For the past two nights, I’ve dreamed of a strange old man crawling onto my bed. Turns out, it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Even more shocking, it was all orchestrated by my husband of three years—the same man I thought adored me. All so he could satisfy his sick urges, even if it meant sending me into another man’s bed. 0In the dead of night, I felt a stranger climb into my bed. He stared hard at my face, his head getting closer and closer. I tried to turn my eyes away, but my eyelids felt as heavy as lead. He pinned my hands above my head, then buried his face against my neck, biting down. I struggled with all my strength, screaming, but found myself utterly helpless. Paralyzed, I was at his mercy, as he slipped my lace nightgown off my shoulders. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” “It’s time for breakfast.” Someone was gently pinching my nose. I snapped my eyes open, gasping for air. Law Callahan’s face hovered over me, full of warmth. I took in his familiar features, feeling dazed. Was it all just a dream? I sat up, my head spinning and body sore, completely exhausted like I hadn’t slept at all. “What’s wrong?” Law’s brows knit in concern, and he started massaging my temples. Looking into his worried eyes, I thought back to last night. A shiver ran down my spine. I shook my head to clear the disturbing thoughts. “Maybe I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” I rubbed his cheeks, playfully squishing his eyes into slits. “C’mon, aren’t we supposed to go to your mom’s for lunch?” We’d been married for three years, and Law had always treated me like we were newlyweds. With his good looks and those captivating eyes, I was drawn in, unable to resist. After breakfast, we set out, only arriving around one due to weekend traffic. “Son, what took you so long? You must be starving. I bet someone took forever getting ready,” Maxine Callahan, my mother-in-law, shot me a sharp look. She never approved of me since I was alone, without family to back me up. “Our Law was the only one from our whole community to make it to college, and a top university at that! So many folks would’ve loved to see him married to their daughter, but he picked you.” The first time I met her, she’d looked me over with a scrutinizing eye. From that moment, I knew I’d always feel unsteady without parents to support me—even with a college degree. “Mom, it’s my fault. I just wanted to sleep in a little,” Law said with a wink, easing the tension. I felt the cloud lift as I managed a small smile. Thank goodness I have Law; he’s always on my side. I see classmates on social media complaining about marriage problems, and it makes me value this quiet happiness even more. “Mom, I’m so hungry—let’s eat already.” Law, seeing her ready to say more, quickly guided her to the table. “Come on, son, have some soup. That hen stopped laying eggs, so I went ahead and cooked it up. If it can’t give eggs, what good is it?” Maxine ladled some soup for Law, casting a pointed glance at my stomach. Even Walter, my father-in-law, put his fork down in disappointment. “Mom, Ivy’s health isn’t the best. Once she’s better, we’ll have kids.” I stared at Law, unable to believe he’d take the blame for me. This wasn’t the first time Maxine had brought it up, but Law always turned the focus back on me. Last time, he’d said I wanted a few more years to enjoy life, and afterward, Maxine whispered that I was selfish. But the truth was, Law hadn’t touched me in almost three years. I couldn’t exactly have a baby on my own! 0

It was the first real argument of our marriage. He’d knelt on the ground, begging me not to tell his family about his problem. He didn’t want to lose face. I suggested seeing a doctor, but he said that if his colleagues or students found out, it would be worse than death for him. “Ivy, other than this, I’ll do anything you want. I promise I’ll treat you better than anyone else could.” He kept his promise in every way. After graduation, I stayed home, and each month, he handed over his paycheck, never letting me lift a finger around the house. He even took me on regular trips. “Ivy, we can’t let the family name end here; you know he’s our only son,” Walter finally spoke up, urging us to have a child. Under the table, Law grasped my hand, silently pleading. Swallowing my frustration, I forced a smile. “Mom, Dad, Law and I are actually planning to have a baby next year. We want a child born in the Year of the Dragon.” Seeing their blank looks, I continued my ruse. “Dragon children are supposed to be ambitious and destined for great things. They bring luck and success to the family. Just look at Uncle Earl’s son, Forrest! He’s moved to Washington, D.C., and it’s all because he’s a Dragon.” Knowing how superstitious they were, I hoped it would appease them. They often consulted “experts” for auspicious dates, especially when we got our marriage license. Sure enough, they were satisfied, nodding in approval. They even complimented me for thinking it through so well. As we left, Law hurried ahead to put his arm around my waist, but I sidestepped without making it too obvious. “What’s wrong? Are you still upset?” he asked. “Law, what’s our plan for having kids? Are you just going to keep hiding it? I’m not getting any younger—I want a baby.” Tears welled up, and I bit my lip to hold back a sob. Seeing my tears, his eyes flashed briefly with something I couldn’t place before he pulled me close, full of sympathy. “Ivy, I promise, we’ll have a child next year. We’ll…try IVF if we have to.” His tone was gentle, his eyes full of love, but the words felt ice-cold. I was devastated. I’d thought he’d finally swallow his pride and see a doctor. But instead, he’d rather put me through the grueling process of IVF than touch me. In three years, he’d only been intimate with me during the first few months of marriage, then he’d avoided it altogether. I’d tried everything, from seductive clothes to working out and dressing up, but he was unmoved. I’d grown up with my grandparents, left to fend for myself after they died, so Law had filled a void in my heart. As long as he treated me well, I’d decided I could overlook these things. 0

By the time we got back, it was dark. As I stepped off the elevator, I noticed a pile of boxes in the hallway. “Looks like we’ve got new neighbors?” Law said, following behind me. Just then, the door across from ours opened. A tall, thin man stepped out, his pale face partly hidden behind a fringe of hair. He didn’t look easy to get along with. “Hey there, I’m Jett Ryder, your new neighbor. Movers will grab these later.” He flashed a wide smile, dimples digging into his cheeks. He seemed friendlier than I’d first thought, and I mentally chided myself for judging him too soon. “Hello, we’re right across the hall. Let us know if you need anything,” I replied politely. With one hand, Law threw an arm around my shoulder and used the other to unlock our door. “Pretty-boy,” he muttered under his breath after we got inside. I shot him a glare. That night, he brought me a cup of warm milk. “There, my love. Don’t be mad anymore; drink this.” I took a sip, and he leaned in to lick the milk from my lips, but I turned away, wiping it with a napkin. “Still mad, huh?” he grumbled. “Let’s just go to bed; I have an interview tomorrow.” I pretended not to hear him, and he reluctantly turned off the lights, snuggling up beside me. But that night, I had the same nightmare. This time, I managed to open my eyes halfway, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face—a balding head, with greedy, murky eyes that leered at me, making me want to scream awake. “Stay still, sweetheart.” A stench like rotten eggs washed over me, and then everything went black. The next morning, Law had already left for work, and I was bewildered. How could I keep having such nightmares? Was it the lack of intimacy? But why would I dream about an old man? Shaking off the thought, I focused on my interview. “Hey, Sloane, what kind of questions does your HR usually ask? I’m feeling so nervous.” “Just be confident, Ivy. Talk about your design ideas; they love that stuff.” “Alright, thanks. Elevator’s here, talk to you later.” I’d majored in design in college, but right after graduation, I married Law. His parents wanted us to have kids before I went to work, but since I wasn’t getting pregnant, I’d spent three years as a housewife, letting Law take care of me. Meanwhile, my classmates were all making thousands, while I felt like I was just living off my husband. Recently, though, I’d decided to find my own path and make something of myself. I’d reached out to my best friend, Sloane Wilder, who had a top job at her company, Wilder & Kane Design Co. She’d helped get me this interview. I pressed the elevator button. “Hold on!” A pale hand shot between the doors. I looked up and felt my blood run cold. She waved her hand in front of my face. “Hey, you okay?” I pushed her hand away, staring past her down the hall. But there was nothing—no sign of him. Was I losing my mind? I could have sworn I’d just seen the man from my nightmare. Even though he wore glasses, I remembered those disgusting, squinty eyes. A surge of nausea hit me, and I turned away. What was going on? My brain was reeling. Could it just be a strange coincidence? Or was I really dealing with something paranormal? I staggered down the street, lost in thought as my phone buzzed incessantly, snapping me back. “Hello?” “Ivy, where are you? HR said you didn’t show up for your interview. What happened?” “I…something came up. By the way, does your company have a bald guy in his fifties, with glasses?” “Oh, that could be any number of people here. You know designers and bald heads! Anyway, gotta go—got called into a meeting.” I hung up, utterly bewildered. My mind was racing as I searched online, reading about dreams of strange men. Most sources said it meant “bad luck in love,” but none explained why the man in my dream looked exactly like someone I’d just seen in real life. Could he be someone from a past life? The thought chilled me as I pictured his gleaming, bald head. Maybe I should talk to a psychologist about this. Just then, I heard a voice. “Hey, what a coincidence!” Jett Ryder was there, holding a garbage bag and flashing me a friendly smile. “Hi, settling in okay?” I asked politely, keeping my distance. “Yeah, all good. You look a bit out of it. Did a late night party wear you out?” “Party?” I replied, confused. I’d gone to bed early.

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Something’s been off with my housekeeper’s daughter, Sophia, lately. She keeps staring at me with this hostile look, almost like it’s intentional, and then she’ll blast those “Switched Heiress” podcasts in the living room. My brother, Ethan, has had enough and came to vent to me. “Nat, you think Sophia actually believes you and she were switched at birth?” he groaned. “And, like, it’s weird—she’s been looking at me with this ‘loving’ stare lately. Totally creepy.” I chuckled. She really thought the yearly DNA tests my family pays for don’t cover things like that? I’m Natalie James, the only heiress of James Corporation. Like most kids in wealthy families, my parents are rarely home, so they hired a live-in housekeeper to look after Ethan and me. Martha Harris, our housekeeper, has a daughter around my age named Sophia. She’s lived with us practically her entire life, eating and growing up alongside us. But here’s the strange part—Martha doesn’t seem to like her daughter very much. It’s obvious to our whole family that Martha can barely tolerate Sophia. Once, I asked my parents if we should step in. After all, Sophia is often ignored or treated harshly; it’s pitiful. But my parents told me not to interfere with other people’s family issues. Besides, the one time I spoke up on Sophia’s behalf, Martha, who’s usually kind to me, told me flatly, “That’s a family matter.” Since then, I’ve stayed out of it. But recently, Sophia’s attitude towards me has changed. Now, she gives me these strange looks and does a lot of…puzzling things around the house. First, she started pestering Ethan daily about when my parents would return from their vacation. Then, whenever she’d see me, she’d give me this odd, condescending glare. But the worst? When she’d turn up the volume on her phone, blasting those “Switched Heiress” podcasts for everyone to hear. As Ethan put it, “It’s like her whole scheme is written all over her face.” I laughed inwardly. How could that be possible? Even if Sophia and I are close in age, my parents’ DNA tests rule out anything like that. …Wait. Could I actually not be the real heiress? I immediately dashed to the study and dug out my health records. Thankfully, my parents had the foresight to include a DNA test in our yearly health checks. I might have seriously doubted myself otherwise. Seeing the clear relationship confirmation put me at ease, and I shrugged off Sophia’s bizarre fixation on “heiress switches” as some kind of obsession. Then one day, Sophia suddenly turned to Ethan at dinner and asked sweetly, “Ethan, don’t you think you and I look kind of alike?” Ethan practically choked on his food. “Sophia, are you nuts? What do you mean? My real sister is sitting right here.” Martha choked, too, clearing her throat as she shot Sophia a sharp look. “Girl, what on earth are you saying? Mr. and Mrs. James aren’t here, so it’s a privilege for us to be allowed to dine with Miss Natalie and Mr. Ethan. Show some respect!” With that, she rapped Sophia on the head with her chopsticks. Sophia’s eyes filled with tears. “Just wait till they’re back. You’ll all regret this!” she snarled, throwing a vicious look my way before storming off to her room. Um…what? I hadn’t even said anything. And I had no idea what “look” my parents could possibly give her upon their return. Martha looked embarrassed and turned to Ethan and me. “Miss Natalie, Mr. Ethan, I’m so sorry. Sophia’s been acting out lately. I’ll be sure to discipline her.” I raised an eyebrow. “Martha, your disciplinary skills might need a little work. After all, she is your own daughter, so maybe give her some care.” I emphasized “own daughter” on purpose, hoping to gauge her reaction. But Martha just chuckled. “Oh, you’re right, Miss Natalie. But people like us from small towns who barely got an education…we don’t know much about raising kids.” “Sophia’s certainly not as refined as you are, Miss Natalie. Back where I’m from, girls her age would already be married off to bring in a dowry for the family. But here, Mr. James has been so kind, supporting her education, and yet she’s ungrateful and so rude…” I couldn’t agree with her viewpoint, but I could tell she had zero concern about whether Sophia was her daughter or not. Curious, I asked, “Martha, you’ve always treated me so well.” Martha’s face brightened. “Of course! Mr. and Mrs. James have been so good to me, and I’ve watched you grow up. To me, you’re as dear as a daughter—maybe even dearer than my own.” At that moment, I actually felt a bit sorry for Sophia. Imagine having a mom like that. I smiled. “Martha, you should focus more on your own daughter. You might avoid some trouble that way.” I left the dining room, ignoring Martha’s puzzled look.

