“Say it! What color is this?” My mother’s palm cracked across my cheek, leaving a stinging heat in its wake. I stared at the palette in front of me—a blurred, muddy mess of grays and shadows—and my lips trembled. I couldn’t find the words because I couldn’t find the light. “Your father is a world-class painter,” she hissed, her voice trembling with a jagged edge of hysteria. “How could his child be colorblind? I’ve taught you this a thousand times. Why can’t you see it?” She gripped my upper arm, her fingers digging into my skin like talons. She was unraveling right in front of me. “If you don’t find red today, you aren’t my daughter anymore!” The heavy oak door of the studio slammed shut, the deadbolt clicking into place. I knelt there on the hardwood floor, paralyzed. My eyes drifted from the sketch of roses on the easel—waiting for a life they would never receive—to the X-Acto knife resting on the side table. My mother had told me once that the color of life, the color of human blood, was red. I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the blade and drew it across my wrist. As the warmth sprayed across my face and splattered onto the canvas, a strange, floaty sense of relief washed over me. I finally smiled. Look, Mom… I found the red. 1. The phantom heat of the slap still lingered on my skin. The bite of the blade was sharper, colder, a new kind of agony that bloomed across my wrist. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the frantic humming of my heart. I have to find it. I have to find the red. I stared at the little squares of pigment. In my world, color didn’t exist in hues; it existed in gradients of gray and silver. I couldn’t tell where the fire ended and the forest began. When the hot blood hit my face, I didn’t stop to wonder why there was so much of it. Instead, I reached out, dipping my fingers into the wetness, comparing it to the paints. “You useless girl. How many times do I have to show you?” My mother’s voice echoed in the cramped space, a ghost of a thousand previous lessons. I could see her throwing the color swatches at me, her face contorted. “Willa, do you want the whole world to know? Do you want them to know you aren’t your father’s child?” That truth was an arrow that had pierced my heart years ago, the shaft broken off, leaving the tip to fester in my chest until it became part of my DNA. I was the fruit of a nightmare. On their wedding night, amidst the drunken chaos of the reception, my father—Thomas—had been locked out of the bridal suite by a group of “pranksters.” In the dark, someone else had slipped in. My mother, Lydia, had spent her life pretending I was a miracle, rather than a mistake. Whenever we went out, people would lean over my stroller and coo. “Who does she look like? Not much of her dad, I think. She’s all you, Lydia.” My mother’s smile would always freeze, a porcelain mask cracking at the edges. She lived every day on a razor’s edge, waiting for the world to see the lie. And then, I had painted a rose green. “You’re supposed to love art,” she would mutter, pacing the studio, her steps quickening with her heartbeat. “Thomas says you have his hands. He says you’re going to be a master. How can you be colorblind? He doesn’t carry that gene! Speak to me, Willa! Why can’t you see it? Do you want to destroy this family? Do you want to destroy me?” Her screams vibrated in my ears, a symphony of resentment. I ignored the growing pool of dark liquid beneath me. I was running out of time. If I didn’t find the red, they would leave me behind. In my panic, I knocked over the palette. The paints ran together, merging into a dull, soulless gray. Just like my life. Acting on a dark, primal impulse, I smeared the blood from my wrist onto the canvas. Lydia always said blood was red. I remembered the time she’d slapped me so hard my lip split. She’d pressed her thumb into the wound, her eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. “Do you see? This is red. Do you understand now?” I picked up the knife again and carved deeper, following the line I’d already made. The world began to blur. The edges of the room softened, turning into a hazy, silver mist. The pain felt far away now, like a sound heard underwater. I looked at the rose on the canvas, now drenched in my own essence. A twisted sense of satisfaction filled the hollow spaces of my soul. I did it, Mom. I’m not a failure. I’m an artist. I’m his daughter. Can you forgive me now? 2. My body felt impossibly light. Suddenly, the gray veil lifted. It was as if someone had turned the saturation dial on the universe all the way up. Colors exploded everywhere—violent, beautiful, and overwhelming. I saw my painting, a macabre masterpiece of crimson. I saw the girl on the floor—my body—tangled in a pool of brilliant, terrifying scarlet. My first thought wasn’t horror. It was joy. So, this is red. I finally understood. I wanted to run out and tell her. I wanted to show her that I finally saw what she saw. But then I saw Lydia. She was standing outside the studio, turning the key in the lock from the outside. “Willa, you stay in there until you can tell the difference,” she called out, her voice cold. “I’m not letting you out until you learn.” It was a familiar routine. Whenever Thomas was away at a gallery opening or a teaching seminar, Lydia turned into a jailer. She would lay out the swatches and her voice would start soft, deceptive. “Willa, honey, you aren’t colorblind. You’re just not trying. Let’s look again.” She would coax me, and I would reach out, my heart hammering against my ribs. I would stare at the gray cards and try to read her face. If her lips tilted up, I was close. If her eyes narrowed, I was failing. “Tell me. Which one is this?” Her voice would flatten—the calm before the hurricane. “I… I think…” I would reach for a different card, but she would grab my hand, her nails digging in. “Don’t you know?” she’d whisper. “This is the color of that dress your father bought you. Your favorite dress. What color is it, Willa?” I couldn’t answer. Before the tears could fall, her rage would erupt. “You useless, ungrateful brat! I’ve spent years on you! Why can’t you just be blind? If you were blind, it would be easier! I wish I’d never had you!” I learned to survive. I started making tiny, microscopic pinpricks on the back of the swatches to mark them. When her mood collapsed, I would find my mark and say the word “yellow” or “blue” with feigned confidence. She would let out a sharp breath, her posture softening. She would pull me into a tight, suffocating hug. “I knew it. My Willa is a genius. Just like your father. He’s so proud of you. We can’t let him down, okay?” “Okay,” I would whisper, the lie sticking in my throat. But as the color palettes grew more complex—moving from twenty-four shades to forty-eight, then to professional pigments—I couldn’t keep up with the marks. I started failing again. “If I come back and see one more mistake, you’re done,” she said today, walking away without a backward glance. I followed her—or rather, my spirit did. She was going to pick up Thomas. His fame had skyrocketed over the last few years. He was the darling of the contemporary art scene, and today was the opening of his solo exhibition downtown. When Lydia arrived, he was in the middle of an interview with a sleek woman in a power suit. “Yes, I have a daughter,” Thomas was saying, his smile warm and genuine. “She’s incredibly talented. She has my eyes for detail. She’s my greatest pride.” The sun caught his face, making him look like a hero from a storybook. Beside him, Lydia froze. She clutched the fabric of her skirt so hard her knuckles turned white. She was terrified. Thomas finished the interview and walked toward her. “Lydia? Where’s Willa? Why didn’t you bring her?” Lydia blinked, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “Thomas… I think we should send her away. To that boarding school in Switzerland. For her art.” 3. Lydia looked like she was in physical pain. Her brow was furrowed with a grief so deep it looked like hatred. Thomas looked confused. “What? Why so suddenly?” “I’m just… I’m scared, Thomas. Scared she won’t live up to your legacy here. She’s so shy, so stifled. She needs to see the world. She needs to grow.” She forced a brittle smile. “And if she’s away… we won’t be so busy. Your mother is always saying we need a son. To carry on the name properly.” I felt a cold shiver pass through my soul. She was giving up on me. She wanted me gone so she could start over—so she could give Thomas a child that was actually his. “What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, rubbing her shoulders gently. “Willa is enough. Forget what my mother says. Our daughter is too young to be sent across the ocean. When she’s older, if she wants to go, we can talk about it. But not now.” His voice was so kind, so full of love. And that was the problem. The better he was, the more we suffered under the weight of the lie. “You’re a curse,” Lydia used to scream at me in the middle of the night. “Why do you have to be colorblind? If you were normal, we could forget. You can’t let him find out! He loves you too much—you can’t fail him!” The guilt had been my constant companion, a heavy stone I carried in my pockets until I finally sank. Lydia wanted to solve the problem by erasing me. And honestly? It seemed like a good plan. If I disappeared, the bomb would be defused. Everyone could be happy. Why are you saying no, Dad? I’m nothing like you. I can’t even pick out a tube of paint. How can I be your pride? Then it hit me. I was already dead. The bomb had already gone off. I watched Thomas lead Lydia toward a bistro for an early dinner. I felt strangely light. I drifted between them, pretending for a moment that we were a normal family of three out for a walk. “I’ll have the waiter pack up some of those salted caramel cupcakes,” Thomas said. “Willa loves those.” Lydia’s smile faltered. While Thomas was looking at the menu, she pulled out her phone and sent a text. My ghost watched the screen. Your father is coming home soon. Is that painting finished? Send me a photo. If you got the colors wrong again, I’m done with you. She was terrified of him seeing my mistakes. When I was younger, I used to love showing him my “abstract” work. Once, I showed him a landscape where I’d accidentally used a bright crimson for the moon. “Why is the moon red, Willa?” he had asked, curious. My skin had crawled. I felt Lydia’s gaze on the back of my neck—sharp, predatory, freezing the marrow in my bones. I’d lied instantly. “Because I ran out of yellow, Daddy.” He laughed it off. But that night, Lydia had dragged me to the kitchen. She forced a piece of bitter orange peel into my mouth. “Remember this taste? This is yellow,” she hissed, her face inches from mine. “Do I have to keep doing this? Are you ever going to learn?” I remembered. I remembered the bitterness. I remembered the gray world and the way I had to memorize the position of the paints on the tray. I remembered never mentioning colors in front of my father again. 