Naomi Sinclair and I grew up together at Willow Creek Orphanage. We knew each other, grew close, fell in love. Soon after she gave birth to our son, her birth parents found her. She became the only heiress to the Sinclair family name. Our son, from a young age, received an elite education and took on the Sinclair surname. Years later, when I handed Naomi the divorce papers, she looked a little impatient and asked why. I simply replied, “Because last night, the food I cooked went cold.” Content “Leave with nothing?” “Be sensible—there’s no way Aiden will go with you.” Naomi didn’t look up from her phone screen. Her company was about to go public. I had once been proud of all her accomplishments, but now, all I felt was a sense of brokenness. “I’ll give up custody of Aiden,” I said. “Before we married, all I had was that little house—the Starter Cottage. That’s all I want.” When I mentioned the tiny house we’d once shared, Naomi’s expression softened a bit. “Are you still upset that Dean Preston drove me home yesterday? He’s just a business associate.” Yeah, a business associate who knew she was married and still wouldn’t give up pursuing her. I said nothing, just looked at Naomi. I hadn’t had the chance to really look at her in a long time. She was immaculately dressed, her earrings studded with pink diamonds that probably cost more than a few months of our expenses back in the day. It only took a few years, and here we were, strangers. Seeing me shake my head, she looked irritated and asked why. I replied coolly, “Because last night, the food I cooked went cold.” Before Naomi had been reclaimed by the Sinclairs, I was a freelance writer with a passion for cooking. Naomi was working in finance, struggling on a low salary and barely having time to eat. I would pack meals for her and bring them to her office. She always said it was the best food she’d ever tasted. Then, Naomi got discovered by the Sinclair family. She kept their last name but insisted on staying married to me. I continued as usual, making her three meals a day. The first year, she told me she wanted to eat my cooking for the rest of her life. But only a few years later, she was coming home drunk, escorted by her admirers. I’d take her from another man’s arms, telling her to eat something to settle her stomach. Looking at the meal I’d made, she grimaced and said, “We have a chef here, so don’t bother making all this anymore.” “Why won’t you just go to the company? Are you really so idle every day?” I’d never had a knack for business and had no interest in the Sinclair empire. Aiden clung to her so much that he would only come down to eat when he heard her voice. When I handed him his food, he shook his head. I asked him why he wouldn’t eat, and Naomi snapped, saying I sounded too harsh. “He likes Western food. He’s tired of home-cooked meals, alright?” With her support, Aiden shoved the plate, sending hot soup and shattered porcelain splashing onto my arm. Naomi held him close, soothing him gently. Then she turned to me. “Just have the staff clean it up. I’m exhausted.”

I looked at Naomi’s confused gaze but felt no need to explain. In her eyes now, maybe the only things that mattered were the flow of millions of dollars. As for Aiden, he didn’t care much either. Raised in an elite world, he’d dreamed more than once of a “greater” father—a man who made waves in the business world, not a dad who liked being in the kitchen. In the daylight, Naomi noticed the burn on my arm from the night before. She called Aiden over. “Your dad hurt himself last night. Go give him some comfort.” Aiden was calm and collected at any public speaking event, but in front of me, he didn’t even try to hide his disdain. I’d grown up without a father and thought if I just loved my son enough, he’d love me back. But it turns out I don’t have that skill. Aiden just looked at me coldly, and except for a few babyish “daddy”s when he was little, I’d never heard him call me that again. “You don’t deserve to be my dad.” Naomi gently tapped his nose as if scolding him lightly. “The place on Greenfield Row is too old, and the paperwork will take a while. You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime,” she said. “Didn’t you love that cookware I gave you? It’s not like you can take it with you.” I’d packed everything I needed in a single suitcase the night before. “That cookware—if no one’s going to use it, just throw it away,” I said, then laughed. After all, the Sinclairs had chefs to handle everything. Without me, they wouldn’t even need a kitchen in that mansion, let alone high-end cookware. “Are you heading back to Greenfield Row?” “I can have Mr. Wills drive you,” she offered. I declined, looking at mother and son with a calm smile. “You both have a lot of allergies. Be sure to have the doctor test you again and give the chefs a list.” With that, I turned and walked out, without looking back at the two people I once loved most in the world.

I didn’t go back to Greenfield Row right away. Instead, I went to Willow Creek Orphanage, where I grew up. Naomi had wanted to visit with me, but the Sinclair family didn’t exactly consider it a place to show off, and the visit kept getting delayed. I had been sending part of my writing earnings to the orphanage over the years. As soon as I walked in, Ms. Ellery recognized me and greeted me warmly. She didn’t know yet that Naomi and I had divorced and pulled me into memories of our childhood. Naomi and I grew up here. She was a year younger than me, and we were both so small back then. Ms. Ellery pointed to the kitchen and laughed, saying I’d always been fascinated watching the cook. Naomi didn’t like garlic, but at Willow Creek, kids weren’t allowed to be picky. So, whenever I cooked, I’d leave the garlic out for her. Her reminiscing made me eager to cook. I accepted the offer to handle the kids’ lunch that day. As I chopped and cooked, a group of little ones crowded around, chattering excitedly. “Wow, you’re so cool, big brother! You can cook!” “It smells amazing! When I grow up, I’m going to be a chef, too! Ten stars!” Hearing their excitement reminded me of meeting Naomi’s parents for the first time. She’d been even more nervous than I was. When they found out I was a writer who loved to cook, if it hadn’t been for their upper-class manners and guilt over abandoning her, they would have practically shown me to the door. Her father simply remarked, “Useless skills, unfit for a man of worth.” Word spread fast in their circles. Naomi quickly gained plenty of new “friends.” Every guest who saw me cooking would chuckle and joke with her. “Your husband is rare—who’d think he could cook?” Dean Preston once frowned, asking, “Naomi, doesn’t the smell of cooking on him bother you? Is it hard to sleep at night?” After hearing that over and over, Naomi started to look uncomfortable about it. She didn’t want to embarrass me, though, and gently suggested, “When friends come over, maybe let the staff handle it.” “It’s not like the Sinclair family can’t afford a chef.” And soon, Aiden was picking up on all of it too. “My dad’s no ordinary cook. He’s supposed to be a hero.”

After a few days at Willow Creek, I went back to Greenfield Row. Everywhere I looked, there were memories I had to push down. When the Sinclairs took Naomi back, they insisted we leave everything behind; even our son’s things were replaced by theirs. Everything in that old house had stayed just as it was that day. I’d thought it was a stroke of luck, but it turned out to be the end of my dream. After clearing out everything that reminded me of Naomi, I went to sleep and didn’t wake up until noon. When I checked my phone, I saw a dozen missed calls—all from her. Just then, a new call came in from an unknown number. “Hello, is this Aiden Sinclair’s father?” the voice asked. “I’m Aiden’s teacher. He’s refusing to eat lunch, saying his dad usually packs it.” The voice paused, then continued politely, “Did you forget today was the start of the semester?” I frowned, not sure what game Aiden was playing. He attended one of the best schools, where they served well-balanced meals. More than once, he’d brought back the food I packed for him untouched. “Thank you, but he won’t be needing my lunches anymore. The family chef will handle his meals,” I said, then added, “I’m no longer Aiden’s father. Please contact his mother from now on.” Maybe the teacher had Aiden on speaker, because I heard someone yell, “Aiden, don’t run!” The teacher apologized and quickly hung up. I thought back to my own childhood—I hadn’t had one of these puzzling phases. Aiden, though, had always been pretty stable. His grandparents didn’t want him around me, so every summer, they’d take him away. And with each visit, he’d grow colder toward me. At first, he’d ask me: “Why do you always do servant’s work?” “Isn’t it a waste of your time?” “Other dads fly planes. Why do you stay home and cook?” Eventually, he stopped talking to me entirely, and I’d learn about his assignments through the parent group chats. The Sinclairs were more than happy to see him drifting away from me. I hung up and went to the mall. In the middle of comparing prices, Naomi’s call came through. “What did you say to Aiden? He’s refusing to eat.” “Can’t you come back? He still needs you.” Then I heard a low male voice suggest, “We can bring him to my new restaurant.” Naomi must’ve moved away from him because she continued, “That was just a colleague. Do you know where my allergy medicine is? The chef doesn’t know I’m allergic to carrots.” I could hear a slight plea in her voice. I sighed. “Naomi, if you can’t find it, buy it online or have the staff fetch it for you. It’ll be faster than waiting for my call.” “I asked you to have the doctor run allergy tests on both you and Aiden so we wouldn’t have this problem again.” After a pause, Naomi said, “Can you at least send your recipe? Grandpa misses your cooking.” “And Aiden’s project? I’m swamped with work.” I felt my resolve weaken at the mention of Grandpa Sinclair. He’d always been the only one in the family who fully supported me, and he truly loved my cooking. But I had no desire to get pulled back into their lives. “There are plenty of recipes online,” I replied. “Naomi, you know Aiden doesn’t consider me his father. It’s time I start my own life. Let’s each go our separate ways.”

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I was diagnosed with cancer, and my son’s gold-digging girlfriend immediately took everything from my family. She had the audacity to claim it was all her “engagement fund” and told my son that even if I died in a ditch, I wasn’t worth a single penny of her money. Because of her, I missed the best time to seek treatment, and my condition worsened. With my life dwindling, I finally snapped and dragged her down with me in a fatal fall. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the first time I met her. And this time, I could hear her thoughts. It turned out she wasn’t the gold-digger after all. Content “Travis told me that Clara won’t even look at a bracelet worth less than five thousand dollars. But the one I bought was only eight hundred dollars, even though it took me a whole semester of work-study to save up for it. I already gave it to her days ago. I haven’t seen her wear it, so I guess she just thinks it’s cheap.” I blinked as Hazel’s hesitant voice drifted into my ears, cutting in and out. I opened my eyes to the familiar surroundings of my home and quickly realized I’d been reborn to the moment when my son, Travis, first introduced Hazel to me. In my last life, this so-called gold-digging princess had full control of his paychecks before they’d even married, demanding our family scrape together hundreds of thousands of dollars for her engagement fund because “that’s just how things were done in her family.” By the time I was diagnosed with cancer, we had nothing left to afford treatment. When I tried to talk with her about returning some of the “engagement fund” money to help cover my medical expenses, she refused and even told Travis, “All the family money belongs to me. Your mother’s old life isn’t worth saving, and even if she dies in the streets, she doesn’t deserve a single penny of my money.” Because she was so insistent on not helping, I missed the chance to treat my cancer early, and it progressed to a terminal stage. In the last of my days, as she came to “visit” me, I couldn’t hold back. I pulled her down with me in my final fall. But now, I was back here again, and in a haze, I could hear her voice saying something about a gold bracelet. What did she mean? I looked up, staring at the slightly anxious Hazel in front of me, and her thoughts echoed in my mind again. “Clara’s looking at me so seriously. Is she upset with me? I shouldn’t have listened to Travis about giving her the bracelet early instead of in person. I should’ve just asked my parents for more money to buy her a bigger one, then maybe she’d think I cared more about meeting her.” Her lips hadn’t moved at all—yet I kept hearing this voice. Was it her inner thoughts? When had she ever given me a gold bracelet? In my last life, from the moment we met, she made sure to show me who was in control. She demanded that fruit cost no less than $5 a pound, that our meals be on par with five-star dining, and even insisted on celebrity-endorsed slippers before she’d set foot in our home—and wanted a big cash gift upon leaving. She never paid a dime herself, and every gift she gave me came from the supermarket’s freebie bin. Still in shock, I noticed her glance over at Travis and excuse herself to the bathroom. The second she left, Travis grabbed my arm and whispered, “Mom, why are you just sitting there? Aren’t you going to give her a cash gift? Hazel doesn’t look happy.” “Besides, this fruit and food aren’t even what she asked for. Aren’t you just trying to give her a hard time?” I froze. He had said the same thing in my last life, and I’d thought Hazel was just too materialistic to be a good match for him. That impression only worsened my view of her. But if her thoughts earlier were genuine, it didn’t seem like she was trying to be that way at all.

