My father didn’t like me. From kindergarten to college graduation, he never shared a single meal with me, nor did he celebrate any of my birthdays. When other children nestled in their fathers’ arms to fall asleep, I cried alone in the dark little bedroom, clutching my stuffed toy tightly. My father was always busy with work. He was the CEO of a public company, a big and important boss, highly accomplished. My classmates would comfort me, saying it was normal. Their parents were the same. But their parents hired kind and caring nannies to look after them, to prepare delicious meals, and to tuck them into bed every night. I wasn’t so lucky. In kindergarten, I was sent to daycare. Once I started elementary school, I boarded at school full-time. My time with my father was already painfully limited, and he never hired a warm-hearted nanny to care for me. As I grew older, my understanding deepened. I gradually came to realize that my father didn’t like me. He didn’t love me. For over a decade, this truth remained constant. But just now, an opportunity presented itself. My father’s first love’s daughter was diagnosed with kidney failure and needed a transplant. Kidneys weren’t easy to match, so my father arranged for all blood relatives to be tested. None of them were a match. In the end, I was the only one left. Perhaps it was fate. I was a match. The moment he saw the report, a light ignited in his eyes, one that was difficult to describe. He looked at me and said in a low voice. “Ava, if you’re willing to donate your kidney, I’ll do anything you want.” For a fleeting moment, countless images flashed through my mind. Elegant necklaces in display cases, luxurious gowns, dazzling sports cars, even the clear-eyed, gentle boy I admired. But as those countless desires dissolved, my thoughts settled on a single word: Dad. I looked up at the man before me, whose face resembled mine by seven-tenths. “Dad,” I said. “I want you to love me.” Such a childish request. The moment the words left my mouth, I realized just how twisted my longing for his missing love had become. He froze, surprised by what I had said, but he nodded nonetheless. “Alright, as long as you’re willing to donate. “I’m your father. Of course, I’ll love you.”

My father, Robert Davis. In his youth, he was the heir to the Davis Group. During college, he met his first love, Sarah Williams. The two fell in love at first sight, quickly starting a passionate romance that became the source of many dramatic rumors on campus. But with Robert’s high-profile status, how could his marriage ever be a matter of personal choice? Adding to that, Sarah’s family was impoverished, making their union even more impossible. Robert fought against his parents for three years but eventually conceded, agreeing to an arranged marriage. The chosen bride was my mother, Emma Thompson, a pampered daughter from a wealthy family. Though she wasn’t thrilled about the arranged marriage, she didn’t oppose it either. Over time, she even fell in love with Robert, cooking for him, taking care of the household, and becoming the epitome of a virtuous wife. Their marriage, respectful and cooperative, became a model example of arranged unions. Until the day my mother gave birth to me when everything changed. From the moment her water broke to the onset of labor pains, Robert was nowhere to be found. Calls to his phone went unanswered. It wasn’t until the moment she was wheeled into the operating room that Robert finally called back. “Sorry,” he said. “Sarah’s back.” In the end, my mother died in the delivery room due to complications. The Thompson family was enraged upon hearing the news. In their fury, they immediately severed all ties with the Davis Group and deliberately sabotaged their operations, causing catastrophic losses. At the time, Robert’s parents had just passed away, and he had only recently taken over the company. His inexperience left him vulnerable, making it a perilous time for the Davis Group. The Thompson family’s ruthless actions plunged the company into chaos, leaving Robert in shambles as he was berated by the board and overwhelmed by the pressure. Previously, he had always been seen as a golden boy. Overnight, he became a laughingstock, a man incapable of keeping his house or his company in order. Because of this, he grew to despise my mother. He claimed that she had done it on purpose, dying on the operating table just to humiliate him. And that, perhaps, was the beginning of why my father didn’t love me.

