought Yael a top-tier riverside apartment. Everyone was betting on when we would get divorced. Meanwhile, I was counting down every day, ticking off the remaining items on my bucket list. That evening, Hector was hosting an important client reception, and I—who usually stayed out of his work matters—slipped on my coat, intending to make an appearance. As I pushed open the heavy door, every eye in the room swung toward me. Hector and Yael leaned against each other, but a moment later, someone snapped back to reality and continued to tease them, “Mr. Smith and Ms. Larson, you two make such a perfect couple!” A wry grin flickered across my lips. “Mr. Smith, I’m sorry for interrupting your good time—guess I should toast to you…” Without waiting for Hector to respond, I tilted my head back and downed the drinks in one go. Perhaps I drank a bit too hastily because a sharp pain stabbed through my stomach. I mechanically picked up some food, chewed it without really tasting it, and forced it down my throat. Yael, standing before me, did bear a resemblance to my twenty-year-old self. She rose to her feet, picked up her glass, and walked toward me. “Mrs. Smith, Mr. Smith and I were just working together. We didn’t mean to…” I gently pushed her glass aside and looked at Hector, whose expression had turned unreadable. I smirked. “Mr. Smith, I shouldn’t have interrupted your good time. I hope you won’t be upset.” Hector slammed his wine glass down forcefully, a hint of impatience flickering in his eyes. “Why did you have to come here and make a scene instead of talking about it at home?” Yael sensed Hector’s anger and tried to soothe him by patting his back. “Mrs. Smith must have some urgent matter. Maybe we should just call it a night?” Hector waved his hand dismissively. “Ignore her. Let’s continue.” With that, he picked up his glass to make another toast. My stomachache grew worse, and I decided to stop pressing Hector further. I stood up, clutching my stomach, and left, hearing Yael’s coquettish chuckle. “Since Mrs. Smith left sensibly, Mr. Smith, are you going home tonight?”

After seven years of marriage to Hector, I had never interfered in his affairs, no matter how many he had outside. But recently, he had been going too far. His relationship with Yael had even reached his mother’s ears, and she warned me not to let him disgrace the family name. Moreover, lately, I’d been jolted awake by nightmares, each time feeling as if I’d lived through half a lifetime, my heart tormented. So, I decided to gently warn him that it was time to rein in his behavior. But with this unbearable stomachache, I had no choice but to put it on hold. I drove to the hospital as fast as I could, barely holding it together. The doctor gave me a bunch of test orders. A few hours later, the doctor asked me, “What’s your name?” “Charleen Smith.” At that moment, I was in so much pain that I was drenched in sweat and curled up on the hospital bed. “How long has it been since you last had a bowel movement?” “Uh… about a week.” “The results just came back. Your constipation is caused by intestinal obstruction. You’ll need an enema shortly. Please get ready for it.” As soon as the doctor finished speaking, I was surrounded by nurses. By the time I got home after the enema, it was already the afternoon of the next day. Hector still hadn’t come back. I guessed that with his beautiful secretary by his side, he had completely forgotten about me, someone no longer in the prime of youth. In the fifth year of our marriage, Hector’s hotel business expanded rapidly. With that came his increasing all-night absences. Later, I learned that he had been constantly changing secretaries. But ever since Yael started working as his secretary two years ago, Hector had not hired another one. My friend kindly warned me to keep an eye on the women around Hector, so I wouldn’t end up being taken for a ride without even realizing it. I just smiled. They had no idea that I had never had any access to Hector’s money. Once again, when I arrived at Hector’s office building, the receptionist asked if I had an appointment. I guess I was probably the only wife who needed an appointment just to see her own husband. I called Hector and told him I couldn’t get in. Before long, Yael came to pick me up. “Mrs. Smith, Mr. Smith is busy at the moment. Could you please wait for a moment in the lounge?” The young receptionist looked surprised and muttered nervously, “Who knew Mr. Smith had a wife? I always thought Yael was Mrs. Smith. So thin and haggard—I can’t figure out what he sees in her.” Yael gave the girl a stern look, then turned to bring me a cup of coffee. “Mrs. Smith, please wait a moment. Mr. Smith will be here as soon as he’s done.” Hector wrapped up his meeting early and walked over to me. His brows furrowed as he asked, “Couldn’t this wait until I get home?” “I’ve been waiting for you for over a week, but you never went home. I want a divorce.” After hearing what I said, Hector finally looked up from his pile of documents in disbelief. “Don’t make a scene here. I’ll find time this weekend to go home and spend some time with you, okay? Your birthday is coming up in a few days. I’ll transfer 300 thousand dollars into your account. If that’s not enough, just let me know.” I forced a smile. In the seven years of our marriage, his celebration of my birthday had become increasingly perfunctory. His business kept growing, but the amount of money he transferred into my account kept shrinking. I was just about to get up and fling the bank card in his face when I didn’t notice Yael had come up behind me. I accidentally knocked over the freshly brewed espresso she was holding, and the coffee splashed all over her crisp white suit, staining it. Hector stood up and pushed me aside, his eyes filled with obvious concern. He took Yael’s hand and anxiously asked if she had been burned anywhere. This was the first time he so openly cared for another woman right in front of me. I slowly clenched my fists and gave a soft, bitter smile. Hector scolded me, “Apologize to Yael right now.” I picked up my bag, didn’t spare him another glance, and walked away. As soon as I got downstairs, my phone rang. “Are you Charleen?”

As the car moved slowly forward, my mind drifted back to the year I graduated. Hector and I had attended a charity event together. That was when we met Yael. Despite her frail and small frame, her eyes shone with an extraordinary toughness. We learned that Yael had lost her mother at a young age and was later abandoned by her family. Even after years of working part-time jobs to pay her way through high school, she still couldn’t afford her university tuition. On the verge of missing her chance to start university, she looked helpless but resolute. Perhaps because she reminded me of myself in some way, I inexplicably decided that day to sponsor her anonymously. Hector was somewhat reluctant at first, but eventually gave in to my persistence and agreed. Over the years, I regularly transferred money into Yael’s account through Hector’s account, without paying attention to her academic performance or what she did after graduation. I just never expected to see her again—this time among the job candidates at Hector’s company. Maybe it was all meant to be. The car pulled smoothly into the hospital parking lot. I got out without any hurry, even though the hospital had been urging me multiple times. I knocked on the doctor’s office door and saw a figure that seemed vaguely familiar. “Zack Cooper.” My mind raced, trying to place the familiar name. “Zack!” Zack, right in front of me, was staring intently at the computer screen with a cold, serious expression. He cut me off sharply before I could say anything. “Charleen, we found signs of a tumor in your digestive system from your last check-up.” I was stunned for a moment and calmly asked him, “Is it malignant?” “Yes, which is why we contacted you. We’d like you to consider being admitted to the hospital as soon as possible to start treatment.” For a moment, my mind went blank as I tried to process the information. “What if I don’t accept the treatment?” “I hope you will.” “What if I don’t? How long can I live?” “Half a year, maybe… shorter.” I walked out of the hospital with the diagnosis report in hand, feeling utterly dazed and disheartened. I drove home as quickly as I could, my mind in turmoil.

When I opened the door, I found Hector had actually come home. Over the past two years, his career had really taken off. I had recently heard that he bought Yael a riverside apartment, where he spent most of his time. Yael would cook and do everything to make him happy. He was lounging against the floor-to-ceiling window. The house was dark, and he stood there quietly with a cigarette in his mouth. Hearing me come in, he stubbed out the cigarette and stared straight at me. I kept my eyes down as I walked past him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. His brows furrowed as he spoke softly, “Why have you lost so much weight lately?” His tone was gentle, unlike the coldness he had shown earlier in the day. For a moment, I felt like he was still the boy who loved me dearly seven years ago. “I bought your favorite cake,” he added. I pulled my hand free and walked over to the table. I picked up the cake and, right in front of him, threw it into the trash bin. Hector’s expression darkened. He reached out and pinned me against the wall. He gritted his teeth and said to me, “Charleen, what the hell is your problem?” I calmly met his gaze and said, “I want a divorce.” “Out of the question!” he growled. Then he buried his face in my neck, biting and nipping at my skin. He dragged me into the bedroom and threw me roughly onto the bed. He must have been driven mad by my words. He was like a wild animal out of control, tearing at my clothes with brute force. I felt sheer terror and began to scratch at him frantically. “Hector! You bastard! Let me go!” But Hector showed no signs of stopping. He pinned my legs to keep me from thrashing about and bit my neck hard. I cried out in pain. Hector leaned over me, trying to kiss the tears that were falling from my eyes. “Can’t you just be good for once?” he whispered. I turned my head away, dodging his lips that were about to touch mine. But he grabbed my chin and leaned in again. As his lips got closer and closer, just about to reach mine, his phone suddenly rang. It was Yael calling. Hector hesitated for a moment but eventually answered the call. I could hear Yael on the other end of the line, her voice thick with tears and a hint of drunkenness. “Mr. Smith, can you come pick me up? They took advantage of your absence and made me drink so much… I can’t hold on much longer… Can you come get me… please…” Listening to Yael’s plea for help on the other end, Hector remained silent. His eyes were fixed on me with an intense stare. “Charleen, as long as you ask me to stay, I will,” he said. I let out a cold laugh. I had humbled myself to beg him to stay. But he didn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence and hung up the phone, leaving me listening to the cold, relentless busy signal. Now he wanted me to bow down, swallow my pride, and submit to him. “Hector, you must be dreaming!” Hector was silent for a moment, then let out a self-mocking laugh. He held the phone to his ear and said to Yael, “I’ll come pick you up and take you home.” Without another glance at me, he got up and left, slamming the door behind him. After all that turmoil, I couldn’t sleep anymore. I pulled on a sweater and headed to the newly opened bar nearby to clear my head. I leaned against the bar, ordered a drink, and began to sip it on my own. The bar filled with the sound of a classic old song. A deep, husky male voice sang softly and smoothly. When the song ended, the crowd burst into applause. I looked up at the stage and saw a man dressed all in black, looking cool and somewhat familiar.