Ethan’s been complaining to me nonstop. Though he’s used to Sophia’s little attempts to get close to him, he said this time was a whole new level of strange. “Nat, she’s been taking my clothes to wash, lurking outside my study after her midnight showers, and hanging around my class door every chance she gets. But now she’s acting like some grandmother, filling my plate like it’s her job and staring at me with this ‘loving’ gaze. I seriously can’t stand it anymore. What’s her game this time?” I sighed, as frustrated as he was. To calm him down, I promised to have a talk with Sophia once we were back at school. My dad, ever generous, had arranged for Sophia to attend Westview Prep alongside me as a perk for Martha. We were even placed in the same class, supposedly so we could “look out for each other.” But lately, Sophia seemed to be avoiding me on purpose. Wherever I went, she wasn’t there. Even at school, running into her felt like sheer luck. Today, my luck must’ve been exceptional because as soon as I walked into the classroom, there she was, dressed to the nines and surrounded by classmates. “Sophia, that outfit! And the bag—must’ve cost a fortune, right?” “Oh, not really,” she giggled, “I just saw it while shopping and thought, ‘why not?’” “Wow, I never realized Sophia wasn’t from an ordinary family like us. Looks like we have a real heiress among us.” Sophia grinned. “Heiress? Just what my parents gave me, that’s all. What’s mine is mine, you know? Unlike some people, who can only pretend they belong—wasting all that effort for nothing.” She looked directly at me as she said it. One of my friends leaned over and whispered, “Isn’t she just Martha’s daughter? Natalie, does your family pay your housekeeper that much, or did her mom win the lottery? She’s flaunting all this luxury like she just came into money.” “What does she mean by that? Think she got swapped at birth with a rich kid?” “Natalie, isn’t she implying you and she…?” I was speechless. I had no clue where Sophia was getting the cash for all this. Only a few of my closer friends knew she was Martha’s daughter. Out of respect, they’d always kept her background a quiet secret. “She’s starting to sound delusional,” I muttered, arriving at a conclusion after some thought. I walked over to her. “Sophia, come with me. I need a word.” Sophia froze. She’d been avoiding me for days and probably never expected me to confront her head-on. After all, in those “switched heiress” stories, the imposter was always too timid to face the real heiress. Around us, people began whispering. “I’ve never seen Natalie talk to Sophia before.” “Did you hear what Sophia just said? Could they have actually been swapped?” “What? You’re kidding. No one would risk crossing the James family.” “Isn’t she, like, really close with Natalie’s brother? Actual siblings wouldn’t go that far, right?” Ignoring the gossip, I walked straight outside, and after fixing her clothes, Sophia followed me. I cut to the chase. “You know why I want to talk, don’t you?” Sophia’s face broke into a smug smile. “Well, since you already know you’re in my place, why not tell Mom and Dad yourself? Maybe I’ll even put in a good word for you to get some extra support.” For a moment, I felt like my brain had short-circuited. “Sophia, what nonsense are you talking about?” She scoffed, “Oh, come on, Natalie! You know I’m the real James heiress. You’ve lived the easy life I was supposed to have while I’ve suffered. You owe me, Natalie, and you’ll never pay it back.” “What proof do you even have?” “Oh, I’ve got proof,” she sneered. “Once Mom and Dad are back from their trip, the truth will finally come out. You’ll be the one begging for mercy when I kick you and your broke mom out of this house.” I was about to ask where on earth she got such confidence when a sharp voice cut through our conversation. “Sophia!” Martha was striding toward us, and before I knew it, she slapped Sophia hard.

All of a sudden, everyone in the classroom poured out to see what had happened. I, too, was caught off guard by the sudden drama. Sophia clutched her cheek, red and swollen from the slap, tears welling up as if she couldn’t speak. Martha’s eyes were furious as she grabbed Sophia by the hair. “Did you transfer money out of my account, you worthless brat?! That money was for your brother’s future! Do you want us to end up on the streets? I can’t believe you’d betray me like this!” Through her tears, Martha’s voice wavered, giving everyone a clear idea of where Sophia’s luxury items had come from. I quickly stepped in and tried to separate them. “Martha, maybe let’s talk this over. We’re at school…” Martha looked around at the staring crowd and, realizing she had an audience, sank dramatically to the ground. “Lord, how could this happen to me? I saved for years to secure my son’s future, and now it’s all gone because of this ungrateful child. What am I supposed to do now?” “Is that really Sophia’s mom? She doesn’t seem like she has money.” “Didn’t you hear? Sophia probably stole her savings and went on a shopping spree.” Whispers and jeers began circulating. “Was she always this…flashy?” “Last I heard, she’s only able to go to Westview because someone sponsors her.” “Enough!” Sophia’s glare landed on me, her eyes blazing. “Natalie, this is all because of you, isn’t it? I’ve suffered for so many years in your place, and now you’re trying to humiliate me? Just wait—I swear you’ll regret it!” Without a glance back, she turned and ran, ignoring Martha’s shouts. “Hey! How dare you talk to Miss Natalie like that! Are you okay, Miss Natalie?” Martha rushed over to me, casting another furious look in Sophia’s direction as she fled. The whispers around me continued, buzzing louder. “This woman’s not actually Natalie’s mother, is she? But look how she’s way kinder to Natalie than her own daughter.” “Yeah, I heard she’s just the James family’s housekeeper.” “Then maybe it’s true? They might’ve been switched, and Martha just raised the wrong daughter.” I was about to shake off Martha’s concerned grip when a calm, familiar voice broke through the crowd. “Martha, maybe you should go check on your own daughter.” I turned and saw Lucas Sullivan standing in the hallway, his gaze steady as he walked toward me. “Natalie, class is about to start.” A couple of girls whispered excitedly nearby. “Oh my god, he’s here! I’m totally swooning.” “Even if Natalie turned out not to be the real heiress, she’d still be set marrying into the Sullivan family!” “Lucas is so perfect. And honestly, he and Natalie look so good together.” Lucas was my boyfriend, and everyone knew it. In fact, both our families fully approved of us being together. As far as family status, academics, and looks go, we’re a perfect match, and the potential partnership between our families’ businesses only sweetens the deal. Reluctantly, Martha released her grip and scurried after Sophia. I didn’t pay much attention to the gossip around us, but the recent drama had stirred up my curiosity about what Lucas thought. Once we were back in class, I asked him, “Lucas, if it turns out I’m not really the James heiress, would you still want to be with me?” He chuckled softly, as if I’d just told him a joke. “What’s so funny?” I was genuinely curious, especially since, with everything happening, it didn’t feel like such a wild possibility that I might not be the real heiress. Lucas reached over and lightly patted my head, his eyes clear and reassuring. “Whether you’re the real James heiress or not doesn’t matter to me. What matters is you—Natalie James. That’s all I care about.” That afternoon, Sophia showed up to school again, but this time, her outfit was even more extravagant than before. Our classmates exchanged confused glances, clearly struggling to make sense of her behavior. Sophia didn’t hesitate. She walked right up to me but stopped short in front of Lucas, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Lucas, I think you should know the truth. I’m the real heiress of the James family.” A collective gasp rippled through the class. She’d actually said it. “Oh?”

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I raised Avery Stone for eighteen years, and she turned out to be a fraud. My biological daughter was sent to the countryside by my husband. While Avery lived in luxury, she was out chopping wood and feeding pigs. When Avery was attending Harvard University with tutoring, she was forced to drop out. Even when she found us, Avery casually said, “I don’t want to leave Dad.” Then, my daughter inexplicably fell from a high-rise building. Unwilling to accept this, I decided to uncover the truth. However, I was severely injured when Avery drove and crashed into me. Before I died, I saw my best friend hugging Logan Blackwood as they got out of the car. “Thank you for raising our daughter for eighteen years!” When I opened my eyes again, my daughter had just been born. This time, I will protect my daughter myself! A sudden, intense pain caused me to lose consciousness. Am I dead? Everything around me is a blur of white; I can’t see anything! Am I going to heaven? But I’m so unwilling! I feel such hatred! Logan Blackwood, my husband of many years, had been cheating on me for years behind my back. The daughter I cherished so deeply turned out to be Logan’s child with his mistress! The image of my best friend embracing Logan is still vivid in my mind, and the tragic sight of my biological daughter’s death is still before my eyes! I want revenge! “Doctor! Doctor! The mother has fainted!” I vaguely hear someone shouting in my ear. The strong scent of disinfectant fills my nose. I suddenly open my eyes! Where am I? Once again, I awaken on a hospital bed! The surroundings are unfamiliar, yet it feels like I’ve been here before. “Serena, you’re finally awake! Mom was so scared!” Mom? The woman before me is well-dressed and well-maintained. She looks like my mother when she was young! Didn’t my mom pass away a few years ago? “They say childbirth is like passing through the gates of hell! Luckily, you made it safely!” Childbirth? Have I been reborn? I swiftly sit up. Where is my child? “Mom, where is my child!?” I don’t have time to savor the joy of reuniting with my mother; I start searching for my daughter. In my previous life, my daughter was swapped by Logan shortly after birth. I must ensure this never happens again! “Mom, where is my child!” I ask my mother again, desperately. “Serena, don’t worry. You passed out, and the nurses took the baby to bathe!” My mom quickly tries to comfort me. “Logan is watching over you there! Your body still needs time to heal; don’t move around too much!” “What! Logan is watching!” A chill runs from the soles of my feet up through my entire body!

I must not let Logan succeed! There’s only one thought in my mind. “Mom, I need to find my daughter. I need to go now!” Ignoring my mother’s protests and enduring the severe pain from my wounds, I dash to the door! I see Logan Blackwood approaching, holding a child! He bends down to look at the child, his eyes filled with undeniable joy! He’s succeeded! My entire body starts to tremble! In my previous life, Logan looked exactly like this when holding Lila. I wanted to name my daughter Lila Hart, but Logan insisted on the name Avery Stone, saying it signifies elegance, nobility, and hope! “Wife, why are you here? Come back to bed and lie down!” Logan looks up when he sees me, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, quickly replaced by a look of concern. My mother also comes over, pulling me back to bed! I return to the bed, coldly staring at the swaddled baby. It’s that bastard! Replacing my biological daughter, deceiving me with eighteen years of love, stealing the life that was rightfully my daughter’s, and finally causing my accident. I now hate this bastard so much I could choke her to death! My gaze is as cold as an ice knife. Logan’s eyes remain fixed on the imposter Avery Stone, not noticing anything else. But my mother, who has been taking care of me, is stunned. “Serena, haven’t you been talking about the baby all this time? Look how cute she is!” “Logan, bring the baby closer and place her beside Serena!” “Yes, Mom!” Logan obediently holds Avery closer. “No, I’m tired. I want to rest.” Suppressing the hatred in my heart, I decide to start devising a long-term plan! I close my eyes and slowly begin to formulate a revenge plan in my mind!

Logan just started working at my father’s company, working during the day and coming to the hospital at night! He portrayed himself as the perfect husband flawlessly! In my previous life, I was moved by him and felt sorry for his hard work. But now, only I know he was doing this for his mistress, my good friend Elena Sinclair! Elena had also just given birth at the same hospital, allowing Logan to successfully swap the two children! Logan was my college classmate. He hailed from a remote Appalachian mountain village! During college, he was diligent and studious, working very hard and earning scholarships every year. Marriage, whether in ancient times or today, requires compatibility in social status. My father originally thought I should marry someone well-matched. With my persuasion, he approved Logan’s steady and hardworking nature, agreeing to our marriage. Looking back now, knowing someone’s true character by face is impossible! Logan Blackwood is a wolf in sheep’s clothing! As for when he started hooking up with Elena? I have no idea, but now that the children are born, it couldn’t have been too long! In my previous life, since childbirth, I barely worked. I was entirely focused on taking care of my daughter! I gradually handed over all the company affairs to Logan. This life, I will no longer let Hartstone Enterprises fall into Logan’s hands, brick by brick! With the doctors’ consent, I was discharged a week later and moved into a birthing center. I spent a lot of money hiring a private investigator, Mason Drake, to investigate Logan’s whereabouts and his family’s situation over the past two weeks. During our wedding, not a single person from Logan’s side attended! Logan claimed his parents had died early, and he was raised by his grandfather, who also passed away a few years ago. At the time, I felt sorry for him and consoled him, saying that his family was now mine. Looking back now, it’s laughable! Logan’s family must still have someone. In my previous life, Logan sent my daughter to the countryside!