Before the surgery. In the hospital ward, I looked at the girl on the bed beside mine. Her entire being exuded frailty—hollow cheeks and a thin body that seemed as if a mere gust of wind could topple her. I remembered her name: Iris, a name as beautiful as she was. Robert and Sarah first met on a sunny day after a rainstorm, with a rainbow arcing across the sky. Even the name they gave their daughter was imbued with love. My father and Sarah hovered anxiously by her bedside, their faces etched with worry. “I’m scared, Mom and Dad,” Iris murmured, her voice trembling. Tears streamed down Sarah’s face as she pulled Iris into her arms. “Don’t be scared, Iris. Just think of it as taking a nap. When you wake up, everything will be better.” Robert’s expression was softer and more tender than I had ever seen. He leaned down and embraced the frail girl. “Be good, Iris. Once you’re better, Dad will take you to Disneyland.” I stood there, silently watching the scene, unblinking. A sour ache welled up in my chest, catching in my throat, neither swallowable nor spit-out-able. I could not understand why. Why was it that we were both his daughters, yet… I wanted to say something. “I am scared too. “Having an organ taken out of my body. I am terrified, Dad. “Can you hold me, too? “If you will just hold me, I won’t be afraid anymore. Really, I won’t.” But I couldn’t say it. I knew those who were unloved had no right to ask. “It’s okay, though. Once the surgery is over, Dad will love me.” I kept comforting myself with this thought. The surgery ended quickly. As the anesthesia wore off, the pain arrived late but steady, creeping over my entire body like a blade twisting inside me. I couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. “Dad… Dad…” I called out unconsciously, over and over, until I blacked out again. When I opened my eyes again half an hour later, I saw the broad back of a man standing in the ward. Hearing the movement, Robert turned around. There was a hint of hesitation in his expression, but eventually, his features softened as he approached the bed. “How are you feeling? Does it hurt?” he asked. I smiled instantly, my heart racing as if the entire world had suddenly brightened. I whimpered softly, “Dad, it hurts. “Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad… It hurts so much…” I couldn’t stop myself. I kept calling him, over and over, as if trying to reclaim the fatherly love I had been denied for so many years.   During my two-week hospital stay, I experienced a happiness I had never felt before. Every day, my father would visit me and bring a bowl of hot chicken soup. Although he always left right after setting the soup down, I still cherished those moments, treasuring them deeply. Two weeks later, I was discharged. I kept up my old habit of texting my father daily. This time, he occasionally replied, unlike before, when there was only silence. For the first time, I felt like I truly existed. People said that love could make someone bloom, filling the empty spaces with warmth and vitality. I thought maybe it would happen to me, too. I locked my depression diagnosis report away in a drawer, feeling as though the sunlight outside had never been so bright. The day after tomorrow would be my seventeenth birthday. I nervously sent him a text message. [Dad, the day after tomorrow is my birthday. Can I have dinner with you?] Hours later, a single word finally appeared on my phone: [Okay.] I leaped with joy. I decided to prepare a home-cooked meal for my father. Over the years, being alone for so long, I had always found ways to keep myself occupied. Cooking was my greatest talent. I started drafting a menu in advance and nervously contacted my father’s assistant to inquire about his food preferences. After all, I had never shared a proper meal with him before, so even figuring out what he liked to eat required outside help. It sounded strange. When I dialed the assistant’s number, I was unbearably anxious. I was not sure whether his assistant knew about the state of my relationship with Dad. What if he asked questions? How would I respond? Thankfully, the assistant didn’t ask anything. He kindly and patiently answered my questions. “It’s fine,” I thought to myself. From now on, I’ll remember every dish Dad loves, and I’ll make them for him every day. I also ordered a birthday cake for myself in advance. I figured, what if Dad got too busy with work and didn’t have time to order one? After preparing everything, the long-awaited evening of my birthday finally arrived. I spent the entire day cooking. Looking at the table full of steaming dishes, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment. The cake had arrived as well—a beautiful pink creation topped with intricately carved figurines of my father and me. The figurines were smiling warmly, brimming with tenderness. It was ten minutes before the agreed time of 10 PM. I waited, anxious yet excited. When the doorbell rang, I practically jumped up to answer it. But the face at the door was unfamiliar. A young man stood there, pushing a multi-tiered cake that was clearly expensive. He offered a polite, apologetic smile. “Sorry, Ms. Davis. Mr. Davis couldn’t make it today. He asked me to deliver this cake as a birthday gift for you.” I froze, my heart sinking to rock bottom. Holding back tears, I thanked him and saw him out. Back in the living room, I stared at the beautiful cake and tried to console myself. “It’s okay, Ava. Dad is just too busy. It’s fine. “There will be other opportunities.” But all those words of comfort and optimism disintegrated the moment I opened Instagram. Before the surgery, Sarah had added me on Instagram. She had been so grateful for my willingness to donate a kidney, saying we should keep in touch and that she could treat me like her own daughter. Now, her Instagram sat there quietly, every word in her latest post dripping with joy. [Family dinner, celebrating our darling Iris’s successful recovery…] Accompanying the caption was a selfie of the three of them at a restaurant. Sarah’s face radiated happiness, while the man behind her and the girl beside him wore matching smiles.   I couldn’t even begin to describe what I felt. It was as if an invisible hand had squeezed my heart, making it ache painfully and leaving me gasping for air. It was like a dream I had painstakingly woven, suddenly shattering in an instant, leaving nothing but the jagged pieces that wrapped around me tightly, with no way to escape. I stared at my phone, unblinking, unwilling to accept it. Reluctantly, I started composing another message. [Dad, didn’t you say you would spend my birthday with me?] [Dad, I received the cake, it’s beautiful. I want to eat it with you…] [Dad, I made a lot of dishes you like.] [Dad, can you come over, just for a little while?] One message after another was sent, but there was still no reply. I couldn’t stop myself from calling, but all I got was a cold, impersonal voicemail. Time passed, minute by minute. The second hand reached twelve. My birthday was over. Outside the window, everything was still, silent. The cold moonlight poured in, casting a chill that swallowed the warmth of the room. I walked back to the table, silently lighting the candles, one by one, placing them on the small cake in between the two little figurines. I softly began to sing. “Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday…” My fingers trembled as I cut myself a piece of cake. I ate it slowly, then took a bite of the vegetables. The food had long since cooled, and the taste was far from good. A sharp pang hit my nose, and the sourness in my throat could no longer be suppressed. Tears spilled from my eyes, falling uncontrollably onto the table.   The next day, Robert came home. In the living room, the expensive, multi-layered cake stood quietly, untouched. He frowned and cast a nonchalant glance at me, barely acknowledging my presence. “What’s this? Don’t like the cake?” I shook my head, keeping my gaze lowered as I continued eating the leftover food from last night, which I had reheated. He became impatient. “What’s with the attitude? I had something important to take care of last night. I even had someone deliver the cake to you. What more do you want?” “What more do I want?” I chewed on his words, a bitter smile creeping up on my face. Robert, seeing that I didn’t respond, grew colder in tone. “I think I’ve spoiled you too much. Now that you’re better, go back to school. Don’t go around creating trouble and making me frustrated. Iris is much easier to deal with than you.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room without another word. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I wanted to tell him that I had already graduated from senior high school, that I had just received my acceptance letter, and that there was still a long time before school started. But he didn’t care. He didn’t know. The acceptance letter sat on my desk, from a well-regarded school. My classmates had long since made plans for college, and their parents couldn’t wait to boast about their children’s good grades to the world. I had planned to show him the letter last night, but now it seemed pointless. After finishing my meal and cleaning up the kitchen, I stood up, and immediately, the world spun around me. My body gave way, and I collapsed to the floor. It took me half an hour to gather the strength to get back up. This wasn’t the first time. After I donated my kidney, my health had noticeably worsened. I often felt weak, dizzy, bloated, and fatigued. I initially thought these were just side effects that would pass with time. But as the days passed, the symptoms only grew worse. In the mirror, I saw how much weight I had lost. My once-round face now revealed a sharp chin. I couldn’t help but think back to my middle school days. I was much heavier back then, with a round face, an early-developed chest, and a shorter stature. I looked awkward and bulky. No wonder the boys didn’t like me. The first sign came during PE class when the movement of my chest was too noticeable. The boys would stare, whispering behind my back, grinning with lewd expressions. From then on, I got a new nickname: “Big Boobs.” Many of my classmates were from the same elementary school, and they knew all about me. At parent-teacher meetings, I was always alone. On sports days, I was always in the corner. During the holidays, no one ever came to pick me up, and I had to drag my heavy luggage to the taxi by myself. They took every opportunity to mock me, calling me a wild child, an orphan. They needed someone to make them feel superior. And that gave them the confidence to escalate their cruelty. In the quiet, lonely nights, only I knew the pain. I clearly remember a new transfer student who couldn’t stand it and spoke up for me. “Your dad is Robert? The big boss of Davis Group? My uncle’s company has worked with Davis Group! “My God, why don’t you tell your dad? “If you tell him, he could take care of it. Those people wouldn’t dare to bully you!” That kind-hearted girl said to me. And all I could do was turn away, silent for a long time. Finally, I muttered quietly. “My dad… he’s too busy.”   Sarah invited me over for dinner. On the phone, her voice was gentle, tinged with warmth. After much hesitation, I agreed to go. Their house was big, but unlike the cold, empty place I called home, it radiated warmth. The decorations were cozy, and every detail spoke of the love and care within the family. A faint sense of envy stirred in my heart. After my mother died, Sarah returned from abroad, bringing with her a delicate, doll-like girl named Iris. Sarah, in tears, clung to Robert and told him that Iris was their daughter. Before long, they married as a matter of course. Meanwhile, I was left sobbing endlessly in a boarding house. When Sarah opened the door, she was still wearing an apron. Her smile was soft as she asked me to sit down, saying she had a few more dishes to finish cooking. I nervously clutched my hands, sitting stiffly, my eyes wandering around the room. The walls were covered with awards and hand-drawn pictures. The drawings, starting with wobbly lines and gradually becoming more polished, all depicted the same theme: a family of three. It was easy to tell they were Iris’s work. Iris, who was a year older than me, had just finished her first year of college, studying fine arts. Sarah emerged from the kitchen suddenly, waving her hand. “Ava, if you’re bored, why not go upstairs and see Iris? You’ve done such a huge favor for her; she’s been wanting to thank you in person.” I averted my gaze and nodded. Upstairs, the door to Iris’s room was open. She was sitting quietly, painting. Her side profile was serene and lovely. I stood frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say. Noticing me, she turned and waved. “Hey, Ava, you’re here!” Her voice was warm and intimate, but it made me feel a little uneasy. Iris walked over, hooked her arm around mine, and led me to her easel. “Look at this! Isn’t it pretty?” The painting on the canvas was stunning. The colors were vivid, the strokes meticulous, and the imagery lifelike. It depicted a family of three, just like the ones in the living room, but far more refined and full of effort. I couldn’t help but nod. “It’s beautiful!” Her eyes lit up at my response, and she smiled. “I think so too! I’m entering this piece in a city competition.” As she spoke, she picked up her brush. Then, she leaned over to add a finishing touch. Suddenly, bang! The easel toppled over, crashing into an open container of paint, splattering everywhere. Iris yelped and rushed to lift the easel. The painting she had been working on for a month was now ruined, smeared with streaks of paint. Her eyes began to redden as tears welled up. I stood there, stunned, just about to offer some comfort, when a deep voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” It was Robert. My heart leaped, and I was about to call out, Dad. But Iris had already flung herself into his arms, sobbing. “Dad, Ava ruined my painting!” I froze, disbelief washing over me. “What are you saying? You knocked it over!” Robert’s face darkened. He cast a cold glance at me, then turned his attention back to Iris, speaking gently: “Tell me what happened, Iris. I’ll make it right for you.” Iris sniffled, her voice trembling with grievance. “I spent a whole month working on this piece for the competition. Dad, you know how much effort I put into it. “I just wanted to show it to little sister, but she suddenly reached out and knocked the easel over…” Sarah came upstairs at some point. Hearing this, she looked heartbroken, her expression one of deep disappointment. “Ava, I truly appreciate you donating a kidney to Iris, and I wanted to treat you as my own daughter. But how could you do something like this? “If you’re upset about something, just tell me. I’ll do my best to make it right. But why would you destroy Iris’s painting? She just had surgery and still pushed herself so hard for this competition… You’ve really let me down.” My mind was a foggy mess as their words sank in. My entire body trembled. “I didn’t… I didn’t do it… I swear I didn’t!” Robert strode forward and raised his hand, delivering a hard slap across my face. I closed my eyes. My ears rang as a stinging pain spread across my cheek.   In the end, I never got to eat that meal. As the door closed, it became clear: this warm, cozy home belonged to their family of three. I was an outsider. Outside the door, I could still hear faint voices from within. Sarah’s voice was filled with worry. “Robert, no matter what, you can’t hit a child. Ava just had surgery not long ago; her body is still weak.” I found it all so unbearably ironic. Robert’s voice was still laced with anger. “Ava’s just a little brat, just like her mother! How could I have a daughter like her? “Sarah, you’re too soft-hearted.” I couldn’t bear to hear anymore. I fled, humiliated and broken. On my way home, a familiar wave of dizziness struck again. My heart thudded irregularly, and everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. The doctor told me that a passerby from my neighborhood had called for an ambulance. Then, with a serious expression, the doctor explained my condition. I took the report from him, and the bold letters at the top stabbed into my eyes: Kidney Failure. My mind buzzed, filled with a deafening hum. That explained everything. The doctor said that kidney failure progresses quickly. My condition was already severe, and I was at risk of losing my life at any moment. He urged me to contact my family immediately to discuss a treatment plan. I forced a weak smile and said I would. Dragging my weakened body home, I found everything as it was: cold, lifeless, empty. No one was waiting for me. No one cared about me. No one loved me. What Iris could take for granted was something I could never dream of having. For some people like me, being alive was the hardest, most painful thing of all. I wanted to say I didn’t hate him, but I couldn’t. After the surgery, there had been a fleeting moment when I foolishly believed I might finally receive love. Now, it all felt like a cruel joke. When I’d made that childish, naive request to my father, he must have scoffed at how ridiculous it was. I stopped going outside. I didn’t have the strength. I lay in bed all day. Whatever food I managed to eat, I soon vomited back up. Breathing became a struggle. I stopped sending messages to my father. He didn’t return, didn’t send a single text, didn’t make a single call. The only sign of his existence was a transfer of money to my bank account after I left Sarah’s house. It was a larger sum than usual. But none of that mattered. I was dying.   Half a month later, the doorbell rang for the first time. I summoned every ounce of strength I had to get up and open the door. Standing outside was a young woman, elegantly dressed in a beautiful dress, her lightly curled hair draped over her shoulders. It was Iris. I glanced at her and instinctively raised my hand to touch my own haggard, sunken face. I had looked in the mirror just yesterday. The once chubby girl who had been mocked was no longer there. My face had lost all its flesh, but it wasn’t beautiful, only hollow, lifeless, and haunting. My legs and arms were swollen, grotesquely heavy, and terrifying to look at. Iris flinched slightly, startled, but quickly covered her mouth and giggled daintily. “How pitiful you look, Ava.” I stared at her, utterly confused. I thought to myself, “Why? Why is it like this? All I ever wanted was something any child would: a father’s love. That’s all. Why must it come to this?” Iris seemed to read my thoughts, and she smiled as she said. “Ava, if you want to blame someone, blame your bad luck. It’s not my fault we share the same father.” “Because of your mother, my mom and dad were forced apart. And now you’re here, trying to win Dad’s favor, trying to take what’s mine? Keep dreaming.” So that was how they saw me. I stood there, numb, unsure of what to say. “Take this as a lesson,” Iris continued smugly, “and don’t get any more ideas about things that don’t belong to you.” It seemed she had come solely to mock me. After delivering her words, she turned to leave. But after taking a couple of steps, she paused as if remembering something. Turning back, she flashed me a sweet smile. “Oh, by the way, how was the chicken soup my mom made? “I begged Dad for a long time to get him to share a bowl with you.” My hands trembled faintly at my sides. My eyes burned, but when I rubbed them, there were no tears left to cry. I should have known. I had only been fooling myself back then. I turned and walked back to my room, moving like a lifeless shell. Just as I was about to lie down, my body seized up uncontrollably. I collapsed to the floor. I couldn’t breathe. Deep down, I knew I was going to die alone in this cold and empty room. At the edge of death, a surge of reluctance welled up within me, sharp and unbearable. With trembling hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the number I had called countless times before but never reached. Dad. Dad. Please, if nothing else, at least send your daughter off one last time. Dad. Dad. ***** My consciousness began to fade, slipping away little by little. I never got through. Darkness claimed me, permanent and absolute. Half an hour later, the phone on the floor lit up. A message appeared on the screen. Robert replied: [What’s wrong?]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MyFiction” app 🔍 search for “397520”, and watch the full series ✨! #MyFiction #sad #pain