I shot a few skeptical glances at Travis, beginning to question him too. Last time, he was so weak, all he could think about was his girlfriend. When I tried to press him to return the money, he’d stopped me every time, saying, “Don’t make things too tense—we’ll have to live together in the future.” He’d kept telling me he’d handle it himself. I waited for his solution, but it never came, and my illness only worsened. I couldn’t trust this ungrateful son again. My face darkened. “What do you mean by ‘giving her a hard time’? Just because I didn’t treat her like royalty, I’m ‘giving her a hard time’? I’ve prepared gifts and a cash envelope, yet she comes to me with a supermarket toothbrush. I guess she doesn’t think much of our family, either.” “Mark my words—even if you marry her, I’ll never accept it.” Travis looked shocked at my sudden outburst. He pulled me aside and whispered, “Mom, I already told you, Hazel doesn’t come from much and has had a hard life. We should be the ones spoiling her, not making her uncomfortable. Just try to get along with her, alright?” Just then, Hazel returned. She looked at our uneasy expressions, and her thoughts appeared again. “I was giving Travis the look to have him smooth things over with Clara. Why is she even more upset?” Watching her sit down uneasily, I grew more suspicious. Clearing my throat, I said, “Hazel, you’re still a student. I don’t need gifts from you. Just come by when you can—that’s enough for me.” Hazel’s face looked confused, but her thoughts filled in the blanks again: “What do you mean no gifts? Didn’t Travis give her the gold bracelet? Even if she doesn’t like it, it’s unfair to say I didn’t give her anything.” I glanced calmly at Travis and pulled a few toothbrushes from under the table, placing them on the coffee table. “Travis said you were so thoughtful you even brought me some freebie toothbrushes from the store.” Hazel’s face turned pale, and she immediately looked at Travis. “Since when did I give Clara toothbrushes? Where’s the gold bracelet? Didn’t you give it to her?”

Travis’s face went rigid, but he recovered quickly, grinning as he pulled the gold bracelet out of his bag. “I must’ve forgotten. Here, it’s more official if you give it to her yourself.” Hazel sighed in relief, immediately fastening the bracelet around my wrist while her thoughts continued, “Travis is so careless—how could he forget? Thank goodness Clara brought it up, or I would’ve looked terrible.” I frowned. Hazel was nothing like I remembered. Could it be that she really did try to give me the bracelet in the last life, but Travis never followed through? And because I didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask her about it directly, it turned into a misunderstanding? Why didn’t Travis ever give it to me? After securing the bracelet, Hazel lifted my hand and smiled brightly. “It looks so good on you, Clara. Really suits you.” I stared down at the bracelet, feeling a strange emotion. Because of our awful first meeting, we hardly saw each other after that, and I never knew she could be so sweet. Hazel glanced playfully at Travis. “When are you going to start paying attention to me? I bought that skincare set for Clara, and you said you’d give it to her. But not only did you forget—you used it yourself! You even forgot about something this important?” The skincare set—I remembered that clearly. A month ago, during a video call, I’d appeared on camera briefly with my usual cream in hand. Hazel noticed the brand and even chatted about it with me. The second the call ended, Travis told me she was upset, saying, “Hazel thinks at your age, you shouldn’t waste money on fancy brands. You should save it for your future grandkids and just stick to basic lotion.” I had been furious and told Travis she wasn’t suitable for him. But now, it seemed like I’d gotten things completely wrong. Travis gave me a sheepish glance and put his arm around Hazel, laughing, “I know, babe, I messed up. From now on, I’ll take care of everything you and Mom need.” My heart felt heavy. Had Hazel really been so innocent of everything I blamed her for? And if she hadn’t taken my family’s money, who had? I finished dinner, still plagued with questions. Travis dropped Hazel off at school, and I immediately scheduled a full exam at St. Vincent’s Medical Center. The doctor pointed at my scan and confirmed a small abnormality in my stomach. After a biopsy, it was confirmed to be an early stage of stomach cancer. Luckily, I’d caught it in time, and surgery could completely remove it. I left the hospital feeling relieved, grateful to have a second chance. When I returned home, Travis was slumped on the couch, head in his hands. The moment he saw me, he burst into tears. “Mom, Hazel says we need two hundred thousand for the engagement. What am I going to do?”

Travis wiped his tears. “Hazel says two hundred thousand is the bare minimum her family expects. If I can’t come up with it, she’ll leave me.” He grabbed my hand, eyes pleading. “Mom, I love her. I want to marry her. Please, help me. Once I make good money, I’ll take care of you—two hundred thousand is nothing compared to what I’ll give you back!” I looked at him coolly. “First, you’re going to explain that skincare set business with Hazel.” Travis’s eyes darted as he said, “I just thought you had enough already and wouldn’t need it right away. Besides, haven’t you always given me extra things? So, I figured I’d just use it myself.” “And when did you tell me she thought I should use cheaper products?” Travis rolled his eyes. “It’s just a little misunderstanding. Let it go, will you?” “Now back to Hazel. You bring her over for dinner again. If she passes my test, I’ll scrape together not just two hundred but three hundred thousand dollars for you.” Travis’s eyes lit up, but he looked at me cautiously. “Just don’t mention the money to her, okay? She’s already upset. I don’t want her calling things off.” I raised an eyebrow. “More likely, you don’t want me asking her questions.” The very next day, Travis brought Hazel over again. But this time, she seemed distracted, barely acknowledging my welcome.

While I was still trying to make sense of it all, I heard Hazel’s inner voice: “Travis said his mom’s always been a bit demanding, but I didn’t expect her to insist on a $200,000 dowry, even claiming I couldn’t marry into the family without it. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? This feels more like a business transaction than a marriage! I thought Clara was always nice when we met, but behind my back, she’s doing things that make her look pretty low.” My heart sank. I had never mentioned a dowry—clearly, this was something Travis came up with on his own. Two hundred thousand from me, two hundred thousand from Hazel…what exactly was he trying to do? Thinking back to the conflicting stories Travis and Hazel had spun, my mind flashed with a realization. Could it be that, in my previous life, Hazel had never held on to that dowry at all? Was it my own son who had hoarded every penny? No wonder he had been so afraid of me confronting Hazel. I fought to keep my emotions in check and called Hazel over to sit with me, sending Travis to the kitchen to fetch the food. Once he was out of earshot, I pulled out my phone and, right in front of Hazel, transferred ten thousand dollars to Travis with a message: “Son, use this to buy Hazel a new outfit. A girl as lovely as Hazel should never have to hold back on dressing her best.” Hazel’s expression turned skeptical, like she thought I was just putting on a show. I didn’t bother explaining, pretending instead to head to the bathroom. When I came back, I noticed Hazel’s expression had changed; she was staring at Travis with a mix of confusion and suspicion. Her thoughts echoed, “Why did Travis say Clara hates my wardrobe and wants me to dress better? Clara didn’t say that. She even gave him ten thousand dollars to buy me something. What’s his game?” I interrupted her thoughts, saying, “Hazel, I asked you here today because I want to talk about the dowry.” Hazel looked stunned and locked eyes with me, finally beginning to understand something wasn’t right.

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My sister has always been strange. She keeps telling me that she’s received phone calls from her future self. Everyone else thinks she’s crazy, but I know she’s not lying. Content 0When my sister, Vivian, was in elementary school, she was the tallest in her class, so she got chosen as the class monitor. One day, a new student transferred into her class—a boy named Jacob Thorn, though everyone would later call him “Thorn.” The teacher introduced him in front of the whole class, adding that Jacob had been in a bad accident and hadn’t fully recovered. She encouraged everyone to look out for him. Everyone politely nodded in agreement, but beneath the surface, something sinister had already been set in motion. Now everyone knew: Jacob had learning disabilities. That knowledge made him a target. Some students would secretly urinate into his water bottle and trick him into drinking it. Others dragged him over to the girls’ section, pulling his pants down in front of everyone. Some smeared superglue on paper, pressed it onto his back, and wrote in big red letters, “I’m brain-dead.” Maybe they all truly thought Jacob was “brain-dead” because he never fought back, only showed up day after day with a smile on his face, as if none of it fazed him. Vivian, as the monitor, was proud and upright. Seeing the way Jacob was tormented, she used her height and authority to intervene. She defended him time and again. But little did she know, by doing so, she was about to unleash a Pandora’s box. 0

After that, her things started to get tampered with. An apple she’d left on her desk was found with sewing needles stuffed inside the flesh. Her backpack—opened to find cockroaches crawling out from its hidden compartment. Someone even planted a blood-stained sanitary napkin in her lunchbox. And every so often, she’d find notes in red pen, covered in vile, hateful words. Eventually, Vivian couldn’t take it anymore and completely broke down. Her teacher, outraged upon discovering this, immediately halted classes to investigate. But the class remained silent; nobody spoke up, and the investigation reached a dead end. The class monitor, Tyson Carden, suggested an anonymous vote. Maybe then, someone would reveal the culprit. And sure enough, when the votes came in, nearly every one of them pointed to Jacob Thorn. Right there in class, the teacher searched Jacob’s pencil case and found a whole pack of needles, a container full of cockroaches, two unopened sanitary pads, and several adult magazines. With Jacob condemned, the stories about his “other dirty habits” started to circulate. Someone claimed he’d sneak back to the classroom during morning exercises to lick Vivian’s cup. Another said he would linger around her desk after school, sniffing her chair. Someone else swore they’d seen him staring at her while she slept, drooling, and rubbing himself. Hearing this, Vivian ran to the bathroom, retching for what felt like hours. She refused to leave home for a month, too traumatized to return to school. Her homeroom teacher, Ms. Loretta Banks, along with a few other class leaders, came to visit her, promising that Jacob had been “handled.” His parents had taken him out of school, and he wouldn’t ever be coming back. With enough reassurance, Vivian finally returned to school. Jacob was gone, and things seemed normal again. But the psychological scars he left on her would never heal. Vivian started having recurring nightmares. She’d describe to us in detail how, in her dreams, she’d be trapped in a dark tunnel with a pair of eyes staring relentlessly at her. No matter how hard she ran, there was no end, no escape from that gaze. Because of these nightmares, Vivian stopped wearing bright clothes, refused to go out after dark, and began to fear even the presence of boys. But, as fate would have it, one day during high school, everything changed. 0

On that day, a fierce storm hit—dark clouds rolling in, thunder crashing. By five in the afternoon, it was as dark as midnight. Dad, as usual, was on his way to pick her up, but he got stuck in rising floodwater, and the car stalled. Vivian waited at the school gate, watching as a hurried passerby accidentally knocked her phone from her hand, sending it splashing into a puddle. The screen instantly fizzled out. As it got later and the streets emptied, Vivian decided to brave the walk home on her own, opening her umbrella and staying on high alert. Normally, she’d take a shortcut down a narrow alley, but not today. She chose the main road, avoiding every possible risk. But despite all precautions, fate still caught up with her. A man appeared, trailing her from about thirty feet back, keeping a steady distance. She glanced at his reflection in a shop window and saw him—a man in a black hoodie, face covered by a mask. If she stopped to tie her shoe, he stopped. If she quickened her pace, he matched it. By now, the street was completely deserted, and her whole body began to shake. It wasn’t the first time her school had heard of incidents like this. There had been a string of assault cases, all in stormy weather, and the perpetrator had yet to be caught. But instead of letting her fear paralyze her, Vivian kept moving, though her heart was racing. As the man started to close the distance, Vivian used every ounce of strength she had to dash toward a fruit shop at the corner. Without thinking, she threw herself against the door, forcing it open with her shoulder. The shop owner, Mr. Ellis Grant—a silver-haired old man—nearly had a heart attack. Vivian dropped to her knees, gasping for air, and with a hoarse voice, told him, “Someone’s following me.” The old man’s face grew serious as he stepped outside. Sure enough, there stood the man in black, a specter lingering just beyond. Mr. Grant pointed at him and shouted, “You get out of here before I call the police!” The man hesitated for a second, then turned and vanished into the storm. Relieved, Mr. Grant handed Vivian a cup of hot water and attempted to call her family, but all the phones were down—the storm had knocked out local service. When she’d calmed down, he offered to walk her home himself. But as they turned a corner on the way, a shadow rushed out of nowhere, barreling into them with force. Vivian fell, dazed, but when she looked up, horror rooted her in place. Mr. Grant lay on the ground, clutching his neck, blood pouring from between his fingers. A bolt of lightning illuminated the street like daylight, and his face was frozen in a grimace of shock as his eyes stared, unseeing, straight at her. Vivian said she’d never forget that sight. 0

After that, Vivian was admitted to Rosehill Psychiatric Center. She couldn’t take her exams, and the police never found her attacker. Even after her release, she couldn’t shake the trauma. Our family tried to get her back to school, but after only two weeks, she begged our parents to let her stay home. Just walking into the building reminded her of Jacob Thorn and that stormy night. With no other choice, they agreed. But her fears never went away. Every time it rained, she’d curl up in a corner, muttering strange things. Everyone thought she was just spouting nonsense—everyone but me. I listened, taking her words seriously. Vivian told me that she’d waited five years for a second chance to set things right. She said that three days from now, another storm—just like that one—would come. I didn’t believe her, but sure enough, three days later, the Pacific storm hit. Dark clouds rolled in, thunder boomed, just like she said. I stared at her in disbelief, and she explained. Five years ago to the day, she’d received a phone call. She had been waiting at the school gate for Dad, with the wind howling around her, making it hard to hear. The signal was awful, but she heard a woman’s voice telling her, “You’re in danger. Find help now!” A second later, the passerby bumped into her, and her phone ended up in the puddle. I listened in silence before finally asking her, “Who was the woman that called you?” “It was me,” she said calmly. 0“I could never forget that number; it’s exactly the same as the one for our landline at home.”