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My son, Liam Renshaw, hated me. To him, I, Isla Ellington, was the one who took his father away. I begged him to stay and celebrate my 60th birthday with me. But he turned his back on me and left without hesitation because he was in a hurry to be with my husband’s mistress, Daisy Whitmore. What he didn’t know was that this would be my last birthday. I had cancer. The doctor said I didn’t have much time left. Liam answered a call and cast me a fleeting, indifferent glance. “I have something urgent to take care of. I need to go out for a bit.” His phone screen was still lit, and the caller’s name was clearly visible. My heart sank with a bitter smile as I watched him turn to leave. Panic surged through me, and I grabbed onto his sleeve. “Liam, today is my birthday. Just today, can you stay and celebrate with me? I’ve never asked you for anything. Just this once.” I silently prayed that he would change his mind. “Mom, stop acting like a child.” He brushed me off and was about to leave, but I refused to let go. His phone rang again, urgent, insistent. I saw the impatience flash across his face before he wrenched his arm away from me, his force stronger than he intended. I lost my balance. Stumbling backward, I crashed into the dining table, my body landing face-first into my birthday cake. The cake was topped with a bright red peach, a traditional symbol of longevity. But all I saw was a blur of red. A gasp rippled through the guests. “She’s bleeding!” Dazed, I looked down at the cake. A small decorative support, meant to hold up the peach, had pierced my skin. The blood on my face mixed with the dark red frosting, making the whole scene both ridiculous and pathetic. I heard muffled laughter. Some of the guests were struggling to hold back their amusement. “Mom, I’m sorry. I’ll have Zane take care of you. But Daisy needs me more right now.” And just like that, Liam walked away without looking back.

After tending to the wound on my forehead, the last of the guests finally left. Then my phone buzzed a text from an unknown number. I didn’t need to check. I already knew who it was from. [So what if it’s your 60th birthday? Your husband couldn’t win against me. Your son couldn’t either. One phone call from me, and Liam abandons you without a second thought. What do you have to fight me with?] I let out a bitter laugh. I should be used to this by now. A sharp pang of hunger reminded me that I hadn’t eaten all day. I picked up my forks and stared at the lavish feast before me. But my appetite was gone. Tears welled in my eyes because every dish on this table was something I hated. Yet, they were all carefully chosen favorites of another woman. A woman my son and my husband’s mother, Nova Renshaw, regarded as family. The same woman who had been my husband’s mistress. “Why aren’t you back yet? Daisy has acute gastroenteritis and is in the hospital. She specifically asked for your chicken soup. Do you think you’re some kind of big deal just because it’s your birthday? You’re not dead yet!” The voice belonged to Nova. She was in her eighties, yet still as sharp and overbearing as ever. I let out a quiet scoff. So that was Daisy’s excuse to drag Liam back to her side. Did they even stop to consider how absurd it was? How could someone with acute gastroenteritis still crave chicken soup in the middle of the night? “I’m not going. Find someone else to take care of her. And don’t call me again.” Nova was perfectly fine. I was the one who was dying of stomach cancer, with one month left at most. This world had its own sense of justice. It punished those who didn’t take care of themselves. “You ungrateful wretch! Have you forgotten who held this family together when we were struggling the most? Have you forgotten that it was you who killed my son? It should’ve been you who died back then!” Nova’s voice was sharp and relentless, hurling accusations at me over the phone. These words had weighed on me for decades, pressing down so hard that I could barely breathe. But none of it mattered anymore. I was dying. And I still didn’t understand. My husband was the one who cheated. He was the one who got exposed and humiliated by his enemies. He was the one who chose to end his life rather than face the consequences. Yet, somehow, the world blamed me. Nova blamed me for his son’s death. Liam resented me for taking his father away. Even Daisy, the mistress, found joy in crushing me under her heel. And yet, to both Nova and Liam, Daisy was the one they called family. “She’s gotten worse because of you! If you don’t bring that soup to the hospital before sunrise, pack your things and leave. Liam is grown now. This family doesn’t need you anymore.”

I calmly hung up the phone. Before long, it rang again. Feeling exhausted, I simply turned it off. My stomach started aching again. Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten. I found a can of instant food in the corner of the room and took a desperate bite. But before I could swallow, nausea overtook me. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. The toilet was streaked with blood. I let out a bitter laugh and shook my head. At first, I thought it was just a stomach problem. Ever since the father of my child passed away, I have been working on construction sites, shoveling dirt, and moving from one site to another. I hadn’t had a proper meal in years. Sometimes, to save money, I simply didn’t eat. When hunger became unbearable, I’d stand by a faucet and fill my stomach with water. If I had known better, I would have treated myself a little kinder. Maybe at least I bought myself a sandwich. I still wanted to live. But the pain in my stomach kept me up all night. I endured until morning, then took my medical records and headed to the hospital for a follow-up. And that was when I ran into the last person I wanted to see. Nova was in the hallway, pushing Daisy into a wheelchair. Not long after, Liam walked over, holding a medical report, his expression light and relaxed. The three of them chatted in hushed voices, occasionally laughing. They must have been celebrating Daisy’s recovery. I thought, “What a happy family.” If Nova hadn’t noticed me, pointed at me, and started yelling while striding over, it would have been a peaceful scene. “Now you’re scared? Coming here now? Too late. This family doesn’t need you anymore. Get lost!” Ignoring the surprised looks from passersby, I pushed past Nova. I just wanted to go home and rest. Nova’s eyes widened in disbelief. Realizing I was completely ignoring her, she flew into a rage. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you! Since you’re here, it’s perfect timing. Daisy’s getting discharged today. Liam went to get the car. You, carry Daisy to the hospital entrance!” “Oh no, that’s too much trouble. I can do it myself. No need for her to do this,” Daisy said, struggling to get up with the help of the armrests. But before she could straighten herself, she lost her strength and collapsed back into the chair. Her forehead was slick with sweat from the effort. She clutched her stomach in pain but still gritted her teeth, forcing herself to endure. Nova immediately leaned down, fussing over her with concern. I couldn’t be bothered to play along with their act. Without a word, I walked past them. My stomach twisted with pain. Nova panicked. Seeing how I kept disregarding her, she rushed forward in small, quick steps and grabbed my arm forcefully. My arm ached. My stomach ached. My whole body ached. Frustration swelled in me. I just wanted to get away. By the time I snapped back to reality, Nova was already on the floor, wailing dramatically. Liam’s eyes burned with fury as he glared at me. Daisy watched with a smug expression as if enjoying the show. “The only reason I ever called you Mom was because you raised me,” Liam said coldly. “But if you think that gives you the right to walk all over everyone, then I’d rather not have a mother at all!” I thought those words would hurt. But honestly, I didn’t care anymore. “Alright,” I said. “What did you just say?” Liam stared at me in disbelief. I looked at him carefully, the son I had struggled to raise. He was much taller than me now. His sharp features resembled his father’s. He wore an expensive suit, a sign of his success in the business world. I reached out, wanting to touch his face. Liam flinched away instantly, his disgust plain as day. “Liam, I don’t want to be your mother anymore either,” I said quietly. “I’m tired. Let’s cut ties.” Liam was too stunned to respond. He just stood there, staring at me. Nova had even forgotten to fake her pain, frozen in shock. Daisy was momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered. She smirked and said, “Oh, don’t listen to Isla’s nonsense. She’s just mad about last night’s birthday party. Liam, go and talk some sense into her.” Liam came back to his senses and sneered, “God, you’re always so dramatic.” “You’ve lost your mind,” Nova snapped. “I’m still alive, and you think you can just do whatever you want? Well…” She stormed up and grabbed my collar. People around us started whispering, pointing at me like I was some kind of spectacle. I felt dizzy. My vision blurred. “If I carry Daisy out, will you all finally leave me alone?” Nova’s eyes gleamed with calculation. “That’s right. As long as you do as I say, I’ll forgive you for what happened today!” “Oh no, how could that be.” Daisy covered her mouth and giggled smugly while Liam stood to the side, his expression cold and unreadable. I stepped forward and struggled to lift Daisy from the wheelchair onto my back. Afraid of falling, she finally stopped making a fuss. I staggered toward the hospital doors, my legs barely holding up under the weight. Liam seemed uneasy. He stepped forward, ready to take over, but Nova grabbed his arm. “Leave her be. Think about what she did and said today. If she doesn’t get a little punishment, she’ll be impossible to deal with.” Liam’s face darkened. After a moment of silence, he took a step back. His car was parked not far away, yet it felt like miles to me. I forced one foot in front of the other, dragging myself toward it. Sweat dripped onto the floor, and the pain in my stomach grew sharper. I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing back any sound of pain. I thought, “So heavy. So painful. Just like the weight I’ve carried on my shoulders all these years.” But at least it was almost over. After hearing today that treatment was hopeless, all I felt was relief. I finally got Daisy into the car before collapsing onto the ground, completely drained. Clenching my fist, I pressed it hard against my stomach, trying to dull the pain. “Ignore her. She’s just putting on an act.” The car lingered beside me for a moment before driving away. “Are you okay? We can help you to the infirmary,” a passerby offered. I refused their kindness, propping myself against the wall as I slowly walked away. I didn’t go home. Instead, I checked into a small motel nearby, where my luggage was already neatly packed in the corner. After sending out a pre-written text, I switched my phone to silent and fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