When I was in the final stages of cancer, my husband, Lyndon Henderson, refused to take me home. Instead, he brought his childhood sweetheart, Sonya Aguilar, into our house. She was eating the meals I had cooked, wearing the pajamas I used to love. They were lying on the couch I had bought, kissing each other freely, completely disregarding my presence. Lyndon gently said to Sonya, “Justine won’t make it through the year. When she’s gone, I’ll donate her corneas to you.” Sonya asked, “Will she agree to that?” Lyndon ruffled Sonya’s hair and replied, “She’ll have to agree. What’s she gonna do? She won’t need them anyway.” “Justine won’t make it past the end of the year. Two weeks at most. When the time comes, I’ll stop all the life-saving measures. “Once she’s gone, I’ll donate her corneas to you. Then you’ll be able to see, and you won’t be fear at night.” Sonya asked excitedly, “Really?” Lyndon nodded with a smile. “But will Justine agree?” I had seen the consent form for body donation on my phone a few days ago. At the time, I thought it was just another cruel joke, like the ones I’d seen online. I thought someone must have noticed my condition and decided to mock me by sending it. But now, it seemed that Lyndon had signed it in my name as my husband. “She’ll agree, even if she doesn’t want to. What else can she do? She won’t need them anyway.” Lyndon said, and Sonya laughed. They laughed without any care. I hid in the corner of the kitchen, watching them embrace. At that moment, I felt I was like a third party of their love. I was in the late stages of cancer, and there was no cure left for me. My only wish was to go home, yet Lyndon had turned me away. “You’re doing fine at the hospital, aren’t you? Stop making a fuss. I’m busy with work, and I don’t have time to pick you up.” “Don’t call me again. If you need something, text me.” When he hung up, I stared at our chat history. It had stayed the same since last year… Back then, I had asked him: [Can I come home for a couple of days over the New Year? The other patients are all being taken home by their families, and I’m the only one left here.] But he didn’t respond. The last message was my ridiculous emoji. This time, I didn’t wait for him to pick me up. I didn’t want to die in the hospital. After being there for two whole years, I was desperate to go home. After all, it was my birthday. I just wanted to blow out the candles under the warm glow of the lights and make a wish, one that could never come true. I never expected to overhear those words from Lyndon and Sonya. After being rejected by him, I handled my own discharge and took a taxi home. The whole way back, the pain was unbearable. In the final stage of cancer, not even painkillers helped, but my desire to be home outweighed everything. I bought my favorite cake and stopped by the familiar market to buy some minced meat. Popping a painkiller, I made the meal. As I finished cooking a plate of pasta, I collapsed in the kitchen from exhaustion. When I woke up, I saw Lyndon and Sonya on the couch I had bought, kissing each other. They were entangled together, Sonya’s arm draped around Lyndon’s neck, gazing at each other lovingly. After a passionate kiss, Sonya pulled away from Lyndon’s embrace. “Why is there a plate of pasta here?” She touched the plate, which was still warm, and started eating it with a fork. Lyndon glanced at it and said, “Maybe the nanny made it. Our nanny does a good job, you should try it.” Sonya took a bite and nodded. “It’s really good!” Sonya forked a piece of pasta and fed it to Lyndon. He smiled as he ate it. But when he swallowed the pasta, he paused for a moment. Sonya asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” Lyndon shook his head. “It tastes just like the way she used to make it. It’s… almost like she’s still here.” Sonya pouted. “You’re thinking about Justine again, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Lyndon. I can’t cook like she did. You don’t hate me, do you?” Hearing her words, Lyndon picked her up. “How could I? Cooking doesn’t matter. I’m not short on money to hire a nanny.” Sonya mumbled, “But it was always Justine who cooked for you. You used to say you liked food made by your loved ones. Doesn’t that mean you don’t love me?” Lyndon shook his head, affectionately tapping her nose. “Justine was different. She liked taking care of people. Back then, my company was getting started, and hiring a nanny would’ve been too expensive. Justine was willing to cook. It was free and convenient.”

My hands gripped the phone tightly, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell whether it was the pain from cancer or the pain in my heart that hurt more. We’d been together for ten years, married for two. I hadn’t expected that I had become just a free, useful servant to him. Once, he had cried when he saw my hand burned by hot oil. When he heard I had cancer, he spent an entire day at the church praying for me. But now, when I was suffering so much, he was living a fairy-tale life with Sonya. No wonder, when I pushed open the door to our home, it felt so foreign. It turned out my presence was long gone from this place. All my photos had been replaced. The plants I had lovingly cared for were gone. Even our cheap wedding photo, the one we spent a few dozen bucks on, had been replaced with Sonya’s artistic portraits. Tears uncontrollably dripped onto my arms. “How could you be so cruel, treating Justine like this? Will you do the same to me someday?” Sonya’s tone held no sympathy, only a hint of triumph. Lyndon whispered, “You should know how I’ve treated you these past two years.” Sonya smiled at his words. Their intimate scene was reflected in the mirror, clearly visible in my line of sight. “When Justine’s life was at stake, you said you were scared, and I left her to come to you. What else could I do?” Lyndon’s words pierced my heart like a knife, deeply ripping it apart. That day, I didn’t know if I would survive. I was in so much pain that I almost wished I could just die right then. Tears kept falling, and all I wanted was to see my husband one last time. I feared I wouldn’t make it out of the operating room. I was afraid the last thing I would see was the cold, white operating light. I grabbed the doctor’s hand, begging them to let me meet my husband one more time. The doctors exchanged glances but didn’t say anything. At the time, I thought it was just hospital policy; no family was allowed in the operating room. But now I understand. Lyndon hadn’t been waiting outside at all. When I was hovering between life and death, he had abandoned me to comfort Sonya, who was scared of sleeping alone. However, I clearly remembered that when I woke up, he had cried. I thought, “Lyndon, you are such a good actor, making me believe that these two years, it was me who owed you, me who dragged you down.” “I really didn’t have any other choice but to call you. I know Justine’s really sick, but my eyes… I can’t see at night. I’m terrified, that’s why I called you.” She said this, crying pitifully. She acted as if she was the victim whose husband went to find his childhood sweetheart while she was clinging to life. Lyndon clearly felt sorry for her. He gently caressed her eyes, speaking with a tone full of sympathy. “Once Justine is gone, everything will be better. “After the funeral, we’ll hold our wedding. The baby inside you will be a legal child.” While I was still alive, they were already planning how to make my death more meaningful. Sonya even told Lyndon, “I think Justine would be happy to know that her corneas are being donated to me. That way, she can always watch over you.” At this point, her voice even cracked with emotion. Lyndon smiled and called her a silly girl. I shakily stopped the recording on my phone.

As Lyndon held Sonya and was about to head to the bedroom, I stumbled out of the kitchen, fighting through the searing pain. The three of us looked at each other. The moment was awkward yet absurd. Lyndon had even forgotten to release his grip on Sonya, and all he managed to say was, “What are you doing here?!” I pointed to the cake on the table that I hadn’t had a chance to put in the fridge yet. I gave a bitter smile. “Is it so wrong to come home for my birthday?” Lyndon suddenly grabbed my hand. “I’m taking you back to the hospital!” He didn’t offer any explanation. He simply started pulling me towards the door, but I yanked my hand out of his. “What are you doing? Do you even know what illness you have? How can you come back here at a time like this?” he asked, shouting at me. Sonya chimed in softly, “Justine, you’re so sick, you really shouldn’t be running around. Don’t make Lyndon worry. “Lyndon, hurry up and take Justine back to the hospital. What if something happens?” I didn’t respond to them. Instead, I walked straight to the dining table. I took out a lighter, lit the candles, and stuck them into the cake. This was from Lyndon’s favorite bakery, the one we used to visit together. Earlier today, the owner had even told me that Lyndon had come in a few days ago, bought a new cake, and asked if it tasted good. At that moment, I thought Lyndon remembered my birthday and had planned a surprise, even buying the cake in advance. Now, I realized this cake was for Sonya. “Justine, don’t push me. What if you die here? It’s bad luck!” I ignored him and silently made a wish. I pressed my hands together and whispered, gazing at the flickering candles, “I hope Lyndon and Sonya stay forever, bound to each other, and have a miserable death.” “Justine!” Lyndon’s voice rose in anger. “What are you saying? How can you curse us like that?” He stormed toward me, his hand raised, and slapped me across the face. I wanted to fight back, but I had forgotten that I was in the final stages of cancer. I didn’t have the strength. He grabbed me by the collar, pointing at me. “If you’re going to die, just die! But don’t drag Sonya into it. You’re so malicious! You can’t be so mean to Sonya!” He snatched up the cake from the table and shoved it into my mouth. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Eat it. After you’re done, get back to the hospital!” The cream smeared across my face. Sonya walked up with her phone in hand. She happily snapped a few photos of my disheveled state and posted them online. [I’m celebrating Justine’s birthday with Lyndon today. She’s so happy!] she wrote. She handed me the phone, a smug look on her face. “Alright, Justine, birthday’s over. Time to go back to the hospital. Lyndon and I are going to the movies. We don’t have much time.” She gave Lyndon a look. Lyndon yanked me up from the table. I looked at his impatient face, and for some reason, I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny, Justine? I’m really fed up with you. You’re about to die, and you’re still causing trouble!” he snapped. He angrily started cleaning up the mess, and when he pushed open the kitchen door, he froze. There, on the counter, were boxes of pasta I had made earlier. He picked one up and stormed over to me. “You tell me! What did you put in this pasta? “Did you plan to poison us? Did you know about this from the start? Are you trying to kill us?” he demanded, his voice sharp with accusation. I was furious. I shoved the pasta off the counter, watching it spill and scatter across the floor. I stepped on it, crushing the noodles underfoot. “I made this for myself. It’s for me to eat. You touched it, so I consider it dirty!” “Justine, what’s wrong with you? You’re unbelievable!” Sonya cried. Lyndon pushed me aside and rushed to comfort her. Just then, the doorbell rang. Lyndon growled in frustration, “Who is it?! Is there some emergency?” “Hello, we received a report from Mrs. Henderson that someone broke into her home. We’re here to investigate,” the officer said.

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The ceremony had reached the moment of the groom kissing the bride. But just as my husband Ethan Blackwood leaned in, he suddenly stopped. He turned away and kissed his secretary instead. He said, “Ava, I’m sorry. Forgive me for not being able to marry you in this lifetime. But if there’s a next life, I’ll propose to you in front of everyone. Will you marry me then?” Ava Miller’s eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded. I stood there on the stage, feeling like the biggest joke in the room. Around me, the crowd erupted into laughter and mocking whispers. “Clara Hudson spent five years chasing him just to get this wedding. And now? He humiliates her in front of everyone.” “She’s a simp. Does she even have any dignity?” Everyone was waiting for me to break down. But I simply removed my veil and smiled, I said, “Well, you’ve already kissed her. It wouldn’t make sense not to finish the ceremony, would it?” The moment the words left my mouth, the noisy banquet hall fell deathly silent. Every pair of eyes widened, fixed on me. Even Ethan and Ava, who had been locked in their shameless display moments earlier, stopped and turned toward me. “Clara, have you lost your mind?” Ethan snapped. In his arms, Ava looked startled. She said pitifully, “Miss Hudson, Mr. Blackwood kissed me only to make up for the past. You already have him. What more could you want? “If you insist on humiliating me like this, then I might as well die.” As if rehearsed a thousand times, Ava burst into sobs and ran out of the hall. Ethan glared at me and chased after her. He spat, “If anything happens to Ava, I’ll make you pay.” I watched them leave as if I were a mere spectator in someone else’s drama. When I turned back to the crowd, I saw mockery or confusion on their faces. I smiled bitterly. I’d spent five years with Ethan. I loved him wholeheartedly. Even this wedding was only happening because of the child I was carrying. I knew my place. I knew we weren’t equals. And so, during those five years, I’d bent over backward to play the role of a perfect wife. The glamorous life everyone envied was built on the tears and humiliation I swallowed in silence. “Such a disgrace,” Ethan’s mother sneered. Her disgust was written all over her face. Ethan’s father frowned and walked out as fast as he could. Only my mother stayed, desperately trying to smooth things over. I stood there, my chest aching with a pain that refused to subside. My fingers tightened around the bouquet I’d so carefully chosen, the thorns of the roses piercing into my palms. Yet I barely noticed the pain. I said, “That’s enough, Mom. You don’t have to do this. Ethan loves Ava. My marriage to him means nothing.” My voice was hoarse as I tried to salvage a shred of dignity. But instead of comforting me, she grabbed my arm and twisted it sharply. “Nothing? Men are all like this. Once you have the baby, he’ll come around. You’d better win him back, or you’re no daughter of mine,” she hissed. Ignoring my protests, she forced herself to go around the room, apologizing to everyone. I slipped into a quiet corner, my white wedding dress feeling like the cruelest joke of all. At some point, my vision blurred with tears. I had a mother and a husband. But I still felt all alone.