During the day, Logan doesn’t come to the birthing center. My parents are also busy with the company, so most of the time, I’m alone! I watch Avery Stone sleeping, feeling the urge to choke her! A bastard is a bastard; she just can’t be raised properly! My daughter still doesn’t know where she’s suffering, while this bastard can lie in a premium baby crib! Damn her! Avery eventually wakes up and starts crying. I know she’s hungry. In my previous life, I raised her single-handedly. When she frowned, I knew what she needed! But I don’t want to feed her! In my previous life, I personally breastfed her. This life, I used the excuse of being unwell to refuse breastfeeding. Logan’s dissatisfied expression is hard to hide. I saw right through him! But I ignored it. Now, without me, Logan would be penniless. He doesn’t have the courage to express his dissatisfaction! I refused the imported premium baby formula my parents had prepared and used cheap, regular formula instead! I often hear the nurses secretly talking, saying that I stay at a high-end birthing center but let the baby drink regular formula. How cruel! Hehe, I don’t even want to feed her regular formula! I let Avery cry without paying any attention. The harder she cries, the more satisfied I feel! A nurse knocks on the door. I sit quietly, ignoring the knock. I had locked the door from the inside. Only my mother has the key; others can’t open it. After a long time, Avery finally gets tired of crying and falls asleep. But my mother rushes in, looking anxious! “Serena, Serena, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you open the door?” “I fell asleep, Mom. What’s wrong?” I rub my eyes, pretending to have just woken up. “I received a call from the birthing center staff saying the baby was crying. You didn’t open the door, which really worried me. I thought something happened!” My mother looks at Avery. “As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters. Oh, I was so worried!” “No, Mom, I’m fine. I just fell asleep. I didn’t hear her cry. Did she cry?” I wear a confused expression. Avery, exhausted from crying, falls back asleep. Naturally, my mother doesn’t notice anything. “It wasn’t crying anymore. Serena, have you been feeling unhappy lately?” My mother sits by the bedside, holding my hand. “I’m fine, Mom. What could I possibly have to worry about? Don’t worry.” I squeeze my mother’s hand back, smiling with ease. A mother’s intuition is unparalleled; my mother can keenly detect any abnormalities. “As long as you’re okay. If you have anything to talk about, just tell Mom. You’ll always be Mom’s baby!” I feel a surge of emotion in my heart, warmth spreading from my fingertips to my core! “Mom!” I can’t help but call out. “Hey, I’m here!” I’m here, such a simple phrase! It’s a pity that in my previous life, my daughter never felt the warmth of home for a single day. “Mom, how’s the company?” I change the subject. “The company has your dad there. What are you worried about? Don’t worry!” “That’s good.” I smile and continue to ask. “Logan, are you still the Project Manager?” I remember that in my previous life, shortly after I gave birth, Logan was promoted by my father to Project Director. Later, against my father’s objections, I gradually made Logan take over my position as General Manager. In my previous life, I still thought my judgment was good, believing that Logan was making the company thrive! How blind I was! “Yes, Logan’s been doing great. Don’t worry, your dad is already considering promoting him to Director!” My mother seems to think I’m worried about Logan’s work and tries to comfort me. “No, Mom. I don’t think it’s urgent to promote Logan yet. Let’s wait a bit. Talk to your dad first, and I’ll discuss this when I get back!” I smile. How could I possibly be in a hurry to see Logan promoted?! I want him to stay in this position forever! “What’s wrong? Weren’t you pushing your dad for a promotion earlier?” My mother looks puzzled. “It was because I was inexperienced before. Now that I’m a mother, I understand how hard it was for you and Dad to build this business!” “You both started from scratch, built this foundation, and are selecting the right people. Of course, you have to consider multiple factors!” “Serena, you’ve really grown up!” My mother looks touched!

In the evening, Logan returns home. “Wife, I heard the baby was crying nonstop today. Did it keep you from resting?” As soon as Logan comes back, he keeps hugging the bastard Avery. In my previous life, I would have stopped him from doing this, knowing the baby was fragile and exposed to germs from adults. But now, I feel nothing. I actually want him to hug her as much as possible. “No, once I feed her, she stops crying!” I respond coldly. “That’s good. Our little baby shouldn’t disturb Mom’s rest. Mom worked hard to have you, so we need to be good and take care of Mom together!” Logan says this while lifting Avery high into the air. I watch coldly, saying nothing. Where is my daughter now! “Wife, I know it wasn’t easy for you to have our daughter. We don’t need to breastfeed her, but what about the formula? Why not switch to imported ones? The ones your parents chose earlier are pretty good.” I ignore him, and Logan continues! “You see, once the baby is well-fed, she won’t cry and disturb you, right?” Logan moves closer to me, his tone gentle. “I think this brand is pretty good. It meets national safety standards for baby formula. Kids eat a lot and get hungry quickly, so it’s normal for them to cry!” I respond in the same casual tone as always. “Wife, this is still different. How can domestic formula be as good as imported ones? Our family isn’t short on money. We can afford imported baby formula!” Logan is persistent. He moves closer to me, extending his arm to embrace me! “Yeah, we’re really not short on money! Let me do the math for you. Now that the baby is just born, she needs a lot of formula—at least six cans a month. I’m in the birthing center now, with no income. Your current salary, after normal expenses, can only afford three cans! Not to mention diapers and other supplies!” I rise to avoid Logan’s touch, calmly breaking down the numbers for him. “Don’t we still have your parents? And I’m about to get a promotion!” Logan’s face flashes with embarrassment. “This isn’t right. We’re married, and even the baby formula costs your parents money. That’s unacceptable. You’re not promoted yet. Let’s wait until you are, and then we’ll talk!” What a slick plan! Using my parents’ money to raise your illegitimate child. Logan Blackwood, you are shameless! With your salary, your bastard only deserves cheap formula! Still wanting a promotion? Ha, wait and see. I’ll make sure you stay stuck! Logan is silenced, his formerly brazen face now silent! He turns around and starts playing with Avery. I walk into the inner room, unwilling to see Logan’s true colors any longer!

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In college, I messed things up with one of the wealthiest girls on campus. Three years later, after a burst pipe in my apartment, I headed to crash at my buddy’s place and accidentally climbed into the wrong bed—hers. She gave me this cool, mocking smile. “Oh? Thinking of rekindling old flames?” Panicked, I tried to leave, but she pulled me back. “What’s the rush? You’re here already.” In my dream, I held someone warm, soft, and close, her smooth skin beneath my fingertips. The moment was thrilling, almost real—until a sharp pain shot through my ear. I snapped awake, finding myself face-to-face with those unforgettable eyes and a pair of soft lips moving as if in slow motion. “Ethan Blake,” she drawled, “after all this time, you really choose this way to meet up? What, feeling nostalgic?” I was so spooked I grabbed my ear back and jumped out of bed, face flushing. Veronica Grant, my ex. How did I end up in bed with her? Her hair spilled across the pillow, and she was only wearing a thin silk tank top. She looked… stunning. I could barely get the words out. “Wha—what are you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes. “Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” All I wanted to do was bolt, but just as I tried, she gripped my arm. “What’s the rush? Here already, might as well stay.” How did I not know I’d climbed into my ex’s bed? My apartment’s pipes had burst late at night, and I went to crash at Nate’s place, trying not to wake anyone. But apparently, I ended up in the wrong room. The commotion woke up the house’s actual owner. Nate showed up in his pajamas, voice booming down the hall. “Ronnie, it’s the middle of the night! What’s going on?” When he saw me, his eyes went wide. “Dude, what are you doing here?” I chuckled nervously. “Pipes burst at my place. Needed a last-minute spot to crash.” Nate pulled me aside, shooting me a knowing look. “She’s my cousin, man. You two… in the same bed?” I wanted the earth to swallow me. Of all the people I wanted to avoid, Veronica was number one. This girl I’d once cared about more than anyone else… we’d just never had the right timing.

In college, Veronica was the school’s untouchable “ice queen.” I saw her at a club meeting one day and was smitten instantly. I heard she came from money and had pretty high standards. One day, she sprained her ankle in the locker room, limping out with her face scrunched in pain. I happened to be passing by, so I picked her up without thinking and carried her to the health center. After that, we became friends. Despite her icy reputation, she was surprisingly down-to-earth and forgetful, often texting me to help her pick up things she’d forgotten. She used to joke, saying I had to have a girlfriend to be so thoughtful. I’d laugh it off. “Nope, you’re the first.” She’d look at me with that spark in her eye and grab my hand. As we got closer, I learned that, aside from her looks, her “queen” status was tied to the world she came from—a circle of the ultra-wealthy that had little in common with mine. But she said she hated the fake world of high society and appreciated that I was just… real. It thrilled me. I introduced her to things I loved, like the best burger joint in town. When I earned a little money from helping professors with projects, I’d treat her to cheap-but-good eats. She’d sometimes offer to pay, but I’d wave it off. “Paying’s my job,” I’d say. “Leave it to me.” I might not be able to give her a life of luxury, but I wanted to give her my best. One night, as we stood in a quiet corner on campus, I couldn’t hold back anymore and kissed her. She kissed me back passionately. We were all wrapped up in each other for a while. It was just a regular relationship—one that didn’t survive the storms that followed.

One day, this guy named Brad Vaughn came up to me, looking all smug. “I’m her fiancé. You need to back off.” I stared at him, shocked. “She never mentioned she was engaged.” “Our families have an understanding. You’re not gonna be her boyfriend—ever.” “What can you give her, really? Just more baggage?” I didn’t buy it and argued back, but he just raised a brow. “Let me show you what her life’s like.” He dressed me up, convincing me to disguise myself, and took me to a mansion. Inside, she wore a gorgeous evening gown, hair up, mingling at a high-end gathering, all charm and poise. She moved through the room like a queen, flawless. And me? I looked down at my jeans and sneakers, feeling out of place. “See?” he said. “She’s up there. You’re down here, just a guy who took her out for cheap eats. She needs someone who can match her.” I bit back the urge to argue, though I insisted, “But she likes me.” Brad just laughed. “There are a bunch like you. Check her phone if you don’t believe me.” “She’s got people in her contacts divided by groups. Us, her circle, are in one group. You and others like you? You’re in another.” The next day, while she stepped away, I checked her phone. Sure enough, I was just a coded name in her contacts, lumped in with seven or eight others. When she came back, I asked, “You ever get bored with me?” She just gave a little smile. “No. I love being with you. You’re a break from the whole ‘perfect’ routine.” “And anyone else you feel that way with?” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “There are a few.” My heart sank. “Do you see me in your future?” “Of course! I want you by my side in the company. It’s like that new word everyone’s using—‘kept man.’ What do you think?” She gave me a playful grin, but I felt gutted. This wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted a partner, an equal. Finally, one evening after a sad movie, I had a moment of clarity. “Let’s break up.” She stared at me, shocked, then stubbornly agreed. “Fine. But don’t regret it.” When she texted me again, I blocked her. Just like that, three years passed, and I heard she moved abroad.

Nate’s jaw dropped. “Dude, you and my cousin… that’s why she was so down a while back. She locked herself in her room, barely talking to anyone.” I never imagined she’d be upset over me. I figured I was just another guy among those coded names on her phone. “Getting dumped sucks for everyone. It’s no big deal,” I shrugged. The next day, I was back to work, needing to find a plumber and get my apartment fixed. But I had to rush out for an important project meeting first. When my team arrived, who was there to meet us but Veronica herself. My heart froze, but there was no way out. “This project’s under a tight schedule,” she said, coolly professional. “We’ll need frequent meetings, and I’ll have to confirm some requirements with you directly.” I nodded. “Got it. We’re committed.” She turned to me. “Ethan, would you come to my office to discuss a few details?” I followed her in. Her office was elegant, with a clean, minimal style that didn’t quite match the carefree girl I used to know. Her business suit fit her perfectly, a picture of authority. She ran through the project, and I responded as best I could. Then, suddenly, she shifted the topic. “This project will mean late nights. Won’t your girlfriend mind?” I shook my head. For some reason, I couldn’t stop myself. “You’ll be working with us, too. Won’t your boyfriend mind?” She gave me a lazy smile. “Oh, he’s got a bit of a temper—pretty possessive.” I couldn’t help but think she meant Brad. A bitter feeling rose up in me. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay so late, then,” I muttered. “I can catch you up in the morning.” She studied me for a moment, then got up and sat right next to me.

I awkwardly scooted to the side, but she tugged my sleeve. “Why’d you block me? Can’t we at least stay friends?” I couldn’t meet her eyes, feeling a familiar ache. She leaned closer, her breath warm against my face. “Ethan, I—” Before she could finish, there was a knock. And in walked Brad. “Ronnie, sorry to interrupt. Didn’t know you had company.” He stopped, spotting me. “Well, if it isn’t Ethan Blake,” he sneered. “I hear you’re a project manager now. Impressive.” Seeing him made my stomach twist. He went over and put his arm around Veronica, pulling her close. “Dinner tonight, right? Got us a table.” He looked back at me. “Care to join?” I shot to my feet. “Sorry, I’ve got plans with my girlfriend.” Veronica’s eyes widened as I bolted out of there, Brad’s smug look following me. The frost I’d buried away all these years cracked wide open. That “girlfriend” I mentioned? Lindsey Hayes. Another college friend. She’d chased me back in school, but I’d brushed her off. Recently, her family’s company hired ours for a project, so I’d been on her turf for a few months. As the client, Lindsey kept setting up “team dinners,” always trying to get me tipsy and eyeing me like some prize. At that moment, she was my only escape.