Perhaps it was because I was too exhausted. Or maybe I was dying. I dreamed of many things from the past. When Jaxon was still alive, we had a brief period of happiness. He was a teacher at the school, and I was just a factory worker. But he said he loved my smile, and despite his parents’ objections, he married me. There were some rough patches along the way, but I always believed we were a happy family. Then came that day. I was at work when my supervisor suddenly approved my leave. The principal of Jaxon’s school came to pick me up in person. At the police station, I saw him covered by a white sheet. I hadn’t even had time to process his death when the officer hit me with an even more shocking truth. Jaxon had taken his own life to escape punishment. Someone exposed his affair with a female student, and he was about to be fired. Ashamed, he chose to end it all by jumping into the sea. His suicide note was filled with apologies to me. But in the end, all he left behind was a mountain of debt. Because he took his own life and had already been dismissed, the school gave us nothing. Nova was convinced I had known all along. She was sure I had pushed him to the edge. Those days were a blur. My mind was a chaotic mess. But reality didn’t wait for me to grieve. The electricity and water at home were cut off. The school dormitory gave us one month to move out. Jaxon was gone, but life had to go on. I quit my job at the factory and picked up a hoe to join the ranks of migrant laborers. I fought for work, once even arguing with a man who had a mental disability. In the heat of the moment, he swung his hoe and struck me on the head. Even with my head wrapped in gauze, I still had to work. The wound never healed properly, leaving behind an ugly, raised scar. But even in hardship, there were moments of warmth. When I came home, Liam would bring me a basin of warm water to soak my feet. He would gently touch the cracks on my hands, blowing on them as if to ease the pain. “Mom, when I grow up, you won’t have to work so hard anymore.” I smiled and nodded. “Okay.” Liam helped with whatever chores he could manage. Nova, despite her complaints, understood the weight I carried. One day, I returned home to find Liam and Nova holding a tiny birthday cake, no bigger than a palm. He was smiling and saying sweet words. The frosting had already started melting. But that night, we shared it, laughing and celebrating together. Then Daisy appeared, and everything started to change.

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Both I and the impoverished student I had sponsored were reborn, yet she had the audacity to come to me for money, dragging her childhood sweetheart along. In my past life, I had dedicated all my assets to catapulting her to the zenith of the business realm. But she, in her conceit, mistook it for her innate good fortune to be wealthy. She even haughtily commanded me to pay off his money in return for her to be my girlfriend. In an instant, I froze her bank card and handed her a bottle of sleeping pills, leaving her to carry on daydreaming of being the richest businesswoman. At noon break, Raina Simmons showed up, her arm entwined with that of her childhood sweetheart, striding towards me to demand money. She slammed the slip of paper with the account number written on it onto my desk and declared, “Starting today, wire 50 thousand dollars to Marlowe Bradley’s account as his monthly allowance.” In the classroom, all the students turned their heads and shot peculiar glances our way. It seemed that no one had witnessed such an audacious impoverished student before. Here she was, asking for money without even bothering to conjure up a plausible pretext. I gave a scornful laugh and inquired, “Why?” She spun her head in my direction, her countenance filled with astonishment bordering on disbelief, and uttered with contempt, “Just 50 grand. Do I need a reason for that? It’s not even enough to buy me one bag.” Almost instinctively, she reached up and patted the empty spot on her shoulder, as if a designer backpack ought to be dangling there. However, it was plain to see that her outfit was street-market wares. That faded denim jacket of hers was so worn out that the edges were practically fraying. In the past life, she had long grown accustomed to being a domineering female president. So much so that she had completely forgotten her humble origins as a poverty student, who used to scrimp and save even when dishing up food in the cafeteria. Back then, I poured in investments and lent unwavering support, painstakingly propelling her all the way to the top of the business realm. Yet, instead of showing gratitude, she took all that success for granted, as if it were an innate privilege. She even started bossing me around. Without me by her side, what would she amount to? Where would she be? I responded with a counter-question, “Fifty grand for a bag? Raina, are you out of your mind? If I hadn’t been bankrolling you, you couldn’t even afford a burger.” I crushed the paper into a little ball and chucked it into the bin. Right after that, I went on, “Besides, why the hell should I give him money for living? I’m not his father.” Her complexion went ashen with anger, her rage simmering just beneath the surface and on the brink of erupting. Right at that instant, Marlowe darted in front of her, assuming a protective stance, and exclaimed, “Forrest Gibson, how can you say things like that? It’s just petty cash for you, but it’s what we spend in a whole month. You’re loaded. Isn’t it the least you could do to help us out? Why do you humiliate people like this?” With that, he feigned a pitiful look and sobbed as he said, “Raina, even if I wind up homeless on the street, I won’t let you throw away your dignity for my sake.” Seeing that he was on the brink of tears after being picked on by me, Raina’s heart clenched with pain. Without hesitation, she enfolded him in her arms and delicately patted his back as she murmured soothing words. In the last life, Marlowe donated a kidney for Raina, and she was so certain that it was an act of true love. Consequently, she saw me as nothing but an obstacle, a stumbling block in their relationship. But the truth was, that very kidney was actually procured by me at an exorbitant cost. Marlowe tried to rip me off by upping the price. It was precisely this underhanded maneuver that paved the way for their reunion. And later on, when Raina went as far as embezzling public funds to lavish him with luxurious mansions, swanky sports cars, and to settle his father’s gambling debts, I bit my tongue and bore it all. Now that she had come back to life through rebirth and wished to reignite the flame with him, I wouldn’t interfere. However, it really took her some nerve to even think about using my money to reciprocate Marlowe for donating a kidney. Why should I allow that? Did she seriously regard me as some kind of fool? With a disdainful snort, I fished out my phone, fully intending to revoke her funding. However, before I could even make a move, she beat me to the punch and blurted out, “Forrest, I don’t need your charity. I can manage just fine on my own.” What was with this superior air she was putting on? Like she thought granting me the honor of helping her was some huge favor, and she even anticipated me being deeply touched with gratitude? Looking back at my past life, I couldn’t believe I was actually attracted to a woman like her, someone with a princess syndrome but without an ounce of a princess’ real charm. I must’ve been completely off my rocker. I brought up the transfer records of the past two years and hissed through clenched teeth, “Raina, if you still have a bit of conscience, pay me back the money you blew. I’ll cut you some slack. Let’s just call it half a million dollars and leave it at that.” “Just half a million dollars. Wait and see. In fifteen years, I’ll let you know what real strength is.” She said with a scornful expression, “Forrest, let me give you a friendly heads-up. This is your last shot. Miss it, and don’t blame me for being cruel.” I had been wracking my brain, yet still couldn’t fathom where on earth she got such audacious confidence. Seriously, did she honestly believe that she alone could scale to the pinnacle of the wealth rankings within a mere fifteen years and effortlessly smash my family’s business foundation to smithereens? It was downright ridiculous. She fancied herself as some self-made business magnate? Without my family smoothing the path and forging connections for her, a nobody like her wouldn’t even find a way. Even if one provided resources and connections to a cat, it could make a name for itself. It was one thing that she was ungrateful, but it was too much to expect me to fawn over her like those sycophants. Gazing at her smug look of saying, “If you don’t curry my favor now, you’ll be in for a world of trouble down the road”, a wave of nausea washed over me. Without a moment’s delay, I instructed the bank to freeze her account and fetched a pen and paper to jot down a debt note. She was so enraged that her face went pale. After stamping her fingerprint, she didn’t hold back and shouted out, “Mark my words.” After that, she linked arms with Marlowe and strode off, looking all high and mighty. I was seething with regret, kicking myself for having nurtured such an ungrateful brat in my past life. And on top of it all, I was fretting that she might renege on her promise and come hounding me again.