4. After dinner, Thomas bought a small cake from a bakery on the corner. “Next time, you have to bring her,” he said, swinging Lydia’s hand. “She hasn’t even seen the new gallery layout.” Lydia slowed down, her voice sounding like it was being squeezed out of her lungs. She checked her phone. No reply from me. Still can’t get it right? she typed. Fine. No more art. I don’t have a daughter anymore. The words were sharp, fueled by a decade of repressed panic. “You keep saying she’s talented,” Lydia said, her voice trembling. “I don’t see it. You see her coloring… it’s like she doesn’t even think. She picks colors that make no sense—” They were walking through a quiet alleyway now, the shadows stretching long and blue against the brick. “I should have waited to have kids,” Lydia whispered. “I didn’t know it would be… like this.” She was a string pulled too tight, finally snapping. Thomas usually played the peacemaker. “Honey, you’re being a ‘Tiger Mom.’ It’s okay if she’s not perfect. She’s a kid.” He didn’t know the shadow she carried. He didn’t know she was drowning in a deep, dark well of her own making. “Please,” Lydia sobbed, stopping in her tracks. “Just send her away. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t teach her. She’s… she’s broken.” Her voice was raw, desperate. She began listing my “faults” like a prosecutor—how I was moody, how I was lazy, how I couldn’t communicate. She was trying to make me unlovable so that when she sent me away, it wouldn’t feel like a crime. “I’m going crazy, Thomas! I can’t be in the same house as her!” I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I wanted to reach out and hold her. I wanted to tell her it was over. I was dead. The “stain” on her life had been bleached white. She could be clean now. But Thomas moved first. He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I know,” he whispered. “Lydia, I know everything.” Lydia went rigid. “I know Willa is colorblind. It doesn’t matter. She’s my daughter. I’ll help her.” The world seemed to stop spinning. Lydia’s eyes were wide, fixed on nothing. I stood there, a ghost in the wind, frozen. He knew? “I’m sorry,” Thomas said, his voice thick with tears. “I thought if I pretended not to know, it would make it easier for you. I thought if I played along with the ‘genius’ narrative, you’d feel less pressure. It was my fault. I let you carry this alone.” He stroked her hair, ignoring her stunned silence. “Whatever happened that night… I don’t care. I love you. And I love our daughter. Let’s just go home. Let’s talk about this as a family.” Lydia was like a doll with its strings cut. He led her to the car, and she sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. Thomas looked at her through the rearview mirror, his face a mask of guilt and resolve. I sat in the back seat, watching them. It’s going to be okay, I thought. They’re going to be okay. If I were still alive, we could have been a real family. Thomas pulled into the driveway and helped Lydia out of the car. “She’s probably in the studio,” he said, grabbing the cake and the cupcakes. “I’ll go give her these.” He walked toward the studio, his stride confident and light—until his shoe stepped into something wet and dark that was seeping out from under the door.

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“Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?” I had just pulled down my mask, my hands barely out of the sterile field, when the question hit me like a slap to the face. I looked up. Liam Carter stood in the center of the hallway, his lab coat crisp, his ID badge glaring under the fluorescent lights. “As of right now, you are suspended.” The surrounding area instantly fell silent. The lights at the nurses’ station were on, and several doctors stopped dead in their tracks, all eyes turning toward us. I let out a short laugh. “Excuse me?” Liam took a step forward, his voice louder. “I said, you are suspended. Operating Room 7 is no longer open to you.” “On whose authority?” Right in front of everyone, he reached out and ripped the printed schedule off the wall at the nurses’ station. The paper tore with a sharp rip. “The Chief of Medicine.” I nodded slowly and didn’t say another word. In that moment, I knew this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to the Mayor. “I’m sorry, my surgical privileges have been revoked. I’m afraid I won’t be able to perform your wife’s liver transplant.” 01 The OR doors slid shut behind me, and the moment the “In Use” light flicked off, the tension in my shoulders finally released. For ten straight hours, I had stood at that operating table, performing a highly complex organ transplant. I had personally verified every single suture. When the patient was wheeled out, the lines on the monitor were clean and stable. I pulled down my surgical mask, the sharp scent of antiseptic still clinging to my breath. Just as I rounded the corner of the hallway, a figure stepped directly into my path, blocking me. “Dr. Hayes.” The tone was abrasive, the volume intentionally dialed up. I looked up and saw Liam Carter. He wore a pristine white lab coat, his ID badge so new it reflected the overhead lights. He was a surgical intern, personally mentored by Julian—no, excuse me, by Arthur Sterling. He stood ramrod straight, looking as if he’d been waiting there for a while. At the nurses’ station and in the waiting area, several doctors paused what they were doing, drawn by his loud voice. “Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?” Liam raised his chin, making sure everyone could hear him. “As of right now, you are suspended.” The air instantly tightened. I froze for a split second. It wasn’t that I hadn’t dealt with arrogant people before, but I hadn’t expected it at a moment like this. I gave a small smile, tossed my gloves into the biohazard bin, and kept my voice light. “Oh? And on whose authority?” He sneered, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask that very question. Right in front of me, he reached out and yanked the printed schedule off the wall. The sound of tearing paper echoed unnaturally loud in the quiet corridor. “The Chief of Medicine.” After delivering the line, he tossed the torn schedule aside, the edge of the paper grazing a nurse’s hand. Nobody made a sound. I watched a few young residents lower their heads, pretending to be deeply engrossed in charting. The charge nurse’s lips parted, but she ultimately said nothing. I nodded. “Understood.” My tone was so calm it surprised even me. Liam was visibly taken aback. It clearly wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for. He took another step forward, lowering his voice but still ensuring those nearby could hear every word. “Chloe Hayes, know your place. You should know perfectly well who runs Surgery now.” I didn’t dignify that with a response. The light above OR 7 was still illuminated. Through the observation window, I could see the scrub techs breaking down the sterile field. That surgery was my first since returning to the States. It was also my first time truly standing in a core position at this hospital since coming back from my fellowship abroad. I sidestepped him and headed toward the locker room. A scoff sounded behind me. “Stop acting tough.” In the locker room, I washed my hands for a long time. The sound of running water drowned out the noise from the hallway. The woman staring back at me in the mirror had dark circles under her eyes and a red indentation across her forehead from the surgical mask. Chloe Hayes, forty-two years old, attending surgeon. I had completed numerous complex transplant surgeries during my time abroad. According to protocol, I was supposed to be the hospital’s key asset for their next phase of development. And now, I had just been publicly suspended by an intern. My phone buzzed in my scrub pocket. I pulled it out. The caller ID read: Arthur Sterling. He was the Chief of Medicine at this hospital. He was also my husband. The message was brief. “Don’t cause a scene. Let me handle it.” I stared at that line of text for a few seconds before the screen went dark. He hadn’t shown up. No explanation, no denial. That scene in the hallway—if he hadn’t green-lit it, it never would have happened. Suddenly, it became crystal clear: this wasn’t a misunderstanding. When I got