My mom hurriedly finished dealing with everyone and rushed to the hospital to take care of my brother. Left alone, I wandered down the street, still wearing the ill-fitting wedding dress. The sky seemed to hear my silent plea, gradually darkening with thick clouds before unleashing a torrential downpour. My phone buzzed incessantly. Mechanically, I pressed the answer button and held it to my ear. It was Ethan. His voice was cold and accusatory. “Clara, Ava was so upset by you and got into a car accident. Are you happy now? “I don’t care where you are, but you need to come home right now and cook something for Ava. “You need to apologize to her for what you’ve done.” I listened to his reprimand, feeling a surge of resentment. I shot back, “Why should I apologize since you humiliated me at my wedding?” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then I heard his cold voice again. He snapped, “I’ll make it up to you with another wedding. Right now, Ava’s health is the priority.” I gripped the phone, feeling a chill spread through me. My hands trembled as I hung up the call. I remembered the last time I was on a business trip and got into a car accident, breaking my leg. I begged Ethan to stay by my side, even if it was just for a little while. But he merely sent his assistant with some gifts. Yet now, with Ava in a similar situation, he couldn’t bear to leave her side. Ethan ignored me but cared so much for Ava. Looking at my bloodied palm, I suddenly realized that my five years of devotion had been a cruel joke. Just then, my phone rang again. Ethan, perhaps feeling guilty, sent a message trying to explain. Ethan: [Clara, I really do see Ava as my sister. Don’t overthink it.] [We’ll have the wedding again, and besides, you’re carrying my child. Where else can you go?] The text on my screen only made it all seem more ridiculous. He thought having a child meant he could control me. But he didn’t understand that all of this was because I loved him. Now, seeing things clearly, I wouldn’t be the same as before. As I was about to exit the chat, Ava sent a video. In the video, she appeared to have only minor scratches, so minor they were barely visible. Her hair was damp, and she was wrapped in a bathrobe, as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Ethan was by her side, carefully tending to her. He was even holding a black lace bra in his hand. I couldn’t bear to watch their disgusting display any longer. I blocked them both. The rain pelted down, cold and biting. I tried to move my numb legs, but a sudden, unbearable pain gripped my lower abdomen. Looking down, I saw blood mixing with the rainwater at my feet, a sight both oppressive and despairing.

When I woke up in the hospital, my belly, which had barely begun to swell, was now flat. I stared blankly at the ceiling above me, feeling a silence in my heart so deep it was almost suffocating. I had never intended to harm this child. But now, before it had even had the chance to fully form, it was gone. Maybe the baby was just too considerate, sparing me from the inevitable pain. I stayed in the hospital for a week, during which not a single person came to visit me. My mom spent all her time by my brother’s side. Ethan was undoubtedly busy comforting Ava, probably so caught up in his happiness that he’d forgotten all about me. When I was discharged, I returned to the apartment Ethan and I had shared as a married couple. I began packing my things. The irony didn’t escape me. I lived there for five years, but my belongings didn’t even fill a single suitcase. I had given so much of myself to them, foolishly expecting something in return. But deep down, I should have known better. Just as I was about to leave, Ethan came home. He looked worn out, with dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he was tired. Balancing his care for Ava and running his company must have been exhausting. When he saw me packing, he immediately snatched the suitcase out of my hands. He barked, “Clara, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? “I’ve only been away for a week, and you’re already running off?” His tone was dripping with annoyance. I looked at him and suddenly found him unrecognizable. He knew what I cared about, yet he kept pushing his luck. I was tired of playing his games. I didn’t argue or yell as usual. Instead, I spoke calmly. “Ethan, let’s get a divorce. I mean it.” “Impossible.” His response was instant, his brows furrowed in disbelief. He frowned. “Clara, are you out of your mind?” “So what if there was a little hiccup at the wedding? Didn’t you already humiliate Ava in front of everyone? What more do you want?” My chest tightened at his words. Yes, I had caused a scene before. The first time I found out about Ava, I cried and screamed. But Ethan’s solution was to disappear, leaving me to face his family’s wrath. Everyone told me he was just playing around and that he would come back to me once we had a child. I had believed their lies, compromising time and again for a total jerk. But this time, I wasn’t going to back down. I said, “Ethan, I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up. You won’t have to deal with me again after this.” I ignored his protests, speaking only the truth that weighed heavy on my heart. Then I moved to leave with my suitcase, thinking he would not object. After all, he had never acknowledged my identity. But he grabbed my wrist. I looked up and saw his sullen face. “Playing hard to get won’t work on me,” he said. “You worked so hard to marry me. Don’t think I’ll believe you’re giving up so easily. Otherwise, why would you have spent years simping me? “And don’t forget your brother. If you dare hurt Ava again, I’ll cut off his medication.” Even now, he held himself above me. I was disgusted. I had once loved Ethan, even agreeing to have a child because he said he wanted one. But in the end, all of it became tools for him to control me. And now, he was even using my brother against me. Seeing my silence, he must have thought I was reconsidering. He warned, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you said earlier. You’re still carrying my child, so I won’t stoop to your level.” I watched him leave and laughed bitterly. The child he spoke of was already gone.   I lugged my old suitcase and set out to find a place to live. Once settled, I returned to the office, punching in as usual, as if nothing had happened. I guess that made sense. It wasn’t exactly a proud moment for the Blackwood family, and they would do everything to keep it quiet. As long as they didn’t bother me, it was fine. I found a lawyer and drafted a divorce agreement, having it delivered straight to Ethan’s desk. From start to finish, Ethan sent me just one message. Ethan: [You will regret this.] I didn’t pay it any mind. I knew I would never regret my decision. But the very next day, as I was reporting to my manager, my phone started ringing incessantly. It was my mom, saying there was a problem at the hospital and I needed to come right away. I was puzzled because I had just transferred money to the hospital account the day before, so there shouldn’t have been any issues. But my mom was insistent, crying and even threatening me. Left with no choice, I rushed to the hospital. As soon as I pushed open the door to the ward, my mom slapped me hard across the face. I held my cheek, stunned. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. Suddenly, reporters swarmed in from who knows where, their camera flashes blinding me. My mom shouted, “Clara, you heartless girl. Ethan has done so much for our family, and you want to divorce him? “I can’t stand by and watch you make this mistake. You’re carrying his child, and you’re rushing to divorce him. Is it because you have someone else on the side? “If you’ve made a mistake, go apologize. Ethan will forgive you.” I stared at her in disbelief. She was slandering me and accusing me of cheating when it was Ethan who had been unfaithful. Rage boiled within me, and I struggled to catch my breath. From the crowd, Ava stepped forward. She smirked, “That’s right, Miss Hudson. Admit your mistake. Mr. Blackwood is such a good man; seeing the divorce papers you sent broke his heart.” I looked over and saw Ethan sitting on the sofa. He made no move to stop any of this. It dawned on me this was what he meant by “regret”. He was trying to force me into submission. He wanted me to know that defying him would only lead to my ruin. Ethan finally spoke up, his voice magnanimous. “Ava is right. Just apologize, and I’ll forgive you.” I glared at him with growing hatred. I only wanted a peaceful divorce, considering all he had done for me. But now, he was pushing me to the brink. I forced myself to stay calm. “I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s you who are in the wrong.” I pulled out my phone and brought up something interesting. I continued, “Why don’t we all take a look at this? See how Mr. Blackwood rolled in the hay with his secretary, Quite the thrill, isn’t it?” My voice was clear and loud, leaving everyone in the room speechless.

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On our 25th wedding anniversary, I posted a photo of my husband and me dancing. Who would’ve thought that such an innocent picture would spark a nightmare? My husband’s goddaughter mistook me for some kind of homewrecker. She brought along a mob of her girlfriends and cornered me in my own home, screaming phrases like “beat the mistress” and “teach the gold digger a lesson.” “It’s this old hag who’s seducing my godfather at her age! Disgusting! “Today, I’m going to make sure you never try to climb into another man’s bed again!” They weren’t just words. These girls were vicious, hurling insults and smashing precious antiques worth millions of dollars. My husband’s goddaughter slapped me so hard that I felt my front teeth crack. The pain was unbearable, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She started a live stream, broadcasting my humiliation to the world. “Hit her harder! Smash everything! My godmother is a top lawyer worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Even if I kill this old woman today, she’ll get me off scot-free!” By the time my husband returned from work, armful of gifts in hand, I was lying on the floor, broken and barely alive. Through cracked lips, I whispered, “I’m afraid I won’t be recognizing her as my goddaughter anymore.” ***** Earlier that day, my husband, Richard Duncan, mentioned that he was bringing his goddaughter over for dinner and that I’d love her. To make a good impression, I went out of my way to retrieve a precious bracelet from my childhood home to gift her. As I was about to leave, the doorbell rang. Years had drifted by since my father’s passing, leaving this place steeped in solitude. So, who on earth would venture out to this forgotten corner to seek me out? Confused, I checked the surveillance camera, only to see Rachel Moore, Richard’s goddaughter, standing at the door. Richard had shown me her picture before, so I recognized her immediately. “Did Richard send her?” I wondered, but still, I opened the door with a warm smile. The moment I opened the door, a slap hit me so hard that my head reeled. Rachel’s sweet facade was gone, replaced by a venomous glare. She grabbed my hair, yanking me toward the camera she’d set up outside. “Everyone, take a look at this old hag! She’s old enough to know better but still acts like a gold digger! Today, I’m going to give this shameless bitch a lesson she won’t forget, and I’m doing it live for all to see!” A group of girls, holding filming equipment and phones, emerged behind her, ready to broadcast the entire ordeal. I was stunned. A gold digger? Me? I was fifty years old, swamped with work, and hadn’t had a single inappropriate conversation with another man besides Richard and our son, Jeremy Duncan. And as for money? I had more than enough; there was no reason for me to be some “gold digger.” I was old, weak from two surgeries in the past six months, and had no strength to fight back against this violent mob. I curled into a ball, protecting my head, trying to reason with them. “Rachel, please. This is a misunderstanding! I’m not a mistress or anything you think I am!” Rachel let go of my hair but not before pulling out her phone, waving a screenshot in my face. “Did you post this on Facebook?” From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her phone screen, and there was the very photo I had sent just a few days ago, now captured in a screenshot. This photo was snapped by my son when Richard and I ventured out to join the lively swirl of dancing. I thought the photo captured the moment beautifully, especially with the backdrop of a stunning sunset. So, I shared it on Facebook with the simple caption, [The sunset is so beautiful.] “Yes, I posted that photo, but…” Before I could finish, Rachel cut me off rudely. “Everyone, did you hear that? This bitch admits it! “She knew my godmother has neurasthenia and deliberately sent these photos to irritate her! She’s trying to curse her to death! “I trailed her all the way to her doorstep today, determined to get justice for my godmother!” I finally realized what was happening. My own husband’s goddaughter thought I was some homewrecker! It was absurd. Why would I post a photo cursing myself? The irony was almost sickening. But Rachel wasn’t interested in the truth. She wanted a villain, and I was the unfortunate woman who had been cast in that role. I felt a deep sense of betrayal and disgust. All my previous kindness toward her seemed wasted. I had always yearned for a daughter, but fate didn’t bless me with one; I only ever had my son. Richard had spoken of Rachel with such high praise. “She’s beautiful, kind-hearted, and well-educated,” he had said. “She’s the whole package, intelligent, polite, and respectful.” He thumped his chest with confidence, assuring me that I would absolutely adore her. But the girl standing in front of me, broadcasting my humiliation to the world, was none of those things. She was a rude, violent stranger, a far cry from the gracious young woman Richard had led me to believe she was.