After school, I called my driver to come and pick me up. Just as I was on the verge of getting into the car, someone shoved me violently from behind. Had it not been for a kind passerby who reacted swiftly and caught me in time, I would surely have ended up eating dirt. With great difficulty, I reined in my fury and looked back, only to find that it was Raina. She was stuffing Marlowe, with his eyes all red and swollen, into the car. Right after that, she climbed in herself as well. And before slamming the car door shut, she still managed to throw out a taunting remark, saying, “Marlowe’s father got beaten up by the debt collectors and was sent to the hospital. It’s really bad, and his life is in danger. You’ll have to find your own way back.” Then she turned to the driver and ordered, “Go now. To the hospital.” Alfred glared at her as if she were some kind of lunatics. Without uttering a single word, he immediately reached for his phone, ready to call the police. Flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, she lashed out and gave the front seat a violent kick before snarling, “Hurry up and drive. If this holds up the treatment and something goes wrong, do you think you can take the blame?” Alfred remained calm and composed. Without any haste, he took out his phone and started filming to collect evidence. After that, he promptly switched off the engine and locked the car doors, confining the two of them within the car. Then he called the police, saying, “Two crazy guys just barged into my private car and wrecked the seats. They gave us a real fright. I’ve got them pinned down here. Officer, please come quick and sort this out.” I couldn’t hold back my laughter and just let it out. Standing there with calm, I watched as she put on a show, playing the role of the overbearing president. However, without my support propping her up, she was merely a clown, making a fool of herself. Marlowe was crying his eyes out in the car, his sobs urgent and desperate, and it tore at Raina’s heartstrings, making her ache with distress. She took a deep breath, pivoted towards me, looking every inch the tragic love-struck heroine, and said, “Forrest, I can go on taking the cash from you. But don’t expect me to have any feelings for you.” “No. I can’t sit back and watch Raina take all this crap and sell herself short.” Marlowe jabbed his finger in my direction and said with a torrent of invectives, “Forrest, you actually threatened her with money? That’s so low. I’m not gonna let you humiliate her like this. No freaking way.” Raina interrupted, “Stop it, Marlowe. As long as I can be of help to you, I’ll take whatever comes my way.” What? Why was it that no one seemed to care about my feelings? All I did was undertake my social responsibility by lending a hand to those impoverished students. What exactly did I do wrong? Moreover, it would still be three years from now that I would develop feelings for Raina. So, why were these two people staging such a melodramatic and heartrending performance, as if they were currently experiencing a tragic parting of life and death? Just then, the police officers arrived. Without hesitation, they asked the two of them to step out of the vehicle. Raina, her face flushed with embarrassment, fixed her glare upon me and launched into a stinging interrogation. She asked, “Forrest, what the heck are you up to? Pulling these tricks to get my attention. You’re really being ridiculous.” I subtly gestured towards the police, mimicking the sign for “mentally unstable”, and whispered, “They don’t seem quite right in the head. It’s better to send them to a specialist clinic for a check-up.” After that, I beamed at Raina and said with a warm smile spreading across my face, “Nothing special. I just got the cops to give you a ride to the hospital.” The police officer scrutinized them with a skeptical eye. Observing that, despite their simple and unadorned clothing, they carried themselves with an air of haughty arrogance, he couldn’t help but feel that something was indeed amiss and inquired, “You’re going to the hospital?” “Yes.” “Then get in the car. I’ll take you there.” As to which hospital they were dispatched to, I was completely in the dark. In the dead of night, I was roused from sleep only to be greeted by the sight of 56 missed calls and a deluge of over 99 unread messages from Raina, seemingly intent on blowing up my phone. Right then, it dawned on me that wherever they had ended up, it sure as hell wasn’t ordinary hospitals. Twenty minutes back, she fired off one final threatening text. Raina: [Pick up the call in three minutes. Or bear the consequences yourself.] It seemed that her “princess syndrome” had flared up again. With a yawn, I powered off my phone without a second thought and drifted off to sleep.

The following morning, while I was walking past the cafeteria, my eyes happened to land on Raina and Marlowe, who were seated there, tucking into their breakfasts. Word had it that they had been confined to the psychiatric ward throughout the night and it was only after the school administration intervened that they were fetched and released. Owen Miller inched closer to me with an air of mystery, then leaned in and murmured softly into my ear, “These two look all right. How come they went nuts just like that? Last night, Raina blasted a group text to our whole class, bragging that she would be the richest person throughout the country. She was begging for a grand to tide her over, swearing she would pay back a hundred times over. It was crazier than that scammer who pretended to be a celebrity locked up and hitting folks up for cash.” Those words hit me like a bolt from the blue, catching me off guard and sending me into a coughing fit as I spewed out the water I had just sipped. Evidently, the number of victims was far greater than I had ever imagined. Last night, not a single department head in the company escaped a call from Raina. She was on the line, spieling about some big business opportunity, vowing that if they would just spring her from the psychiatric ward, she would make them all rich beyond their wildest dreams. My father was so spooked that he hauled the top into an emergency meeting under the cover of night. He couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a rival fishing for company secrets. Otherwise, how on earth could a mental patient have gotten hold of so many internal phone numbers? In fact, it was not entirely fair to pin all the blame on Raina. Having grown up without a single soul to lean on, save for Marlowe, her childhood companion, she was truly alone in this world. Marlowe’s family was in an even more deplorable state, with a father who frittered away his days at the gambling table. Penniless and desperate, they inevitably turned their attention to me, seeing it as their only way out. I had firmly resolved within myself to keep a wide distance from them for as long as I lived. I was on the verge of making my exit when Owen suddenly seized my arm, urging me to stick around and witness the spectacle that was set to play out. Raina’s mental condition relapsed. There she was, cradling a glass of lemonade in her hands, theatrically swirling it around and taking delicate sips, as if what she held was a vintage and costly red wine. Her eyes flicked over to the plate of pasta on the table, and with a disdainful look across her face, she spoke up, “Are you kidding me? This is crappy. Even the stray cats on the street wouldn’t bother eating it.” “Raina, this cheap crap isn’t fit for you. But you’ve been starving all day. You gotta eat something.” “I’d starve to death before eating this kind of junk.” The owner of the cafeteria had always been hot-tempered. With a resounding smack on the chopping board, he bellowed in rage, “You guys used coupons to grab the cheapest pasta and had the nerve to ask me for more tomatoes. Now you’re being all picky. Eat it if you want, or just scram.” Raina snapped with a thundering voice, “Who the hell do you think you are? Talking to me like that. You better watch your back. One call from me and your lousy stall won’t last another day.” Marlowe hastened to intervene and chimed in, “Stop it, Raina. It’s just a small business for them. They’re having a tough time.” Owen, who had been observing the whole affair like a spectator, finally couldn’t contain his amusement and burst out laughing. That sudden chortle instantly caught Raina’s ear. As her eyes darted in our direction, I felt every single hair on my body stand bolt upright, as if an icy wind had just blown through.