back to my office, the door was slightly ajar. On my desk, my nameplate had already been removed, leaving only a faint, sticky residue behind. Administration moved fast. I stood there for a moment before I started packing my personal belongings into my bag. I didn’t rush, meticulously organizing even my files, paper by paper. Someone knocked. It was a veteran attending from the surgical department, his voice hushed. “Chloe… maybe you should just head home and take a few days off?” I nodded. “Alright.” He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more, but eventually just let out a heavy sigh. By the time I walked out of the administrative building, the sky had already grown dark. I stood on the steps and lit a cigarette for myself. As the smoke curled upward, my mind drifted back three years to when Mayor Davis came to inspect the hospital. Mayor Richard Davis was a man of few words. He stood in the patient room, looking people dead in the eye when he spoke. At the time, he asked me a direct question: “If the risks become uncontrollable, will you stop the procedure?” I answered, “Yes.” He simply said, “Good.” Later, the Mayor’s wife, Eleanor Davis, was diagnosed as needing an organ transplant. After multiple rounds of evaluation, it was finally decided that I would be the lead surgeon. It was a surgery with absolutely zero margin for error. My phone lit up again. Without a second thought, I opened my contacts and sent a message. It wasn’t long, but every word was clear. “I’m sorry, my surgical privileges have been revoked. I’m afraid I won’t be able to perform your wife’s liver transplant.” Message Sent. The cigarette burned down to the filter. I crushed it out in the receptacle on top of the trash can. In the distance, the lights in the inpatient tower flicked on one by one. At the end of the corridor, Liam Carter stood amidst a group of people, talking animatedly. He looked thrilled, as if he were already accustomed to being the center of attention. No one noticed me. At this moment, everyone assumed I was just a suspended doctor. But I knew that things were only just beginning to shift. 02 Early the next morning, I arrived at the hospital as usual. When I swiped my ID badge at the main entrance, the scanner flashed red for a second before the turnstile opened. The security guard glanced at me, said nothing, and quickly looked away. I entered the inpatient tower. The elevator was packed with white coats. Usually, people would nod and say hello, but today, everyone suddenly seemed incredibly fascinated by the digital floor display, staring intently as the numbers ticked up. The elevator chimed at the sixth floor. The sign for the Department of Surgery was still there, but the atmosphere inside had noticeably shifted. The printed schedule at the nurses’ station had been replaced with a fresh sheet. The handwriting was neat and clean. Under the “Lead Surgeon” column for several upcoming procedures, the name “Chloe Hayes” was completely absent. I set my bag down, pulled out my phone, and opened the hospital’s internal portal. The login screen popped up an error message: Insufficient Privileges. I tried my backup account. Still nothing. I clicked over to the surgical schedule. It looked as if the screen had been wiped clean. All the surgeries originally assigned to me were now blank, reading only “Pending Assignment.” I looked up and saw the charge nurse standing behind the counter, clutching a clipboard so tightly her knuckles were white, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. “Who changed the schedule?” I asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Administration sent down a memo… said you were suspended from all surgical and clinical duties, pending further assignment from the board.” “Where’s the memo?” She hesitated, then slid open a drawer and handed me a stamped document. The header was bold: Decision Regarding the Suspension of Surgical Privileges and Clinical Duties of Dr. Chloe Hayes. It was issued by the Executive Office. In the approval signature box was Arthur Sterling’s name. I set the paper back down without so much as a frown. A young nurse nearby softly called out, “Dr. Hayes…” Before she could finish, someone coughed lightly from behind. She immediately swallowed the rest of her sentence, lowered her head, and went back to sorting medication orders, though her fingers were visibly trembling. The cough came from Liam Carter. He strolled down from the end of the hallway, his pace leisurely, almost like he was on patrol. Two interns trailed closely behind him. “Morning, Dr. Hayes.” He smiled politely, but his eyes were taking roll call. “Having trouble logging into the system? That’s normal. The Chief had it disabled last night.” I looked at him. “Are you in charge of surgical scheduling now?” “Temporarily assisting.” He emphasized the word ‘temporarily’. “The Chief asked me to keep an eye on things, to make sure no one goes rogue. Don’t blame me, rules are rules.” The area around the nurses’ station grew even quieter. I didn’t waste my breath arguing with him. I turned and walked toward the Department Head’s office. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open. Two people were sitting inside: the Deputy Director of Administration and a coordinator from Medical Affairs. There were file folders laid out on the desk, clearly waiting for me. The Deputy Director spoke first, his tone strictly business. “Dr. Hayes, we’re just executing the board’s decision here. Please hand over your OR access card, your authorization for anesthesia consult sign-offs, and your ER green-channel clearance.” “My ER green-channel clearance is suspended too?” I asked. The coordinator rushed to explain. “You’re not barred from the ER; you just can’t act as the final authorizing signatory. The board has designated a replacement.” “And who is the replacement?” The Deputy Director shot the coordinator a look and didn’t answer, instead sliding a sign-off sheet toward me. “Please sign this.” I didn’t pick up the pen. His smile turned stiff. “Dr. Hayes, don’t make this harder for us.” I flipped the sign-off sheet to the last page. In the box labeled “Designated Replacement,” I saw a name: Liam Carter. I looked up. “An intern is acting as the final authorizing signatory?” The coordinator’s face drained of color, and he hurriedly backpedaled. “It’s not the final signature! He’s just assisting… the actual approval still goes through the Chief.” I snapped the clipboard shut. “I’m not signing this.” The Deputy Director’s voice grew colder. “Dr. Hayes, you are currently suspended from clinical duties. Per hospital policy, you must cooperate with the handover. If you refuse, we will have to report this up the chain.” “Then report it.” I stood up. “Have the Chief of Medicine tell me himself.” Coming out of the office, I ran head-on into an old med school classmate from Anesthesiology. When she saw me, her steps faltered, like she wanted to say something but was terrified of being overheard. “Chloe…” she whispered, dropping her voice. “Don’t fight this head-on. The political winds in the hospital are blowing the wrong way right now.” I nodded. “I know.” She sighed and hurried away. I went back to the locker room to change out of my scrubs. Just as I hung up my white coat, my phone rang. Caller ID: Arthur Sterling. I answered. He skipped the pleasantries and cut straight to the chase. “Why are you causing trouble in Administration? They’re just doing their jobs.” “I was asking for clarification on the name on the sign-off sheet,” I said. He paused for two seconds, his tone shifting into that familiar “voice of reason.” “Stop getting hung up on details. The hospital needs order right now. You just got back; there are a lot of protocols you aren’t accustomed to yet. Taking a step back to breathe is a good thing for you.” “Suspending my surgical privileges is ‘taking a step back’?” “Chloe, stop twisting my words.” His voice grew tighter. “You’re too emotionally invested right now. If you keep operating, you’re going to make a mistake.” I didn’t give him an inch. “Last night’s surgery was a success. If you want to talk about risk, let’s look at the data.” Silence on the other end of the line. Then, he switched to a more blunt approach. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. The hospital needs to move forward, and that requires people who follow orders. You’re too aggressive, and it’s making a lot of people uncomfortable.” “Who are ‘a lot of people’?” “Don’t push me.” Arthur’s tone was clearly irritated now. “You’ve been out of the country too long. You don’t understand how the game is played here. The Department of Surgery isn’t your personal stage.” I heard footsteps and knocking on his end, like he was in the middle of a meeting. He lowered his voice, almost like a warning. “Don’t go running to Mayor Davis again, and don’t try to use his wife’s case as leverage. She is a patient, not a bargaining chip.” I didn’t argue, nor did I explain. He took my silence as a concession. His tone softened slightly. “I’m doing this for your own good. Go home, take a few days off. Don’t wander around the hospital. Once this blows over, I’ll figure out a new arrangement for you.” “What kind of arrangement?” I asked. “You can focus on academia, mentor the young doctors, write grant proposals.” He said it so casually. “Clinical work is high-pressure. You don’t have to be the one on the front lines all the time.” I hung up. The locker room was silent except for the dull, annoying hum of the exhaust fan. I grabbed my bag and walked out of the surgical wing. Just as I reached the elevator banks, Liam Carter appeared again. It was like he was intentionally guarding the chokepoint. His eyes flashed when he saw me, and then he smiled even more brightly. “Dr. Hayes, the Chief spoke to you, didn’t he? You should head home and rest. The hospital has a lot of inspections coming up; don’t go looking for trouble.” “Inspections?” I stopped in my tracks. Liam feigned casualness. “The city is sending people down to review our protocols. Word is they’re focusing on OR management. Someone like you, who just got back, should definitely stay out of it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on Surgery for the Chief.” He said “for the Chief” very loudly, seemingly making sure the passing nurses heard. The elevator doors slid open. I didn’t get in. I turned and headed toward the other wing of the inpatient tower. That was where the ward consultation rooms were. I had post-op follow-ups scheduled for two transplant patients today, and I needed to check on them. When I pushed open the door to the consult room, the attending physician inside practically leaped out of her chair. She moved so fast the legs of the chair screeched against the floor. “Dr. Hayes… this consultation has been rescheduled,” she said. “Rescheduled for when?” “Medical Affairs sent down a notice… another team is taking over.” She refused to meet my eyes. “You shouldn’t show your face right now. The patients’ families are highly emotional; if they cause a scene, it’ll be hard to manage.” “Who’s taking over?” She hesitated before saying, “Liam Carter is shadowing… it was arranged by the Chief’s office.” I stared at her. She couldn’t hold my gaze and muttered defensively, “There’s nothing I can do. The paperwork is already filed.” I didn’t press the issue and turned to leave. At the end of the hallway, the patients’ families were waiting. When they saw me, their eyes visibly lit up. “Dr. Hayes, how is the patient from last night doing?” someone asked anxiously. “We heard you were back, we wanted you to look at my mother’s labs.” I stopped, keeping my tone as even as possible. “You can give me the reports, and I’ll review them. But the hospital is reorganizing all surgical schedules right now. Medical Affairs will contact you with specific updates.” The family members were stunned. “You’re not doing the surgery anymore? Weren’t you the one in charge?” I offered no emotional response, only saying, “It’s a hospital decision.” As I said that, I could feel the stares around me intensifying. Several nurses standing nearby seemed to suddenly find their charting clipboards very heavy. I flipped through the lab reports, highlighted two key metrics, and handed them back. “Keep her on this regimen for a week, then re-test.” They thanked me profusely, but their frustration was evident. “Dr. Hayes, you’re the only one we trust.” I didn’t acknowledge the comment. I just nodded and walked away. I didn’t need anyone to cry foul on my behalf. Every move I made here was being watched. When I reached the main lobby on the first floor, I saw a new notice tacked to the bulletin board. During the specialized standardization review of the surgical operating rooms, all OR usage, authorization sign-offs, and personnel deployments will be centrally managed by the Executive Office. The official hospital seal was stamped at the bottom. People were whispering nearby, but scattered immediately as I approached. I stood in front of the notice board for a moment before heading to the parking garage. Just as I started the car, my phone buzzed again. It wasn’t Arthur, nor was it anyone from the hospital. It was a reply from the Mayor’s Office. It contained only two words. “Hold on.” 03 I didn’t go back to the hospital. By the time I drove up to my neighborhood gate, it was pitch black. The guard saw my car, raised the barrier as usual, and didn’t give me a second glance. The lights were on inside the house. I changed my shoes in the entryway. The living room was quiet; the TV was off. On the dining table sat two plates of food that had already gone cold. Arthur was sitting on the sofa holding a tablet, looking like he was reviewing documents. He heard me come in, glanced up, and his tone was flat. “You’re back.” I set my keys in the tray by the door, didn’t reply, and walked over to the dining table to pour a glass of water. “You don’t need to go back to the hospital anymore,” he said, closing the tablet and standing up. “I’ve already made it clear to Administration. I told them to stop bothering you.” “Made what clear?” I asked. “That you’re not in the right emotional state, and you need to take a break.” He walked over, picking up the cold plates to take them into the kitchen. “You acting like this will only make things more difficult.” I followed him into the kitchen and watched him dump the food into the trash. “Did you sign off on Liam Carter’s authorization form?” His hands paused for a second, but he didn’t turn around immediately. “He’s just a proxy,” he said. “The final approval still comes to me.” “He’s an intern,” I stated. “So what?” He turned around, his tone edging into impatience. “Stop bringing up titles all the time. Young doctors need to be trained; someone has to be ready to step up. What’s the point of fixating on a name?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “That transplant patient… I was the one responsible for her.” “I know,” he frowned. “But the hospital doesn’t revolve entirely around you. How long have you been back in the country? Can you even keep up with the changes in the surgical department over the past few years?” “You think I can’t keep up?” He didn’t answer directly, merely sighing. “Chloe, you’re too stubborn. The way things are done overseas… it doesn’t work everywhere.” I offered a half-smile. “So what works here? Putting an intern on the front lines?” His face finally darkened completely. “Do you have to speak like that?” He tied a knot in the trash bag. “You just can’t accept change. Do you think you’re still the only option available?” My smile vanished. “You’ve already made up your mind,” I said. He stared at me, as if weighing the impact of my words. The living room fell silent, save for the low hum of the refrigerator compressor. After a few seconds, his tone softened slightly. “I won’t deny it. Right now, I have to think about the entire hospital. The Chief of Surgery position can’t remain vacant, and someone has to be able to hold the fort. You wanting to drag everything back to how it was the second you returned… it’s just not realistic.” “So you chose him,” I said. He didn’t deny it. “Liam is at least obedient, and he’s willing to do the work,” he said. “He knows which side to stand on.” The implication hung heavy in the air, clearer than any direct accusation. I nodded. “Understood.” He seemed surprised I agreed so quickly, taken aback for a moment. “What do you understand?” “You don’t want successful surgeries,” I said. “You want positions filled by people who fall in line with your agenda.” His temple twitched, and his voice dropped. “Don’t make this sound so malicious.” “Then be honest with me.” I met his gaze squarely. “If someone else had been suspended today, would you have been this decisive?” He avoided my eyes and turned to pour himself a glass of water. “You’re being too sensitive,” he said. “We’re married. Stop trying to turn this into an adversarial situation.” “But you’ve already taken a side.” He set the glass down on the counter with a soft clink. He looked up at me, and for the first time, his eyes showed clear annoyance. “Chloe, this attitude of yours isn’t doing anyone any favors.” “I’m not sure if it benefits you,” I said. “But it definitely doesn’t benefit me.” He was silent for a moment before speaking more directly. “You currently have zero privileges and no say in this matter. Continuing to make a fuss will only make it harder to wrap this up.” “Is that a warning?” “It’s a fact.” I didn’t continue the conversation, turning instead toward the study. The study door was ajar, the room exactly as I had left it. A stack of medical journals sat on the desk; my suitcase, still half-unpacked from my return trip, rested in the corner. I pulled the suitcase out and started throwing clothes inside. He followed me in, standing at the doorway. “What are you doing?” “I’m moving out for a while,” I said. “Is that really necessary?” His voice rose slightly. “Your home is right here.” “Here, my voice means nothing.” I zipped up a compartment. “A change of scenery will give me some peace and quiet.” He stared at me like he was looking at a complete stranger. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me now?” he asked. “No.” I stood the suitcase upright. “I just don’t want to be involved in your decisions anymore.” He let out a cold laugh. “Do you think taking a step back absolves you of everything?” “At least I won’t be used as an excuse anymore,” I said. His expression turned ice cold. “Chloe, don’t forget—right now, you have nothing.” I paused and looked at him. “I have my expertise,” I stated. The word seemed to hit a nerve, his tone suddenly sharp. “Expertise? Who cares only about that nowadays? You’re too naive.” I didn’t argue back. Some things only need to be said once. I pushed the suitcase to the door and casually grabbed a stack of documents from the study. They were case analyses I’d compiled over the past few years, intending to slowly review them after returning to the States. He stood in the middle of the living room, watching me, as if waiting for me to say something more. I changed into my shoes and grabbed my coat. “You’re going to regret this,” he suddenly said. I paused for a second but didn’t turn around. “You always think you’re in control of everything,” I said. “But you can’t even manage patient triage correctly.” As the door clicked shut, his voice was sealed inside. 