I never expected that this project would put me face-to-face with Grant Industries—the company now headed by Veronica herself. I did everything I could to avoid her. If she didn’t specifically ask for me, I’d steer clear, and if she did, I’d bring a colleague along to minimize our one-on-one time. But I couldn’t ignore seeing Brad in her office. He showed up so often, just hanging around while we discussed work. Sometimes he’d even chime in on our meetings. Rumor around the office was that they were practically a couple. One night, I stayed late, trying to debug a line of code that refused to cooperate. I was so absorbed in my work that I didn’t hear her walk up until she handed me a cup of coffee. Startled, I jumped, accidentally spilling it all over her. Panicking, I grabbed a napkin and tried to clean up, my hands brushing over the thin fabric of her blouse. Realizing what I was doing, I jerked back and stood there like a kid caught doing something wrong. Veronica sighed. “Could you run downstairs and get me a change of clothes?” I hurried down to the 24-hour store on the corner, grabbing a blouse and pants. I hesitated, then threw in a set of undergarments, remembering the spill had soaked right through. When I handed her the bag, she looked at me, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Remember my size? You haven’t noticed I might’ve changed a bit over the years?” I looked away, embarrassed. “Well, you’re still in good shape, but just to be safe, I went a size up.” After changing, she came back looking different—almost like the girl I used to know, the one who’d join me for late-night fries and laughs. Just as she was about to speak, my phone rang. “Yeah, I’ll be right there,” I replied, holding up my phone to show her. “Sorry, family emergency. Gotta run.” Without waiting for her response, I grabbed my bag and hurried out.

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One day, a notice popped up in the Building Residents’ Group Chat: “Since I have a lot of relatives who often need a place to stay, I plan to buy up all the apartments on the third floor. Please prepare for your property transfer.” “However, I don’t have the funds to pay you all up front, so you can stay in my units by deducting your rent as payment towards the purchase, at $5,000 a month.” “Feel free to stay in my apartments, but you’ll need to clear out whenever my relatives visit! Leave everything in place — bedding, towels, cookware, the works. My guests will need to use those too.” This message came from Dale Winters, the tenant in 302. He saw I wouldn’t agree to his absurd demands, so he decided he’d just take over my apartment. Well, I wasn’t having it. I called in my 13-year-old little brother, Billy Langston, and my 80-year-old, spirited grandmother, Hattie Langston, for backup. Oh, and I brought out my official diagnosis report of Bipolar Disorder. The doorbell began ringing furiously. Peeking through the peephole, I saw a man and a woman standing on my doorstep with documents in hand, looking ready to barge right in. “Open up!” the woman demanded, “We’ve got the property transfer contract ready for you. Just sign and pay the $5 printing fee.” I had to laugh — they wanted my apartment for free and expected me to cover their printing costs? Bold didn’t even cover it! “Oh sure,” I said with thick sarcasm, “How about I toss in my smart TV and the air conditioner while I’m at it?” “Well, aren’t you a sensible girl,” said Dale, belly jiggling as he chuckled, like he was handing down a blessing. “I’ll let you stay a few more months if you sign.” Somehow, my apartment was already his, even though I hadn’t signed a thing. The woman’s patience was shorter. She kicked the door hard and shouted, “What’s with your attitude? Sign, or pay for my relatives to stay in a five-star hotel!” I’d never seen such shameless people in my life. I wasn’t about to take this lying down, so I called the Hollow Creek Police Department. While waiting, I shouted back through the door, “You want my apartment? Sure thing! Just name me in your will and wait ‘til I’m dead. Then it’ll be all yours.” “You piece of crap! Are you asking for it?” Dale snapped, and the two of them started pounding on my door. This was an old building, and the doorframe wasn’t sturdy. Watching the door shake, panic began clawing up my chest, making it hard to breathe. To avoid a direct confrontation, I quickly shoved some heavy furniture against the door. “What’s the plan here? You’re going to break into my place in broad daylight? I’ve already called the cops!” “Break in? This is my place, you little thief!” Dale yelled back, “You’re the one who should be arrested!” My breathing quickened, and my hands started trembling. It felt like there was a beast inside me, one I couldn’t hold back much longer. I stumbled to my room, my vision blurring, and found my pills. I swallowed one dry, the rough pill scraping down my throat. My diagnosis report slipped from the drawer, the words “Diagnosed Bipolar Disorder” in stark letters across the top.

The police arrived not long after. Seeing the officers, the woman put on a new face. Instead of showing an ounce of fear, she started to wail, “Officer, you have to help us! This woman’s trying to take over our property!” The officers looked stunned; they’d arrived while she and her husband were cursing and kicking my door. I stepped out and, with a bit of dramatic flair, told the officers exactly what had happened. They looked at Dale and Linda with clear irritation. “The owner hasn’t agreed to sell, so how do you figure it’s your property?” one officer asked, “And does it even sound reasonable that you’d get to ‘buy’ a place just by reducing rent?” Despite the officer’s pointed questions, Linda didn’t miss a beat. “Look, we’re negotiating! Neighbors should help each other out. I’m letting them stay here out of the goodness of my heart. What more do they want?” The officer’s eyebrow shot up — she was the epitome of “shameless.” He was nearly speechless. Since they hadn’t actually broken in yet, the officer just gave them a warning. “Listen, buying property requires mutual consent. This isn’t up to you. If you keep causing trouble, you’ll be joining us down at the station.” Glaring at me, Dale and Linda reluctantly stomped back to their apartment, defeated for now. I went back inside, collapsing on the bed and gulping down air. It’d been over five years since my last episode. I thought I’d finally gotten it under control. But after dealing with these two psychos, I really felt like picking up a carving knife and ending this nonsense. I hoped the police would scare them off for a few days. But the next morning, I was jolted awake by screaming and sobbing outside my door.

“I told you, if you want to buy my apartment, then pay me! But asking me to pay rent while you slowly ‘buy’ it? That’s just ridiculous!” It was Kate Dawson, my neighbor from across the hall. Kate had a rough life, forced into marriage early so her family could afford a dowry for her brother. She saved up for years to buy this little place and still had a ton of loans to pay off. How could she possibly agree to their absurd demands? “Ridiculous? Let me tell you what’s ridiculous!” Linda yelled. “Sign the papers! My family’s arriving tonight, so get your room cleared out. You can crash on the floor in the living room and cook and clean for my relatives while you’re at it!” Linda eyed Kate up and down, muttering, “What, twenty-five, twenty-six? Still single, huh? Well, my brother’s only forty. You marry him, pop out a son, and you’ll have a place to live forever!” “You!” Kate stammered, unable to stand up to the woman’s relentless bullying, tears welling up in her eyes. Seeing how easily Kate was rattled, the couple pressed forward, practically trying to push their way inside. “So you two want a trip to the station?” I barked, stepping between them and Kate. They stumbled back, and I put a protective arm around her. “You again, you little brat! Need a beating, do you?” Dale sneered, rolling up his sleeves as if to take a swing. Luckily, I’d come prepared. I reached behind me, pulling out a gleaming meat cleaver. The blade’s shine made them both step back in horror. “What’s your plan? Cut someone in broad daylight?” Linda stammered, her bravado melting away. “What’s your plan?” I replied. “Harassing a woman in broad daylight? Breaking into people’s homes?” They didn’t respond, only backed away, muttering threats before hurrying back to their apartment. I caught a glimpse of Charlie, their son, leering at me from their doorway, eyes full of resentment.

“Thank you… Without you, I don’t know what I would’ve done!” Kate Dawson sobbed, clearly shaken. I reassured her as I messaged Mr. Ron Collins. That’s when I learned the full story: the Winters had just barely bought the place, but they were behind on payments to the previous owner, who’d had trouble collecting the last bit of money. No wonder Mr. Collins had his hands tied. All he could do was try to keep an eye on them and hope things didn’t escalate. This couldn’t keep going on like this. I lay in bed, running through options. Moving? I’d invested too much money into this place, and with neighbors like them, selling would be tough. The police? So far, they hadn’t done anything major, so all the cops would give them was a warning. By the time they crossed the line, calling for help might be too late. I could feel my anger heating up. Not a good sign. I swallowed another pill and lay down. Drifting between sleep and waking, I was jarred awake by loud banging outside my door. Furious, I checked the peephole. Sure enough, there was Linda Winters, ushering in five or six relatives. Our one-bedroom apartments were tiny — nowhere near big enough for so many people. Just as I was wondering how they were all going to fit, I saw Dale Winters jamming a crowbar into the lock of the vacant unit across the hall, shoving the rest of his relatives inside. The owner was hardly ever home, which was probably why the Winters thought they could get away with it. I immediately notified Mr. Collins, who sighed in response. He couldn’t reach the owner, so without consent, he couldn’t report the break-in. I knew he just wanted to avoid a confrontation. Fine, I told myself. Just stay out of it unless they mess with me. I slipped on my headphones and tried to sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, hungry, so I took my headphones off. As I headed for the kitchen, I heard some rustling sounds outside my door. I figured it was a mouse or something small, but then the sound grew louder. It was mixed with heavy, weird breathing. I tiptoed to the peephole and took a look. My eyes felt violated. Charlie Winters — the chunky, foul-smelling teenager I’d seen earlier — was standing outside, peeing on my wall.

My fury hit a new high. Without a second thought, I threw open the door and gave him a brutal kick to his lower half. “AHHH!” He shrieked, rolling on the ground, and my rage turned to satisfaction. “Think you can mark your territory at my door? Next time, I’ll make sure you never try again!” Grabbing a pair of scissors from the kitchen, I dangled them just close enough to terrify him. Still clutching himself, Charlie scrambled back into his apartment, leaving a trail behind him. Holding my breath against the stench, I used a dustpan to scrape the mess back to their doorway. Just as I was about to close my door, Linda stormed up, yelling furiously. Luckily, I managed to close the door just as she lunged, hearing a loud thud followed by her yelping in pain. “You heartless monster! How dare you hurt my son! He’s my precious boy! If he’s injured, you couldn’t pay enough to cover it!” “Oh, please. ‘Precious’ seems like a stretch. Looks more like trash to me,” I muttered, listening through the door. “You lowlife! I’ll kill you!” “Look, keep pushing, and I’ll call the cops. And don’t forget, you just broke into someone else’s place today. One more thing, and it’s off to the station for you.” My warning must’ve hit home because she muttered some curses and slammed her door. I sprayed some perfume around my doorway to get rid of the smell. Even then, I couldn’t sleep, so I watched TV until I finally dozed off. At around six in the morning, the banging started again. They just wouldn’t stop.

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When my dad walked in on my mom cheating, he beat her so badly she was barely recognizable. I had to pull him off her to save her from worse. Later, she and her lover, Mark Ellis, poisoned my dad. Fearing the truth would come out, she locked me up, broke my limbs, and stitched my mouth shut so I couldn’t make a sound. Right before I died, I learned my brother Travis had taken out a million-dollar loan using my social security number. My family thrived off my name and money. Then, I opened my eyes—I was back on the day my mom got caught. Seeing that familiar scene, I felt my lips curl up into a smile. Go on, Dad. Hit her harder. She deserves it. “Linda Grant, have you any idea how I’ve treated you all these years? Since Diana was born, I’ve wanted you to live comfortably, so I covered all our expenses myself.” “And when Travis was born, I treated you like a queen. But look at you—you went and cheated!” “How dare you?!” With that, my dad raised the baseball bat and swung it toward my mom. Right then, I instinctively raised my arm, moved my legs, realizing that my body was whole and unharmed. I touched my lips; no cracked wounds or rows of stitches… I had been reborn. Travis’s face turned ghostly white as he grabbed my hand, voice choked with tears. “Diana, go stop Dad. If he keeps going, Mom will die!” Hearing that, my mom shot me a pleading look. Her body was bruised and bloody, her eyes were red, and blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth. “Diana, your dad listens to you. I promise I’ll never do it again!” “It’s all that bastard Mark’s fault. He lured me in, and I just lost control for a minute!” Even though I’d already died once, their pleas felt like being stabbed, each word a knife twisting in my flesh. In my last life, this had happened, too. My mom kept begging for mercy, and I softened, asking my dad again and again to give her another chance. I had no idea that, while she pretended to be the devoted wife, she was plotting with Mark to poison my dad’s food. They had him cremated while I wasn’t home. Later, she even had the audacity to marry Mark, calling herself a “single mom with two kids” who “needed a man to help around the house.” One night, I overheard them talking and finally learned the truth. My dad hadn’t died of a heart attack; they’d killed him, slowly and deliberately. I tried to pretend I didn’t know and sought a way to get revenge, but I knocked over a decoration in the process, tipping her off. Afraid I’d go to the police, my mom and Mark tied me to my bed. They broke my arms and legs so I couldn’t escape and sewed my mouth shut so I couldn’t speak. In desperation, I pinned my hopes on my brother, Travis. But what I never dreamed was that he would mockingly hold up my ID and say, “Sis, you ever heard of debt mules?” “I checked. You have a clean record and can take out over a million. Consider it your contribution to the family.” Then he lifted my chin, his smile as cold as it was cruel. “Oh, and by the way, I’m not even John Grant’s son. You’ll be joining your dead father real soon.” Remembering that brought a bead of sweat to my forehead. My open hand clenched into a fist. Last time, they killed my father and me in cold blood. This time, I’m making them pay.