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The moment my father-in-law’s body was wheeled into the crematorium, my mother-in-law began dry heaving uncontrollably. As soon as my father-in-law was taken into the crematorium, my mother-in-law started gagging and retching. My husband and mother-in-law insisted on keeping this “posthumous child.” Out of concern, I gently mentioned that, at her age, her health might not allow it. In return, they ruthlessly beat me up. Who would’ve thought that, a few months later, my husband would end up with a little Black brother?! “Ugh… ugh…” My husband, Daniel, quickly rushed to steady her. A flicker of panic crossed her face before she suddenly straightened up, blushing slightly. “I… I’m pregnant,” she announced shyly. What?! I blinked, shaking my head as if I’d misheard her. Smiling sweetly, she repeated, “Daniel, you’re about to become a big brother! The baby is already three months along.” I glanced at the roaring flames of the furnace and then back at my mother-in-law, who was nearly sixty. My mind went blank. It took me a long moment to recover my voice, and when I did, I asked hesitantly, “Mom, are you planning to keep the baby?” Before I could even finish my sentence, Daniel’s hand came down hard across my face. “How dare you speak to Mom like that?” he roared. “That’s my little brother she’s carrying, and you dare to have such cruel thoughts?!” Clutching my burning cheek, I licked the blood pooling in my mouth from my loosened teeth. Tears streamed down my face as the pain radiated through me. “But Mom is already fifty-eight,” I tried to explain through sobs. “I’m just worried about her health.” Suddenly, my mother-in-law ran toward the furnace, wailing dramatically, “Honey, wait for me! Don’t leave me behind!” “Come back and take me with you! I don’t want to stay here and be a burden to anyone anymore!” Daniel grabbed her around the waist, holding her back. “Mom, as long as I’m here, this family will always belong to the Du name. I’ll handle everything. Don’t listen to this dog barking!” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. So, in Daniel’s eyes, I was nothing more than a dog. Relatives attending the funeral gathered around, their voices rising in condemnation. “How could you be so heartless? Mom always treated you like her own daughter!” “Exactly! A woman has the right to choose to give birth, no matter her age!” “That’s your little brother in there! As the eldest daughter-in-law, you should act like a mother figure to him. How could you think something so vile?” “Late-life pregnancies are a miracle! It’s a blessing from above, and it should be cherished.” Daniel’s uncle slapped his thigh, declaring, “This child must be born. It’s the last piece of my brother’s legacy!” My mother-in-law, her face glowing with pride, sat in the center of the crowd, basking in their congratulations. Ding. My phone buzzed. It was a text from the bank, reminding me about our overdue mortgage payment. I stared at the pitiful balance in my account and laughed bitterly. For three years, Daniel and I hadn’t dared to have kids because we were saving every penny to pay off the house. “Let’s wait until the timing is right,” he’d always say. Now, this man—who couldn’t even afford a child of his own—wanted to raise a baby for his mother? He must’ve lost his mind. Fury surged through me, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Sure, go ahead and have the baby!” I shouted. “Do you think having it is the end of the story?” “Doctor visits, hospital stays, diapers, formula—none of that is free!” “Fine, have the baby! But who’s going to pay for all of it?!” The room fell silent, the previous noise replaced by an eerie quiet. My mother-in-law burst into shrill sobs. “I can’t live like this anymore! I’m old and unwanted everywhere I go!” “What did I do wrong? This is the last gift my husband left me. How could I possibly abandon it?” Daniel stormed toward me, his face twisted with rage. He kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me sprawling to the floor. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he slapped me repeatedly across the face. “You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?” “This is my dad’s posthumous child—his final gift to us.” “I can’t believe I married such a vicious woman!” His bloodshot eyes bulged, veins popping on his forehead. He looked like a demon thirsting for blood. For the first time, I truly saw him for who he was. I struggled, but my strength was no match for his. The relatives stood by, watching silently. No one stepped in to stop him. In fact, they chimed in, their words cutting deeper than Daniel’s blows. “If I had a wife like her, I’d have beaten her 800 times by now.” “Disgraceful! A bad wife ruins three generations!” Blood blurred my vision, and through the crimson haze, their faces twisted into grotesque, ghastly masks. It wasn’t until a crematorium staff member intervened, shouting, “What are you doing?! Hitting someone is illegal! If you don’t stop, I’m calling the police!” Daniel finally let go, leaving me crumpled on the ground. The crowd surrounded my mother-in-law like loyal subjects, escorting her out with their heads held high. Not a single one of them looked back at me. I felt like a deflated balloon, all the strength and spirit drained from my body.

I thought Daniel was just acting out because he couldn’t handle the shock of losing his father so suddenly. So, instead of calling the police, I went to the hospital alone to get my injuries treated. But as soon as I walked through the hospital doors, I saw Daniel helping his mother walk inside. He frowned at me in irritation, barking, “What are you standing there for? Go pay the bill already!” Before I could respond, he shoved a thick stack of payment slips into my hands. I glanced at the total—and my vision went black for a second. Ten thousand dollars?! For reference, Daniel and I together only make $8,000 a month. “So many tests?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. Daniel glared at me, his temper flaring. “What? Do you know any pregnant woman who skips prenatal care?” “Mom’s older, which makes it even more important. We can’t afford to take any risks without a full examination.” Oh, so now Daniel suddenly cares about her age? Newsflash: women over 35 are considered high-risk pregnancies. Mother-in-law is pushing 60, and she still wants to have a baby? If people heard about this, they’d laugh until their jaws fell off. Seeing that I hadn’t moved, my mother-in-law chimed in with a passive-aggressive tone, “Oh, son, it’s fine. If Claire doesn’t want to pay, I’ll just skip the tests.” “Sure, I’m old, and my health isn’t great, but for your father’s sake, I’ll grit my teeth and push through.” Daniel’s rage exploded. “Are you out of your mind? Do you know the difference between a pregnancy checkup and your stupid money?!” “Is Mom’s health less important than your measly dollars?!” My chest tightened like it was being crushed in a vice. I couldn’t breathe. This is the man I’ve loved for years? The same man who slapped me just for voicing concern? The same man now threatening me over this? Fine. If they refuse to listen to reason, I’ll respect their fate. I forced a smile and said sweetly, “Honey, what are you saying?” “Of course, nothing’s more important than Mom’s health. We absolutely have to do the tests—the more expensive, the better.” “Let’s make sure she gets a full, head-to-toe, thorough examination.” My sudden agreement seemed to please Daniel immensely. He sneered, “Finally, you’re making sense. And while you’re at it, ask the doctor if there are any additional tests we can add.” I nodded enthusiastically. “Will do!” Mother-in-law’s doctor, however, frowned as he spoke to me. “The patient’s age is far too advanced, and she has several pre-existing conditions. She’s not fit for pregnancy.” “You should seriously consider your options as a family. If this continues, there could be significant risks to her life.” I laughed quietly to myself. Significant risks? Perfect. Let’s see how far this reckless stupidity will take them. Putting on a concerned face, I said, “Doctor, this is my father-in-law’s posthumous child. My mother-in-law and husband are adamant about keeping it. As a daughter-in-law, I can’t really say much.” “But if there are any other tests she needs, please add them. We want to do everything possible.” The doctor tapped his pen against the desk. “In my professional opinion, your mother-in-law’s body won’t even last until full term.” “Later on, you’ll be looking at astronomical medical bills. I urge you to reconsider.” With the newly added tests, I practically skipped back to Daniel and my mother-in-law, waving the stack of bills like a trophy. Beaming, I praised my mother-in-law, “Mom, you’re amazing! The doctor said you’re a medical miracle—a real hero!” Mother-in-law’s face lit up with pride, her mouth curling into a self-satisfied smile. “We older folks may be up there in years, but our bodies are strong as ever,” she boasted. “Not like you young people—always complaining about this pain or that ache. It’s pathetic!” I smiled but didn’t respond to her nonsense. Fine, let them bask in their arrogance for now. The storm is already brewing, and it’s coming straight for them.

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While I was changing clothes, my neighbor, Linda, crossed a line I never expected. When I found out I was pregnant, my husband immediately assumed I had cheated on him. He rushed home that very night to confront me. Through tears, I told him the horrific truth. Furious, he stormed off to confront Linda, but he too fell victim to her cruelty. Realizing her secret was about to be exposed, Linda made a chilling decision—she poisoned all three of us. Now, in this second chance at life, I swear I will drag every filthy secret of hers into the light for the world to see. “Janie, change into something dry. Look at you, you’re soaking wet,” Linda said as she rummaged through the closet for clothes. I froze, my hand trembling over the buttons of my shirt, staring at Linda’s back with a mixture of disbelief and fear. This isn’t happening… right? Linda turned around with a confused look. “What’s wrong, Janie? Aren’t you going to change?” Forcing a weak smile, I stammered, “I-I’m fine… I just need to use the bathroom first.” Without waiting for her response, I stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door tightly behind me. The strength drained from my body as I slid down against the door, trembling uncontrollably. I stared at my pale, shaking hands—hands that were still untainted, unmarred—and tears began to stream silently down my face. I clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs. It was today. It was this rainy day. It was in this house. This was the day Linda destroyed me. Linda wasn’t just my neighbor; she was practically family. She was incredibly close to my father-in-law, so much so that she lived in his house while renting out her own to make extra income. My husband and I had even joked about when they were finally going to get married. But whenever the topic came up, Linda and my father-in-law would exchange awkward glances and quickly change the subject. Eventually, my husband and I stopped asking. My mother-in-law had passed away years ago, and Linda had stepped in to care for my husband and his father ever since. She was even there the first time I met my husband’s family, helping to “vet” me. When she found out I was an orphan, her eyes filled with an almost overwhelming pity. In the two years I’d been married, she’d treated me with kindness and care, always looking out for me. But after what happened, I had no idea how to cope. I could only cry in despair. Linda knelt before me, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. She swore she’d make it up to me, that she’d never tell anyone about what she’d done. But I was too shaken to accept her apology. I shook my head and tried to run for the door. That’s when the always-gentle Linda transformed into a monster. She sprang to her feet, grabbed me, and held me back with a terrifying strength. I screamed for help, my cries directed at my father-in-law, who was standing nearby. He hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted. But then, he pulled out a bundle of rope. And just like that, I was tied up and locked in a room—for an entire month. No one suspected a thing. My father-in-law went to my workplace and told my boss I needed some time off to deal with a “family emergency.” Meanwhile, Linda used my phone to reply to my husband’s texts, keeping him in the dark. Trapped in that room, I screamed until my voice was hoarse. But no one came to help me. Linda would bring me meals every day, trying to convince me to “let it go” and pretend nothing had ever happened. “We can still be family,” she’d say. Bound hand and foot, I wriggled helplessly on the bed like a caterpillar. At first, I spat in her face and hurled the vilest insults I could think of. But as time went on, I grew weaker. Reason told me I needed to conserve my strength if I ever wanted to escape. One day, I drank every last drop of the porridge Linda brought me. Her eyes lit up at the sight, and she spoke to me in a gentler tone, trying once again to persuade me. I closed my eyes, unwilling to even look at her or my father-in-law.