Her pretty face looked trivial and fake under the harsh lighting of the live broadcast. My cheeks throbbed from the swelling, and my makeup was long gone. All I wanted was some ice. But they were standing between me and the refrigerator, blocking my only escape to some relief. I took a couple of steps back, trying to create some distance. But Rachel, seeing my embarrassment, only turned up the heat. “How dare she seduce my godfather! “My godmother’s this high-caliber, top-tier lawyer, but this woman? She wouldn’t even spare a glance at her own reflection if she had any sense!” She was aware of my standing and that I possessed both position and influence. Yet, she was blind, ensnared by her own fanciful illusions. I didn’t want to explain anymore. I was done trying to argue with someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t see reason. But Rachel was on a roll. She stood there, acting all righteous and dignified, getting more and more worked up as she spoke. “My godmother worked so hard to build her fortune, and now this woman thinks she can waltz in and take a slice of it! “I even saw her bring her son to see my godfather, hoping to use that relationship to get my advisor to guarantee her son a spot in graduate school. It’s a violation of academic fairness!” I thought, “A guaranteed place for postgraduate study? Was she under the impression that Richard and I were trying to use our connection to secure our son’s future in graduate school? Was this whole attack just some twisted excuse because she thought we were competing for admission?” I felt a deep pang of sorrow for Richard. How could he have trusted such a ridiculous, vile person? Our son was studying in their department, but we had always told him to keep a low profile. Not many people know about their father-son relationship. And what’s more crucial, I had already clinched admission offers for him from the most prestigious Ivy League institutions. He was in no need of any guaranteed graduate program spot! I didn’t care who Richard wanted to give the admission quota to. My son’s future was already set. The live cameras clicked and whirred, their lenses pointed at my face, zooming in on my every expression. But instead of cowering, I felt a cold sense of satisfaction. As a leading attorney, I had witnessed spectacles far grander than this pitiful charade. A handful of inexpensive live cameras didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. Now, their sole concern seemed to be drawing in viewers and grabbing attention, nothing more. In fact, every second they kept this up was another second closer to a defamation charge. Once the viewership hit 500,000, they’d sealed their fate. The higher the view count, the heavier the sentence. Defamation on this scale was no joke; it carried serious legal consequences. And when the time came, whether it was Rachel or her little gang of sycophants, they’d all be kneeling in court, begging for my forgiveness. Rachel could sense I wasn’t shaken, and that only seemed to infuriate her more. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on the silk-covered wooden jewelry box resting on the sofa. “What’s this? Packaged quite fancy. Could it be a gift from my godfather?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. Before I could stop her, she lunged forward, ripping the box open in seconds. Her fingers grasped the bracelet inside, pulling it out with a sneer. That bracelet wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was one of the few keepsakes my mother left me. It carried deep heritage significance, passed down through generations. I hadn’t worn it because, given my profession, flashy jewelry wasn’t practical. But I had kept it safe and treasured it. Richard had once mentioned that Rachel came from a poor family and that she was frugal in her daily life. Out of pity, I’d chosen an expensive gift, hoping to show her how much we cared. But now, she has forfeited any right to my genuine regard. In a cold voice, I warned her, “Rachel, you’d better put that down. That bracelet is an antique, worth at least three million dollars. If you break it, you won’t be able to pay for it even if you sell everything you own.” The words “you won’t be able to pay for it” seemed to strike a nerve. Her already fragile ego bristled at the implication. She held her chin even higher, her expression dripping with sarcasm. “What kind of junk is this supposed to be? Looks like glass to me. Millions, you say? Give me a break. In your world, does everything just magically turn into hundreds of millions? Do you guys print your own money or what?” Before I could react, she raised the bracelet high above her head. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she slammed the bracelet down onto the hardwood floor.

The bracelet shattered into a dozen tiny pieces, scattering fragments across the floor. But Rachel wasn’t done. With a vicious sneer, she stepped forward and stomped twice more on the remnants with the sharp tip of her high heels. Her destruction didn’t stop there. She marched over to my wall, yanked down my baseball bat, and raised it high above her head, aiming it straight at the delicate vase sitting on my desk. I sneered. “That vase hails from the Renaissance,” I stated. “It’s valued at over two million dollars. You might want to think twice before you shatter it. But if you’re set on doing so, go head.” Rachel didn’t even flinch. As if she hadn’t heard a word I said, she swung the bat with full force. The vase exploded against the wall, shards flying everywhere. But even that wasn’t enough for her. She turned her fury on the priceless porcelains that had been carefully displayed on my antique shelf. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing? You pretend to be cultured, displaying all this fake garbage, but it’s just a trick, isn’t it? A way to lure men in!” With the fragments of her actions scattered on the ground, she scrambled to muster a defense for herself. “Even if some of these things were worth a little money, it’s all my godparents’ money, not yours. So what do I have to fear? Guys, isn’t that right?” The friends she had brought with her, a gang of vicious, eager followers, searched the room for anything they could get their hands on. They picked up fragile objects, laughing as they smashed them to bits. They were smashing items and yelling simultaneously, a chaotic symphony of destruction and rage. “She’s not just seeing your godfather; who knows how many old men she’s been with! “Haven’t we already snapped countless photos of her sneaking into hotels? That’s hard evidence right there. A picture’s worth a thousand words! We’re doling out her punishment, and honestly, it’s like we’re delivering justice!” My father, a well-known entrepreneur in this city, had passed away ten years ago, leaving me with a considerable inheritance, including several hotels. I had never had the time or energy to manage them personally, so I hired professionals to take care of them while I checked in occasionally. Once it passed through their lips, everything just got twisted into something so vile! Was this the face of a girl about to enter graduate school? I glanced at the live camera pointed directly at me and spoke through gritted teeth, “Let me make one thing clear. Richard and I were originally…” But before I could even say the word “married,” a short-haired girl lunged at me. She shoved me so hard that I stumbled backward, crashing into the corner of the table. Pain exploded in my mouth, and a metallic, sweet taste filled my senses. Suddenly, I sensed something off in my mouth, so I spat into my hand, only to find two of my front teeth mixed with blood. Upon seeing my teeth knocked out and my mouth brimming with blood, Rachel and her clique erupted into triumphant laughter. “Well done! That’s how you deal with that old bitch! “Let’s see if she can still seduce men without her teeth!” Blood filled my mouth, and I pressed my hand to the wound, feeling the sticky warmth. My anger was boiling over, and I yelled, “We live in a society ruled by law! You broke into my house, smashed my things, and assaulted me. Don’t you realize you’re going to jail?” But Rachel was completely unfazed. She simply smiled and gave a nonchalant shrug to the live camera. “The law? Don’t even start with me about the law. My mentor’s wife is this top-tier lawyer, her net worth in the hundreds of millions of dollars. She’s my godmother, by the way. “My godmother has dedicated her entire life to the law. She loathes those mistresses who tear families apart. I’ll present you to her as a testament to my loyalty. And when I do, she’ll surely reward me handsomely! “Then we’ll see who ends up behind bars! I’m here on behalf of my godmother to take down the mistress. Even if I have to beat you to a pulp, she’ll back me up. My godmother never lost a case in her entire career!” I stood there, stunned into silence by her sheer blind confidence in the face of such blatant criminal behavior. I could never have imagined that this band of lawless thugs would storm into my home, yelling and threatening violence, all while claiming I was their patron! “Rachel,” I said through clenched teeth, “you’d better call your godfather, the professor, right now. Because if you don’t, there will be consequences.” Rachel’s smile only widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched my face turn red with anger. “Oh my, you still think Richard’s going to back you up? Let me tell you, it’s pointless!” She threw a provocative glance my way and then deliberately winked at the live camera, taunting me. Discreetly, I slid my hand into my pocket, fumbling to dial Richard for help. Rachel was completely oblivious. She swung the baseball bat with a swagger and kicked my bedroom door open with an air of cool defiance. Inside, on my bedside table, was a photo of my father and me. We were smiling, with my arms wrapped around his neck. The moment Rachel caught sight of it, she thrust the camera towards the photo. Her face contorted with contempt and disgust, as though she’d laid eyes on something utterly repulsive and filthy. “Look at this! This old hag is so shameless, so intimate with him. Disgusting!” Before I could move, she raised the baseball bat high above her head and brought it crashing down on the crystal frame. “No!” I screamed.   I was trembling, every inch of my body shaking with rage and grief, as I let out a desperate cry. That photo was the only picture I had of my father! My father had been a busy man his whole life, but he had never neglected me. After my mother passed away, he chose not to remarry because of me. We shared a deep, unbreakable bond. That crystal frame, encasing the last memory of him, wasn’t just any frame. It was a piece of pure, natural flawless crystal, one I had spent a fortune to have airlifted all the way from Madagascar. It was worth millions of dollars. Ignoring the humiliation and the excruciating pain from my missing teeth, I dragged myself toward the bedroom, screaming out in desperation. “Put it down! Please, just put it down! As long as you leave the photo alone, I won’t pursue any of this! I won’t press charges for the vase, for the porcelain, or even for what you did to me! Just don’t touch the photo!” Rachel turned to look at me, her eyes widening for a second as she took in my disheveled appearance: blood smeared across my face, and my hair was a tangled mess. For a brief moment, she seemed startled. But then, a viewer in the live broadcast must have recognized my father in the photo. [This old man looks familiar. Isn’t he the late famous entrepreneur, Sam Anderson?] At the word “late,” Rachel’s fear evaporated, replaced by a reckless boldness. “Oh, it’s your dearly deceased ex; no wonder you’re so sentimental!” Someone commented: [Ex? More like her sugar daddy. Look at her, living in this grand villa. The place is decked out so lavishly. She must’ve raked in quite the fortune!] And Someone else chimed in, mocking: [I remember reading a report about Sam Anderson. They said he was a devoted husband, and he never remarried even after his wife died. Guess he was living a double life, huh? What a lying bastard!] Rachel seized the moment, rallying her online army. “Sisters! Are we going to let this homewrecker live comfortably while she ruins families? Smash it! Smash it hard!” With a deafening crash, the crystal frame shattered into pieces, glass flying everywhere. The photo of my father and I fluttered to the ground. I lunged for it, but I was too weak. Rachel shoved me to the ground, her foot landing squarely on my hand, crushing it beneath her heel. The sharp crystal cut into my skin, and I felt the sickening crack of bone. But the pain didn’t register. All I cared about was reaching that photo. Rachel picked it up before I could. Right before my anguished gaze, she tore it to shreds with a cruel smile and cast the pieces into the debris before she spat on them! Grinning like a devil, she stuck out her tongue and made a V sign to the camera. “Sisters, take note: it’s not that the old have turned wicked, but rather, the wicked have simply aged! “This is what happens to a homewrecker! Sisters, are you enjoying this today? If so, smash that like button and follow! One click, triple the love!” I lay on the ground, gasping for breath, my body wracked with pain. But through the haze of agony, I forced out the words. “Sam Anderson is my father. Richard Duncan is my husband!” Rachel burst into laughter, a high-pitched sound that filled the room like shards of glass grinding together. “Husband? Why don’t you say they’re both your sugar daddies while you’re at it? “Do you really think I was scared? Mr. Duncan is my godfather. Do you think I wouldn’t know where he lives? He’s not even here; he lives in the neighborhood next door!” My heart sank. She was right; we did have a villa in the neighborhood next door, close to the school for Richard’s convenience. That’s where we usually stayed. But this was my home, too. She flashed a sweet smile right at the camera. “My godmother is making dinner for me right now. I bet she’s in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious as we speak.” I could feel my rage bubbling up, threatening to consume me. My voice cracked as I tried to speak, trembling with a mix of anger and grief. “You all deserve to die.” She paid no heed to my words. Instead, with an air of arrogance, she delivered two sharp kicks to my face. “You are the one who deserves to die, you old bitch! Look what I’ve done to the mistress! My godmother will reward me handsomely for this!” She struck a victorious pose, her hand waving in the air like she’d just won a trophy. “All of you deserve a share of the credit for tearing her down. When the time comes, everyone who helped will get something. My godmother is generous; a few expensive bags are nothing to her!” The live audience erupted in a flurry of envious comments, their words filling the screen with hate and jealousy. Just as I was teetering on the brink of death, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Richard rushed in with his briefcase still tucked under his arm. The door was ajar. As he stepped inside, he was taken aback by the chaos strewn across the floor. “What is going on?” he demanded. Rachel, for the first time since she’d stormed into my house, seemed taken aback. She quickly switched gears, sticking out her tongue and adopting an innocent, obedient expression. She craned her neck to look past him. “Richard!” she chirped, trying to sound as sweet and harmless as possible. “Why are you here? Where’s your wife? Isn’t she with you?”