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When my parents fought, they left my brother and me sitting outside on the air conditioning unit. We were several stories high, and our love-crazed mom wouldn’t let us inside, hoping Dad would feel remorse. But Dad didn’t feel anything—he just found her annoying, slammed the door, and left. The wind was bitterly cold, and I hugged my thinly dressed brother close, crying and pleading for Mom to let us back inside. But she was only focused on her own anger, pointing at us and saying, “If it weren’t for you two dead weights, I would’ve divorced him a long time ago! Shut your mouths! If you cry again, I swear you’ll never come back inside!” The wind dried my tears, and I silently promised never to forgive them. Later, Dad was drunk and got in an accident, hitting Mom with his car. They both ended up paralyzed. The insurance payout was in the hundreds of thousands, but I decided not to save them. Content My parents were fighting again; the sounds of things crashing around filled the house. Anything they could throw, they did. My mom yanked my brother and me out of bed and shoved us toward the window. We were dressed only in thin long-sleeves and sat barefoot, curled up on the air conditioning unit outside. Mom stood at the window, pointing at us and yelling, “Rick Grant! If you ever go after that tramp again, I’ll take the kids and we’ll all jump!” Reeking of alcohol, Dad snapped back, “Then jump, Clara! You’re always threatening to jump—go ahead and do it! You jump, and I’ll marry Lacey tomorrow!” Mom’s hair was wild, and she was shaking with rage as she threw a glass of water at him, screaming that he was no man. Dad didn’t hold back either, slapping her hard as soon as the glass hit him. “Stop making a scene and divorce me already. I’ve been done with you for a long time, you crazy witch!” He slammed the door as he left, hard enough to make the whole building shake. Mom sank to her knees at the window, covering her face and asking me in a daze, “Sunny, did you hear what he said? He doesn’t want us anymore.” I couldn’t care less about their fight. We were on the 18th floor, and the wind was strong enough to blow my brother and me off at any moment. I shivered uncontrollably. “Mom, my brother and I want you. Please, let us back in—it’s so cold out here.”

My brother’s face had turned bright red from the cold, and his nose was dripping, almost slipping into his mouth. He huddled against me, his hands and feet freezing, like blocks of ice. But Mom didn’t seem to hear us. She kept repeating, “He wants a divorce… He doesn’t want us anymore.” My feet were going numb, and I didn’t understand why she’d stay by the window but wouldn’t pull us back inside. It was early winter, and my brother was still young. If he stayed outside, he’d get sick. I flexed my numb fingers and stood up. I had to get my brother back inside first. I grabbed his hand and pushed him through the window. But suddenly, Mom jumped up and shoved me back. “Who said you could come back inside? Your dad wouldn’t even glance at you two; what good are you anyway?” My brother wailed, terrified, but Mom only yelled at him, “If it weren’t for you two burdens, I would’ve divorced him ages ago. Shut up! If you keep crying, don’t even think about coming back in!” Luckily, my brother had half his body inside already, so he tumbled into the room, while I stumbled back, landing on the edge of the air conditioning unit. If I hadn’t grabbed it quickly, I would’ve fallen. My upper body was clinging to the unit, my legs dangling below. I didn’t dare look down, and I cried out to Mom to save me. She looked out, startled, but after a quick glance, she went back inside. “If you fall, don’t blame me. Blame your dad for not saving you.” With that, she shut the window, blocking out the wind and my pleas.

My arms were aching, and tears poured down my face as I screamed for her. “Mom! I’ll listen from now on! I’ll never sneak my brother candy again. Please don’t abandon me!” “Mom, I don’t want to die. I really don’t want to fall.” “Mom, I love you. I’ll behave. I don’t want Dad anymore…” But no matter what I said, the window stayed shut. I felt hot and cold all over, my fingers stiffening. Then the air conditioner roared to life, blowing icy air over me. Mom had turned it on. She really didn’t want me anymore. My heart felt like it was freezing over, the pain numbing as the cold seeped in. I couldn’t hold on much longer—it was so, so cold. I couldn’t understand why she’d treat us like this. Was it because Dad was cruel to her? My brother and I loved her. If they divorced, we’d still want her… But she didn’t seem to want us. The wind dried my tears. I silently vowed that if I survived, I’d never forgive them. It was as if heaven heard my promise, as our neighbor Tess opened her window with an annoyed look. She squinted, her cigarette falling out of her mouth in shock. “Damn, girl! You cosplaying Batman up there or something?”

I looked at her through teary eyes, and Tess finally realized something was wrong. She quickly banged on our door and came to pull me back inside. Her hand, tattooed with a butterfly, reached out and yanked me in with a firm grip. My legs were too weak to stand, and I sat on the floor, the warmth making my cheeks tingle painfully. Mom scowled, shooing Tess away before snapping at me, “What were you yelling about? I wouldn’t really let you fall.” “Oh, and that woman? Don’t you dare speak to her again. She’s trash, can’t you tell?” I opened my mouth to say Tess was kind, but my throat was too raw to speak. Mom was always saying bad things about our single neighbor, claiming a woman her age who hadn’t married must have something wrong with her. But Tess was the one who had saved me. For the first time, I started to doubt what Mom had always told me. After a few minutes, I noticed an unusual silence. Where was my brother? I was ten, and he was three years younger, a kid who cried over everything. I found him slumped against the bathroom door, fainted from crying, his cheeks flushed and burning hot. He had a fever. My first thought was to call for Mom, but she’d locked herself in her room, listening to sad songs.

I had no choice but to bang on her door. “Mom! Finn is sick! We need to take him to the hospital!” But she didn’t respond, so I started kicking the door. “Mom, stop listening to music! Finn’s really sick…” He was already frail, getting sick a lot when he was little. I was scared he wouldn’t pull through this time, just like Grandpa and Grandma who had passed away. I kept kicking until she finally opened the door, and my foot landed on her shin. She yelped in pain and slapped me across the face. “Why are you kicking like an idiot? Just like your useless dad!” I bit my lip, swallowing my tears. “Finn’s sick, and you wouldn’t come out…” She interrupted me, “Why don’t you ask your dad? Is he dead?” “Besides, I don’t have money. If you can’t find your dad, then deal with it.” She slammed the door again. My brother’s fever was getting worse. I hoisted him onto my back, one arm under his legs, and the other holding him steady. If his fever spiked any higher, it could be life-threatening. I went over to Tess’s door, and she opened it, a purse slung over her shoulder like she was heading out. Seeing us, she frowned. “What do you want? Didn’t your mom tell me to get lost?”

I knew Tess had every right to be mad. She wasn’t obligated to help us. Sniffling, I mustered the courage to ask, “Tess, could I borrow your phone to call my dad?” She handed over her brand-new smartphone, and I called Dad again and again, but he didn’t pick up. Tess, noticing my struggle, took the phone from me and dialed a few more times herself. Finally, someone answered, but it was a woman. I asked her where my dad was, and she snorted before handing him the phone. Annoyed, he asked, “What? Is this your mom making you call? Tell her I’m not coming home!” “No, it’s not her, Dad. Finn has a fever. Please, come back and take him to the hospital.” He scoffed. “Yeah, right. Tell your mom even if both of you die, I’m not coming back!” Tess’s jaw dropped, and she snatched the phone, yelling, “What kind of father talks to his kids like that? Why don’t you do us all a favor and drop dead already!” She hung up with a sharp click, then looked at us and sighed. “Alright, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

The doctor said it was a good thing we’d come when we did. Finn was burning up and convulsing from the fever. Any longer, and he could’ve suffered brain damage or even worse. Sitting in the hospital waiting area, I turned to Tess and said, “I’ll pay you back for the hospital bills, Tess.” She pointed to my face. “You should get that looked at too. You’re a mess.” She handed me a small mirror, and I saw a scratch running across my cheek. Mom must have clawed me during one of her slaps, but I hadn’t felt it. It only started stinging now that Tess had pointed it out. I shook my head and decided not to get it treated. The bleeding had stopped, and besides, a doctor visit would cost more money. Tess didn’t push it. She handed me a stick of gum and asked, “Any other family besides your parents?” I thought for a moment, then shook my head. We used to have Grandpa and Grandma, but they’d passed away. It was just Dad and Mom now. Tess was silent, then she patted my shoulder and said, “Alright. From now on, if you need anything, come find me. The name’s Tess Harper.” “Thank you, Tess.” “Eh, don’t go calling me Tess like I’m old. Just call me ‘Tessie’.” I nodded. “Tessie.” She chuckled, mussing up my hair. “Don’t go thinking I’m a saint, though. I’m letting you stick around ‘cause you owe me, alright?” I nodded hard. I knew when someone was truly good—not by what they said, but by what they did. We didn’t go back home until the next day, but no one was there. Mom had taken all her things and whatever money was left. She left a note on the coffee table. “Even if you beg, I’m not coming back!” My heart turned cold. The note wasn’t even meant for us—it was for Dad. Finn, still weak, lay in bed with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his fingers clutching mine tightly. “Sunny… what did we do wrong? Why don’t they want us anymore?” I didn’t know how to answer, so I turned away and wiped a tear with the back of my hand. His small hand gently brushed my cheek. “Sunny, I’ll grow up fast. I’ll make a lot of money, and I won’t ever let you cry again.” I buried my head in the blanket, feeling a stinging pain behind my eyes. Soon, the fabric was soaked through. I held him close, thinking, even if they’re gone, we can still make it.

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After I died, my parents signed the organ donation form, giving my retina to their beloved adopted daughter, Liana Tate. Without me, they were finally a real family. Liana and I fought all our lives, and in the end, I was left with nothing but a broken heart. This time around, I decided to live for myself—and ended up with an unexpectedly happy ending. Content I was reborn, all the way back to the day Liana came into our home. If I’d returned a little earlier, maybe I could have prevented her parents’ tragic deaths, or even convinced my parents not to adopt her. But now, she was here, and no tantrum could change that. Liana was the daughter of my father’s mentor, a renowned artist who doted on her like a treasure. She had a natural gift for painting, but a mysterious eye disease made her vision unpredictable, and she faced the constant risk of blindness. After her parents passed away in an accident, leaving her alone, my parents took one look at her and decided she’d be like their own—even more so than their real daughter. “Marissa, haven’t you always wanted an older sister? From now on, Liana is your big sister! Aren’t you happy?” My mom and dad looked at me with that expectant, loving gaze, hoping I’d accept my new sister wholeheartedly. At seven, I was thrilled. I believed I’d gained a warm, loving family member and couldn’t wait to share my world with her. But Liana wasn’t here to share anything; she was here to take everything. “Marissa, I know you’re very mature,” Dad said, “but Liana isn’t well. Even though you’re younger, we need you to help us look after her. Can you do that?” I didn’t even get a chance to reply before Liana’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I know it’s hard for Marissa to accept me. Who would want to share their family’s love? I… I can just go back to the orphanage.” Sometimes I wondered if she, too, had come back with a second chance at life. How could an eight-year-old be so calculating? I hadn’t even objected, and yet she’d already cast me as the jealous, spoiled sister. Mom gently wiped Liana’s tears. “Oh, Liana, please don’t cry. It’s not good for your eyes.” “And you don’t need to call us ‘Mr. and Mrs. Locke.’ Starting today, we’re Mom and Dad to you.” Liana looked up, her young face streaked with tears and glistening lashes. She looked so innocently astonished, so pitiful, anyone would feel sorry for her. “I… I have a mom and dad now.” And just like that, they cried together, the three of them in a tight embrace. No one remembered to ask how I felt. Liana just had that effect on people.