The turning point came a month later. After finishing a bowl of porridge, I suddenly vomited it all back up. My stomach churned violently, and I was pale as a ghost, struggling to suppress the urge to throw up again. Panic flashed across Linda’s face as she rushed to call my father-in-law. The two of them decided to force-feed me some medication for my stomach. But the vomiting didn’t stop. For a week straight, everything I ate came right back up. Linda sat helplessly on the edge of the bed while I lay there, utterly drained. Then, as if struck by inspiration, she clapped her hands together and hurried out of the room. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, Linda and my father-in-law were standing over me, their faces pale and stricken, as if something even worse had happened. Linda dropped to her knees with a thud and stammered, “Janie… you… I…” My voice was hoarse as I croaked, “What? Are you finally going to let me go?” Linda squeezed her eyes shut and muttered, “You… you’re pregnant.” I froze, my eyes widening in disbelief. My husband had been working out of town for four months. I already knew who the father was.

Knock, knock, knock! The sound of rhythmic knocking echoed from the door behind me. Linda’s voice, tinged with worry, called out, “Janie, are you okay in there?” I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to sound calm. “I’m fine. Just… stomach trouble.” Steeling myself, I resolved not to let today unfold the same way it had in my previous life. Flushing the toilet, I stepped out of the bathroom. Linda was sitting casually on the living room couch, her expression seemingly innocent. I couldn’t bear to look at her any longer. Grasping for an excuse, I decided to get rid of her. “Linda, I’m really craving ribs today. Could you make me some corn and rib soup?” “Well, there aren’t any ribs left in the house,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll head out and grab some.” I nodded and watched as she got up, slipped on her coat, and left through the front door. As she walked out, I returned to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I knew she wouldn’t try anything immediately. In my past life, when our three bodies began to decompose, the stench prompted Linda to file a complaint with the property management. When the property staff opened the door and found our corpses, they quickly called the police. Footage from the building’s security cameras revealed that Linda had been returning to the apartment every four days. The authorities set a trap, and she was eventually arrested. During her interrogation, Linda confessed everything, breaking down in tears and saying she regretted it all. She claimed she didn’t know what came over her when she first attacked me. When my husband, Zane, confronted her, she panicked and made one mistake after another, spiraling out of control until her mental state completely crumbled. When the investigators asked why she had also killed my father-in-law, Linda’s expression turned grim. She insisted that he bore responsibility for everything that happened. “If it weren’t for his… peculiar habits all these years, I wouldn’t have gotten used to this… this way of life,” she muttered. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out her final words: “This was his punishment, his atonement. And I… I was the one who started it all…” But she couldn’t finish her sentence. Her voice cracked, and she fell silent, shaking her head as if the weight of her guilt had rendered her speechless.

The sound of the door clicking shut snapped me out of my thoughts. I quickly pulled out my phone, my hand trembling as I dialed my husband’s number. “Zane, you have to come home today. I have something important to tell you,” I said, my voice shaking. Hearing the panic in my tone, he tried to reassure me. “Calm down, Janie. What’s going on? Take your time—I’m here.” I clenched my fist, digging my nails into my palm to keep myself steady. “It’s not something I can explain right now. Please, just come home today.” Zane hesitated. He’d only recently started his new position in another city, and taking leave so soon would be difficult to justify. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Taking a deep breath, I hardened my voice and said, “Zane, if you don’t come home today, we’re done. I’ll file for divorce.” Before he could respond, I hung up. My heart raced as I stumbled to my closet, digging out clean clothes. My hands shook so badly that it took me several tries to get dressed properly. Grabbing my car keys from the entryway, I bolted out of the house and drove straight to my office. When I arrived, my coworkers who were working late greeted me warmly. “Good evening, Manager Monroe!” “Didn’t you already leave for the day? What brings you back?” “Manager Monroe, want to grab dinner with us?” I forced a smile and responded to each of them politely. “Good evening! Just came back to handle a work issue. You all enjoy dinner—I’ll head upstairs now. Keep up the good work!” Once I reached my office, I sank into my chair, burying my face in my hands as I let out a long, shaky breath. The rain had stopped, and the sky outside was bright and clear. Sunlight poured through the windows, and a faint rainbow arched across the horizon. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weather was beautiful.

I pulled out a sheet of paper and began jotting down everything I could remember from my previous life. This time, I’d stay far away from the people and events that had once made my life a living hell. No one who committed such heinous acts would escape the consequences this time. I was deep in thought when the sound of my phone ringing startled me. Frowning, I glanced at the screen. Seeing Linda’s name pop up, my expression turned ice-cold. “Janie, where are you? I bought the ribs—should I start cooking them now?” Suppressing a bitter laugh, I replied flatly, “I’m at the office. Won’t be coming home tonight. Bye.” Without waiting for a response, I hung up, then stood and fed the paper I’d written into the shredder. I watched as the memories of my past life were reduced to tiny scraps. There was no way I’d leave something that incriminating lying around. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. My mind was too preoccupied to focus on work—I could only think about my next move. It wasn’t until a timid knock on my office door pulled me back to the present. One of the interns peeked in and said softly, “Manager Monroe, Mr. Lee wants to see you in his office.” When I entered Mr. Lee’s office, he greeted me with a warm smile, his chubby hands folded on his desk like a friendly mascot. “Take a seat, Janie,” he said. I nodded politely. “Mr. Lee, is there something you need?” After sipping his tea, he got straight to the point. “Janie, there’s no need for small talk. You’ve been with the company for three years now, and your abilities speak for themselves. The board is planning to open a branch in Seabridge, and I’d like you to lead it. What do you think?” The news hit me like a bolt of lightning. It felt like a gift from the heavens. In my previous life, I’d been locked away during this exact time and had never even heard about this opportunity. This was a rare chance. If I accepted the position, a couple of years of hard work at the new branch would pave the way for a promotion when I returned. I was thrilled, but I kept my expression carefully measured—just enough to show interest without appearing overly eager. Mr. Lee seemed pleased with my reaction. But instead of giving him an answer right away, I asked, “When would I need to move?” Waving his hand, he replied, “No rush. Anytime within the next month.” I thanked him and promised to think it over before leaving the office.

The sky gradually darkened, the soft pink hues of dusk fading into deep shadows. Only the faint glow of streetlights illuminated the paths of late-night wanderers. My phone lit up with the familiar ringtone. After an entire afternoon of waiting, the key player had finally arrived. Zane’s usually clear voice was now slightly hoarse, the exhaustion from his long journey evident. I simply told him to come to my office and refused to discuss anything further. When I saw Zane’s tall, clean-cut figure appear, my chest tightened, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I threw myself into his arms and began to sob uncontrollably. I cried with all the helplessness and sorrow I had bottled up—the endless nightmare of my previous life, Linda’s twisted facade, my father-in-law’s disgusting complicity, and the way Zane and I had been dragged into such unimaginable horror. Zane’s face, initially filled with traces of anger and fatigue, softened with pure concern as I cried. He wrapped his arms around my waist, his other hand gently stroking my hair like he was calming a child. “What’s wrong, Janie? What happened? Tell me, okay?” I choked on my words, wanting to explain but finding it impossible to speak. Noticing my struggle, Zane gently reassured me, “Take your time. I’m here. Just breathe.” After a few moments, I pulled myself out of his embrace and began hesitantly sharing bits and pieces of what had happened. Who would believe something so outrageous if it wasn’t ripped from the plot of a soap opera or a novel? Even if they believed it, how could I ever say it out loud? Exposing my deepest vulnerabilities would strip me bare—turning me into a defenseless target, like a declawed tiger or a fish laid out on the chopping block. So, I chose my words carefully. I only told Zane that Linda was intersex and had been in a long-term, inappropriate relationship with my father-in-law. Today, she had crossed a line and tried to harm me. The concern on Zane’s face was quickly replaced by shock and disbelief. His expression hardened as he said, “That’s a serious accusation, Janie. You can’t just say things like that.” I had anticipated his doubt, so I calmly laid out my plan, which I had carefully prepared in advance. To my dismay, Zane immediately rejected it. He adamantly insisted that Linda would never do something like that. “You’ve noticed something was off for a while now, haven’t you?” I asked, my voice sharp like an arrow piercing through his defenses. Zane’s face stiffened, his features twisting slightly. After a brief pause, he let out a heavy sigh and took my hand, trying to reason with me. “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Janie. Please, let’s be respectful.” I stared at our clasped hands, my tone turning cold. “Respect? Understanding? Those don’t justify what she’s thinking about doing to me.” Zane’s face shifted through a range of emotions before he finally nodded, his expression conflicted.