04 I checked into a hotel nearby. The room wasn’t large, but it was quiet. After unpacking, I opened my laptop and reviewed several transplant cases I’d worked on over the past few years. The data was solid; the protocols were flawless. The issue wasn’t the surgeries themselves. The next morning, I received a call from an unknown number. The caller identified himself as a staffer from the Mayor’s Office. His tone was restrained, asking only one question: “Dr. Hayes, is this a good time to talk?” I said yes. He didn’t elaborate, merely confirming one fact: “You were responsible for the pre-op evaluation for the Mayor’s wife, correct?” “That’s correct.” A brief pause on the other end. “Understood. If we need your further cooperation, we will contact you.” The call ended. I didn’t return to the hospital, and no one reached out to me. That afternoon, I visited an imaging center I frequently collaborated with and requested a follow-up report from an outside facility. It was Eleanor Davis’s most recent scan, taken just two days ago. The numbers weren’t promising. Her liver function was highly erratic, with some markers approaching critical levels. According to the original plan, if the transplant wasn’t expedited, post-op management would become significantly more difficult. I slipped the report back into its folder without doing anything else. For a VIP patient of this caliber, any delay would leave a paper trail. By the third day, things at the hospital began to shift. First, a brief text from my old med school friend in Anesthesiology: “They swapped the surgeon for your transplant case.” I replied, “I know.” Shortly after, another text: “It’s Liam Carter. The Chief handpicked him.” I stared at the screen for a few seconds before placing the phone face down on the desk. I knew Liam’s resume. His fundamentals were okay, but he had never been the primary surgeon for a transplant of this magnitude. At best, he had stood in as second assist, handing instruments and keeping time. Pushing him to the front line wasn’t bold; it was reckless. That evening, I received a third phone call. This time, it was the Deputy Director of Administration from the hospital. “Dr. Hayes, just giving you a heads-up,” he said vaguely. “The city might inquire about the scheduling of that upcoming surgery. If anyone contacts you, just stick to the facts.” “Who’s inquiring?” “The Mayor,” he lowered his voice. “Richard Davis.” The call ended abruptly, as if he feared being overheard. The following morning, the hospital convened an emergency coordination meeting. I wasn’t there, but the details of the meeting quickly leaked out. Eleanor Davis’s latest test results were placed squarely on the conference table. Representatives from Medical Affairs, Surgery, and Anesthesiology were all present. The original surgical plan was pulled out, and comparative data was laid out page by page. Someone suggested changing the lead surgeon. The justifications were perfectly bureaucratic: young, energetic, capable of handling pressure. Liam Carter volunteered. “I can do it,” he stated firmly. “I’ve been involved in all the prep work. I know the patient’s condition inside and out.” No one openly objected. But no one nodded in agreement either. Midway through the meeting, a secretary slipped in and whispered something into Arthur’s ear. His expression shifted momentarily before returning to a neutral mask. The meeting continued. Not long after, Richard Davis himself arrived. There were no pleasantries, no superfluous expressions. Upon sitting down, his first question wasn’t about the surgical plan. He looked directly at the head of Medical Affairs. “Who was the original lead surgeon?” A brief silence settled over the conference room. The head of Medical Affairs stood up. “The original plan was Dr. Chloe Hayes.” “Then why the change?” This time, no one answered immediately. Arthur spoke up, his tone measured. “Dr. Hayes’s recent condition makes her unsuitable to handle such a high-intensity surgery right now. The hospital made an adjustment based on risk assessment.” Davis nodded, then asked, “Who conducted this assessment?” “It was a comprehensive internal review by the hospital board.” “Where is the assessment report?” The air in the room noticeably tightened. Administration handed over a file. It wasn’t thick, mostly consisting of procedural outlines rather than clinical data. Davis flipped through two pages without commenting. He then turned to Liam Carter. “You are the replacement?” Liam stood up straight. “Yes, sir. I will give it my absolute best.” “How many procedures of this specific type have you been the primary surgeon for?” “As the sole primary surgeon… none yet.” “How many have you participated in?” “Seven.” Davis closed the file. “Seven participations, and you are prepared to take ultimate responsibility?” His tone wasn’t loud, but the weight of his words was undeniable. “Who gave the final approval for this?” Arthur answered, “I did.” Davis looked at him but didn’t press the issue further. He pivoted. “Have you reviewed Eleanor’s latest lab reports?” “Yes.” “With the markers fluctuating this wildly, why are we still debating personnel changes?” This time, no one rushed to answer. The only sound in the room was the rustling of paper. Davis pushed the reports back to the center of the table. “I don’t interfere with hospital personnel decisions. But when it comes to patients, there is no room for trial and error.” He stood up. “Compile the entire approval process for this surgery—from initial proposal to current status, including all personnel change logs and risk assessments—and submit it to the Mayor’s Office.” “By the end of today.” With that, he left the conference room. The door closing wasn’t loud, but it left everyone shifting uneasily in their seats. After that day, the rhythm of the hospital drastically changed. The surgical department found itself under constant scrutiny. Protocols were double-checked line by line. Approvals that usually sailed through were suddenly put on hold. Liam Carter’s name was, for the first time, being debated, rather than accepted as a foregone conclusion. I was notified that evening. Someone from the Mayor’s Office contacted me, requesting a written statement covering only one topic. “Explain exactly why your surgical privileges were revoked.” I agreed. After hanging up, I sat quietly for a moment. The situation was pivoting in a new direction, but a conclusion was still far off. Some people had already sensed the shifting winds, but no one dared make the first move. Early the next morning, I submitted the compiled materials. When the “Sent Successfully” notification popped up, dawn was just breaking outside my window. The real problems were now laid bare on the table.

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My parents took me to the city to buy a house. I walked up to a dilapidated, tiny old house and refused to leave. No matter how much my parents tried to persuade me, I stood my ground. Helpless, my parents had no choice but to buy it. Three days later, a “Condemned for Demolition” notice appeared on the wall of our newly purchased house. My parents were shocked. 1. Right after dinner, my cousin and I were running around the yard. “Chloe, come here and let me wipe your sweat. Look at your little face, it’s as dirty as a little kitten,” my mom said, smiling as she walked over, hugged me, and wiped my face. Our neighbor, Mrs. Smith, walked by and smiled. “Chloe is such a lucky charm! It’s rare for a little girl to be loved this much.” “But, Sarah,” she continued, “a woman still needs a son to secure her future. It would be great if you and Chloe’s dad had another baby and gave Chloe a little brother.” Hearing Mrs. Smith’s words, my mom looked a bit displeased. While tickling me with one hand, she replied politely, “We are perfectly happy with just Chloe. You don’t need to worry about us.” Seeing me laughing heartily as my mom tickled me, Mrs. Smith shook her head and walked away. My grandmother came out of the house. “Don’t listen to that old busybody. Having Chloe is perfectly fine for our family.” My mom smiled too. “Mom, Chloe’s dad and I are planning to go to the city tomorrow to look at houses. We’ve saved up quite a bit these past two years, and for the sake of Chloe’s future education, we want to move to the city as soon as possible.” Grandma smiled warmly and patted my head. “Alright, as long as you find something you like. I’ve saved up a little bit too; if it’s not enough, I can chip in!” My parents wouldn’t actually take my grandmother’s money. After all, I still had an uncle, and she needed to be fair to both her sons. In rural areas, favoring boys over girls wasn’t uncommon, and my grandmother originally held those views too. When I was first born and she heard I was a girl, she showed obvious disappointment on her face. But from the moment I was born, I loved to smile. Seeing me swaddled like a little white dumpling, grinning widely at everyone, my parents and grandmother couldn’t help but smile too. They held me in their arms, unable to put me down. Add to that my sweet talk, and with this skill, I gained a lot of love in the family. But what truly elevated my status was another incident. When I was a year old, my parents had something to attend to, and my grandmother was watching me at home. After feeding me lunch, my grandmother was working in the yard while I played on the bed by myself. Not long after, I suddenly started crying loudly. My grandmother held me, trying everything to soothe me, but it didn’t work. My cries grew louder and louder, my voice becoming increasingly hoarse. For someone like me, who naturally loved to smile, this was extremely unusual. My grandmother didn’t dare delay and hurriedly carried me to the local clinic. The doctor at the clinic couldn’t find anything wrong with me and just told her to take me home and observe me. My grandmother carried me home, and on the way, she saw black smoke billowing from the direction of our house. “Fire… there’s a fire…” When my grandmother finally ran back carrying me, she found that several nearby houses, including ours, were on fire. The fire was quite large, and the volunteer firefighters were all helping to put it out. My parents also rushed back, and seeing that my grandmother and I were safe, they finally breathed a sigh of relief. It took the whole afternoon to put out the fire; it wasn’t extinguished until nightfall. Later, we heard that people in several of the nearby houses were severely injured, and even after being saved, they were left disabled. Our family was the only one that didn’t suffer much loss, and no one was hurt. Hearing this news, my parents were silent for a long time. My grandmother held me tightly, her eyes still showing lingering fear. “Thanks to Chloe! Our Chloe is a little lucky charm, Grandma’s sweetheart.” 