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After six years of dating, I turned down the opportunity to study abroad, eagerly awaiting my wedding day. But on the eve of our wedding, I discovered that my long-time boyfriend had meticulously saved over ten thousand unflattering photos of me. He even labeled each set of photos: [Ugly, Uglier, Unbearably Ugly.] And he used these photos to amuse his crush, Bonnie Lewis. He even edited our wedding photos, replacing my face with Bonnie’s, and said to her. “If you’re willing to marry me, I can call off the wedding at any time.” I thought, “Since you want it this way, I’ll help you out. I won’t complete our wedding anymore.” But after I ran away from the wedding, he searched for me worldwide, nearly collapsing. ***** [See this photo of her when her parents passed away? She’s so ugly without makeup!] I was looking at the sample wedding photos on my boyfriend Stephen Lloyd’s computer when I stumbled upon his WhatsApp chat by accident, and it was still logged in on the computer. He was sending out photos of me, unflattering ones from when my parents died in a car accident, showing me in a state of collapse at the hospital. I was in there with disheveled hair, tears streaming down my face, and my veins bulging as I held onto their bodies in despair. There were even pictures of me kneeling on the ground, bowing in front of their caskets, saying my final goodbyes. [She looks so ugly without makeup!] [This one is even uglier. She looks so scary.] [Do you think it’s bad that we’re laughing at her? I feel so awful.] She sent this with a pitiful emoji, using her own selfie as the emoji. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the chat contact pinned at the top of his list wasn’t the client he had told me about. It was his childhood crush, Bonnie Lewis. I remember when we first got together, he deleted Bonnie from his contacts right in front of me. But now, I scrolled up through the chat history, and it was even longer than the one we had. Stephen, who never responded quickly to messages, always replied to Bonnie instantly. In no time, he replied: [She’s ugly to begin with. It’s only right to make fun of her.] [If you want to see, I have over ten thousand more photos of her on my computer, all kinds of unflattering photos of her… as long as it makes you happy.] Over ten thousand… When I saw this message, my hand couldn’t even hold the mouse steady. It was shaking. After six years together, we didn’t have more than ten photos of us in our phone albums. But he had over ten thousand unflattering photos of me. And these photos were used to entertain his crush, Bonnie. My heart was filled with disgust, but Stephen didn’t stop there. He sent over a set of our wedding photos. At first, I thought something seemed off, but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Until he said to Bonnie: [Do you see anything wrong with these?] Bonnie replied after a while: [How come it’s my face? Isn’t this your wedding photo with Kathryn?] That was when I looked closely and realized that in every photo he sent, my face had been replaced with Bonnie’s. And it didn’t look out of place at all. It was clear that this wasn’t something Stephen could have done on his own. [I had the wedding shop do it for me. In the same dress, you look so much better than her.] Stephen seemed to see nothing wrong with what he was doing. He even sat there, legs crossed, waiting for her reply with a sense of pride. I thought, “No wonder the photo studio charged me extra for editing.” I thought it was due to the complexity of the process. I thought, “Turns out, Stephen had added another set…” Looking at my own wedding photos, the ones I had carefully chosen after two full days of shooting, only to have my face swapped with Bonnie’s, I felt a deep sense of revulsion. No wonder he was so particular about the selection. It was for this. At that moment, I checked my email and accepted the foreign job transfer I had previously turned down because of the wedding. Thankfully, my boss was still expecting me, and he immediately agreed when I changed my mind. Then, I booked a flight for the day of the wedding and contacted the wedding planner to discuss some matters. Just then, Bonnie’s message came through again…

[But the one marrying you is still her! That’s something I can never compete with.] Stephen’s eyes visibly reddened when he read that sentence, completely ignoring the fact that I was right there. He quickly replied: [But if you’re willing, I can call off the wedding at any time.] The moment I saw that message on the screen, it shattered everything we’d built over the past six years into nothing. If she agreed, the wedding I’d waited six years for would be hers in an instant. I thought, “Stephen, how could you even say something like that? Using my breakdown after my parents’ car accident to comfort your dream girl. How could you?” My hands were trembling as I closed the chat window and walked past Stephen without answering his question. Instead, I locked eyes with him and said coldly, “Stephen, you forgot to log out of WhatsApp on your computer.” For a split second, he was panicked. But he quickly regained his composure. “You saw everything?” There was no trace of guilt in his eyes. There was a kind of indifference as if to say, “You saw it, so what?” He even gave me a disdainful look before saying, “You’re not going to tell me you’re angry, are you?” Seeing my cold expression, he let out a mocking laugh. “I knew you were petty. Bonnie has severe depression; don’t you know that? Using your unflattering photos to cheer her up is practically a good deed. What are you even angry about?” I thought, “Was this about depression? Or was it about Bonnie being the one with depression? Funny how Stephen never used his own embarrassing photos to help anyone else with depression.” It was just an excuse. Yet he seemed to believe it himself. He grabbed me and dragged me to the computer, pointing at the wedding photos that had been edited to feature Bonnie’s face. “Doesn’t she look better than you? You know Bonnie was the campus queen in college. And you? Just an ordinary girl. “I hate women like you who are so competitive. Bonnie even worried you’d get upset if you found out. Honestly, people like you are exhausting.” At that moment, I suddenly saw Stephen for who he really was. Gone was the aloof and superior facade from our college days. This was the real him. He was greedy, selfish, and good at making excuses. All those sweet nothings he said when he pursued me were just his way of covering up his true self. While he was hurling accusations at me, he took my car keys from the table. “I’m going to take Bonnie to see a doctor. I told you already. Don’t call me later and go hysterical.” I asked him to put my car keys back, and he slammed the door, telling me not to pull this stunt, that he wouldn’t fall for it. The next day was our wedding, but he drove my car across town with Bonnie to buy a seafood soup. When I checked the car’s surveillance, Stephen and Bonnie were making love, and it seemed like Stephen’s lifelong wish had come true. He was overjoyed. He even fed Bonnie the seafood soup spoonful by spoonful. Then Bonnie had a sudden idea. “Let’s go watch the sunrise! We never got to fulfill that wish from college. Let’s do it today!” Stephen hesitated. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Watching the sunrise isn’t appropriate.” Bonnie’s tears and the physical symptoms of her severe depression suddenly intensified. “I’m giving you everything before your wedding. I thought you understood what I meant, but it seems I was overthinking.” When he saw Bonnie trembling as she spoke, Stephen’s heart ached. He turned and sent me a message saying the wedding procession would be late in the morning, and then he turned off his phone. Looking at that message, I felt like the six years of obsession were gone, and all I felt was ridiculousness.

He would even delay the wedding procession to watch the sunrise with her. At this point, what was the point of even going through with the wedding? I thought, “Stephen, do you really think I, Kathryn Taylor, am meant to be with you?” I made a copy of all the in-car surveillance footage I’d seen and sent it to the wedding planner. I also replaced the wedding photos with behind-the-scenes footage for tomorrow’s shoot. Then, I notified my relatives and friends that the wedding was canceled. Since my parents passed away, I wasn’t particularly close with any of these relatives. They were happy to hear they didn’t need to bring gifts and quickly agreed. However, I didn’t notify Stephen’s family. I even sent a wedding invitation to Bonnie’s mother. Originally, Stephen had planned to send it to her family, but his mother didn’t approve. So, he only sent it to Bonnie. I found that e-invite while browsing through their chat history yesterday. After canceling my wedding dress order, I lay on the couch. The moment I opened my phone, I saw an alert from the car’s surveillance footage. I opened it without thinking. Stephen was taking pictures of Bonnie. Bonnie was laughing, taking pictures of my car, saying, “Kathryn is really such a spendthrift. Her parents are gone, but she still doesn’t know how to save money, buying such an expensive car.” Stephen laughed and said, “But her temperament doesn’t match the car. You’re the one who’s a better fit.” Then, he patiently took picture after picture of Bonnie. But during our six years together, every time I asked him to take a picture of me, he’d complain. He would just casually snap a few shots with his phone and toss them to me. When I shared a video about a boyfriend’s photography skills with him, he just replied, “Well, you look like this! “You’re ugly. How am I supposed to make you look good? You can always edit the photos yourself!” But now, he was tirelessly finding the perfect angles, adjusting her poses, his face filled with a satisfaction I had never seen before. They even spray-painted my car, turning it into a chaotic mess. In the end, they snuggled together, watching the sunrise. The next morning, the wedding planner received my notice and promptly replaced all the wedding photos with the ones I sent. Stephen called me, but I didn’t pick up. Instead, I sent a text. [Just go straight to the banquet hall. No need to pick me up.] [Good girl. By the way, Bonnie’s coming too, so just let her be your bridesmaid. She can handle her own dress.] [Do whatever you want!] By the time I sent that message, I was already sitting at the airport, waiting to board with the notification from the company in hand. When Stephen and Bonnie arrived at the wedding venue, the wedding planner followed my instructions and started filming everything in real-time. Bonnie, dressed in white, even wore a veil and linked arms with Stephen as they entered, as if she were the bride. The moment Stephen stepped in and looked around, he completely lost it. “What is this?! Who arranged for all my unflattering photos to be posted everywhere?! Was it Kathryn!” He pointed angrily at the wedding planner, storming backstage to find me. “Where’s Kathryn?” The wedding planner quickly responded, “Ms. Taylor said she’s not attending the wedding and has already been on a flight…” “What do you mean she’s not attending? She’s the bride! If she doesn’t show up, then who will?!” Watching Stephen lose it was so amusing. I didn’t feel bored during my wait at the airport. “And who told you to put up all my unflattering photos? You covered the whole hall with them! “Take them down! Now!” Bonnie quickly chimed in, “So, you mean Kathryn ran away on her wedding day? How could she do this? What about the guests who came? She’s being too unreasonable.” At that moment, the wedding planner relayed my message. “Ms. Lewis, aren’t you wearing a wedding dress? Why don’t you help with the ceremony to entertain the guests?” Bonnie looked at Stephen shyly, as if embarrassed, but kept murmuring about how it wasn’t right. However, it was clear she was willing. Seeing this, Stephen quickly said, “Kathryn can come or not. Who cares about her? Bonnie, will you help me out?” As I expected, Bonnie refused a few times before reluctantly agreeing and walking through the ceremony with Stephen. The show was just getting started when they walked hand in hand toward the stage… Just as Stephen took out the custom-made wedding ring I had chosen and lovingly put it on Bonnie’s finger, the doors to the banquet hall suddenly burst open. A group of police officers rushed in. “Mr. Lloyd, Ms. Lewis, you have been reported for malicious criminal behavior. Please come with us for investigation!”