I drove home, placing my phone on the vase stand in the living room before heading to my bedroom to change clothes. I slipped into a dark red dress adorned with subtle, elegant embellishments. Delicate lace cutouts at the hem and intricate patterns on the fabric added a touch of sophistication. I draped a unique shawl over my shoulders, breaking through the dark tones with a striking contrast. The look was bold yet refined, exuding an air of cold elegance and undeniable confidence. Leaning casually against the kitchen doorframe, I smiled and asked, “Linda, how do I look in this?” Linda, who was chopping vegetables, froze for a moment. Her eyes flickered with something dark—greed and desire. She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced toward the living room. I smirked internally. At this hour, my father-in-law would still be at the park playing chess. It was just the two of us at home. The perfect opportunity. Linda licked her dry lips, her eyes fixating on my waist. “Janie, you look beautiful. There’s just a loose thread on your dress. Let me cut it for you.” Feigning trust, I turned and walked toward the living room. The moment I reached the couch, a sudden force slammed into my back, pinning me down. Linda, with her farm-hardened strength, easily overpowered me. I screamed and struggled, but she grabbed a towel from nearby and stuffed it into my mouth to muffle my cries. “Mmff!” I yelled, my voice muffled by the towel. Bang! The front door flew open. Zane stood in the doorway, his face dark with fury. His jaw clenched as his eyes burned with rage. Through gritted teeth, he growled, “What the hell is going on here?!”

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I was killed by online harassment. My best friend’s parents accused me online of being the reason for her death. Soon after, I was stabbed multiple times by a radical stranger. It was only after becoming a wandering soul that I discovered she wasn’t dead at all. When she heard about my death, her response was a casual, “What does that have to do with me?” Fueled by hatred, I’ve been reborn. This time, it’s their turn to experience what it’s like to be harassed to death by the internet. “Amanda! If my parents come looking for you, make sure to tell them you don’t know anything, okay? Otherwise, they won’t let me go to Eldoria!” My best friend, Grace, clung to my arm, shaking it back and forth. Her wide, innocent eyes blinked up at me, but I no longer felt any softness toward her. I rejected her coldly. “Don’t tell me about it. Your business isn’t mine to handle.” Zoe, however, mistook my silence for agreement. “MUA! I knew you were the best, Amanda! I’ll bring you gifts when I get back from Eldoria!” With that, she ran off, leaving me standing there. I calmly took out my phone and saved the recording. Luckily, because of my job, my phone’s shortcut key was always set to record conversations. The moment I realized I’d been reborn, I had pressed the record button. Now, I opened the chat with Zoe’s mom and sent her the audio file directly. Let’s see if you’ll keep blaming me for encouraging your daughter to go to Eldoria now!

But I underestimated just how shameless the Moore family could be. Not long after sending the recording, I received a message from Mrs. Moore herself. “Amanda, you’re Zoe’s best friend. How could you not try to stop her? Saying it’s none of your business—do you even consider her your friend?” Reading that message made my blood boil. I wanted to lash out, but I bit my tongue. Because I knew that anything I said now could and would be used against me later. This time, I wouldn’t let them twist my words. “Mrs. Moore,” I replied sweetly, “Zoe is an adult now. She’s always said that you’re too controlling and doesn’t want to tell you too much about her plans. But because I’m her friend, I recorded this for you. After all, you’re her mother. As an outsider, there’s only so much I can do.” I smiled as I hit send, waiting for her response. In Mrs. Moore’s eyes, Zoe was the perfect, obedient daughter. I wondered how she’d react to hearing her “perfect child” complain about her being controlling. Sure enough, Mrs. Moore sent back a long voice message almost immediately. When I played it, all I heard was her furious ranting: “Amanda Walker, what are you trying to say? My Zoe would never talk behind my back! I bet you’re the one leading her astray!” Feigning innocence, I replied: “Mrs. Moore, I don’t know why you’re upset with me, but shouldn’t your priority be stopping Zoe from going to Eldoria? You care about her safety more than I do, don’t you?” That shut her up. She didn’t reply again. But soon after, I got a message from Zoe herself.

“Amanda Walker! Did I tell you to cover for me or not?! What the hell is wrong with you, running to snitch?! I’m warning you—stay out of my business!” “God, you’re so annoying. You little snitch! Don’t ever contact me again!” Grace—the girl who played the perfect angel in front of her mom—was nothing more than a foul-mouthed brat in reality. Of course, she never showed me this side of her before. To her, I was just the perfect scapegoat to shield her from her mom’s wrath. Smiling, I typed out a fake apology: “I was just worried about you…” As expected, her response was instant—a red exclamation mark. Zoe had blocked me. That was another one of her signature moves—blocking people at the slightest inconvenience. I took a screenshot of the conversation and sent it to Mrs. Moore. “Mrs. Moore,” I wrote, “I tried my best. I’ve done everything I could, but Zoe cursed me out and blocked me. I guess our friendship ends here. From now on, I won’t interfere in her life anymore…” And just like that, I painted myself as the innocent victim. A good friend who tried to help, only to be met with insults and rejection. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for me after seeing this? But I wasn’t done yet. I posted the screenshots of our conversation on a short video platform, along with the caption: “My best friend is planning to meet up with a stranger she barely knows in Eldoria. I tried to warn her, but she called me a snitch and cursed me out. Was I really in the wrong?” After posting, I turned off my phone and went outside. If Zoe and her family loved using public opinion as a weapon, then let’s see who the internet sides with this time. 4. I don’t know how Grace managed it, but she still ended up going to Eldoria. And I only found out because news of her “death” quickly made its way back home. Just like in my previous life, her parents wasted no time stirring up chaos. Within three days, my phone was flooded with threatening messages and constant harassing calls. Boxes began appearing at my front door—each filled with gruesome and horrifying items meant to scare me. And the walls of my house? Covered in red spray paint. “Best friend killer!” “Rot in hell, homewrecker!” “Blood for blood!” “Justice for Grace!” I stared coldly at the graffiti on my walls, a faint smile tugging at my lips. The methods they used to intimidate me were exactly the same as last time. Shortly after news of Zoe’s death broke, Mrs. Moore launched a livestream, tearfully airing her grievances to the public. Conveniently, she also “accidentally” revealed my contact information. In my first life, I’d been foolish enough to believe it was my fault for not stopping Zoe from going to Eldoria. Overwhelmed by guilt and crushed by the mounting online harassment, I gave in and agreed to pay a massive settlement when everyone started blaming me for her death. The relentless cyberbullying even scared my parents into a hospital stay. They didn’t make it much longer after that. But this time… The first thing I did after being reborn was send my parents abroad. I entrusted them to my cousin, who would take care of them. With them out of harm’s way, I had no more weaknesses. If the Moore family wanted to play games, I’d gladly oblige. 5. Grace’s story spread like wildfire online. It didn’t take me long to find Mrs. Moore’s livestream. I clicked in and was immediately met with her tear-filled voice: “My Zoe was such a sweet, obedient girl. She was so naive because we protected her too well, and that’s why she couldn’t see through bad influences…” “She had this friend who was always dragging her out to party. Once, she even tried to take her to a bar in the middle of the night!” Oh, I remember that night clearly. Zoe had gotten drunk and called me to pick her up. Somehow, Mrs. Moore had found out where she was, and when I arrived to get her, she caught me red-handed. The next day, Zoe acted like nothing had happened. I asked her why her mom wasn’t mad, but she just giggled and said it was a secret. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Turns out, she’d pinned the blame on me. I hit the screen recording button and kept listening to Mrs. Moore’s livestream. The more I heard, the more I realized how blind I’d been in my last life. Why did I ever think Grace was some innocent, naive girl? As it turned out, the reason her parents had targeted me so viciously in my previous life was because Zoe had spent years using me as her shield, spinning lie after lie. For example, Mrs. Moore claimed I often got scared and made Zoe stay over at my place. Now I understood—those nights were when Zoe was sneaking off to hotels with her boyfriend. I remembered being surprised before when Zoe told me her mom had allowed her to stay out all night. Turns out, she was lying the whole time. Then there was the claim that I frequently dragged her off on vacations. What utter nonsense! I was swamped with work and never had time for a vacation. I’d even seen her post photos from those trips on her social media. She was with her boyfriend in every single one. And how did she get away with it? By lying to her parents, saying she was with me. “And now… maybe it was that same friend who convinced her to go. But in the end, all we got back was Zoe’s body,” Mrs. Moore wept during her stream. The moment those words left her mouth, the livestream chat exploded.