2. Since that incident, everyone in the family favored me even more. My grandmother and mother even fought over who got to take care of me, making my aunt, who had two sons, green with envy. My parents also gave up the idea of having a son; they only wanted to take good care of me. When I was two, my dad was laid off and started his own business. Unexpectedly, his first venture didn’t lose money; instead, he paid off all the money he borrowed to start the business in just one year. Not long after, my mom also quit her job to help my dad, and a year later, they made a neat little profit. As our family’s life improved day by day, my parents started thinking about moving to the city. After all, the educational and medical facilities in the city were relatively much better. Early the next morning, my mom picked me up from bed. “Chloe, are we going to the city to look at houses with Mommy and Daddy today? Does that sound good?” With my eyes closed, I let my mom dress me and groggily washed my face. After eating the breakfast my grandmother prepared, my parents and I set off. My parents had been making frequent trips to the city for their business over the past few years, so they had some knowledge of the well-known neighborhoods. When my parents brought me to a sales office, I instinctively disliked the place. The houses sold here were considered upper-middle-class in the city, and many people were buying them. While my parents were listening to the real estate agent’s introduction, I sat in my mom’s lap, looking around. Just then, I saw an elegantly dressed couple walk in through the door with a little girl. The couple looked very kind; the man was tall and handsome, and the woman was gentle and beautiful. However, the woman looked pale, as if her health wasn’t very good. The little girl with them was wearing a princess dress and delicate white leather shoes, but she looked unhappy. Seeing them, the sales manager hurried out to greet them. “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling, what brings you here personally today? And this must be your daughter?” The little girl glanced at the sales manager expressionlessly. The man referred to as Mr. Sterling spoke: “Today we want to pick out another house for ourselves. My wife isn’t used to living in the one we bought previously.” Seeing Mrs. Sterling coughing softly, the sales manager nodded in understanding and personally began showing them around. But the little girl didn’t seem very close to the couple; she just sat impatiently on the side by herself. My parents picked me up, ready to go look at the houses in the neighborhood. As my mom picked me up, the family next to us also noticed us. The woman called Mrs. Sterling froze for a moment when she saw me. Noticing her gaze, the man also looked at us. Seeing my face, the man, like the woman, was stunned for a moment, but soon returned to normal. Both of their gazes lingered on us. It wasn’t until my parents and I left that their line of sight vanished. My parents were very satisfied with the house they viewed. But ever since I walked in, I didn’t like it. I shook my mom’s hand: “I don’t like it here, Mommy. Let’s look somewhere else.” “Chloe, be good. Look how big this bedroom is! You can have your own room from now on.” But I still shook my head, my face showing my reluctance. My parents looked awkwardly at the salesperson and said they would think about it. After going outside, my dad picked me up: “Does Chloe really not like it there?” “I don’t like it!” I immediately replied. “Then we’ll keep looking. There are plenty of houses anyway.” “You just spoil her,” my mom said, smiling and shaking her head. My parents decided to take me to get something to eat first. We came to an alley where the road was full of potholes and very difficult to walk on. My dad, holding me, looked up. There weren’t many houses here, and the layout was scattered. When we reached a certain house, I struggled to be put down. After my dad set me down, I scurried over to the house and took a look. I didn’t know why, but I really liked it here. “Mommy, Daddy, I want to live here!” My parents were shocked by my words: “Chloe, it’s too run-down here. It’s not even as good as our house in the country. Let’s live in a new house, okay?” “No, no, I want to live here!” A “For Sale” sign was posted on the mottled gate of the house. My mom tried to coax me for a long time, but I refused to leave. Having no choice, my dad called the “For Sale” number posted on the gate. Hearing that we wanted to view the house, the owner excitedly said he would be right there. When the gate opened, we could see the yard wasn’t small, but it was piled high with junk. Upon entering the house, the overall appearance was even more dilapidated. My parents really didn’t think much of the place, but since coming in, I found myself liking the house more and more. I hugged my mom’s thigh. “I want to live here. I like it here.” My mom looked at my dad, conflicted. After all, I had been very sensible since I was little and rarely stubbornly demanded anything. My dad looked at my hopeful little face. “Buy it! If my daughter likes it, we’ll buy it! Worst case, we save up and buy another one later!” My dad made the final decision. Hearing this, my mom didn’t object either. Afraid we might change our minds, the owner offered an at-cost price and rushed the transfer of ownership. Looking at the property deed in our hands, our family of three stared at each other in disbelief. 3. There was too much junk here, making it a hassle to clean up. My parents decided to pack up our things from the country and move them over little by little. After returning home, the neighbors heard that my parents had bought an old house and gossiped while snacking on sunflower seeds. “The Davis family must have lost their minds! Listening to a little girl!” “They finally saved up enough money, and they go to the city just to buy a house like that? I wouldn’t live there even if they gave it to me for free!” “Tell me about it! Last time I suggested Chloe’s mom have another boy, she gave me such a dirty look!” Mrs. Smith said, spit flying. “No matter how lucky this girl is, she’s still not a son! Just wait and see! There will come a day when the Davis family regrets it!” My grandmother also disapproved a bit when she heard, but her attitude completely changed when she heard I liked it. “Since Chloe likes it, then we bought it! Don’t listen to their nonsense. At least we own a house in the city now!” My parents felt the same way and started packing up the things at home. The next day, my dad received a phone call and walked home looking like he was sleepwalking. “Richard? What’s wrong with you? Did you lose your soul?” My mom waved her hand in front of my dad’s face. My dad recovered after a while and said, “Sarah, the old house we just bought is condemned for demolition.” “What… what nonsense are you talking about?!” My mom looked doubtful. “It’s true, that call just now was from the city planning office!” My mom and grandmother still couldn’t quite believe it, afraid they had encountered a scammer. The family rushed to the city in a panic. It wasn’t until they negotiated with the city officials, signed the contract, and saw the “Condemned” notice posted on our newly purchased house that it finally felt real. “Oh my, I told you our Chloe is a little lucky charm!” My grandmother hugged me and happily kissed my cheek. My parents were also smiling, looking at me with absolute adoration. After all, trading the price of a dilapidated house for a massive eminent domain payout was something they wouldn’t have even dared to dream of. Since the house was going to be demolished, it couldn’t be lived in. Striking while the iron was hot, my parents took the fresh payout, gritted their teeth, and bought a nice house in the suburbs. Soon, our whole family moved. The houses here were divided into two main areas. One area was for families with a little bit of money, like ours. The other area consisted of gated estates; only the wealthiest and most prestigious people in the city lived there. On our very first day moving in, we ran into the family from the sales office. It turned out their family had also moved here, but they lived in the gated community. Mr. Sterling wasn’t there. Mrs. Sterling still looked pale, but it didn’t detract from her beauty. Mrs. Sterling was holding the hand of the little girl from last time. The little girl was dressed like a little