“Dad, if things have come this far, you two might as well get divorced. Travis and I are already grown.” They all stared, shocked. They didn’t believe those words had just come out of my mouth. My dad’s hand froze mid-air. He took a step back and sat down hard on the couch. My mom staggered to her feet, pointing at me and screaming, “Diana, are you even human? How can you say something like that?!” “Do you know how hard it is for kids from single-parent families? Travis is a senior in high school! He’s got a crucial year ahead, and you don’t care about his future!” I let out a sarcastic chuckle and looked at her with a newfound hatred. Ever since she got pregnant with me, she’d been a stay-at-home mom. My dad worked himself to the bone to provide a good life for Travis and me, carrying the burden of supporting our family all on his own. Growing up, I’d resented him countless times. On every holiday, it seemed it was always just the three of us at home. But as I got older, I realized my dad was the one sacrificing the most. He’d keep only a couple of dollars a week for himself, sending the rest to my mom. He wore old, faded jackets while buying us sneakers that cost hundreds. He’d eat plain bread and water, giving the best to us with a smile, insisting he was full. In the end, it was because of us that he endured so much. Seeing that I wasn’t giving in, Travis shot me an angry look. “Diana, what kind of daughter tells her parents to get divorced?” My mom pulled him close, crying even louder. “Exactly! I raised you all these years, and now you’re not even on my side. But at least I have my son.” “John, for the kids’ sake, forgive me just this once. After everything we’ve been through, could you really bear to let it end?” “No matter how devoted Diana is, she’s still just a girl. We’ll need Travis to take care of us when we’re old. If we really split up… what would it do to him?” My mom knew that family was everything to my dad, and she put on a pitiful act, hoping he’d soften. Even though he was tough, he’d never thought sons were more important than daughters. Late nights while I was studying, he’d send encouraging texts, urging me on. “Girls need to explore the world, not be stuck in some small town,” he’d say. “Having you was meant to bring joy into my life, not trap you under someone else’s shadow.” I walked slowly over to him, noticing his back was now bent and weak, no longer the proud, resilient man he once was. I sat next to him, leaning against his shoulder, my voice shaking. “Dad, you’ve worked so hard all these years…” “Your daughter’s all grown up now. You don’t have to take care of me anymore.” “Please, live the life you deserve.” He lifted his head slowly, meeting my gaze. Tears glistened in his eyes. My mom threw Travis a glance, and he got the hint. He dropped to his knees, clutching my dad’s pants. “Dad, Mom knows she made a mistake…” “Dad, I don’t want you to split up.” My mom stood nearby, her tears flowing in rivers. But I knew it wasn’t my dad she couldn’t bear to lose. It was her “money machine.”

Later, my dad moved his bedding to the living room, ignoring my mom. But she and Travis dragged me into a room and started tearing into me. “Diana, you really just let him hit me, didn’t you? Enjoyed it, didn’t you?” Then she reached to grab my arm, but I dodged. “You brat, how dare you fight back? Don’t think that if we get divorced, you’ll get the house. Dream on. It all goes to your brother.” In our last life, my mom was a master at double-dealing. To the rest of the family, she acted as though she treated me and Travis equally. But behind closed doors? From the day Travis was born, he became her whole world. I was tasked with watching over him, cleaning the house, doing the cooking. The best of everything went to him, and if I so much as snuck a taste, I’d be punished, made to kneel in the kitchen all night, not allowed to sleep. By my senior year, I looked so malnourished people thought I was still in middle school. Whenever my dad came home, she’d pretend to care for me and always threatened that if I told him, she’d beat me even harder once he left. Even after I started working, she kept controlling me. Knowing Travis struggled with school, she pushed for expensive tutors and then started eyeing my paycheck. Her plan was for me to go unpaid and tutor him myself so he’d get into a good college. Remembering this, I let out a smile. It’s time they woke up from their dream. This time, Travis sneered with a twisted smile, taunting, “That’s right. Girls are money sinks, born to serve us.” “First you hand over your paychecks, then your dowry. And you’ll squeeze every penny from your in-laws to support me—that’s your destiny!” My mom, sensing I was staying silent, raised her hand to slap me, but I screamed louder than her. “Mom, I get it! I’m sorry! Please, don’t hit me again!” The two of them froze, thrown off by my reaction. Moments later, my dad stormed into the room, eyebrows knitted as he stepped between me and them. “Linda Grant, who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on my daughter?” Travis quickly tried to cover, “Dad, don’t listen to Diana. Mom loves her! She’d never hit her.” Inside, I couldn’t help but laugh at his pathetic attempt. So, we’re playing pretend now? I raised my arm without a second thought, rolling up my sleeve to reveal the bruises. “Dad, I’m not lying. Mom hit me, just now.” “She called me a waste of space and said I was born to give up everything for Travis, so he could live a better life.” Already furious, my dad’s anger reached a boiling point. Without hesitating, he turned and slapped my mom across the face. “If I ever hear you say another word like that, pack your things and leave. Take your son with you!” I watched his retreating figure, my eyes filling with tears as a heavy fog of emotion welled up inside me. In both lives, he’d always been the one person who truly loved me. But this time, it’s my turn to protect him.

That night, I lay awake, memories of the last life replaying over and over in my mind. The torment, the betrayals—I’d make sure they paid for all of it, with interest. The next morning, while my parents took Travis to a parent-teacher meeting, I set up the camera I’d bought, aiming it directly at the guest bedroom where they often schemed. I refused to tutor Travis anymore, making an excuse about an upcoming business trip, and I checked into a cheap motel to put distance between us. Back when I’d first graduated and landed a job, my mom had taken my paycheck, saying it was for “family support.” Left with nothing, I’d worked days at my job and nights delivering takeout just to get by. Her demands had started small but grew rapidly. The more I gave, the greedier she got, wanting thousands each month for Travis’s needs. After a week, things calmed down, and my dad’s anger seemed to have subsided. I watched the footage from the camera on my phone, listening as my mom and Travis chatted in the guest bedroom. Travis was whining, clutching my mom’s arm. “Mom, all my friends have the latest iPhones. Can’t you just take some of Diana’s money and get me one?” “Look at this old phone; it’s so slow it can barely load my games!” My mom smiled tenderly, brushing his hair back—a softness I’d never seen directed toward me. “Baby, that money’s set aside for your future. Besides, that little idiot Diana’s still obedient. If she’d snitched to your dad, we’d have nothing left.” “She’s such a sucker,” Travis scoffed, lounging back as she fed him fruit. “You should just kill Dad. Then we’ll have everything to ourselves.” I felt a chill run down my spine. My mom hesitated, but he pressed on, “Remember the last time he nearly beat you to death? Showing him mercy is a danger to yourself.” “Well, he’s heading out of town tomorrow. Just get rat poison from his friend—that way, even if there’s an investigation, it won’t trace back to us.” I sat bolt upright in my bed, heart pounding as I calculated. They were planning to move soon. What I didn’t expect was for someone to make the first move before they could even begin.

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When I was brutally killed, my father, Detective David Harper, and my mother, Chief Forensic Examiner Dr. Marjorie Harper, were both cheering on my sister, Sierra, at her tennis match. The killer—someone my father had arrested years ago and who now sought revenge—cut out my tongue and then used my phone to call my father. He picked up, irritated, and answered with only one sentence before hanging up. “Whatever’s going on, your sister’s match is the only thing that matters today!” The killer sneered, “Guess I kidnapped the wrong one. I thought they’d care more about their real daughter.” When my parents arrived at the crime scene, they were shocked by the brutal condition of the corpse and cursed the viciousness of the killer. But neither realized that the person lying dead before them was their own daughter. My body was found in an abandoned building, the Maplewood Construction Site. The workers who stumbled upon me were so horrified they couldn’t stop retching as they called the police. My parents were rushed to the scene, pulled away from Sierra’s celebration at the Greenfield Country Club. Dr. Steve Norton, the forensic specialist, waited grimly and gestured for them to put on their masks. Dad, Detective David Harper, was one of the top detectives in the state, and Mom, Dr. Marjorie Harper, was the leading forensic pathologist. Even with all the crime scenes they’d seen, they froze momentarily at the sight of the mangled body. In the oppressive summer heat, my body had begun to bloat, my face smashed beyond recognition, reduced to a bloody, shapeless pulp, my features unrecognizable. My neck was barely attached to my head, and the smell of rot was overpowering. Mom closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled on her gloves, beginning her preliminary examination. She looked down at my corpse with a trace of pity—a look she’d never given me in life. I watched, tensing as she slid off the bloodied ring I wore. It was part of a matching set I’d made for each of them, a gesture of love, but they’d once scolded me for trying to give one to Sierra, saying, “You’re just trying to stir up trouble, aren’t you? Bullying your sister again?” “Lena,” Mom had once said, “Sierra’s lived here for eighteen years. You’re our biological daughter, but she will always be more important in this family.” The memory of their harsh words echoed, yet I still believed they loved me enough to recognize my ring. But Mom, her expression unchanging, simply passed the ring to her assistant to bag as evidence. I should have known better than to hope. In their hearts, I’d never truly existed, even though I was their biological daughter. My brother Jack had always told me that my parents adopted Sierra because they couldn’t find me, and that I was the daughter they truly loved. But by the time I returned, there was no place left for me in that house. I was the outsider. After inspecting the scene, Dad sighed, turning to Mom. “What’s the situation with this body?” Mom removed her gloves, massaging her temples. “The victim seems to be around twenty. Cause of death appears to be a cut throat, but she was tortured for quite some time before that.” “Brutal,” Dad muttered, lighting a cigarette and drawing a long breath, his expression tight with worry. Even in death, it seemed I was a problem for them. Dr. Norton spoke up, “The killer’s still out there. Might be a good idea to keep an eye on your family. With two daughters, I wouldn’t let them out at night.” Mom’s annoyance flared. “Sierra’s usually obedient. It’s Lena I can’t control.” Dr. Norton, who knew our family well, watched Dad rub his shoulder. “You’ve got that shoulder issue again?” he asked Dad. “It’s nothing,” Dad replied. “I’ve got the heating pad Lena got me.” He stopped mid-sentence, momentarily taken aback. The rebellious daughter they complained about so much had cared enough to remember his shoulder pain. Dr. Norton patted him on the back. “You know, you should treat Lena a bit better. She’s your biological daughter, after all.” Dad shook his head. “Sierra’s tennis tournament was just the other day, and all she wanted was for Lena to come watch. But Lena ignored our calls. Sierra ended up disappointed and only took third place.” “She hasn’t been home in days,” he muttered bitterly. “Maybe she’ll never come back. She’s not like our Sierra; not the one we raised.” Hearing them blame me, I felt my spirit grow cold. I wasn’t staying away by choice. I simply couldn’t go home anymore. The ungrateful daughter they dismissed was already dead, lying here before them. My corpse, right in front of them, yet they didn’t know it.