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My boyfriend, Randy, cried as he pleaded with me to wait for him before leaving for his studies abroad. I hated waiting more than anything. Yet for six long years, that was all I did. I waited for him to finish his work. I waited for him to read my messages. And I waited for him to say how much he missed me. Finally, I waited until the day I didn’t have to wait anymore. He fell in love with someone else and invited me to his wedding. I was late, but he kept calling me. What he didn’t know was that I had died on the flight to his wedding.

I had dated Edwin for seven years. Just before we were about to get married, his first love returned. On the day I was trying on my wedding dress, I caught a glimpse of Edwin’s phone lighting up with a message. [Edwin, you loved me for six years. Now that I’m back, will you give up everything and start over with me?] His response was swift. [I will.] For a moment, it felt as if the world around me froze, the chill seeping into my bones. Did my seven years of companionship really pale in comparison to that woman’s presence?

My name was Vivian Collins. I was killed in an accident while pregnant with Logan Perez’s child. At the same time, Logan was wrapped up in a passionate embrace with his beloved, Megan Robinson. He ignored call after call from those trying to reach him, assuming it was just me bothering him. Logan didn’t believe I was dead—he thought I was putting on a show. But when he finally saw my lifeless body, he completely lost it.

My name was Nancy Robinson. When my brother Tom Robinson’s wife, Megan, was pregnant and about to give birth, a new nursing intern named Rebecca Amore volunteered to take my place in the exhausting neonatal ward. I was grateful for her timely help and pulled some strings to secure her a permanent position at the hospital. That very night, Megan delivered a set of twin boys. Tragically, one was born with severe health issues, while the other had a genetic condition that made him extraordinarily aggressive. In just a few short years, Tom and Megan were financially ruined due to the medical expenses for their ailing son. They ended up selling their organs to cover costs and died on the operating table. My parents, too, met a grim fate after a confrontation with someone due to my aggressive nephew, Mark Robinson. They suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and passed away, filled with resentment. As for me, I was fired for my misconduct in helping Rebecca get that position, and I had to settle for washing dishes at a restaurant to make ends meet. Meanwhile, Rebecca quickly climbed the ranks and became the head of the nursing department. One day, in a cruel twist of fate, I found myself in the hospital after my aggressive nephew had severed my arm. As I lay there, teetering on the edge of death, Rebecca coldly revealed that on the night of the shift change, she had switched my brother Tom and Megan’s children with her own. When I regained consciousness, I was back in the hospital, right at the moment Rebecca had suggested swapping shifts with me. ***** Dragging my severed arm, I stumbled into the hospital and humbly begged Rebecca to save my life. She looked down at me from her lofty position, my aggressive nephew Mark lurking behind her. “Ha, just because your family has a little money? That’ll be perfect for raising my kid! “You don’t know, do you? The day Megan gave birth, I switched her baby with mine!” That devilish nephew of mine stood behind her, his hairless face twisted into an evil grin. “Auntie, I’ve grown up without ever tasting a woman. I know you love me the most. Since you’re going to die anyway, why not let me have some fun first?” Despair washed over me, and I shut my eyes, succumbing to the darkness in that cramped little room. But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the hospital right before Megan was due to give birth! Rebecca was in front of the mirror, adjusting her hair and trying to cover her tracks. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, so how could I be pregnant? I’ve just gained some weight these past few days! By the way, Nancy, you’ve helped me so much. I’ll cover your shift in a couple of days!” I quickly gathered my thoughts. Rebecca was young, and her nutrition during pregnancy had been poor. Even though she was about to give birth, her belly wasn’t very pronounced. In my past life, I had been deceived by her sweet demeanor. I often covered her shifts and even shared my family’s nutritional supplements with her. When she offered to cover my shift, it coincided with Megan going into labor, and my parents and brother were out of town, leaving me as the only one to care for her. To show my gratitude to Rebecca for her timely help, I not only gave her a 20 thousand dollars thank you but also used my connections to get her a permanent position. Now, I smiled and replied, “Sure, but I’ll need your help not just on the due date, but for the next few days as well.” Rebecca didn’t expect me to agree so readily, and her forced smile faltered. I stripped off my nurse’s uniform, asked the head nurse for some time off, and rushed straight to Megan’s room. Megan was carrying twins, and her belly was enormous, making it difficult for her to roll over. “I wonder who they’ll look like. Hopefully, they’ll take after me; I’m the prettier one!” Megan’s face radiated happiness. She was such a gentle soul, yet in my previous life, she had tragically passed away in a dark hospital room, trying to raise money for that sickly child who had taken her son’s place. When I went to collect her body, I found maggots crawling over her hollowed-out corpse. This time around, I would make sure that nothing like that happened again!

I said, “It doesn’t matter who the kids look like, as long as they’re healthy.” Megan smiled brightly and replied, “You’re right! Auntie knows best, and we’ll listen to her!” She spoke to the babies in her belly with such warmth that it made my eyes sting with unshed tears. In my past life, Rebecca had switched her two premature infants with Megan’s, and I had never heard of her raising any children. My two nephews were either sold off or, worse, discarded like trash. The night shift in the neonatal unit was no walk in the park. After one long night, Rebecca looked like a ghost. She approached me, her voice sweet and coaxing, trying to persuade me to take back the shift. “Nancy, I’m just wiped out from the night shift! You’re taking care of Megan, and it’s not too tired, so why not come back to the night shift? It’ll be easier for you!” Rebecca had just graduated from nursing school and was only eighteen. In the past, I felt sorry for her youth; whenever she played the damsel in distress, I’d do anything to help her out. Rebecca probably thought I’d do the same this time. To her surprise, I shot her down. “The night shift is your responsibility. If you can’t handle it, then maybe you should rethink your career choice!” Her eyes widened in shock, a flash of malice flickering across her face. But she quickly masked it with a weak smile. “It’s fine! I can manage; I just need to push through this discomfort!” “Is that so? You’re really tough. By the way, didn’t you promise Amanda you’d help her with the paperwork? You should get on that tonight since you have some downtime.” With that, I turned and walked away. In the reflection of the door’s glass, I caught a glimpse of Rebecca’s eyes, filled with venom. As I stepped out of the room, I noticed a man lurking near the women’s restroom, peeking in. I recognized him as a relative of a patient downstairs, someone who often tried to sneak peeks into the women’s restroom. I thought for a moment and pretended to be on a phone call as I passed by him. “You won’t believe it! Lately, there have been couples sneaking into the women’s restroom at all hours!” That night, after settling Megan in for the night, I made my way to the restroom to wait. Rebecca was already struggling; her body was undernourished, and with her due date approaching, the grueling night shifts and paperwork were taking their toll. During the day, I passed by the nurses’ station and saw her, drenched in sweat, clutching her belly. I knew she was in labor; the contractions were starting, and she wouldn’t be able to hide it for long. In my previous life, I had no idea when Rebecca gave birth, but I was certain it wasn’t in a hospital. Back then, I covered all her night shifts, and she hadn’t worked a single one for nearly a month until she finally switched with me for Megan’s delivery. But this time, I had agreed to the shift change early on, and after three consecutive nights, Rebecca was cornered. The hospital was her only option, and the restroom at midnight would be the perfect place. Sure enough, the peeping tom had taken my words to heart and stealthily crept into the women’s restroom that night. When he came out, his phone was nowhere to be found.

Before long, Rebecca rushed into the restroom, clutching her belly. I stood guard outside, listening to her muffled cries of pain—she was going into labor. I had to admit that youth was on her side. Less than thirty minutes later, Rebecca emerged, her face pale and reeking of blood, cradling two tiny bundles in her arms. I didn’t rush in right away; instead, I waited patiently for a moment. Just then, the peeping tom couldn’t hold back any longer and approached the restroom to retrieve his phone. As he stepped out, I grabbed him by the collar. “Caught you, you creep! Let’s go see the police!” The man froze, terror etched on his face as he collapsed onto the floor, pleading for mercy. “I swear, I’ll never do it again! Please, just let me go!” I hadn’t actually planned on taking him to the police; it wasn’t the right time for that. Instead, I handed him over to the hospital security. They confiscated his phone in front of me, placing it in an evidence bag, intending to file a report in the morning. I didn’t object; I just wanted to get back to the newborn ward and check on things. When I arrived, Rebecca was nowhere to be found. I approached the head nurse, casually inquiring, “Is the newborn ward empty? Why isn’t anyone on duty?” The head nurse’s eyes widened in alarm. “That lazy girl Rebecca must be slacking off again!” Not long after, I heard the head nurse’s stern reprimands mixed with Rebecca’s sobs. Through the crack in the door, I saw her limping back to the ward, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her belly. Typically, there were four nurses rotating in the newborn ward, so Rebecca’s absence shouldn’t have caused any issues. But I relished the thought of her discomfort. Megan’s due date was the same as in my previous life—4 AM. She had initially hoped for a natural birth, but I shot that down immediately. In my past life, Megan struggled for five exhausting hours in the delivery room, ultimately needing help from the nurses in the newborn ward. In the chaos, Rebecca had effortlessly swapped Megan’s babies. To avoid any unnecessary complications this time, I insisted on a C-section for Megan. Rebecca had no right to step into the operating room or pull any tricks! Before long, Megan delivered two healthy boys. As they were placed in my arms, I felt tears of joy welling up. These were our children! In my previous life, Rebecca had swapped them out early, and one of the babies had been so tiny and frail, even lacking hair and eyebrows—he looked like a little monster! But the real challenge began after the babies arrived. My parents showed up at the hospital that morning, and as soon as they walked in, they handed Megan three gifts and a box overflowing with gold jewelry. Just then, Rebecca, who had just finished her night shift, walked in and caught sight of the scene. Her eyes glimmered with envy and jealousy. A nurse entered the room, ready to take the babies for a bath. Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “I’ll do it!” Before I could respond, she eagerly stepped forward. “I’m Nancy’s colleague; she’s always been so kind to me. I’d love to repay her kindness. Let me handle this little task!” My parents, seeing her eagerness, handed her two more gifts. “Oh, you’re Nancy’s colleague? Come, share in the joy!” Rebecca’s face brightened as she touched the gifts, her earlier jealousy momentarily forgotten. My parents owned two factories and were quite generous; the gifts easily totaled over three thousand dollars. “Alright, I’ll take the babies for their bath now. Don’t worry, Nancy; I’ll be gentle and careful!” I stayed silent, quietly trailing behind Rebecca as she whisked the babies away.