princess, even wearing a small tiara on her head. When she saw our family, she didn’t look friendly and muttered “hicks” under her breath. My parents didn’t notice, and I turned my head away, ignoring her. We found out later that they were the Sterling family. The Sterling family enterprise was a leading corporation in the city. Mr. Sterling was famous for doting on his wife, and they only had this one daughter, Lily Sterling. Lily had been spoiled since childhood; calling her a princess wouldn’t be an overstatement. I thought this was just a minor interlude, never expecting our two families’ fates to be intertwined forever. Not long after moving, I was getting ready to start elementary school. I adapted to the new school pretty well, but I saw Lily Sterling here too. She and I didn’t know each other, so I didn’t approach her. But Lily wasn’t happy about that. Since she was little, wherever she went, she was always the center of attention. Her peers would try their best to please her. And yet I, someone she had disliked from the very first glance, hadn’t taken the initiative to approach her. So, during recess one day, Lily and her little followers came looking for me. “Hey, Chloe Davis, who told you to wear this hairstyle?” I touched the half-up princess style my mom had just done for me that morning, looking confused. Lily stared at me unkindly, as if trying to burn a hole in my face. Seeing that I didn’t speak, another follower next to her spoke up. “We’re talking to you! Are you mute? Who told you to wear this hairstyle?” “Why do I need your permission?” I asked seriously. “Don’t you know Lily is the little princess of our school? Are you trying to steal her thunder by dressing up so elaborately?” Listening to this illogical nonsense, I didn’t want to talk to them anymore and put on a cold expression: “Sorry, I don’t know you guys.” I didn’t expect this sentence to completely infuriate Lily. She ordered her followers to lunge at me and mess up my hair. But having grown up playing rough outside, I wasn’t someone to mess with either. Seeing this, how could I just take it? I nimbly dodged their attacks, grabbed firmly, and yanked the hair clip right off Lily’s head. A strand of Lily’s hair was still clinging to the fallen clip. They were completely enraged by me and were preparing to all jump me to teach me a lesson. The farce only ended when the teacher walked into the classroom. After school, both my mom and Mrs. Sterling appeared at the school. Mrs. Sterling recognized me and was clearly surprised to see me. My mom put her arm around me and looked angrily at Lily. I was actually fine, my hair was just a bit messy. But Lily’s hands had several red scratch marks from me. After Mrs. Sterling heard the whole story, she pulled Lily forward to apologize to us. Lily looked incredibly resistant, glaring at me with anger in her eyes. “I’m not apologizing to her, that hick!” Lily refused to cooperate. “Lily Sterling!” Mrs. Sterling gave her a warning look. Lily turned and ran, completely disregarding Mrs. Sterling’s presence. “I’m so sorry, Lily has been spoiled since she was little. How about this, you leave me your address, and we’ll come to your house another day to formally apologize?” My mom didn’t care for her apology and led me away, turning her back on them. 4. I don’t know what method they used, but the three members of the Sterling family actually came to our house that night, saying they wanted to apologize. Lily was clearly much more obedient and offered a half-hearted apology. You don’t smack a smiling face, so my parents didn’t want to hold a grudge against a child, and they politely chatted with them. During the conversation, Mrs. Sterling noticed a childhood photo of me in the living room and froze. She gently tugged Mr. Sterling, signaling him to look up. Following her gaze, Mr. Sterling saw the photo and also froze, lost in thought. Mrs. Sterling casually asked where my parents’ hometown was. My parents told her honestly. The two of them looked even more pensive. “I felt an affinity with Chloe the moment I saw her. What year and day is Chloe’s birthday?” Mrs. Sterling looked up and inquired. My mom also told her honestly. Hearing my birthday, Mrs. Sterling shot up from her seat, staring straight at me. Mr. Sterling quickly put his arm around her, claimed it was getting late, said goodbye, and they left. My parents thought the family was very strange and decided it would be best to minimize contact with them. Unexpectedly, the very next day, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling came to our house again. As soon as they entered, Mrs. Sterling looked at me with eager eyes. My mom told me to go back to my room and play. When I was called down again, everyone’s eyes were on me. My mom looked awful, and Mrs. Sterling wanted to approach me but didn’t dare. Everyone hesitated to speak. Finally, Mr. Sterling bent down and touched my cheek: “Chloe, we are your biological parents.” It turned out that Mrs. Sterling and my mom had given birth at the same hospital at the exact same time. Back then, the Sterling couple had gone to my family’s hometown for a charity event, but unexpectedly, a pregnant Mrs. Sterling suddenly went into labor. She was taken to the nearest hospital and gave birth to a daughter. Due to the chaos, Mr. Sterling had to handle everything himself. Unexpectedly, in the blink of an eye, the baby was gone. The hospital back then didn’t have any surveillance equipment, and the Sterling family searched for a long time but couldn’t find her. Because of this, Mrs. Sterling suffered a severe mental blow and fell bedridden ever since. It wasn’t until Mr. Sterling adopted a little girl of the same age from an orphanage and renamed her “Lily Sterling” that Mrs. Sterling slowly began to regain some vitality. And I was the biological daughter of the Sterling couple. But Lily wasn’t my parents’ biological daughter either. My mom had actually given birth to a boy back then. However, my aunt, afraid that a boy would steal attention and resources from her own son, managed to swap him for a girl, sending my parents’ real son to an orphanage in a neighboring city. At first, my parents refused to believe any of this. But looking at the evidence brought by the Sterling couple, they had to believe it. My mom stood frozen in place for a moment, then muttered blankly: “How could this be? How could Chloe not be our daughter?” Actually, just looking at our appearances, I really didn’t look like my parents. My mom was conventionally pretty, but my features were strikingly bright and vibrant. When I was little, people in the village used to joke that I was switched at birth. I didn’t expect it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. “How could Aunt Mary be so malicious? I’m going to call the police and have her arrested!” Just as my mom finished speaking with red eyes, Mr. Sterling immediately followed: “We have already called the police.” After all, this was ultimately done by a member of the Davis family, and the Sterling family had suffered an unprovoked disaster. Mr. Sterling calling the police was understandable. Only then did everyone notice me standing there looking crestfallen. The Sterling couple and my parents looked at me with heartache. Before anyone could speak, Lily suddenly rushed in and yelled at the Sterling couple: “Dad, Mom, I am your daughter!” “I don’t want someone else coming into our house!” Lily had clearly eavesdropped on their conversation, and the look she gave me now was full of jealousy and hatred. “Dad, Mom, I want to go home, I want to go home!” Lily shook Mrs. Sterling’s hand and pleaded. Seeing their adopted daughter pulling at them, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling also wanted to give me time to accept all this. Although Mrs. Sterling looked at me with deep reluctance, she didn’t force the issue and left with Lily first. That night, I heard my mom secretly crying in the bedroom: “How could Chloe not be our daughter?”

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After I accidentally fell asleep during our third movie date, my boyfriend finally got angry. “Chloe, what is going on with you lately? Why are you always so checked out?” “I told you, once Mia’s baby is born, I will marry you.” “When the time comes, I’ll give you the grandest wedding. We’ll invite all our friends and family. What more could you possibly want?!” Hearing these worn-out lines, I thought I would turn hysterical like I used to. But surprisingly, my heart felt completely calm. I gently bit down on the popping boba in my drink. On one hand, I realized my therapist was right—sweets really do improve your mood. On the other hand, I spoke softly, choosing my words carefully: “Ethan, the movie I wanted you to watch with me is over.” “And us… we’re over, too.” 1. Ethan’s rising impatience and anger dissipated in an instant. He seemed unable to comprehend the meaning of my words, asking blankly: “What did you say?” “I said, let’s break up.” “You can finally marry Mia like you’ve always wanted.” I curled my lips into a smile, wanting to make this goodbye somewhat dignified. But Ethan’s voice suddenly darkened. “Chloe, stop making a scene.” “Mia is my best friend’s woman. She and the baby in her belly are the last things he left behind in this world. How could I possibly betray my brother like that?” “As long as Mia’s baby is born safely, my mission is complete. After that, I’ll take you anywhere you want for our honeymoon.” “Didn’t you want to go to Aspen to see the snow? I’ll take you… Just do it for me, can you compromise this one last time?” His voice softened. “Chloe, don’t you love me the most?” Because of that one line—”Don’t you love me the most?”