That night, my parents made me share a room with Liana. I lay quietly in bed, wide awake, my mind racing with plans to become independent as soon as possible so I could leave. From my last life, I knew how it would go. From the moment she entered our family, Liana would make my parents—and even my brother—hers. In the dead of night, Liana crept out of bed, and I feigned sleep, watching her sneak into my parents’ room. “Mom! Dad! It’s so dark… my eyes hurt so much… I’m scared…” Overwhelmed by sympathy, my parents never stopped to wonder how Liana, in this strange house, had managed to find their room in the dark while supposedly suffering from an eye attack. All they did was wrap her in their arms, their eyes brimming with tears as they held her. “Liana, don’t be scared. We’re right here.” She shivered, pressing herself deeper into Mom’s embrace, the picture of a frightened little girl. “Mom… Dad… can I really stay in this family? Earlier, Marissa, she…” Hearing this, a chill settled over me. Moments later, Dad burst into my room, yanked me from bed, and demanded, “What did you say to Liana? How could you be so unkind? Liana’s been through so much already!” “Let’s not be too harsh,” Mom said softly, though she still held Liana tightly, never even glancing my way. In the end, they brought Liana into their room, leaving me alone, standing in the cold, dark hallway. They’d forgotten I was seven too, that I was scared of the dark and the cold, and that I still needed my parents’ love. Over time, I understood the game Liana played. She would pretend to suffer a relapse, stirring up sympathy, and then accuse me of things I hadn’t done. As I grew older, I saw the crisis: ever since she arrived, I’d been cast as the “bad child,” while she took over my place. And so began our rivalry. If Liana got something, I’d make sure to have it too. Liana was skilled at putting on a gentle, sweet front, while I, the real daughter, became the petty, jealous one. In the end, I lost at everything, even my brother Trevor, who’d once doted on me, fell under her spell. In the art world, everyone knew the Lockes had an angelic, talented adopted daughter, Liana Tate—and a bratty, jealous daughter named Marissa Locke. This time around, I’d had enough. I was done fighting Liana; I’d live the life I truly wanted.

The next morning, I walked downstairs to the sounds of laughter. Liana was sitting in my seat, eating with my favorite dishes and silverware. When she saw me, the warmth drained from the room as though I were the intruder. Mom’s face looked awkward. “Marissa, you’re up early today. Liana doesn’t have her own set yet, so we let her use yours. Why don’t you use Trevor’s?” “No, thank you. I don’t take what doesn’t belong to me.” Everyone caught my sarcasm. Dad, still upset with me for “bullying” Liana last night, glowered at me. I glanced at the table. Milk, sandwiches, eggs, and bacon—all of Liana’s favorites. I was lactose-intolerant, and I usually had oatmeal. “Oh, I forgot! Let me make you some soy milk instead,” Mom said quickly, eager to cover up her favoritism. Dad slammed his cup on the table. “Why do we need so many special treatments? She’s already spoiled enough!” If I were the same girl from before, I’d be heartbroken, ready to throw a fit. Now, though, I just felt numb. I sat silently at the edge of the table and caught Liana’s satisfied smirk as she ate. When she glanced up again, her face was all sadness. “Dad, don’t be so harsh on Marissa. She grew up pampered; it’s only natural for her to act spoiled. It shows how much you love her.” And just like that, my parents were moved to tears by her “grace.” How angelic she seemed in contrast to me, the ungrateful daughter. But I didn’t care. In my last life, I’d practically disowned them already. I could’ve pretended to adore Liana, played the obedient little sister. But I wanted her to know: all the love and admiration she fought so hard for meant nothing to me.

By the time the three of them came back from enrolling her in a new school, I’d already moved my things to the guest room. It wasn’t about giving her my space—I just wanted some privacy. Dad patted my head. “Marissa, you’re such a good girl. Just like Daddy’s little angel.” A younger me would have basked in those words, but now I knew what he really meant: if I could sacrifice my happiness for Liana’s sake, only then was I worthy of his love. Liana didn’t hesitate to barge into my room, looking over the art supplies Mom and Dad had once bought just for me. Her face turned pale as she threw herself, sobbing, into Mom’s arms. “I just wish I could paint freely like Marissa.” Mom looked at me apologetically, hesitating before finally speaking. “Marissa, I know this is unfair, but for Liana’s sake, could you put your art supplies away?” This was how it started: my space, my hobbies, even my dreams were slowly pushed aside for Liana’s sake. In my last life, Liana’s failing eyesight meant she couldn’t paint for long. So, I was forced to cut back on my own painting time, even though I was the artist’s daughter. Liana’s work was framed and displayed while mine sat at the bottom of a forgotten art box. When the time for our college art exams came, Liana’s eye issues flared up halfway through her exam. She wasn’t able to finish, so she switched her name onto my piece. When the results came in, I recognized my own work with Liana’s name on it. I begged Mom and Dad to help me. Instead, they held a sobbing Liana and gently told me to be the bigger person. “Marissa, you’ll have another chance next year. Liana’s running out of time—any day now, she could go blind.” It was so easy for them to say, but only I knew how many nights I’d spent practicing, nearly going blind myself from exhaustion. I screamed, “Isn’t it enough that she took you from me? Now she has to take my life too? Give me my spot back, or I’ll leave for good.” Instead of remorse, all I got was a stinging slap. “Without Liana’s eye problems, do you really think you’d have won? You have no talent! Even in art school, you’d be at the bottom of the class.” I clutched my burning cheek, stunned that my own father would say such words to me. In the end, Liana took my spot at the academy, and I became the joke of the art world—a failed artist overshadowed by the girl who could barely see. This time around, I was done. In front of my parents, I threw my art supplies in the trash. Dad’s face darkened, but they knew they were in the wrong, so they left, with Liana right beside them.

When summer break arrived, my brother Trevor came back from studying abroad, mainly to meet the “legendary” new sister, Liana Tate. Just like in my past life, the moment Trevor laid eyes on Liana, he was utterly enchanted. Liana wore a blindfold, stumbling around the living room like she was lost in darkness until she “accidentally” fell right into Trevor’s arms. Blushing, she murmured in that delicate voice of hers, “Since I don’t know when I’ll go blind, I thought I should get used to darkness now. That way, I won’t be a burden to Mom, Dad, or you.” She had such a way with words. In just one sentence, she managed to make me seem unnecessary, even subtly hinting that Trevor and I didn’t get along. Trevor, full of youthful idealism, was so shaken he couldn’t even speak, gazing at her like she was a damsel from some tragic romance movie. He made up his mind right then and there to protect her for life. My parents suggested we all go out to celebrate Trevor’s return. I wanted no part of it; the four of them looked like a perfect, happy family, and there was no place for me, the bratty, unloved youngest daughter. But Liana wouldn’t let it go. She hid in a corner, tearing up like a sad little pearl. “Mom, Dad, why don’t you just go with Trevor and Marissa? You all deserve a family day without me ruining it.” Trevor got flustered and gently wiped her tears. “Why would you say that? We’re a family now.” Liana acted shy, pulling back from his touch and glancing at me with a helpless look, silently accusing me of something. Trevor turned to me with a scowl. “Marissa! Why are you bullying Liana? This isn’t like you; you used to be so sweet!” Who had changed? They were the ones who’d become strangers: Mom, who had always thought of me first; Dad, who’d been strict but fair; even Trevor, my once-protective big brother. I looked him in the eye, laughing coldly. “Why don’t you ask Liana? How did I ‘bully’ her? I gave up my room for her. What else does she need?” My question caught Liana off guard. She avoided my gaze, but this only strengthened Trevor’s resolve to defend her. “It’s that high-and-mighty attitude that hurts her! She just got here, so naturally you should make her feel welcome!” Suddenly, I was the enemy, while Trevor played the knight defending his “princess.” Mom and Dad chimed in, “Marissa, Trevor doesn’t visit often. Don’t upset him. Apologize to him and Liana.” I looked over this family, who seemed determined to put Liana’s feelings above everything else, and said, “Liana can have anything she wants because I don’t care—but I’m not apologizing.” With that, I walked to my room and locked the door, letting Trevor’s frustrated shouts fade into the background. They spent the entire day out without calling to check on me or even bringing me dinner. In my last life, I would’ve been heartbroken, maybe even starved myself to make them feel guilty. Now, I knew it was pointless; it only hurt me. I made myself a big bowl of ramen, spread out the study guides I’d secretly bought, and settled in. Since my rebirth, I’d been focused on improving myself, pushing forward every day. This time around, I planned to create a life for myself. After careful thought, I decided to study medicine.

At seven years old, I still had the mind of my twenty-something self from my past life, and academically, I was miles ahead of Liana. Her “delicate angel” act might work on my saintly parents, but it didn’t fool the teachers. Failing grades were failing grades. When finals came, I scored first in my grade, while Liana barely passed. Every time a teacher called our parents about her poor performance, she’d tear up, blaming her eye condition. Yet she stubbornly refused to transfer to a specialized school. Each exam season, the house was in chaos as she “struggled” to study, while I took it in stride. To spare her feelings, my saintly parents decided they’d both attend Liana’s parent-teacher conference—even though it was on the same day as mine. They had to know that their favoritism was already causing my classmates to bully me, calling me a “loveless nobody.” Any time they wanted to brush aside my needs for Liana’s sake, they used that tired line I’d heard a thousand times: “Liana’s health isn’t good, and she’s had a hard life. Just give her a little grace.” But I didn’t care. Knowledge was my greatest weapon. I used every spare moment to study, and by twelve, I skipped a grade, becoming the youngest high schooler in our city’s history. Suddenly, my name was everywhere. Everyone knew the Locke family had a prodigy daughter. Dad’s phone rang off the hook with calls from well-connected families hoping to arrange friendships or even engagements. But because he wanted to protect Liana’s feelings, he turned down every invitation, never considering how these connections could benefit my future. Of course, how could I possibly compare to his beloved Liana? When the acceptance letter arrived, my principal, Caroline Quincy, and a reporter personally came to deliver it. But my parents were already rushing out the door, taking Liana to the hospital because she’d complained of a “headache.” They didn’t even stop to greet the principal. Even though I’d long since given up hope for my parents’ support, there was a pang of disappointment. Principal Quincy looked at me intently and said, “Our school doesn’t usually allow boarding, but if you want to live on campus, I’ll arrange it.” She patted my head, and I felt a long-forgotten warmth. Tears welled up as I realized how much I missed the care and kindness of someone who truly looked out for me. That single moment brought two of the most important people into my life.

As the school year approached, I couldn’t wait to move out of the chilly, loveless Locke house and into the school dorms. That day, predictably, Mom and Dad had been called away by Liana’s latest “health crisis.” Trevor was home on break but made no move to help me pack. He simply watched me bustle around, and when I was about to leave, he muttered, “Guess things’ll be peaceful around here for once.” I hoisted my last bag into the taxi, not sparing him a glance. Principal Quincy had arranged a lovely room for me—actually a converted faculty apartment, cozy and well-equipped. I spent a full day cleaning and organizing, then headed to the bookstore to stock up on study materials. High school would be intense, and I was determined to excel. When classes started, I wasn’t surprised to find myself ostracized. Rumor had it that Principal Quincy had “made an exception” for me, and whispers quickly followed. “Oh, look, the 12-year-old prodigy is here.” “Think she’ll cry and want her mom at night?” “Maybe we should put her next to the water cooler so she can make her baby formula during breaks.”

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My wife said she was going to sell me, and I thought she was joking—until Prime Sales Day, when she actually put me up for sale online. In the Household Helper Services section: Name: Dexter Langston Age: 32 Service: To be determined by the buyer. Description: This is my husband—a good-for-nothing freeloader without any income. If you’re interested in a spineless bum, feel free to place an order. Price: One order equals one day, priced at $200 per day. Assuming he’s got about 40 years left, you could buy out his entire future for $250,000. Note: Whoever buys him for the rest of his life will have him exclusively, and I’ll divorce him on the spot. Wishing you both happiness. She posted this to mock and humiliate me. But she never imagined that someone—a rich woman—would actually buy my future. Content “Dexter, I’m selling you.” My wife, Samantha Yates, smirked as she handed me her phone to show me the post. My face darkened as I read it. When we got married, I already had my own business. Afterward, she enjoyed the good life I provided. I even built her parents a house back home worth hundreds of thousands and gave her brother $200,000 to help him buy a house and get married. In our third year of marriage, my tech platform company went under. Since then, I’ve been working from home, developing a video game. But in her eyes, that makes me a lazy bum who just plays games all day, never earning a dime. “Samantha, isn’t this going a little too far? Mocking me like this?” I said, my voice cold. When things were good, I never hesitated to give everything I could for you and your family. But now that I’m down, you throw this in my face? “Too far? You’ve been holed up at home for two years, doing nothing but gaming. Am I wrong to call you a waste of space?” she scoffed. “And don’t flatter yourself—no one’s going to buy you anyway.” “It doesn’t matter if anyone does. Just putting me up there shows how little you think of me. And I’ve told you a hundred times—I’m working on a game. When it takes off, everything will turn around.” “Get a grip, Dexter. You’ll never turn things around.” “Oh, and how can you be so sure of that?” She sneered. “Go look in a mirror. You look like a bum; the only difference between you and a street beggar is your clothes. And you’re still talking about ‘turning things around’?” “My time is going into developing the game.” “Enough. I don’t have time for your excuses.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “It’s past 8 p.m. Where are you going?” I asked. “To work, obviously. How else do you think we’ll pay the rent?” She shot back icily. After my company went under, the bank took back our house. “I’ll pay the rent!” I shouted instinctively. She just laughed, slamming the door behind her.