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After I was raped and murdered, my mom started selling meat buns. The buns she made were incredible—thin dough, packed with juicy, flavorful fillings. Rumors began to spread that the thugs who’d gone missing in our town might’ve somehow ended up inside the buns. My mom just laughed when she heard. “How could that be? I’d never use old meat in my buns,” she said with a smirk. One day, someone found a severed finger in one of her buns. The shop erupted in chaos. Customers screamed, some ran out, others vomited. The police arrived quickly, sealing off the scene. On her cutting board, they found part of a human thigh that hadn’t been chopped up yet. And from the pot of rich, fragrant broth simmering on the stove, they pulled out a row of bones, still covered in tender meat. But my mom didn’t flinch. She stayed calm, almost proud. “The meat is fresh,” she said. “Test it if you want. I never use old meat, and I refuse to grind it in a machine. It ruins the texture—makes it too soft, no bite.” She even started explaining her “secret recipe” in a slow, deliberate tone: “You see, the meat needs to be braised first—so it’s tender and juicy when you bite into it. My braising sauce has—” “Enough!” one officer snapped, cutting her off. “Laura Sullivan, why did you kill them? And where’s your daughter, Jane? She hasn’t shown up to school in weeks. What did you do to her?” “School? What’s the point of school for a girl?” my mom sneered. “She doesn’t need it anymore.” I’d heard those words so many times in life, but even now, they hit me like a punch to the gut. Because I was a girl, my mom always looked down on me. No matter how hard I worked, I could never win her approval. It’s strange. I’m dead, but the pain still lingers. The police, confused, followed my mom’s gaze to the refrigerator. When they opened it, everyone recoiled, covering their noses in horror. Inside, they found me. What was left of me.

I was killed on my way home from school. A group of men grabbed me, covering my mouth and nose with a cloth soaked in chloroform, and dragged me into an abandoned factory. I woke up in agony. I screamed, I fought back, but they only became more violent, more vicious. They didn’t stop until I blacked out. When I came to, I heard one of them swear under his breath. “Shit, I think she’s dead.” “No way. Must be faking it. She was screaming her head off just now,” another one muttered. One of them checked my breathing. “She’s not faking. She’s gone.” Panic set in. “Dammit, we’re not supposed to kill anyone! We just got out of prison—none of us are going back!” The leader grabbed me by the neck, shaking me violently. My head lolled to the side, and with a sickening crack, my neck snapped. I was gone. My soul curled up in the corner, trembling. For a moment, I felt relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to endure any more pain. The leader cursed again, lit a cigarette, and muttered, “You know what? Maybe it’s for the best. Dead means we charge more. That little rich kid’s family can pay up.” When I floated back to our house, my mom was playing poker with the neighbors. “Gu, your Jane’s got such good grades. Bet she’s heading to one of those big universities in the capital, huh?” My mom scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’m stupid enough to let her leave town? I’ve raised her all these years—she’s not going anywhere.” “Still, wouldn’t a top school give her a brighter future?” “What future? She’d just end up in some dead-end office job making peanuts. Girls are only good at burying themselves in books. If my son were still alive, he’d be a hundred, no, a thousand times better than her.” She had once been pregnant with a baby boy. But at five months, she caught pneumonia from me and lost the baby. Not long after, my dad’s mistress gave birth to a son. He divorced my mom and left our family for good. My mom never forgave me. “If it weren’t for you, this family wouldn’t have fallen apart!” “You didn’t want a brother, did you? You got sick on purpose, didn’t you?” Late that night, she put away her poker winnings, muttering angrily to herself. “Where the hell is she? Evening classes ended hours ago. What’s she up to now?” She had no idea her daughter was being dismembered. I watched as she paced the house, growing more and more anxious. She called my phone over and over again. “Sorry, the number you’ve dialed is unavailable. Please try again later.” Every time she heard the automated message, she got more frustrated, more frantic. She called my teacher. My classmates. She even started shouting at the walls. “If that brat’s out messing around, I swear I’ll break her damn legs!”

My mom confessed to the murders without hesitation: “As for how many? I’ve lost count. You’ll have to figure that out yourselves. Don’t you guys have DNA testing for that?” Of course they did, but the sheer complexity of the evidence was a nightmare for the forensic team. That pot of her famous braising sauce? It was a stew of chaos—filled with an endless list of ingredients: star anise, dried orange peel, rock sugar, fennel, cardamom… even the cuts of meat were carefully chosen—lean meat here, belly fat there. I watched as my mom, her hands cuffed, was pushed into the back of a police car. Before the door could close, a woman burst through the crowd and started clawing and kicking at her, screaming hysterically, “Where’s my son, Laura Sullivan?! Give me back my son!” It was my dad’s second wife, Ava. The onlookers started murmuring: “Didn’t her stepson go missing recently too? Could it be her doing? God, this woman’s a monster. No wonder her husband ditched her!” “Laura Sullivan, if you so much as touched a hair on my son’s head, I’ll kill you!” my dad yelled, red-faced and trembling with rage. Bruised and bloodied from the scuffle, my mom simply smiled coldly. “Look at you two. Looks like karma finally came knocking.” After I disappeared, my mom had been forced to call my dad to ask for help. His response? “Your daughter’s missing? Isn’t that your responsibility? Don’t bother me with this nonsense.” Now, as both my dad and Ava stood there, desperate and panicked, my mom blinked innocently and said, “I really don’t know where Shane is. I sell so many buns every day, you know?” Her business was booming. Customers lined up outside her small shop from morning till night, the tables always full, the steamers constantly empty. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smirk. “If you’re gonna ask, maybe you should be asking the people who eat here.” The room fell silent. Even the officers, who had been holding Ava back, froze mid-action. My dad and Ava stared at her, their faces pale, before collapsing helplessly to the floor. I couldn’t help but enjoy the way they looked—completely shattered. Ava begged my mom like a dog. It reminded me of the time I begged her not to destroy my family. Back then, she’d kicked me to the ground and sneered, “Stupid brat. Get lost with your mom!”

Ava used to be my mom’s best friend. It’s a story as old as time. My mom spent the best years of her life building a future with my dad, only to be betrayed by him and her closest friend once he became successful. My mom always believed the only reason Ava “won” was because she had a son. And so, she blamed me for the divorce. I don’t know how my mom eventually found the warehouse. When she saw what was left of me, she froze. Everything about her—her breathing, her expression, even her heartbeat—seemed to stop. She gathered my broken body in her arms. I don’t know how long she sat there before she finally reached out to gently close my lifeless, unblinking eyes. Her face was emotionless the entire time. No tears, no sobbing. Just a hollow, empty stare. I laughed bitterly to myself. Whenever she talked about the son she lost, her face was never this cold. Maybe now that I was gone, her life would be easier. She could start over, build a new family, have the children she had always wanted. It had to be easier, right? But my mom didn’t call the police. Instead, she carefully wrapped my remains and took me back to her shop. At dawn, she called my teacher to report my absence. “Hi, this is Jane’s mom. She’s sick and will need a few days off. Don’t worry, it won’t affect her studies.” I wasn’t sick. My mom was. She went about her day as usual, preparing breakfast and lunch. She banged on my bedroom door, shouting, “Food’s in the fridge, make sure you heat it up before you eat! And there’s money on the table if you need it. You’re so skinny—eat more!” She left for six days. On the night of my seventh day—the night when spirits are said to return one last time—she stood before my shrine. And my mom, with her own hands, offered up the life of one of the men who had destroyed me as a sacrifice.

Before my mom made her move, she bought a used food delivery uniform. Having run her shop for so many years, she knew all kinds of people, and it didn’t take long for her to get the information she needed from the local gangsters. She rode her electric scooter around the apartment complex, her hunched figure blending in easily. Years of hard work had made her back slightly curved, a detail that only helped her avoid suspicion. It didn’t take long for her to identify his address. She knocked on the door, holding a takeout bag. The door opened, and there he was—the punk. He grabbed the bag, glaring at her suspiciously. “What are you staring at? Get lost!” My soul froze. It was him. The one who had jumped me in the bushes. My mom, staring at his hostile expression and rough demeanor, smiled meekly. “Hey, young man, if it’s not too much trouble, could you leave me a five-star review?” “Get out of here before I beat you!” he barked, slamming the door in her face. The moment the door shut, my mom’s expression changed. The timid smile vanished, replaced by an icy, burning hatred. She didn’t leave. Instead, she waited in the shadows on the rooftop, biding her time until nightfall. When she finally broke into the apartment, the punk was already lying on the floor, unconscious, foaming at the mouth. The takeout she had delivered was laced with enough sedatives to knock him out cold. I watched, holding my breath, as she dragged his limp body into a suitcase she had brought. There was a security camera near the building’s entrance, but my mom didn’t panic. She calmly pulled out a length of steel wire, hooked it around the camera, and yanked hard, twisting it to face the wall. Then, lowering her head to hide her face beneath the helmet, she disappeared into the night.

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