At the case review, officers listened to Mom’s preliminary report with heavy faces. My condition was so horrific that facial identification was impossible. The Maplewood Construction Site wasn’t where I’d died; it was just the dumping ground, which complicated the investigation. Dad directed the officers to search around the site for suspicious activity. “Dr. Harper,” he said to Mom, “can you take a closer look and see if there’s anything new? Get the DNA samples to the lab right away.” Mom nodded and began examining my body as Dad left the room. They cared more about the case than they ever had about me. Mom had once stroked Sierra’s hair, saying how forensic science could be a beautiful way to honor the dead. I remembered how Sierra had rolled her eyes behind Mom’s back as if she found it ridiculous. I’d slapped her once, which had earned me a shaved head as punishment from Dad. Now, Mom gently brushed my hair back, whispering, “Dying this way…her family must be devastated.” I gave a dry, bitter smile. If my family cared about me, they’d be thrilled I was gone. Only my brother would probably feel sad. Mom’s hand moved to my back, where there was a large burn scar—something I got when I was abducted years ago. When they brought me home and saw it, Mom had remarked with disgust, “What happened to your back? Don’t scare Sierra with that.” Now, as her fingers touched the scar, I wondered if she’d recognize me. But her calm voice broke the silence, “This isn’t recent.” Suddenly, her assistant gasped, “Dr. Harper, there’s a piece of paper in her stomach!” Mom’s eyes widened, and she sighed, “The stomach acid has eroded it. Let’s see if forensics can extract anything useful.” At that moment, Mom’s phone rang with Sierra’s favorite song. Mom dashed out into the hall, her voice warm. “Sweetheart, what’s up? Mom’s at work.” “Tomorrow?” she paused and then, her voice softened, “Yes, Dad and I will be there for your match. Your brother’s still away on assignment.” Sierra’s voice echoed in my ears, playful and innocent. “You’re the best, Mom! I’d love it if Lena came to support me, too. I know she doesn’t like me much, though—it’s fair, I guess. I’ve kind of taken all the love you and Dad have to give.” Though she’d always been cruel to me, Sierra liked putting on an act of sisterly affection in front of Mom and Dad. Right on cue, Mom’s voice sharpened. “You’re our baby. Lena is just…nothing. She steals from us, bullies you behind our backs—she’s not my daughter.” “You don’t need to worry, honey. If Lena has to drag herself there in a wheelchair, I’ll make sure she attends!” Sierra chuckled sweetly. “Dad called earlier and told me to be safe. Mom, remember to tell Lena too.” “Take care of yourself, Sierra. So long as Lena doesn’t show up dead on our doorstep, I don’t care what she does.” Mom’s dislike for me was always evident. Maybe it was because I was the daughter they couldn’t shape into their ideal. When they found me, they hadn’t even changed my last name to Harper. In their eyes, Sierra was their only daughter.

After Sierra’s call, Mom got a call from my brother, Jack. “Jack, when are you back from your assignment? Your sister wants you to watch her match!” Mom blurted out before he could say a word. Jack had been the only one who showed me kindness when they’d brought me home. He’d held my hand and said, “Don’t worry, Lena. You’re home now.” On the phone, Jack hesitated. “Isn’t Lena’s math competition next month?” Mom cut him off, annoyed. “Lena, Lena! Sierra is the one who’s really your sister—how many times have I said that? Lena’s a bad influence, and she’s not fit to be a Harper.” Jack sighed, his frustration evident. “Mom, you really should give Lena a chance. She’s kind, and if you’d show her some care, you’d see it.” “She hasn’t answered my calls or texts,” he added. “Is she even at home?” Mom scoffed. “She goes wherever she pleases. I can’t tether her. Tomorrow is Sierra’s match, and if you can’t make it, no big deal.” Pausing, she added harshly, “Tell Lena if she doesn’t show up, she may as well never come back.” Just then, Dad returned, noticing her irritated expression. “Was the case difficult?” Mom shook her head, her tone exasperated. “It’s not the case. It’s Lena. I think she’s roped Jack into playing this disappearing act with her.” Dad exhaled loudly, clearly frustrated. “She knows we’re busy, and yet she pulls stunts like this. She’s so ungrateful. I’ll call her right now and straighten this out!” But call after call only went to voicemail. “She was better off never being found,” Dad muttered. “All she does is bring trouble.” Standing nearby, Dr. Norton had overheard everything. With a sigh, he murmured, “You both left your jobs for a year to look for her when she was taken. How did it come to this?” I wanted to smile, but bitterness filled me instead. They had found a version of me that didn’t fit their expectations. I was just a kid from the backwoods who didn’t know her place. When I came back at fifteen, the house was grander than anything I’d ever known. Mom and Dad were coddling Sierra as she cried. I stood there in patched clothes, staring down at my worn shoes with the torn toe. Sierra had looked up, pausing her tears to smirk, “Who’s this little street rat?” Mom and Dad’s faces had darkened, but not because of her words—they were disappointed in me. “Detective Harper, Dr. Harper.” A police officer approached with the incident reports. “No missing person reports over the last few days. The family didn’t notice she was gone. Do they not have a good relationship?” “Hard to believe some parents care so little,” someone muttered. I could feel the sadness wrapping around me like a heavy blanket, suffocating. They were heartbroken that some parents didn’t care about their kids, but not one of them thought to ask if I was safe during my disappearance. Years ago, they would have dropped everything for me. But now, they suspected my absence was a ploy for attention. Maybe I never should have come back. This was Sierra’s home, not mine. The years they should have spent loving me were already taken, and whatever love they had left was no longer mine.

Mom handed the partially digested piece of paper to Dr. Norton. Rubbing her sore back, she muttered to Dad, “I hope this can give us something. Did you remind Sierra to lock up?” Dad nodded, but there was a hint of unease in his eyes. “Marjorie, Lena’s not picking up her phone, and Jack hasn’t heard from her either. You don’t think…maybe I should get someone to check up on her?” Mom cut him off with an impatient sigh. “You know her—she’s probably hiding, waiting for us to come looking. This isn’t the first time.” “She’s just avoiding Sierra’s match. By tomorrow, she’ll be crying on the phone, begging for forgiveness.” The last time I’d gone “missing” was over the summer, when Sierra locked me in the school bathroom. I’d called for help until my voice was hoarse, and by the time I got out, my ankle was swollen, and I was covered in dirt. I went home, limping, hoping for a bit of comfort. But Dad had only hit me with a hard slap, with Mom shouting, “Sierra saw you sneaking off with some delinquent. How could I have raised someone so shameless?” I couldn’t speak for myself, only standing there while Sierra watched with a smug, hidden smile. Later, Jack had gently helped me clean up, saying softly, “It’s not that they don’t love you, Lena. They just don’t know how to show it.” But I knew better. Compared to Sierra, who was perfect, I would never have my parents’ love. The scales of their affection were always tipped against me. If I were still alive, I’d probably be at the station right now, bringing homemade soup for Mom and Dad when they had to work late. But this time, I couldn’t apologize to them like they expected. After all, I was dead. The forensics department quickly examined the paper. It turned out to be a receipt from a small shop. The killer had forced it into my mouth with contempt, taunting, “A little present for your mom and dad? Bet they’d just throw it in the trash.” Dad squinted at it. “Where’s this from?” Dr. Norton frowned, looking closer. “Looks like it’s from a place that sells charms and trinkets.” When they arrived at the shop with other officers, the store owner looked startled by their badges and uniforms. She took the crumpled receipt, checking the order number. “That was a young girl,” she recalled. “She said it was a gift for her parents, because of how dangerous their jobs are. I remember her well. She never picked them up, and she didn’t answer any of my calls.” The shopkeeper then brought out two small, red good-luck charms, explaining softly, “They’re for health and safety, long life and peace.” Dad took them, exhaling deeply. “Do you still have the security footage?” The shopkeeper nodded. “That girl spent so much time picking these out. Very quiet, very polite. I’d recognize her anywhere.” The security footage played on the small monitor, and the room fell silent. Mom swallowed hard, staring at the screen. “She…looks like Lena.” “Lena?” the shopkeeper replied. “That was the name on the order slip!” Dad’s face tightened, his voice low as he forced himself to stay calm. “It’s just a coincidence. I’m sure Lena’s somewhere laughing at us right now.” “Ma’am, did you and Lena plan this together? You know that obstructing police is a serious offense?” Just then, Mom’s phone rang again. Her voice wavered as she answered. “Julie?” It was her colleague, lab technician Julie Lee. “Dr. Harper, the DNA results on the victim are back,” Julie said urgently.

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Dan and I had been a DINK couple for ten years, but then he cheated. Now, his little fling, Cassie, stands there, belly out, saying, “If you don’t want to have kids, then give him up!” I was a little dazed, remembering why I chose the DINK life in the first place. Oh, right—it was when we had that premarital health screening, and Dan’s results came back: infertile, naturally. I hid the report to protect his pride and pretended I didn’t like kids, suggesting we just not have any. Dan looks at me, face full of guilt. “Laura, you’re the one I love, but my parents are getting older. I really want a child.” So, I divorced him calmly. Now I wonder—when should I finally send him that report I kept hidden? Cassie Lane, Dan’s little fling. I knew her too—a fresh-faced college grad who just started as the receptionist at his company. I was hardly surprised when I got her call. In the coffee shop, she sat down, belly proudly protruding. “You can see I’m pregnant—this baby is Dan’s,” she declared. “I heard you insisted on being a DINK. You’re so selfish! If you don’t want kids, don’t ruin Dan’s chances!” “If you don’t want kids, then make room for someone who does!” I felt dizzy, wondering again why I ever suggested we be a DINK couple. Ah, right—it was at the premarital screening. Dan’s results had shown he was naturally infertile, and I wanted to spare him the shame, so I hid the report and lied, pretending not to want kids. I looked at Cassie’s face, my expression complicated. Then I let my gaze rest on the coffee in front of her. “Since you’re pregnant, maybe switch to milk.” With that, I got up and left. Back home, I dug through the back of my closet until I found that old report. I spent $40 consulting a doctor online, asking if there was any way to treat Dan’s condition. The answer was no. Seeing my parents’ confused expressions, I laughed freely, feeling lighter than I had in years. Dan’s cheating didn’t surprise me—I’d known for a while. He hadn’t hidden it very well. First, there were the unexplained messages, then all his late nights at the office, and then the obvious: perfume that wasn’t mine on his clothes, movie tickets, and a lipstick under his car’s passenger seat. I’d thought about confronting him, making a scene, but ultimately I did nothing. After ten years, our once-fiery love had worn down, little by little, into nothing more than mundane routines, endless arguments about children with his parents, and Dan’s growing impatience with me. If anything was worth holding on to, it was that he’d once agreed to our DINK life. But after finding out about his affair, that felt meaningless. One evening after dinner, I finally spoke up. “Cassie came to see me a few days ago.” He looked over at me, not even flinching, and replied with a calm “Oh.” That dismissive “Oh” broke the last of my hesitation. “We should get a divorce,” I told him. And we started the process. I didn’t want the house; he gave me half its value in cash, plus some savings. Altogether, I walked away with about $300,000. I knew he’d drained all his little company’s funds to gather that money. On the day of the divorce, Dan said, “Laura, I love you, but my parents are old, and I really want a child.” Every word implied that even though he cheated, it somehow wasn’t really his fault. I nodded, acting like I understood completely. But inside, I was just waiting for the right time to let him know the truth. Outside the courthouse, Cassie waited, flaunting her belly again. She held a slip with a waiting number for the marriage license office. Dan noticed me eyeing it. “A marriage license makes things easier when the baby comes,” he explained. I smirked. “Don’t worry, it’s none of my business.” “Congratulations,” I told Cassie. Dan, smiling, added, “Thank you, Laura.” Cassie scoffed and yanked his arm. “Can’t you hear them calling our number? It’s our turn!” I watched them walk into the office, then took a cab straight to the airport. Newly single, financially comfortable—I deserved a good time! 2 I flew to Savannah, Georgia, a place I’d always dreamed of visiting. Strolling through the historic district along its old cobblestone alleyways, with the sea breeze blowing and good food in hand, everything about Dan faded into the background. I spent one night at a local tavern, sipping wine and chatting with a few men who struck up conversation, laughing until I was pleasantly tipsy. I was tempted to pursue a fling, but in the end, I chickened out. On my way back, a sound stopped me. In a quiet corner of an alley, a man sat on the steps, covering his face, clearly crying. Under the streetlight, his wedding band gleamed faintly. Maybe it was the wine, but I found myself blurting, “Your wife cheated on you? What’s there to cry about?” I patted his shoulder, telling him, “Look at me—my husband cheated, and I’m still happy as can be!” The man looked up, his face wet with tears, and glared at me. “My wife didn’t cheat on me.” “Oh.” I let out an awkward laugh. Half an hour later, I knew his name and his story, and I had a crazy thought. “How would you feel about marrying me?” The man, Elliot Shaw, was also from the States and, as it happened, from the same city as me. He and his late wife had both wanted kids, but her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous, so they’d decided to adopt. Just when they were ready to start the process, she caught a bad cold, and her weakened heart couldn’t handle it. He’d come to Savannah alone, a trip they were supposed to take together. After I told him my story, he said, “You shouldn’t have lied to him. Maybe things would have turned out differently.” I was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe. But I never wanted his guilt or gratitude. I just wanted pure love.” Now, I really wanted a child. That was actually another reason I’d come here. At a nearby clinic, they let single women use IVF. But eventually, I’d have to return to the States. Dan’s comment about marriage licenses reminded me that things like school registration and a birth certificate would be simpler with a husband’s name on them. When I bumped into Elliot tonight, I realized I’d found the perfect partner for this plan. I told him, “We could get married. Once all the paperwork for the baby is done, we could divorce. Plus, you wanted to adopt, didn’t you? Single people can’t adopt back home. You help me, and I’ll help you.” I extended my hand. “So? Partners?” After a minute of serious thought, he shook my hand. “Partners.” Elliot went back home, but I stayed in Savannah. After three months, I wasn’t returning alone. I was carrying a little life inside me. When I touched down, jet-lagged and barely settled, I faced my parents’ interrogation. “You’ve got some nerve, doing something this huge without telling us. Do you even think about us anymore?” 3 “Having a baby isn’t some small thing! Do you know what it takes to raise a child? How are you going to handle everything alone?” “Dan’s a jerk. Sure, divorce him. But why ruin your own life? Just because he has a kid, you need one too?” Maybe it was “baby brain” setting in early, but before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Dan’s kid isn’t even his.” The words stopped my mom mid-sentence. “What did you just say?” She leaned forward, and even my dad looked shocked. The secret was out, so I told them everything. “Dan’s infertile. His count is zero. I checked with a doctor—there’s no cure.” My mom’s jaw dropped, then she burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. My dad joined in, saying, “Serves him right! Karma!” Once they’d finally stopped laughing, my mom asked, “So, that baby of Cassie’s is due any day now. When are you going to tell Dan?” I placed a hand over my stomach. “There’s no rush. The longer he believes it’s his, the more he’ll enjoy being a dad, right?” The deeper Dan’s attachment to that baby, the sweeter it’ll be when he learns the truth. Elliot and I registered our marriage. We signed prenups and a mountain of paperwork to ensure each other’s rights. My mom remarked that we seemed more like business partners than a married couple. She even hinted, “Elliot’s a decent guy. Now that you’re married, why not make it real?” I firmly shut that down. “Mom, I just wanted a baby and a marriage license to make things easier for them later. And to give him a dad on paper. It’s just a formality.” My dad was more understanding. “It’ll be great for the kids and their future, and we get to keep you here with us too.” “Smart thinking, Dad!” I also met the little girl Elliot and his late wife had hoped to adopt, a sweet five-year-old with a heart condition that led her biological parents to abandon her. “She’ll be fine after her surgery,” Elliot assured me. I didn’t try to comfort him. This was just a partnership. Best to set clear boundaries from the start. Three months into my pregnancy, I went to County General to establish care. As I walked out of the appointment, I saw Dan walking down the hall, phone pressed to his ear. “Last night, it happened. He’s here,” he said proudly. “Yeah, a boy—seven and a half pounds.” He smiled as he finished the call, then turned and saw me. “Laura?” “Congratulations,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Looks like you’re a dad.” He cleared his throat, nodding. “Thanks.” Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you here for…?” I simply said, “For a checkup.” His eyes drifted to the “Assisted Reproduction” sign beside me, and he flashed a look that was half-sympathetic, half-smug. “Well, these days, medicine’s so advanced. Plenty of options for people wanting kids.” I almost laughed. “You’re right,” I said. Though, as he’ll eventually realize, some things even modern medicine can’t fix—like infertility and, apparently, self-delusion. 4