After a few cigarettes, I strapped on my helmet, opened up the delivery app, and waited for an order. Soon enough, I got a delivery for crawfish, and the customer even left a $50 tip, asking that I peel the crawfish when I got there. After picking up the crawfish, I made my way to the customer at the Galactic Lounge & Karaoke Bar. About half an hour later, I found myself outside room 808. Just as I reached for the door, I saw her—Samantha. Inside, a group of seven or eight people were laughing and singing, with Samantha sitting right in the middle next to her ex, Tyson Caldwell. They were singing “Only True Love,” looking like a couple. Didn’t she say she was working late? Guess she’s working overtime… at karaoke. I could feel the heat rise on my scalp, like a storm cloud had just settled over my head. Just then, a heavyset girl opened the door. “Come on in.” I stepped inside. Samantha, engrossed in singing, hadn’t even noticed me. “Just sit over there and peel the crawfish for me. Let me know when you’re done,” she said, pointing to a corner. I settled in, back turned to them, and started peeling. After a few minutes, the group decided to play a game of Spin the Truth. Samantha lost and picked truth. “So, how often do you and your husband, you know…?” Rebecca, the heavyset girl, giggled, prying into her private life. “Ugh, don’t make me sick. Forget weekly; we haven’t done a thing in over a year,” Samantha scoffed, full of disdain. Ever since I lost everything, she’s kept her distance from me. “No way! Not even once in a year? Are you telling the truth?” someone chimed in, incredulous. “I swear, if I’m lying, let me get hit by a car,” she said, raising her hand like she was making an oath. “Well, does your husband even… function?” one of them asked with a snicker. “Hmph. If he doesn’t, I’ll just go elsewhere. Not like I care,” she shot back. “Samantha, that sounds miserable,” someone sighed. “It’s absolute hell. You guys don’t know how disgusting he is, lazing around all day on video games, living off me. Every minute I’m home with that deadbeat is torture,” she sneered. “Oh, Samantha, you deserve better,” Tyson said, pulling her into a comforting hug. “If it weren’t for your mom opposing us back then, I wouldn’t have married that loser out of spite,” Samantha sniffled, clinging to him with tears streaming down her face. “Samantha, I let you down. Don’t cry; it hurts me even more to see you like this,” he said softly, brushing her tears away. “Come on, a few tears aren’t enough! How about a kiss to really make it better?” “Yeah, kiss to rekindle those old flames!” the others cheered. I stole a glance at them, and fury burned in every cell of my body. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, Samantha shyly biting her lip before closing her eyes and tilting her head up. Right as Tyson leaned in to kiss her, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stood up and threw a punch straight into his face. My sudden outburst left everyone in the room shocked. “Are you insane, delivery guy? What’s your problem, punching someone like that?” Rebecca barked. Only then did Samantha notice me. “Oh, him? That’s my pathetic husband.” The room fell silent. “Tyson, are you okay?” she asked, concerned. “I’m fine,” he said, wiping a bit of blood from his split lip. We knew each other—he’d even been at our wedding. Samantha had introduced us back then. “What’s wrong with you? Why would you just start hitting people?” Samantha snapped at me, her tone icy. “What’s wrong with me?” I shook with rage, clenching my jaw. “My head is practically drowning in storm clouds, and I’m just supposed to sit back and take it?” “Tell me where you see any infidelity here,” Samantha said, deflecting. “Oh, please. You were about to kiss him, and you’re still denying it?” “So what if we kiss? Are you going to lose some imaginary pride over it? If I’m shameless, who’s to blame? You. You live like a spineless loser, like some maggot in a sewer—disgusting and worthless,” she spat. My chest felt like it was going to explode. “If you can’t make Samantha happy, maybe you should take the high road and set her free,” Rebecca suggested, smugly. “Right, know your place. Samantha was the campus queen in college, and just look at her—still gorgeous. Look at you now, a lowly delivery guy. How much do you even make a day?” another girl added, scoffing. Turns out these were all Samantha’s college friends. “Go take a long look in the mirror. Here’s $50—just finish peeling the crawfish and stay quiet.” “What an embarrassment. No wonder Samantha’s miserable. If I had a husband like you, I’d rather slam my head into a wall.” “Hey, hey, here’s $200. Just act like you didn’t see anything and scram.” They kept piling on the insults, reveling in it. I clenched my fists, taking in every cruel word. “Go home. Now.” I shouted, grabbing a beer bottle and smashing it against the floor. They all fell silent, seeing the rage twisting my face. “Go home if you want, but I’m not coming with you,” Samantha said without a shred of fear. At that moment, a security guard rushed in, hearing the commotion, and threw me out.

Samantha didn’t come home that night. I sat up all night on the couch, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Finally, around nine in the morning, she walked in, ignoring me and heading straight to the bedroom. “Stop right there!” I shouted, my voice seething with anger. “Where did you sleep last night? I called you dozens of times, and you ignored every one,” I demanded. “Oh, I stayed with Tyson. Is that what you wanted to hear?” she shot back. “Do you have any shame left at all?” “Shame? Is that worth anything? If you’re so hung up on pride, why don’t you try earning some money? Then you can throw it in my face—I’d let you.” I was gritting my teeth, every muscle tense with fury. “You’re unbelievable,” I growled. “Yeah, I’m realistic.” That’s not what she said when we were dating. Back then, she claimed she didn’t care about my money, that she loved me for me. She promised that whether we were rich or poor, she’d stay by my side, no matter what. “Things change. How could I have known you’d go bankrupt? Believe me, I’m even more upset about it than you.” I was left speechless. Suddenly, her phone chimed with a notification. She checked it, and her face went from smug to stunned, eyes wide with disbelief. “This… this can’t be real…” “Dexter, someone actually bought you—for the rest of your life,” she said, flabbergasted. “What?” “Look.” She showed me the screen. The order showed someone had bought out my entire future—$250,000, paid in full. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it either. “Look at the buyer’s profile… looks like she’s pushing 70. Dexter, you hit the jackpot, caught yourself a rich lady,” she laughed. “Cancel the order.” “Why would I cancel it? This is a once-in-a-lifetime windfall!” she said, practically gleeful. “But your note said that whoever bought ‘the rest of my life’ would mean a divorce. Are you really going to go through with that?” I was fuming. “Of course. I’ve been wanting a divorce for a long time. Honestly, even if some rich lady hadn’t bought you, I would have filed in a few days anyway. You know I can’t stand you anymore—I resent you.” “So after the divorce, you’ll go to your rich lady, and I’ll go back to my first love. Win-win.” “And that $250,000? Consider it compensation for the hell you’ve put me through these last two years.” “I can’t believe you actually said that.” I knew her heart was with Tyson now. Staying together would be torture for both of us. The only reason I didn’t want a divorce right now was that I couldn’t stand the thought of it happening while I was down and out. “Dexter, please, just let me go,” she pleaded. “And if I say no?” “Then you’ll have a constant rain cloud over your head, and I’ll just keep on living my life without a care.” She smirked. “You shameless—” I started to yell. “Just words, and you’re already at your limit. What would you do if I actually followed through?” she taunted. “You…” She interrupted as her phone lit up again with a notification. The buyer had requested Samantha’s phone number, and soon enough, her phone started ringing. Samantha put it on speaker. A raspy voice crackled over the line. “I’ve already paid for your husband’s future. When are you going to file for divorce?” “Tomorrow. But… ma’am, you won’t go back on this, right?” “Of course not. Just bring the divorce certificate, and he’s mine.” “Thank you so much, ma’am!” Samantha could barely contain her excitement. She quickly saved the number, then immediately called Tyson. “Tyson, I have the money! Now you can start that gaming agency. You said you needed $200,000? Well, I’ve got $250,000!” she said, practically bursting with joy. Watching her celebrate while I sat there, sold, my blood boiled with rage. She’d pawned me off, taken the cash, and planned to pour it all into Tyson’s future. There was no way I’d let her win that easily. She wouldn’t cancel the order, but maybe the buyer would. “I’m going downstairs to grab some smokes,” I muttered, heading out. “Fine by me. I’ll get started on the divorce papers!” she said, all but beaming.

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After six years of marriage, I brought up divorce with Joanne, my wife who’d insisted on a child-free life. She broke down, sobbing that she’d finally have children with me—until I pulled out a breast pump from her moving box. Next to it was a prenatal checkup report for twins. “I found this while packing,” I said. “The twins you’ve been asking me to look out for…they’re yours, aren’t they?” Content While packing, buried beneath some clutter, I found a box that belonged to Joanne. The lock popped open easily, and inside was a used breast pump. Although carefully cleaned, the faint scratches showed it had seen a lot of use. My heart lurched as questions raced through my mind. I’m a cardiologist, and Joanne is the head pediatric nurse at General Hospital. She’d always said she was fed up with all the screaming kids at work, claiming she didn’t want any of her own. That’s why she wanted to be child-free—or so she said. I thought she was just venting. Not long after we married, she became pregnant. I pleaded with her to keep the baby, but she refused and got an abortion. Reluctantly, I supported her decision for her health. So she wouldn’t face that pain again, I even agreed to a vasectomy at her suggestion. I looked at the pump, wondering if it could have been some mistake, maybe even misplaced. My curiosity got the better of me, and I kept digging until I found a prenatal report. My mind went blank. My fingertips tingled. It was a checkup report showing twins, with detectable heartbeats. A corner of the form with the patient’s name was torn, but the listed age matched Joanne’s. Too many coincidences to ignore. The woman who’d insisted on a child-free marriage could very well have two children in secret. I intended to ask her about it that night. But Joanne texted that she’d be covering the nurse’s station overnight. The next morning, I dragged myself to the hospital and barely made it through surgery. As soon as I was done, Joanne waltzed into my office, dropped a kiss on my neck, and said, “Guess what I made you for lunch today, sweetheart?” She handed me a container of pork stew, telling me how nutritious it was. She set the table, chattering on about the twins in her department, whose condition had worsened and urgently needed a rare surgery—one only I could perform. “I know you’re slammed, but could you just move them up in the line?” she asked, her eyes narrowed in a honeyed smile. The sun was shining, but cold dread crept over me. This was unlike her. Joanne, who’d never shown special treatment to a single patient, had become deeply invested in these twins. She’d mentioned their single dad, how hard he had it. She even checked on them every night, and during critical times, would stay by their bedsides until morning. What kind of nurse did that for strangers? Unless they weren’t strangers at all.

Staring at that familiar face, I wanted to confront her, to scream. But it felt pointless. Three years ago, I’d been sent abroad for eighteen months. It was plenty of time for her to have twins. She’d pursued me intensely when we first met at the hospital, making every excuse to be close. I was flattered. Before long, her tireless care wore down my defenses. Over the years, we’d become the “model couple,” or so everyone thought. Even I had believed it. But it was all a lie. Joanne, who’d been so relentless in capturing my heart, was now the one who’d betrayed me. I pushed the container away and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can’t move them up. That’s unfair to the other patients waiting their turn.” Joanne’s face darkened, and she almost snapped. “It’s just a word from you. Those twins can’t wait any longer. The others can.” The words—coming from a head nurse—sounded foreign and cold. In the past, even in the most tragic situations, she’d always said, “That’s life.” Now, she was trying to pressure me into an unethical favor. She leaned in, squeezing my hand and pouting, “Come on, honey, just this once?” Normally, a little of her sweetness would have been enough to sway me, but now, her begging just felt wrong. I gave a bitter smile. “Seeing how desperate you are, anyone would think you were their mother.” Joanne flinched, forcing an awkward laugh. “You’re so silly! Of course not. I just don’t want to see them suffer any longer.” She quickly got up and straightened her clothes, as if to shake off the conversation. “Think about it. This can’t wait.” As she left, she accidentally left her phone on my desk. A strong hunch made me pick it up and unlock it with her birthday. I went straight to her shopping app and checked her purchases from three years ago.