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My name was Keira Knightley. After dropping out of school, my parents didn’t pressure me at all. But then my boyfriend, Logan Ridley’s so-called high-IQ childhood friend, Megan Robinson, called me out of the blue. I was too busy working in the fields, planting vegetables, and splashing around in the water to even think about writing code. In my past life, Megan had submitted an identical program design just a day before I did. Everyone accused me of being shameless, of plagiarism, and of deceit. I tried to set the record straight, but no one believed me. To make matters worse, Megan went live on social media, slandering me for bullying her in school. The online mob turned against my entire family, and my parents died in a car accident while trying to escape the extreme harassment from internet trolls. I couldn’t bear the weight of it all. I jumped from a tall building, unable to find peace in death. Even in those final moments, I couldn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong. After all my hard work, why had someone stolen my success? When I opened my eyes again, I realized I hadn’t died at all. ***** I had been reborn. I fumbled for my phone, checking the date—August 28th, the day before I was supposed to submit my most important competition entry. My teammates gathered around me, their faces lit up with admiration. “Keira, you’re amazing! You cracked such a tough problem! Once you finish the program, we can submit it, right?” My advisor patted me on the shoulder, looking pleased. “Keira, you’ve really put in the effort. Thanks to your core program design, I’m confident we’ll take first place in the competition. Your graduate school application will be a breeze.” A wave of bitterness washed over me. In my previous life, when I was accused of plagiarism, it was the same teachers and classmates who stood up for me. But their voices had been drowned out by the torrent of online abuse. Some even had their information leaked online, caught in the crossfire of my scandal. I glanced back at the unfinished code on my computer, a chill running down my spine as horrific memories flooded my mind. If I remembered correctly, I had stayed up all night on the 28th, excited to finally submit the program. But the next day, I received a notice of disqualification. The competition organizers had issued a public statement accusing me of plagiarism, and I was suddenly the target of a relentless online attack. “Does she think she can cheat her way through this competition? What a disgrace!” “Plagiarists are the scum of the earth. They should just disappear!” “It’s disgusting that she would take someone else’s hard work and pass it off as her own.” Even walking around campus became unbearable; I was bombarded with disdainful glares and insults. “Isn’t she the one who plagiarized? What a shame for Arona University to have her here.” “Someone so shameless wouldn’t care about the consequences of her actions.” “I heard she was just trying to use this to apply for grad school. What a joke.” The malice in their eyes was palpable, as if they wished for my immediate demise. Suddenly, a cold shiver jolted me back to reality. I couldn’t help but reach for my phone and open WhatsApp, searching for Megan. She was the one I had “plagiarized” in my past life, and she was also my boyfriend Logan’s childhood friend. With her beautiful complexion and cute features, Megan was the picture of innocence that attracted countless suitors. Both of her parents were professors. Her name often graced the campus confession board, a testament to her popularity. My boyfriend, Logan, would go to great lengths every day to shower Megan with gifts and flowers. When I discovered his actions, he explained that he only saw her as a little sister and accused me of being overly jealous. Later, I stumbled upon chat logs where Logan complained to his roommate about me, labeling me as plain and boring compared to the adorable and cute Megan, even expressing disgust at being with me. I’d considered breaking up multiple times, but each time, Logan would transform into a different person, begging for reconciliation. However, now I see through his act. Scrolling through Megan’s status, I found one of her taking a selfie surrounded by a group of teammates, all huddled around a computer. The caption read: [Pulling an all-nighter with the team to finish our code. Hoping for a great ranking in this competition!] Curiously, I zoomed in on the photo, only to find several segments of my original code seamlessly integrated into her program, down to the very last character, including an extra parenthesis I had mistakenly typed in. I was stunned, staring at my screen. “Could it be that we share the same thoughts? Her post was set a day before mine, meaning her code was written ahead of mine. Yet, I had created my code and logic design entirely independently, never borrowing from anyone else’s source code. Why does Megan’s match mine perfectly, including that careless parenthesis? This is strange!” I buried my face in my hands, my mind racing with confusion and disbelief. I couldn’t fathom how this could be happening. Yet, I couldn’t abandon the upcoming contest. It wasn’t just about me; it was the collective effort of the entire team. Withdrawing would only bring harm to them, and I couldn’t bear to let them down. As night fell, I finally made up my mind. No matter what, having a second chance meant I had to protect everyone around me and fight for justice. I looked at my screen filled with lines of code, then clicked delete and shut down my computer.

I was the top student at Arona University, guaranteed a spot in the graduate program, and I had chosen to major in Computer Science. In my field, everything had been going smoothly; I dominated my department, racking up accolades and participating in countless competitions. As graduation approached, I finally mustered the courage to approach my long-time idol, Vincent Stewart, about pursuing further studies. His only condition was that I had to secure first place in an upcoming international competition. Determined to meet his expectations, I decided to tackle the most challenging project I could find. I spent countless hours in the computer lab, pouring over research and coding late into the night. But just when I thought I was on the brink of success, Megan swooped in and easily claimed the fruits of my labor. As I strolled through the quiet campus, a nagging feeling crept in that I might be overlooking something crucial. Just as I was lost in thought, a flash of inspiration struck me. If my current project wasn’t working out, why not try a different programming language and structure? Once back in my dorm, I pulled out my laptop and began typing out a brand-new code. With intense focus, I suddenly had a fresh perspective on the logical framework, and I set to work on building it up from scratch. This way, my program wouldn’t be accused of plagiarism, and I could enhance its efficiency! The excitement surged within me as I coded faster and faster, translating my ideas into reality. That was when I heard my roommate’s worried voice from behind me. “Keira, you’re pushing yourself too hard. Staying up all night isn’t good for you. You should take a break!” I glanced at my phone, only to realize it was already 4:30 AM. My roommate sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to reason with me. “Keira, you’ve got a whole week until the competition. There’s no rush. What if you burn out before the big day? That would be such a waste.” Her words hit me like a wake-up call. Of course, I had a whole week left! I didn’t need to rush to submit anything just yet; I could wait for news from Megan. If there were still similarities or oddities in our projects, I’d have time to tweak and refine mine. This way, I could avoid the plagiarism debacle that had haunted my previous life and finally present my own hard-earned work at the competition. With that thought, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I thanked my roommate and dove back into coding, determined to finish the second version of my program. After a trial run, it worked flawlessly! I took a deep breath, staring at the completed program. Finally, my creation was born. But then, memories of my past life flooded back. Megan hadn’t just accused me of plagiarism; she had gone live on social media, spreading lies about me bullying her on campus. With tears streaming down her face, she played the innocent victim, and her sweet, pure image captured the hearts of many. The online backlash against me was relentless. [I can’t believe there’s bullying happening in college. This girl is so arrogant; we need to make sure she pays for her actions!] [Poor Megan! Not only was she bullied, but she was also plagiarized. Keira is just evil!] [Megan is too kind-hearted. It’s up to us to stand up for her! Does anyone have Keira’s number?] I couldn’t understand why she was lying. I tried desperately to clear my name, but it only fueled the fire of online harassment. Someone maliciously leaked my family’s private information online, leading to my parents being harassed to the point where they had to move. Tragically, while on the road, they were involved in a serious accident caused by aggressive internet trolls, and they died on the spot. As I thought about it now, my fists clenched in anger, my nails digging into my palms. If I didn’t uncover the root of all this chaos, I couldn’t ensure my family’s safety. Just as I was racking my brain on how to investigate, I heard a classmate exclaim nearby. “Did you guys see Megan’s status? Someone stole her competition entry!” “Seriously? With only a few days left until the contest? What’s she going to do now? There’s no way she can rewrite it in time!” “Plagiarists are the worst! It’s disgusting!” I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. I immediately pulled out my phone and opened Megan’s status, my heart racing.

I saw her new pinned post, and my heart sank. It read: [Can someone really plagiarize code and still enter a competition?] A chill ran down my spine as a troubling thought crossed my mind. “Perhaps this status was the spark that ignited the wave of abuse I’ve faced in my previous life.” Megan was popular on campus, backed by her parents, who were professors, while I was just an average-looking student with no connections. In a world that often valued appearances, she always seemed to have the upper hand. Before long, her ambiguous status was bombarded with comments. [What’s up, Megan? Did someone steal your code?] [You should tell your parents and have the school investigate. We need to get that plagiarist out of here!] [Plagiarists are a disgrace to Arona University! With the competition coming up, this is a serious issue.] Reading those words made my blood boil, pulling me back into the shadows of my past harassment. Back then, I received thousands of hateful messages daily, and someone even posted my information on a “meat market” site, leading to countless calls from creepy men. “Stop pretending to be pure; you’ll just end up serving some old professor after graduation. Want to play with me? I know your address. If you don’t let me sleep with you, I’ll come find you myself.” My parents had chosen to move because of this, only to die in a tragic car accident shortly after. The painful memories washed over me, and I instinctively wanted to escape. But just before I could shut off my phone, I caught sight of my name in the comments. [Is Megan talking about Keira? I saw her program with the teacher a few days ago, and it looked just like Megan’s!] As soon as that comment was posted, the floodgates opened, and people began to argue. [Keira? The one who aced in the competition to get to the college? You really saw her program, and it was identical?] [No way! She’s always been at the top of our department. Why would she need to copy? You better have proof!] [Ha! How do you know her top scores weren’t due to cheating? Besides, Megan didn’t specifically name her; don’t be a fool!] Before long, the comments devolved into chaos, with many classmates even posting their own statuses to rally behind Megan. My boyfriend Logan was among the most vocal, posting three times in a row, each with a different selfie of Megan. [Megan’s hard work is evident. She often stays up late to prepare for the team competition. I hope whoever is involved in this plagiarism scandal steps up and admits it. If not, I’ll report them to the authorities to get justice for Megan!] Almost every guy in our department liked his posts, and Megan chimed in below. [Thanks, Logan! You’re the best!] A wave of jealousy and bitterness surged within me, but I also felt a sense of relief. Thank goodness I hadn’t submitted my program yesterday; otherwise, I would be facing another round of online bullying right now. Once I composed myself, I decided to leave the classroom and discuss my newly written program with my team. Just then, I noticed Megan’s latest status. [Thanks for all the support, everyone! Even though someone stole my code, I can still redesign the program in no time. That’s a talent no plagiarist can take away! Here’s my new program; come check it out!] With a mix of anxiety and curiosity, I clicked on the link she posted, and my heart dropped—her new program was identical to my second version!

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