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To save my brother, my mom forced me into early labor, drugging me to have my baby born prematurely. The moment my son was born, he was used in a bone marrow transplant for my brother. The surgery left my son with a fatal infection, and he didn’t survive. I was devastated, and in my grief, I was hit by a car. After I died, my husband, unable to bear it, jumped off a bridge with our young daughter in his arms. My family was so wrapped up in my brother’s recovery that they thought my death was justified. Even at my graveside, my mom just kept saying: “Now that you’re gone, don’t forget to bless your brother. That’s what a real sister would do.” Coming back for a second chance, I’ll finally see if my mom has it in her to act like a mother. When I woke up in the hospital, Jack was by my side. “How could you keep something as big as being pregnant from me?” he asked. It took me a moment to process everything. Then, suddenly, it hit me—I was back. I’d been given another chance. And I was right at the moment I’d just discovered I was pregnant. Jack took out his phone, still upset. “I’m calling Mom. She should know.” I grabbed his phone from him. “Jack, what if we don’t go through with this?” Seeing him again choked me up. The events of the last life washed over me; I felt the pain of all I’d put him through. Jack softened, surprised at my suggestion. “Megan, it was wrong of me to get so upset that day. You’re my wife. I love you, and I love this baby too. But I also won’t stand by while someone else suffers if we can help.” His caring words hit me hard. In my last life, Jack worried deeply after our difficult first pregnancy. He even planned to get a vasectomy so I’d never have to suffer through a second birth. But then, to save my brother, I went behind his back and got pregnant again. We had a terrible fight, and I accused him of having no heart. In the end, he reluctantly went along with it. As soon as I knew I was pregnant, I told my mom, unwittingly triggering the tragedy to follow. When her call came, she jumped right to it, her voice excited, asking if I was expecting. I answered bluntly, “No.” “Megan, you have to hurry,” she snapped. “You know how bad things are with your brother. Be a good sister.” Her familiar refrain hit me hard. “Mom, I don’t make all the decisions around here. If you’re that concerned, there are other ways.” And I hung up. Jack still looked puzzled, but I just said, “If you want our family to stay safe and sound, you’ll trust me on this.” Two months ago, Billy had been diagnosed with leukemia. The only way to save him was a bone marrow transplant, but none of our family members matched. My mom’s solution? Get me pregnant with another baby for Billy. In my last life, I had fought for months to deliver a second child, risking my own life. My son was just a baby, yet they rushed him into a transplant. Billy recovered, but my son was too young, too fragile, and the infection was too strong. He died soon after. The family celebrated Billy’s recovery, but I fell into despair. Overcome by grief, I was struck by a car and died. My husband, heartbroken and desperate, threw himself off a bridge with our daughter. Our entire family gone in a flash. And my mom and Billy? They went on, living luxuriously with the money Jack and I had left behind. This time, I just wanted to be a good wife and mother. Once she learned I wasn’t pregnant, my mom was visibly disappointed. I took her hand and told her, “Even if I have another child, there’s no guarantee he’ll be a match for Billy.” Of course, in my last life, I knew my son’s marrow would match Billy’s perfectly. My mom frowned, “Stop talking like that.” “I have another idea that could improve Billy’s odds,” I told her. Her face brightened. “What’s that?” “You could have a baby. That way, whichever child matches best could donate the marrow.” She paled and glanced awkwardly at Jack. With a forced smile, she replied, “Don’t you think people would laugh at me for having a baby at my age?” “Mom, what’s a little gossip compared to saving Billy? You’re his mother, after all. Shouldn’t you act like it?” My mom stared at me in disbelief. I had always done exactly what she wanted, never defying her before. I could tell she was shocked I’d even suggested such a thing. After all, she had never once thought to consider bearing a child to save her son. No, she had pushed that burden on me instead.

After a brief silence, my mom got serious and said, “I’ll need to discuss this with your dad. You know how his job is. When Billy was younger, we had to pay off so many fines because of him.” Then, almost to herself, she muttered under her breath, “If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have had to hide out like he did, barely getting enough nutrition to grow up healthy. You set him back, that’s what.” “Oh, times have changed, Mom,” I replied, sarcasm barely contained. “Who knows, if you two had a second child, Dad might get a retirement promotion for answering the call. Wouldn’t that be something?” That shut her up. I saw the look in her eye, as if she’d rip me to shreds if she could. She’d always had that glint of anger toward me. Even my name was an unlucky omen to her. Everything bad she pinned on me; Billy’s problems, the hardships. And if I were gone, she’d say my death was just “right.” In less than three days, she showed up at my place. I was sipping some tea when she barged in, demanding to know what I was drinking. “Jack’s friend brought back some saffron tea from a trip out West. Supposedly, it’s worth a hundred dollars a gram.” My mom, ever the opportunist, immediately wanted me to set some aside for her to take home. That was just what I was hoping for, considering I’d saved it just for her. She then handed me a paper. “I haven’t been feeling well, so I went to the doctor. They told me I’m in menopause.” I glanced at it. Just as I thought—a cheap excuse to get out of my suggestion. I knew she was bluffing. Just last week, I’d seen a box of tampons in her bathroom. What, did she use them for a nosebleed? “Well, Mom, you hang on to that.” I handed her the paper back. “While you’re at it, take a look at this one. It’s not that I don’t want to be a good sister, but I do have some concerns.” She handed me the proof of her supposed diagnosis, but I had my own, showing I had a small tumor. Harmless for now, but it would interfere with any chance of helping Billy. Mom called us over for dinner that night, saying there’d be “company.” The so-called guest was none other than Ruby Malone. In my last life, Ruby was nothing more than my mom’s pawn. She was a simple country girl, barely twenty and utterly clueless. She had a chunky gold necklace around her neck that looked so out of place on her—proof enough my mom was willing to spend on her if it served her plans. “Jack, this is your cousin Ruby,” she said, putting on a pleasant voice. “She’s hoping to find a job in the city, so I thought she could help out at the factory.” Jack glanced at me, knowing I usually made the decisions. Our factory was full of machines and heavy labor, not a place for a young girl with no experience. In the last life, Ruby started at the factory under the guise of learning the job, but she spent more time getting close to Jack. He tried to warn me, but I dismissed him. After I died, she drugged him into a marriage, stole everything, and left him so broken he took his own life. This time, I stepped in, blocking her view of Jack. “Jack’s shop is all machine work—heavy and greasy. Not exactly a girl’s place. Dad, didn’t you say your office needed a part-timer? She could help out with some clerical work. Sounds much better, and more respectable.” I turned to my dad. “Didn’t you mention something about needing a dependable temp? It’d look great on her resume if she wants to marry someday.” Ruby’s face went pale. She shrank back and cried, “Auntie, I don’t want to end up with a broken arm! I need to work and help my parents someday!” “Oh, that’s rare,” my mom interjected hastily. “It’s not like it happens all the time.” “Alright, let’s start her on Monday, then,” my dad said, interrupting. Since he’d spoken, my mom had no choice but to stay quiet. But I knew she wouldn’t let it go that easily.

Later, my daughter’s preschool called, saying her stomach hurt. I rushed over and found she was dehydrated. She explained, “Nana picked me up for lunch, but I just ate ten popsicles. Next time, I’ll save them for the lady.” “Which lady?” I knew there was no “lady” at my mom’s house. It had to be Ruby. Why was she at my mom’s? What were they planning? I tried calling Jack, but his phone was out of reach. I headed to my mom’s house, and when I walked in, there she was, comfortably sprawled on the couch with a smug look, cracking sunflower seeds. “Oh, you’re here already?” she said, a note of surprise in her voice. I ignored her, headed straight to the guest room, and kicked the door open. There was Ruby, straddling Jack, practically naked, tugging at his shirt. The whole thing was exactly what it looked like. I glared at my mom. She didn’t bother trying to explain, her expression indifferent. “Oh, what are you two up to in here?” she asked, feigning innocence. I yanked Jack up. He was unconscious, but there was no way he’d gotten this drunk on his own. I slapped his face a few times, but he didn’t respond. Then I saw the glass of water on the nightstand. Before I could reach it, my mom snatched it and spilled it on the floor, muttering, “Just some honey water for his hangover!” “Mom, what are you hiding? I didn’t even ask what was in it.” If my guess was right, that water was laced with a sleeping pill. This playbook was too familiar; the only difference was how desperate they’d gotten this time. My mom turned on Ruby, scolding her, “I told you to bring your brother-in-law water, not do something so embarrassing! Now get out!” “Auntie, but didn’t you just…” Ruby started, her voice shaking. “Just what? Get out now!” my mom barked. Then she pulled me aside, softening her tone. “Megan, be grateful it was Ruby. This didn’t get out of hand, thank goodness. And remember, Jack’s a man; even if he doesn’t say it, he wants a son. I had someone check, and a second child for you would definitely be a boy.” “No son,” she continued, “and you might as well be invisible to Jack. Other women would be thrilled to give him a son.” In the last life, I’d believed my mom’s twisted reasoning, and I even transferred part of our joint savings into her name. Then I delivered the baby prematurely to rush it into a transplant for Billy. My son was too weak to fight the infection, and I lost him too soon. I faked agreement, taking my mom’s hand. “Mom, I know you only want the best for us. I’d love to have a son, too.” She seemed pleased, but I had no intention of repeating past mistakes. I used a cool washcloth to rouse Jack, and we went home together as a family. Jack kept glancing back at me, puzzled, saying, “I feel like something was off today. I couldn’t even bring myself to drink with Ruby there.” I had to smile at that. Jack was as steady as ever, and I knew my mom was behind this—feeding my daughter popsicles to distract me, trying to drive a wedge between us, and pushing me to have a second child to use as “insurance.” But this time, I wasn’t about to fall into her trap. As we walked home, Jack asked thoughtfully, “Why’s your dad been working so late?” At that moment, in the shadows of the streetlights, I spotted Ruby sneaking out from our house. “Just wait,” I murmured with a smile. “Soon, Dad won’t be the only one putting in extra hours.”