Seeing the breast pump purchase was like having my shame nailed to a wall. It was followed by an endless list of baby bottles, diapers, blankets, and baby gear. Each item drove a spike through my heart. Joanne hadn’t even bothered to delete the receipts. The memories started piecing together. Once, while scrolling social media, I stumbled across a photo she’d posted. There was a boy and a girl, grinning as they held cotton candy. The caption read, “My little sweethearts are growing up.” She’d told me she was attending a conference, so this post threw me off. But as soon as I clicked into her profile, it vanished like some glitch. I’d asked her about it, and she’d laughed, saying, “Must be a bug. How could I have secret twins?” Another time, I found a lease agreement with her name on it, though she always came home after late shifts. When I asked, she explained that a friend in financial trouble needed a place, and she’d stepped up to help. Touched, I even sent her three grand for her generosity. In hindsight, I’d been played for a fool. She’d taken my trust and sold me out. I heard her heels clacking as she came rushing back to my office. She grabbed her phone, hesitated, and asked, “Did you look at my phone?” Feigning confusion, I replied, “No. Why?” She looked relieved and smiled awkwardly. “Nothing.” I was more certain than ever. She was hiding something.

That evening, I stayed at the hospital an extra hour before dragging myself home. Opening the door, I found the house dark, the only light coming from the candles flickering on the dining table. Joanne stood there, a forced smile on her face. “Welcome home. I’ve been waiting, love.” She was wearing a black backless dress, her curves shadowed by the candlelight. She swayed her hips as if to lure me in, but I barely managed to shrug off my coat, uninterested. Sensing my lack of response, she pressed close to my back, her breath hot on my neck. “Do you want to be a dad?” she asked, her voice low. I froze. Encouraged, she held me tighter. “Why don’t you get that reversal surgery? The success rates are high. We could have a baby.” I almost laughed. Once, I’d practically begged her to keep our child. She hadn’t even flinched, refusing until I finally caved. The day of her abortion, I’d waited on the bench outside the procedure room, crying until my eyes burned. I even got a vasectomy so she wouldn’t face the possibility again. To keep the peace, I’d even lied to my parents about the reasons we couldn’t have children. But now she was asking for them. What did this mean? She pulled me over to the table, piling food onto my plate. “You’d be a great dad, honey. And maybe if you knew what it was like, you’d understand our patients better.” My fists clenched as she went on, urging me to “just think about it” as if she were doing me a favor. I pushed the plate away and said coldly, “Being child-free works fine for me. Enjoy your meal; I’m not hungry.” Her smile twisted into fury. “Mason, what’s that supposed to mean? After all this, you won’t even eat?” “I’m tired. I’m going to rest,” I replied. Through the door, I could hear her muttering complaints. I did want a child—just not with her.

Aside from my work in the OR, I was preoccupied with planning the divorce. When I returned to my office, a container of sweet and sour fish—my favorite—sat on my desk. Joanne must have left it when I didn’t come home. Joanne despised the smell of fish. Yet she’d cleaned out the bones just so I’d enjoy the meal. She was meticulous in caring for me. My clothes, always hand-washed, were pressed to perfection. She stayed up late to make me liver broth, never complaining. Her friends used to tease her for acting “too much like a mom,” but she’d always brush it off, saying, “He’s my everything. Of course, I want to take care of him.” During my year and a half abroad, we’d video-chatted every day. She never seemed to tire of asking about my meals and sleep. She’d cry when I lost weight, saying, “I knew you couldn’t take care of yourself without me.” Eventually, she stopped calling as often, and I figured her workload was just too much. I didn’t ask questions. It’s only now that I realize, during those long time-zone gaps, Joanne was with someone else, raising the children she never let me have. When I’d been sure of our love, she’d been nursing another man’s twins. I thought we’d shared something real, but it was all an act. For six years, I’d trusted her completely. Now, I drafted the divorce papers and called my lawyer. It was time to end it. While finishing up the final sutures in the operating room, my student, Blake Ashford, called me unexpectedly. “Dr. Lake, the twins’ condition just worsened. Ms. Taylor’s in the room and really upset.” Blake shouldn’t have called me while I was in surgery, but maybe he was considering my “special relationship” with Joanne. Besides, I normally wouldn’t have answered, but by chance, this procedure went smoothly, and I’d finished early. Maybe this was fate. I handed off the case to the assisting team and stepped out of my scrubs. Crossing the pediatric hallway, I could already hear Joanne’s cries. I quickened my pace until I reached the door. Inside, a team of medical staff frantically attempted to resuscitate a child whose lips were turning a sickly shade of blue. Joanne looked shattered, her voice breaking in desperation as she shouted, “Please! Save my children!”

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While trying on my wedding dress, a message from an unknown woman appeared on my phone. “I’m pregnant, and I can’t get ahold of your fiancé. Can you pass the message along?” My fingers went numb, and with eyes burning, I confronted Evan. But he just deleted the text dismissively. “Probably just one of my friends losing a bet on truth or dare,” he said. On the drive home, usually smooth and steady, he nearly ran several red lights. He gently unfastened my seatbelt and, with an apologetic look, said, “I can’t make dinner tonight; I’ll be working late.” As I watched his car speed away, it felt like a massive weight was sinking to the pit of my stomach. Ten years of us together, and it was all unraveling. Numb, I drifted into the study and opened my laptop to email Dr. Marla Hawthorne. I had put off attending Stanford because of a surprise pregnancy, choosing instead to sacrifice my dreams for family. But life had dealt me a harsh blow. Luckily, I’d only deferred my admission a year rather than give up my place entirely. After I sent the email, I booked a flight to the U.S. two weeks from now. Then a video popped up on my screen. Evan, looking tender, lifted a woman into his arms, gently placed her on a bed, tucked her in, and kissed her forehead. The sight felt like a searing hot brand across my face, ripping away a layer of my skin. I wanted to scream at him: Does he put on this act of devotion for any woman he pleases? All this time, I thought I was his one true love, but I was nothing more than one of his many distractions. In the video, their voices mingled intimately. “Who do you truly love?” she asked. With a quiet murmur, he replied, “Only you.” I watched the video on repeat, each time like a dagger twisting deeper into my heart. I sat there until dusk when the low-battery alert shook me awake. I shut the video, forced my numb legs to move, and packed a suitcase. Just as I dragged a box to the door, Evan arrived, his eyes narrowing in confusion. He glanced at the open box and laughed. “You’re finally throwing out these dioramas? I thought you’d cherish them forever.” “Honestly, they just take up space.” These handcrafted dioramas had taken me countless sleepless nights to create, but to him, they were nothing but junk. “Leave them; I’ll have someone toss them out,” he said, holding out a paper bag. “I went all the way to the Uptown District for Sweet Pecan Bread. It’s the last batch; I paid triple for it.” He gripped my wrist, his gaze warm, waiting for me to laugh and fall into his arms like I always did. But that familiar apple-cinnamon scent mingled with the cloying perfume of another woman overwhelmed me with nausea. I pulled my hand free, murmuring, “Get away from me.” His smile faded into irritation, his voice turning cold. “What’s the matter? This is your favorite.” I lifted my head, meeting his questioning eyes with a distant gaze. “I’m sick of it. People’s tastes change.” Just like trust, it’s fleeting. His brow furrowed, anger simmering in his eyes as he snapped, “I’ve already explained—this was just a friend’s joke.” “If you insist on imagining things, that’s on you.”

A laugh slipped out before I could hold it back. Who was he to yell at me? Was he enraged because I’d uncovered the truth? Just standing in the same space made my skin crawl, so I grabbed my keys and walked past his cold, stone face. His barely restrained anger followed me out the door. “You can’t just throw a tantrum whenever you want,” he called out. “Where will you go without me?” The crunch of dry autumn leaves sounded beneath my feet, blurring my vision. My parents had divorced in middle school, each eager to take my brother but indifferent toward me, leaving me adrift. Only Evan’s mother, who’d watched me grow up, secretly supported me. At school, when others mocked and ostracized me, Evan alone stood by my side, fists clenched in defiance, shielding me with fierce loyalty, even if it meant getting beaten up. At eighteen, bruised and sore, he would still flash a silly grin to make me laugh. “Don’t cry. I’ll protect you forever,” he’d promised. Now, at twenty-eight, he stormed toward me, grabbing my arm harshly. “Enough, Sloane. You’re acting like some spiteful woman threatening to leave over nothing.” He’d driven me to the edge and now dared to lecture me as if I were unstable. I almost wanted to tear away his mask, to make him see the wreckage he’d caused. Could he really keep up this righteous act? I reached for my phone to play that damning video, but a new message appeared. The photo showed Evan and that woman under fireworks, locked in a passionate kiss. March 15th. That night, rumors had spread of a mysterious man setting off fireworks to confess his love. I had taken a picture of the night sky, hoping to share the moment with him. In the crowd, I’d been jostled, falling to the ground with a searing pain in my abdomen as blood pooled around me. I’d tried calling Evan, but he never answered. While the doctor’s tools probed coldly into my body, scraping away life piece by piece, what had he been doing with her? The memory stung like venom as numbness settled over me. “Sloane, what’s wrong? You look terrible.” Evan held my shoulders, his eyes full of concern. I calmly pushed him away, then slapped him hard across the face, flinging my phone at him. “You’re disgusting!” I yelled. His eyes shifted from fury to panic as he tried to pull me close. The calm, controlled Evan I knew had vanished. “I can explain, Sloane. Don’t watch that.” His hands trembled as he tried to delete the video but failed repeatedly. “The doctor said you might not be able to get pregnant again.” “I just wanted her to have the baby, then I’d send her abroad. I wouldn’t stay in touch.” “You like kids, don’t you?” Suddenly, the world fell silent, the only sound the fierce thumping of my heart. I’d imagined every possible confrontation, but nothing prepared me for this grotesque explanation. Did he even know what he was saying? I couldn’t help but laugh, dignity cast aside as tears streamed down my face. “It’s over,” I whispered, those words draining the last of my strength.

Evan’s gaze was anguished as he reached for my hand, only to hesitate and clench his fist, striking the wall instead. His voice was rough with desperation. “Sloane, please, the wedding’s close. If it’s canceled, it would break my mom’s heart.” “It’s her greatest wish to see us married.” “Whatever you feel for me, remember what she’s done for you. Please, Sloane.” The usually proud Evan now hunched slightly, his eyes reddened. “Don’t leave me, Sloane.” Memories flooded in, the nights his mother had comforted me. “Sloane, don’t worry, Auntie will stay with you.” “Look at this new dress I got you, and the butterfly clip—isn’t it pretty?” “Anyone who dares hurt Sloane will answer to me. She’s my daughter.” A painful tightness gripped my chest, forcing me to breathe deeply as questions and anger welled up, threatening to burst. I opened my mouth to speak, but Evan’s gaze shifted past me, whispering, “Ella Rae.” I froze, turning to see her—a fragile-looking woman with a hand on her stomach, facing me with teary eyes. “I’m sorry, Sloane,” she murmured. “I just don’t want my baby to be fatherless.” “You, of all people, would understand… after all, you didn’t have…” “Stop!” Evan shouted, panic in his voice. He turned to me, reaching out, but grasped only air. How absurd. He knew how deeply that hurt, and yet he’d casually recounted it to another woman, turning my scars into idle conversation. Ella Rae approached me, apologetic but whispered with venom, “Unwanted orphan.” I knew her game—she wanted to drive a wedge between me and Evan. So, I gave her what she wanted. Raising my hand, I aimed to slap her, but Evan seized my wrist. I pulled my other arm free and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Her cheek instantly reddened. Furious, Evan pushed me away. “Sloane, when did you become so heartless?” “She’s pregnant!” I lifted my chin and met his glare, coldly replying, “I just realized how vile and hypocritical you are.” Dusting myself off, I walked past Evan, his face pale, and left without a second glance. Behind me, I heard Ella Rae’s faltering steps and her weak call, “Evan, please don’t leave. I’m worried about the baby.”

The sound of her voice faded behind me, and my racing thoughts finally slowed. Dr. Hawthorne had once warned me not to sacrifice my future for any man. But back then, I was young, naive enough to believe love alone would be enough. “Evan isn’t like the others,” I’d declared, head held high. Years later, that statement felt like a dagger through my heart. Now, all I wanted was to see Dr. Hawthorne one last time. She’d been a mother to me when I needed it most, guiding me through college with care. Her hair had grayed over the years. When we sat down, she simply smiled, resting a frail hand on mine. “I always knew you’d come back to finish your doctorate, Sloane,” she said, beaming. “Your talent deserves this journey.” She handed me her architectural sketches, the work of her lifetime. “Take these with you. May you find happiness in your next steps.” As I closed her door, I glimpsed her wiping a tear away, and I knew I wouldn’t let her down again. I thought each day ahead would bring a fresh start. But then Ella Rae blocked my path, a smirk on her face. “Going somewhere, Sloane? Without saying goodbye?” I tried to walk around her, but she seized my suitcase and flung it down the stairs. Sketches scattered and stained on impact. My mind went blank as I scrambled to gather them, only for her heel to grind into my hand, making me wince in pain. Suddenly, several men surrounded me, holding me down, forcing me to kneel at her feet. “Are you insane?” I yelled, fury and humiliation burning inside me. She casually inspected her nails. “Just feeling bored, looking for some fun.” Snatching a few sketches, she sneered, “You treat these like treasures. Maybe I’ll burn them.” A wave of anger surged through me, and I snarled, “Don’t you dare!” With a cruel smile, she signaled for a man to bring her a lighter. The flame flickered menacingly close to my face. “Beg me, and maybe I’ll reconsider.” Clenching my fists, nails digging into my palms, I gritted out, “Please, they mean everything to me.”

A flash of excitement lit up in Ella Rae’s eyes as she struck a match and set Dr. Hawthorne’s carefully crafted sketches ablaze. I watched in horror as her life’s work, her precious architectural drawings, shriveled and blackened in the fire. It felt like someone had ripped out my heart and ground it beneath their heel. Ella Rae squatted beside me, gripping my chin so hard it hurt. “What gives you the right to compete with me, you worthless stray?” Then—slap! Her hand connected sharply with my face, leaving a stinging echo. “That one’s for good measure.” “Strip her down,” she ordered the men around her with a cruel smile. “Let’s see how she flaunts herself at Evan after this.” Fear shot through me as one of the men’s faces twisted into a smug leer. I struggled, but my strength was no match against their brute force. The sound of tearing fabric made me shudder in shame, bringing an overwhelming wave of despair as tears blurred my vision. The commotion attracted a small crowd, and Ella Rae clutched her stomach, adopting a tearful voice. “I’m pregnant, and she’s trying to steal my husband.” Judging, disgusted eyes turned on me, scorching me with their scorn. “Shameless homewrecker, someone ought to teach her a lesson.” “Nothing I hate more than a mistress. They should be dragged through the streets!” “Film it, post it online. Let the world see her for what she is.” I curled up on the ground, trembling, whispering, “I’m not the other woman.” But my denial was drowned out by their laughter, sharp and relentless, stabbing at my dignity. At that moment, I found myself absurdly wishing Evan from our youth would miraculously rescue me. Ella Rae yanked my hair, her gaze smug and mocking as she leaned in to hiss in my ear, “Evan said you were like a stray dog he picked up off the street. Nothing more than a little entertainment. Did you really take it seriously?” Those words echoed like a thunderclap. The pressure holding me down abruptly eased, and with a surge of fury, I shoved Ella Rae away. Then I heard Evan’s familiar voice, full of anger, behind me. “Sloane, what do you think you’re doing?” He rushed over, pulling Ella Rae protectively into his arms, looking at me with bitter disappointment. “Is this what it takes to satisfy you? Hurting an innocent woman and her unborn child?” Several police officers arrived, asking what had caused the disturbance. Angry onlookers eagerly explained, “She’s not only a homewrecker but also deliberately shoved a pregnant woman!” The officer turned to Evan. “What’s the relationship between the three of you?” Ella Rae clung to him, wincing in pain, her voice filled with despair, “Evan, I’m so scared. What if something happens to our baby?” Evan cradled her, casting me a look of utter contempt as he coldly said to the officer, “I don’t know her.”

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My wife has a male best friend. Their relationship is so close that they don’t care about gender boundaries – they can eat together and even sleep in the same room. I’ve asked them multiple times to be mindful and keep their distance. But she gets angry instead: “Ryan and I have known each other for over 20 years. If anything was going to happen between us, it would have happened long ago. You think you have a say in this?” Then she continues to do whatever she wants, staying overnight with Ryan. Even my in-laws treat Ryan like their own son and tell me to be more open-minded. Later, I made a female friend of my own. My wife confronted me: “What’s going on between you and Emma? Don’t you two have any sense of boundaries?” I threw her words right back at her: “Emma and I have been coworkers for three years. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened long ago. You think you have a say in this?” At 4 AM, Lily still hadn’t come home. I knew she wouldn’t be back tonight. In the past, I would have been furious in this situation, calling her non-stop. But today, I was surprisingly calm, without a trace of anger. She came back in the morning, carrying bread and milk. With a grin, she said, “I was partying with Ryan last night and things got a bit wild. I didn’t want to wake you up by coming home late, so I just crashed elsewhere.” She winked playfully and emphasized, “We didn’t share a bed, it was a twin room.” Ryan is her neighbor. They grew up together – childhood friends, as they say. But according to her, she and Ryan are just bros. Even if she stood naked in front of him, he wouldn’t get turned on. I’ve seen them horsing around many times. She’d laugh and hook her arm around Ryan’s neck or jump on his back. Ryan never refused and often pinched her cheeks. Every time I saw this, I felt uncomfortable. I’d pull Lily aside and tell her to be more careful and keep her distance. At first, she’d explain and reassure me. Later, she got impatient and retorted, “We’ve known each other since we were kids. If we were going to be together, what would be the point of you?” And whenever this happened, Ryan would stand nearby with his hands in his pockets, casually saying, “Bro, you’re too uptight. In my eyes, Lily’s not even a woman, she’s like my sister at most. How could I have thoughts about my own sister? Wouldn’t that make me a beast?” Looking at his pretentious act, I thought to myself, aren’t you exactly that kind of beast? For a while, Lily and Ryan did become a bit more distant. She stopped going out so often and stayed home, asking me to massage her back and legs, and cook for her. She demanded five dishes for each meal, with meat, vegetables, and soup. If I complained it was too much trouble, she’d say, “You won’t let me go out, so if I can’t even eat well at home, what’s the point?” I had no choice but to grit my teeth and cook up a storm in the kitchen. She posted photos of my cooking on Instagram. “Praising my home chef.” Ryan commented below: Your Jack is quite the househusband, huh. Other mutual friends chimed in: No wonder you’re not going out lately, someone’s keeping you well-fed at home. The tone was subtle, but I couldn’t help frowning. Lily got upset again: “You’re such a big man, why are you so sensitive? I show off a little and you’re not happy. Fine, I won’t post about you on Instagram anymore, okay?” After a few rounds of this, it seemed like I was always the unreasonable one. Gradually, Lily became less and less patient with me. The distance between us grew wider and wider. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to get close to her heart. “What are you thinking about?” Lily waved her hand in front of my eyes. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at her smudged makeup and wrinkled clothes, suddenly feeling exhausted. She noticed my bad mood and softened her voice to coax me: “Honey, are you mad?” I didn’t say anything, so she took my hand: “Don’t be upset, okay? I’ll keep you company this afternoon. Oh, didn’t you want to buy a new suit recently? Let’s go to the mall today, I’ll buy it for you, okay?” She always did this – slap me then give me candy. She took advantage of my love for her, manipulating me recklessly, as if certain I wouldn’t get angry or leave. In the afternoon, she dragged me to the mall, browsing the brands I liked. “This one looks good, try it on.” She picked out a dark gray plaid suit, my usual style. When I came out of the fitting room, I saw her holding up her phone, posing. She was on a video call. I walked up beside her, and Ryan was on the other end of the call. She was still smiling: “This suit really suits you, I knew it was perfect at first glance.” Noticing I had come over, she asked for my opinion: “Honey, don’t you think this matches his low-key sexy vibe?” Ryan chuckled on the other end: “So what? Are you going to buy it and send it over to me?” “That’s just a matter of saying the word!” They were still laughing and joking around. I calmly turned away, picked out another suit, and went back to the fitting room to change. I paid for the suit without any emotion, seeing she was still on the video call with Ryan, so I just left on my own. Lily chased after me, complaining: “Why didn’t you wait for me?” “Are you angry again? Is it really worth it?” I smiled: “No, I’m not angry.” This time it was the truth. I really wasn’t angry. After all, I was used to it by now.

That night, I went out drinking with some friends and came home very late. Lily had called me countless times, but I didn’t answer. In the end, I just turned off my phone. For once, she was the one waiting up for me late into the night. I was a bit drunk, but still struggled not to let her help me. I pushed away her hand and felt my way along the wall back to the bedroom, throwing myself onto the bed. Lily never allowed me to get into bed without showering. She thought clothes worn outside were dirty. I had always respected her wishes, but when had she ever respected mine? I fell into a deep sleep. After that day, Lily started treating me with extra care and attention. She prepared loving breakfasts for me every morning, sent me lots of messages during work hours, and even came to have dinner with me when I worked late. It seemed like she was trying to prove through her actions that she had changed. Until one day, I got off work early for once. She said it had been a long time since we’d had Western food, and there was a newly opened restaurant nearby that she wanted to try. I agreed and went straight there from the office. I arrived a bit early and was looking at the menu when I looked up and saw Ryan walk in with her. I took out my phone and sent a message. As Ryan sat down, he apologized: “Sorry to crash your date. I just happened to be in the area on some business, and I’ve been wanting to try this place too. You don’t mind, right?” “I don’t mind,” I said flatly. “How about this – this meal is on me, as an apology,” he said with an easy smile. “Come to think of it, Lily sent me that suit last time, and I haven’t properly thanked you yet.” I glanced at Lily. So she had bought the suit for him after all. Lily seemed a bit nervous: “We really did just happen to run into each other today. Ryan’s not an outsider, and it’s more fun to eat with more people, right?” Ryan laughed and patted Lily’s shoulder: “Look how nervous you are. Jack and I have known each other for so many years now, what’s wrong with having a meal together?” Lily looked at me and quickly moved away from his hand: “Just talk, don’t touch me.” He seemed a bit surprised, raising an eyebrow and giving me a meaningful look: “Alright, alright. Let’s order then. It’s my treat today, so order whatever you want.” Lily opened her phone to scan the QR code and order: “I won’t be polite with you then.” Ryan leaned in close, looking at her phone with her. Their heads were very close together. It was as if they were the couple, and I was the third wheel. After they finished ordering with laughter and chatter, Ryan looked up and said to me in a host-like manner: “Jack, take a look. Is there anything else you want to eat? Have Lily add it for you.” “One moment,” I said. I stood up and waved to a girl in a tight long dress with long flowing hair by the entrance. She walked over quickly, smiling and greeting us: “Sorry I’m late.” I pulled out a chair for her: “It’s fine, we just finished ordering. Take a look and see if you want to add anything?” Lily sized her up, her face growing darker: “Honey, who is this?”

“She’s my coworker, Emma.” Emma smiled softly, tucking her hair behind her ear to reveal her beautiful face: “Hello everyone, I’m Jack’s coworker. Jack is very kind and always takes care of me. I see him as an older brother.” Hearing this, Lily’s expression grew even more unpleasant. She moved closer to me. The food came quickly. Ryan clearly knew Lily well, placing her favorite dishes in front of her and even carefully cutting her steak for her. Emma was having some trouble cutting hers, so I swapped my already-cut steak with hers. She smiled at me in thanks. Lily tugged at my hand: “Honey, can you pour me some water?” I picked up the pitcher and poured some for her, then also topped off Emma’s glass. Ryan held up his glass: “I’m good, thanks.” Lily’s hostility towards Emma was obvious: “Miss Emma, Jack is just a nice guy. He’s considerate to everyone. People often misunderstand him because of it.” She gave me a reproachful look: “He’s always being misunderstood.” Emma responded calmly: “That just shows how charismatic Jack is! All the young women in the office love him. They say he’s handsome, capable, and a good family man.” This made me blush. Lily forced a smile: “Is that so?” Emma pointed towards Ryan: “Of course. But compared to the gentleman next to you, Jack obviously falls short. Look at him, his eyes haven’t left you all meal.” Her words were too blunt. Ryan coughed awkwardly: “You’re exaggerating.” The meal was filled with tension. Afterwards, Emma left first. Ryan offered to drive us home, but I jingled my car keys to show I had driven. He then asked Lily: “It’s still early. Want to go for another round?” Lily hesitated, looking at me. I avoided her gaze, not wanting to give an opinion. Ryan understood and invited me along: “Jack, why don’t you come too? We’re all childhood friends of Lily’s.” He didn’t really want me to go, but had to put on a show of being generous. My in-laws, oblivious to the undercurrents, smiled and said: “You young people should go out and have fun.” Ryan affectionately put his arms around them, joking: “Uncle, Auntie, you’re still young too. Why don’t you come with us?” They laughed heartily at his words. I watched this scene – they were all so friendly, like one big happy family. And I was the outsider who didn’t know his place. I stood up: “You guys go ahead. I’m a bit tired, I’ll head home first.” “Honey!” Lily called out to me. I turned back. She bit her lip, then said: “Drive safely. I’ll be home early.” Hah, of course. I smiled and left. That night, I didn’t wait up for Lily. She could come home whenever she wanted. Or not come home at all. I was sick of this wife, this marriage. My marriage to Lily had reached an impasse, with no way forward or back. Might as well just muddle through like this. On Saturday, Lily spent the whole morning dolling herself up. She said she had lunch plans with some girlfriends and they were going shopping after. I didn’t ask any questions. I just checked the time and changed into some clothes, getting ready to go out myself. “You’re going out too?” she asked. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch.” “Which friend? Do I know them?” She asked casually while applying lipstick. “Emma. You’ve met her.” “What?”