Ruby wasn’t going anywhere. She’d officially moved into my mom’s house. My mom tried to act as if she were doing me a favor, saying, “It’s good she has a place to stay; besides, she’s practically free help around here.” Seeing her so smug, I just let it slide. “Don’t worry, Mom. I don’t mind.” It wouldn’t be long until she did. When my dad came home from work, Ruby practically ran to take his coat, even setting his slippers down at his feet. My mom, watching with a sneer, muttered to herself, “Might as well be a maid with a servant’s heart.” Then, flashing a grin at Ruby, she said, “Look at her, so good with people.” If only she knew just how “good” Ruby was with Dad. Ruby took over the kitchen that evening, serving my dad every dish like she’d made it just for him. My dad, with his high blood sugar, needed to avoid certain foods, but she prepared everything as if it was all for his indulgence. I “accidentally” dropped my fork, bending down just enough to see Ruby’s foot tracing along my dad’s leg. As we ate, my mom excused herself, and Ruby turned her gaze to my dad, her eyes heavy with suggestion. After dinner, my mom happily cracked sunflower seeds on the couch while Ruby did all the chores. When my dad stepped out for his usual evening walk, Ruby eagerly took out the trash to follow him. Watching her, my mom yawned and said to me, “By the way, that tea I got from you really improved my sleep. I was out like a log from seven in the evening till ten the next morning. Ruby’s so helpful; she did all the housework while I slept!” I laughed to myself. She wasn’t lying; Ruby really had “done” everything. Satisfied with her newly rested state, my mom turned to me. “Megan, don’t forget your brother is still waiting in the hospital.” From the way she beamed, you’d think Billy’s illness was a distant memory. I almost wanted to remind her that he was still in the ICU. “Don’t worry, Mom,” I assured her. “Jack and I are working on it.” With that, my mom left for the night, but as she stood, I noticed a dark red stain on her pants. “Mom, are you on your period?” I asked, genuinely surprised. She spun around, alarmed, finally spotting the blood on her skirt. That “saffron tea” was working its magic, like a tonic restoring the very life she’d tried to pretend was gone. Then, out the corner of my eye, I caught Ruby slipping her hand under her collar, pulling it higher to cover some fresh-looking bruises around her neck. And my dad? He walked away flushed, with an extra bounce in his step. Turning to my mom, I squeezed her hand. “You said you’d hit menopause, right? Maybe if you’re blessed enough to carry a child, it’ll be just the one to save Billy.” My mom shook her head, uneasy. “Megan, it’s not happening. I’m way past that stage.” My dad didn’t say a word as he walked to his study, Ruby following close behind with a cup of tea. Taking my mom aside, I whispered, “Mom, as your daughter, let me just say…some things are worth paying attention to.” A month later, as Jack and I strolled through the mall, my mom called, furious, her voice like a shriek through the receiver. “Megan, get home now! Bring Jack too!” “You little tramp!” she screamed. “You absolute disgrace!” The expletives were flying, and Jack looked at me, alarmed. “We need to get back. Something must be wrong.” I held up a few shirts to try on. “Don’t worry. We’re right on time. Let’s see how this unfolds.”

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2:00 a.m. I found my sister, Sarah, in the basement of our house, even though she was supposed to be with her husband, Brian, in London. She was wearing a red satin slip dress, her body bruised and bound in chains, with red-stained bandages wrapped tightly around her legs. Seeing me, Sarah looked desperate and mouthed, “Watch out for Mom and Dad!” I wanted to ask her what happened, but footsteps echoed above us. Someone was moving around upstairs. I didn’t know what it meant, but my instincts told me to hide, fast. I slipped into an old cabinet just as someone descended the stairs. Peeking through the crack, I saw Dad, Charles. He was holding a plate piled high with yesterday’s leftovers—food that looked as unappetizing as it did cold. The second Sarah saw him, she began shaking with fear. Dad grabbed her chin with his thumb crease and forced her mouth open, shoving spoonfuls of the food inside. She gagged, her face twisting in pain until she vomited. He just stood there, watching in silence, then began force-feeding her again, waiting until she finished every last bite before he gave her a smug smile. Then he set the plate aside and reached into his pocket, pulling out a paring knife. Loosening the red-stained bandages around her legs, he revealed a sight that made my stomach drop—her once-smooth legs were now swollen, bruised, and some areas were oozing. Dad pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. If I remembered correctly, those glasses were Sarah’s graduation gift to him. I knew exactly what he was about to do before he even started. Holding that knife, the one I’d used to slice apples, he began cutting into her legs, slicing away chunks of flesh. The metallic smell of blood and rotting flesh filled the room. I clenched my lips tightly, desperate to keep silent. Dad’s gaze suddenly snapped toward my hiding place. I stilled, heart hammering, until his eyes finally drifted away. He gathered up the meat he’d just sliced and left. When the room fell silent, I shakily climbed out of the cabinet. My legs felt like jelly, barely holding me up. I crawled to my sister’s side, horrified by the state she was in. Her legs were wrapped in fresh bandages, but they’d already soaked through with blood. How could Dad do this? To his own daughter? Sarah and I had never shared the same father. My mom married Charles when I was little. Sarah had always been the perfect daughter. She never liked my mom initially but gradually grew warmer to her, so I thought we were all moving toward something good. But now, Sarah was whispering that my mother had killed her own mother. That both of our mothers were murderers. She warned me to stay away from them. I don’t remember making it back to my room. Lying there, I told myself, over and over, that it was only a dream—that Sarah and Brian were still in London.

In the morning, I came downstairs to find Mom busy in the kitchen. Dad sat at the table, reading the paper, his face calm and content as sunlight filtered through the window. I slid into the seat across from him, eyeing the big breakfast spread. Finally, I asked, “Dad… where’s Sarah?” He frowned, reaching over to feel my forehead. His face softened with an odd, almost amused expression. “Are you feeling alright, sweetheart? Sarah and Brian moved to London two years ago. You remember—you cried when they left.” Yes. That was right. I remembered watching them board the plane. Was it really just a nightmare? Mom came in, setting down a bowl of steaming beef broth, spooning a generous portion into my bowl. She told me to eat it all up. The smell was savory, but as I stared at it, the nausea crept in. Mom noticed my hesitation. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” “No, I like it. Thanks, Mom,” I mumbled, stirring the broth slowly, lifting a slice of meat from the bowl. The memory of my dream hit me, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I leaned over and threw up. Mom rushed over, patting my back, alarmed. “Honey, do you need to go to the hospital?” Everything seemed normal, but something felt terribly wrong. Mom never used to be this doting. My mind went back to Sarah in the cellar. I glanced at Dad, horrified. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” he asked, looking mildly amused. No. This wasn’t like him at all. My dad had never cared much for me before, never even looked in my direction. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was hidden beneath this facade. If what I saw was real, then the man I called Dad had locked his daughter in the cellar, cut pieces of her flesh, and served it to me as beef broth. I couldn’t handle it. Gripping my thumb crease under the table, I forced myself to calm down. After a deep breath, I said, “I didn’t sleep well. I’m going back upstairs to rest.”

I reached the stairway corner, just out of sight of the living room, before dashing to the cellar. But when I reached it, there was nothing—just the same old cluttered furniture. The bed Sarah had been lying on was empty, occupied only by a teddy bear, her gift to me on my eighteenth birthday. There was no sign of Sarah. No red-stained bandages. It must have been a dream. I leaned against the wardrobe, breathing heavily. But something didn’t add up. It felt too real. Then, in the corner of the cabinet, I spotted a small button—one from my pajamas. I really had hidden in there last night. “Lily, what are you doing down here?” I whipped around. Dad was behind me, his gaze sharp and scrutinizing, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light. Swallowing down my panic, I clutched the teddy bear and stammered, “I…I missed Sarah and wanted to find the teddy bear she gave me.” It was the best excuse I could come up with. Dad’s expression was cold and calculating, like a snake watching its prey. He looked at me for a long moment, then said, “Take what you need and leave. There’s no reason to be down here.” I forced a smile, hugging the bear as I walked out, making a show of mumbling, “She could’ve at least called after all this time.” Dad trailed behind me at a steady distance. I could almost feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. “She just got there, Lily,” he said in an even tone. “She’s busy. Don’t bother her with calls.” Why hadn’t I thought to call her? I went back to my room, pulled out my phone, and dialed her number. “Sorry, your account is suspended due to lack of payment.” What? She’d filled my account with credit before she left. Confused and scared, I checked the Wi-Fi and saw it was disabled, and my phone had no signal. I was trapped—no way to call for help, no way to reach Brian.

Ever since that morning, I felt more and more drained each day, my energy sapped. And every day, Mom brought me another bowl of beef broth. Each time I looked at the meat in the broth, I thought of Sarah, and the nausea returned. I couldn’t drink it. But for reasons I couldn’t explain, I found myself lifting the spoon. Mom’s voice coaxed me to drink, and I did, helpless to resist. Once I finished, Mom seemed pleased. She set down the bowl and helped me to the cellar. There was Sarah again, lying on the bed, more of her body wrapped in red-stained bandages. Mom placed a stool near the bed and sat me down. Slowly, she unwrapped the bandages, revealing new gashes where her flesh had been cut. She muttered, “My sweet girl doesn’t like beef broth, so let’s make some sliced cold cut.” She took out a knife and, with a chilling calm, said, “A friend gave Dad this fish just a few days ago—so tender, so fresh.” Then she sliced into Sarah’s flesh as Sarah’s wide, terrified eyes looked on. “Sweetheart, here’s your favorite—sliced cold cut.” I stared in horror as she brought the bloody meat toward my mouth, forcing me to chew, to swallow. Sarah looked back at me, her eyes filled with disbelief, anger, and finally, despair. Inside, I screamed, No, I can’t do this! This is my sister! But no one heard me.

“No!” I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. A calm, gentle voice brought me back. “Did you have a nightmare, dear?” I looked up. It was Dr. Alice Morgan, her face compassionate and kind. I took in my surroundings, realizing I was in a hospital room. Dr. Morgan explained, “You had a fever and were unconscious for days. Your mom’s been here the whole time. They just stepped out for a meal.” But the memory of that night clung to me, so vivid I couldn’t let it go. Still uneasy, I borrowed her phone to call Sarah’s number. This time, the call went through. But all I heard was the muffled noise of a crowded room. No voice replied, no matter how many times I shouted. Dr. Morgan smiled, interpreting my confusion. “Sounds like they’re somewhere noisy—a karaoke bar, maybe, or a downtown pub. It’d be hard for anyone to hear you over that.” I glanced away, feeling foolish. I had never set foot in a bar or a karaoke place, so I had no idea what it was like. “Why…why can’t I hear her voice at all?” Dr. Morgan chuckled gently. “The noise on her end is probably drowning you out. She’s likely having a good time and can’t hear her phone at all.” I wanted to press further, but at that moment, Mom returned. She entered quietly, her gaze soft but unreadable, and settled in the chair beside my bed. She brought a thermos with her, the kind she always carried, and set it down. Opening it, she said with a kind smile, “I know how much you like your sliced cold cuts, but since you’re not well, let’s stick with some beef broth for now, alright?” My stomach twisted as I watched the steam rise from the bowl of beef broth she handed me. The presentation was pleasant, the aroma rich and inviting, but I hesitated, feeling unease bubble up inside me. Mom noticed and said, “Sweetie, what’s the matter? You want me to feed you? You’re old enough to eat on your own—you’ll have to do that when you’re married, after all.” I barely registered her words. I focused instead on the bowl inching closer to my mouth. My panic flared, and before I realized it, I’d shoved the bowl away, spilling the hot broth all over her hand. She flinched but remained calm, the red marks on her hand showing through. I quickly grabbed some tissues and started wiping her hand, my voice rushing with apologies. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to. I…I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Mom gave me a small smile, patting my hand reassuringly. “It’s alright, honey. No harm done. I just didn’t hold it tight enough.” But as she gathered herself, her soothing words somehow felt hollow. Another nightmare?

Lately, the nightmares had become almost constant. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was following me, threatening me. I decided I had to do something drastic—I needed to find a way to protect myself. I told Mom and Dad that I was going up Red Ridge to pray at the Mountain Chapel. They surprised me by offering to come along, saying they wanted to support me. I’d never had so much attention from both of them, and though I was nervous, a part of me felt warm, like maybe everything would be alright. We set out that afternoon, and by the time we neared the chapel, the sun had already dipped below the horizon. The shadows lengthened, and the chill in the air grew. As we neared a cliffside path, I spotted an old man sitting by the edge, wearing a ragged fisherman’s hat and holding a fishing pole as if he were casting into the sky itself. Trying to lighten the mood, I nudged Dad and joked, “Look at that old man, fishing right off a cliff!” Dad looked in the direction I was pointing, his brow creasing. “What old man? There’s nothing there but rocks.” I blinked. Rocks? But I could clearly see the man, still there on the cliff’s edge, turning his head slowly until it felt like his gaze met mine.

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