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Just because I saved his life, he became obsessed with me and pursued me for three years. He crashed his car into my childhood sweetheart, crippling him. He threatened to kill my entire family unless I married him. For seven years after our marriage, his possessiveness became pathological. He implanted a tracking chip in my body and forcefully controlled my freedom. But at the same time, he adored me endlessly and catered to my every whim. When his mother pointed her finger at me while speaking, he immediately broke her finger. When his sister’s child disturbed my afternoon nap, he kicked both mother and child out of the house and cut off all ties with them. I didn’t want to give birth to a child carrying the hyperaggressive gene, so he invested all his wealth in developing the latest gene screening technology, allowing me to conceive a healthy baby. But on the very day I found out I was pregnant, his mother brought a group of people, burst into our home, accused me of cheating and getting pregnant with a bastard child, and beat me until I miscarried. As I lay dying, my husband finally arrived. His mother showed him a doctored video and said, “Son! This wife of yours cheated and got pregnant with a bastard child. Look, here’s the evidence!” …

Looking at the two lines on the pregnancy test, I fell into deep thought. After being entangled with Zack for nearly 10 years, now that we were having a child, maybe I should just give in. Even if he was a mad dog, I was the one holding the leash. Realizing this, I took a photo of the pregnancy test and sent it to Zack, who was on a business trip out of town. Soon after, I heard loud shouting from downstairs. Looking out the window, I saw my mother-in-law, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. She was walking with a group of elderly women, cursing as they came. “What a misfortune for our family to encounter such a thing.” “Sisters, if she wasn’t so outrageous, would we be spreading such a family scandal?” “Today, even if I have to lose face, I’ll tear that cheating bitch apart!” I listened for a bit, then lost interest. After the wedding, my mother-in-law always felt that I had stolen her son from her. She constantly picked on me, until Zack broke her finger and kicked her out. As a result, our relationship was extremely poor. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I checked the time – it was only 9 AM. Why was the housekeeper here so early today? Puzzled, I opened the door. My mother-in-law and her group of elderly friends barged in. Before I could figure out what was happening, my mother-in-law pointed her crooked finger at me and said, “Look everyone, this is that evil daughter-in-law who, not long after marriage, instigated my son to break my finger!” “She even made my son kick me and my daughter and grandson out of the house, cutting off all ties with us.” Seeing this, I frowned in displeasure and said to my mother-in-law, “This is my home. Please leave.” But my mother-in-law suddenly raised her hand and slapped me. “You little slut! All these years of marriage, my son has given you his heart and soul, but you cheated on him and made him a cuckold!” My face stung with pain, and my head was buzzing from the slap. Since I married Zack, if someone even accidentally bumped into me, he would immediately beat them to a pulp. If he knew my mother-in-law had hit me today, she would definitely suffer severe consequences. To avoid a family tragedy, I suppressed my anger and scolded, “If you leave now, I can pretend this never happened.” Although Zack was gentle and obedient in front of me, he was truly hyperaggressive and never showed mercy when dealing with others. But my mother-in-law didn’t appreciate my gesture. She grabbed my hair and snarled viciously: “You bitch, feeling guilty, aren’t you? If you dare to cheat, you should be prepared to face the consequences.” I broke free from my mother-in-law’s grip and said coldly, “You dare accuse me of cheating? Have you forgotten how your finger was broken?”

Zack’s possessiveness was pathological. After marrying him, to keep track of my whereabouts at all times, he implanted a tracking chip in my body. There wasn’t even a male mosquito around me, yet she accused me of cheating. It was truly laughable. I thought reminding my mother-in-law of this incident would make her back off a bit. But she slapped me again. “You’re still pretending! If your acting is so good, why don’t you become an actress!” “Since I dared to come here, of course I have solid evidence.” Saying this, my mother-in-law took out her phone and played a video. In the video, a scantily clad woman was passionately kissing a man, then the woman was pushed down by the man and let out suggestive moans. The entire video was quite bold and explicit. Most importantly, the woman’s face in the video looked exactly like mine. The elderly women who came with my mother-in-law said, “Absolutely shameless. In the past, such an unfaithful woman would definitely be drowned in a pig cage.” “If she were my daughter-in-law, I’d beat her to death today!” “The world is really going downhill. She looks so innocent, but behind closed doors, she does such shameless things.” Hearing these old women’s insults, I was both angry and anxious. I had never been so wronged in my life. This video was clearly made using AI face-swapping technology. I knew it was useless to try to explain to these old, dim-sighted women. I took out my phone to call Zack directly. This was his mother, so he should come back to deal with it, though I didn’t care how he chose to handle it. But when my mother-in-law saw this, she snatched my phone and smashed it on the ground, instantly breaking it into pieces. I was shocked by her thuggish behavior. “You’re being so reckless today. If Zack finds out, I won’t be able to protect you!” My mother-in-law snorted with disdain, “If my son knows you cheated, we’ll see who he’ll deal with!” I looked at my mother-in-law and her group, issuing a final warning, “Your actions have already constituted a crime. I’m giving you one last chance to leave immediately.” My mother-in-law’s friends cursed, “The world has turned upside down! She dares to be so righteous after cheating!” “That’s right, Zack’s mom, you need to show your authority as a mother-in-law today and teach this slut a good lesson!” Provoked by their words, my mother-in-law stepped forward and kicked my expensive carved mahogany chair, breaking it in half. “Everything you eat and use now is provided by my son. Without my son, you’d still be sleeping on a hard bed in the slums! How dare you tell me to leave!” This action instantly drew cheers from the old women, praising her for being tough and assertive. The group of old women started to follow suit, smashing the remaining three chairs. This set of carved mahogany table and chairs was bought by Zack at a high price to make me happy. One of them picked up an antique glass cup from my table, about to smash it on the ground. I warned her with a stern face, “This glass cup is an antique worth $2 million.” Hearing this, the person showed obvious hesitation. Seeing this, my mother-in-law stepped forward and smashed the antique glass cup herself. “Everything here belongs to my son. I said today everyone can smash as they please. We must teach this bitch a lesson.” With my mother-in-law’s words, these old women went crazy and trashed the house. I watched coldly as they did all this. Every item they destroyed now would become evidence for them to go to jail later. Suddenly, one of the old women patted my mother-in-law’s shoulder and said, “Zack’s mom, look, she’s glaring at you!” “All the things you’re smashing now were bought with your son’s hard-earned money. It doesn’t affect this slut at all.” “Only by severely punishing this bitch can she learn her lesson.” Hearing this, my mother-in-law looked up at me. A flash of viciousness passed through her eyes as she walked straight towards me. There were too many of them, and I knew I couldn’t fight them all. It’s better to avoid trouble for now, so I quickly ran towards the door. But I was pulled back by my mother-in-law grabbing my arm. Then I felt a sharp pain in my knee as I fell to the ground.

My mother-in-law stepped on my thigh, grinding her foot. The pain hit me, and I couldn’t help but cry out. My mother-in-law cursed loudly, “You little slut, you’re good at playing weak. I barely stepped on you, and you’re screaming so wantonly for whom to hear!” I looked at her coldly and said, “Yvonne, you’ll definitely regret everything you’ve done today!” “Still talking back, I’ll teach you some manners today, let you know how to be a proper daughter-in-law.” From the first day I married Zack, my mother-in-law couldn’t wait to teach me manners. She made a list for me, including washing her feet and underwear every day. I heard that’s how Zack’s grandmother treated my mother-in-law back then, so she was eager to use the same tactics on me. Since ancient times, women have always been best at making life difficult for other women. But she forgot that I married a man with the hyperaggressive gene, and I didn’t marry him willingly. Before the list even reached my hands, Zack tore it to shreds and scolded her. My mother-in-law didn’t dare to say anything in front of her son but always wanted to take her anger out on me. Today, she finally got her chance. My mother-in-law asked her friends to fetch a basin of water from the bathroom. She grabbed my hair and said in a sinister tone, “In the past, women who cheated would be drowned in pig cages. Today, I’ll let you taste that feeling.” With that, she directly pushed my head into the basin full of water. The cold water covered my mouth and nose, and the pain of suffocation instantly came over me. My body struggled violently, trying to break free from her grip, but I couldn’t. Finally, when I felt I was about to reach my limit and die from suffocation, my mother-in-law pulled my hair, lifting my head out of the water basin. I immediately gasped for air. My face and body were soaked, looking utterly miserable. “Bitch, will you still dare to rely on my son to act arrogantly? The son I raised with such difficulty, you use him like a servant. Did I give you that face?” After catching my breath, I glanced at her sideways, hatred welling up in my heart, “If you have the guts, just kill me today. Otherwise, I’ll make you pay!” At this moment, I hated Zack to the core. It was all because he forced me to marry him that I was suffering all this today. Yvonne slapped me again with all her might. Traces of blood trickled down from the corner of my mouth. “Still talking back! If I can’t discipline you today, I’ve lived this life in vain!” With that, Yvonne pushed my head into the water basin again. This time, she held me down even longer than before. Over and over again, I was tortured to the point of exhaustion. At this point, someone looked at my pale face and advised, “Zack’s mom, teaching her a lesson is enough. Don’t really cause a death.” “That’s right, times are different now. Killing a daughter-in-law means going to jail. We’d all be accomplices then!” Hearing about jail time, more people started to persuade Yvonne to stop. Yvonne’s hand gripping my hair gave a vicious shake, and I fell to the ground, half of my body soaked. She looked down at me contemptuously and said, “I’ll let you off the hook for now, you drowned rat. I’ll let my son deal with you for your cheating!” I thought weakly that when Zack beats you to the ground begging for mercy later, I definitely won’t say a single word to help you like before. Just then, an old woman came out of the bathroom, holding my previous pregnancy test, and handed it to Yvonne. Seeing this, Yvonne’s eyes instantly widened in anger, and she kicked me. “You slut, you even got pregnant with a bastard child!” My body curled up slightly, and I instinctively raised my hand to protect my belly. Yvonne was about to kick me again. Fearing she would harm my unborn child, I quickly said, “This is not a bastard child, it’s Zack’s baby.” Yvonne angrily shouted, “You bitch, don’t try to fool me. Don’t think I don’t know, you never wanted to have my son’s child. You even made my son get a vasectomy!” She angrily pointed at me and said, “You bitch want to end my family line!” When I first married Zack, he always refused to use protection, saying he wanted to be completely one with me. I threw dozens of boxes of contraceptive pills in front of him, telling him that I would take one every time he touched me. I absolutely would not give birth to a child carrying his hyperaggressive gene. Worried that the drugs would harm my health, he simply went and got a vasectomy. Hearing this, her old friends also became furious. After all, at their age, nothing was more important than having descendants. “This woman’s heart is too poisonous. Not only did she make her husband infertile, but she also wants him to raise someone else’s child.” “Oh my! Women’s minds are so wicked nowadays. My previous daughter-in-law also cheated on my son and gave birth to a bastard child. I took care of it for three years before I found out.” “If I had known earlier, I would have beaten that bastard child to death no matter what.” Stimulated by her friends’ words, Yvonne looked at me with malicious eyes. “That’s right! Today I’m going to beat that bastard out of your belly, to prevent it from being born and harming society.” Panic surged in my heart like never before. I looked at Yvonne and explained, “It’s really not a bastard child. It’s a healthy baby conceived through the latest gene screening technology developed by Zack’s company.” “If you don’t believe me, you can call Zack and ask.” “You bitch, I know what you’re planning. Zack has been so bewitched by you that even if he knew you cheated, he wouldn’t bear to hurt you at all.” “But as his mother, I can’t let him endure this great humiliation!” With that, she suddenly raised her foot and kicked me hard in the lower abdomen. A piercing pain spread from deep in my belly.

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