—I had compromised countless times. Because of Mia, our wedding date had been continuously postponed. Because of her body image anxiety, I was forced to throw away all my makeup and smash all my mirrors. Even during her first pregnancy, she had the nerve to call my mother, provocatively asking her for parenting advice. Yet, when he first confessed his feelings to me, he clearly said: “Chloe, be with me. You are the person I love most, and I will never let you suffer any grievances.” Just like right now, a call from Mia came in. “Ethan! The baby says he wants something sweet! Hurry up and buy a small cake from that bakery on the West Side and bring it over!” Seeing Ethan’s brow furrow again, I knew he was trying to come up with a new excuse to persuade me. But I had heard too many; I didn’t want to hear anymore. Behind every unique excuse was actually the exact same reason: Mia was more important than me. I tossed the popcorn bucket into the trash can and said: “Go. Don’t keep her waiting.” As soon as I stepped into the elevator, Mia’s messages started popping up one after another. Even through the text, I could feel her malice. [Sister, I’m so sorry! Did I interrupt your date? ~] [It’s just that I haven’t had a little cake in so long. Besides, Ethan has already kept you company for two whole hours, that’s enough, right? His most important job right now is to take good care of me so I can deliver this baby safely!] She knew I could never withstand this kind of provocation. Every time she sent me a message like this, I would fight hysterically with Ethan. I would curse at him without a filter, yelling until he was exhausted, until he lost any desire to communicate with me. Cursing him until he went to Mia to complain. Then she could justifiably be “understanding” of Ethan’s hardships. But now, looking at that text, I felt very calm. I even had the mood to reply to her: [Have the baby safely, so it can call Ethan ‘Daddy.’] Less than a minute after the message was sent, Ethan’s call came through. “What nonsense are you saying to Mia?!” Ethan sounded furious. “I promised I’d bring her dessert on my way back. If you have a problem, take it out on me! Mia is pregnant. If you say things like that to provoke her, what if she does something drastic?” “Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” After saying that, he seemed to realize he had lost control and quickly softened his tone. “Chloe, I’m not taking my anger out on you. It’s just that Mia has depression. After her husband died, she can’t stand to hear the word ‘Daddy.’” “I’m begging you, call Mia and apologize. Let’s stabilize the pregnant woman’s emotions first, and we can discuss the rest later, okay?” He thought my words were too harsh, but he never scrolled up to see what Mia had said to me. Without a shred of hesitation, I said: “I won’t apologize.” Perhaps noticing that my tone was different from usual, Ethan sighed. “I know you felt wronged today. How about I take you to try on wedding dresses tonight? I’ve already booked the whole boutique. You can try them on for as long as you want, and I’ll stay with you the whole time, okay?” Listening to his increasingly confident tone, It was as if he was certain I would compromise yet again for this long-awaited wedding. I finally laughed out loud. “Ethan, do you have amnesia?” “I just said, we are already broken up.” It wasn’t spoken out of anger, nor was it sarcasm. I genuinely felt that he was no longer worth it. 2. I stayed outside by myself for a long time. I went to the psychiatrist and picked up some medication. Before I left, the doctor asked me: “Have you still been dreaming about your mother lately?” I lowered my eyes and nodded slightly. The doctor understood and said comfortingly: “Take it slowly. At least now, you won’t be tortured by the past so painfully anymore.” “Congratulations on successfully walking away from a relationship.” I smiled and went home with my medication. But all along the way, I couldn’t stop thinking about what my mother looked like. Her eyes that were always smiling, her heart that always thought of others, the agony of a healer who couldn’t heal herself. When I pushed open the door to my house, I saw Ethan sitting on the sofa. I was a bit surprised. After all, Ethan and I had been separated for a long time, and he never visited me here without a reason. In Ethan’s own words: “It’s good that you want to move out. Your condition lately has been terrible, causing the whole house to be on edge, especially Mia.” “Go out and reflect on yourself. Once you’ve thought things through and figured it out, you can move back in.” Ethan took a few quick steps towards me, his voice laced with lingering fear. “I called you so many times, but you never answered. I went out looking for you for a long time. I thought…” I knew what he wanted to say. He probably thought I would do something desperate like I did a month ago, trying to jump into the river to end my life. I turned, bypassed him, and walked straight inside. Ethan followed behind me, his tone somewhat downcast. “Why didn’t you answer the phone? Chloe, you never used to be like this.” “Do you know how anxious I was when I suddenly couldn’t reach you? I was really worried about you.” I didn’t answer, treating his words like empty air. When I got up to head back to the bedroom, the long-ignored Ethan finally couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed my hand. “Chloe, you know I’m caught in the middle and it’s hard for me too. Why won’t you be a little more understanding?” “When Auntie passed away… you know what it feels like to lose someone important. How could you ask me to just abandon a mother and her child?!” Hearing this, I couldn’t stand it any longer and fiercely swatted his hand away. I looked at him, my voice freezing cold. “Ethan, what right do you have to say that?” “What right do you have to bring up my mom?” If it weren’t for my mother’s kind-heartedness in taking him in, he would have frozen to death in the bitter snow years ago. Back then, he promised he would definitely repay my mother’s kindness, promised he would definitely take good care of me. But his so-called repayment was helping Mia book an appointment with my mother, who was a top specialist. It was letting Mia smugly say right in front of her: “The baby’s father passed away early, but luckily he has a good buddy who has been helping us out during this time.” At that time, my mom didn’t know anything. When she recounted this to me, she was even lamenting how hard it must be for Mia. “But that buddy of his is truly decent. To treat this girl so well, he must have some genuine feelings for her.” The apple I was halfway through peeling suddenly dropped to the floor, and after that, I couldn’t hear anything clearly. That night, Ethan and I had a massive fight. “Chloe, I just felt that Auntie is the most authoritative OB-GYN in the whole hospital. You can’t strip Mia of her right to seek medical care, can you?!” Fighting the urge to cry, I said sternly: “Do you know what she told my mom?! If my mom knew that ‘buddy’ was you, what would she think?!” Ethan’s body stiffened, and he fell silent. The next day, he transferred Mia to another specialist’s roster and intentionally kept his distance from her. We silently agreed never to bring this up again. Later, when my mom fell ill and was hospitalized, he would also come over to help take care of her. Looking at Ethan then, her eyes were full of pride. “Ethan is a good kid. Handing you over to him, I feel at peace…” As she spoke, tears fell. I knew what the words she left unsaid were. She had handed me over to the person she trusted most. That way, I wouldn’t follow in her footsteps. I wouldn’t be betrayed by a man like she was, abandoned and left to raise a child alone and helpless. I gave a bitter smile, tucked her in, and said nothing. The next day, a sobbing sound came from my mom’s hospital room. I pushed the door open and saw Mia kneeling on the floor, begging my mom to give her blessing to her and Ethan. “My husband is dead, I only have him left!” “You’ve been a doctor your whole life, do you have the heart to watch me and my child be left with no one to rely on?…” Tears slid from the corners of my mom’s eyes. She couldn’t say a single word; only the monitor beeped incessantly. Ethan rushed in and quickly called the doctors to resuscitate my mom. Mia was also locked away in a psychiatric hospital by him. He held me as I cried my eyes out, apologizing endlessly, slapping himself. But my mother could never be resuscitated again. The day I went to the hospital to collect my mom’s belongings. I passed by a hospital room and saw a beaming Mia inside. And sitting next to her, meticulously peeling fruit for her, was Ethan. In that instant, I felt like I had been struck by lightning. It turned out Mia had never been committed to a psychiatric hospital. In fact, under Ethan’s protection, she was living even more comfortably and happily. A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, and unable to bear it any longer, I fainted at the door of the hospital room. When I woke up, Ethan was holding my hands in a death grip, crying like a child: “Chloe, the doctor said… you have a threatened miscarriage…” I stared blankly at the ceiling. In that moment, I realized that the gamble I had placed entirely on Ethan was a complete loss. Between him and me, there was absolutely no possibility anymore. 3. The air seemed to freeze. Ethan and I stood in silence, neither of us speaking. After a long time, he slapped himself hard across the face. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I… I got too emotional… It’s just that I’m so tired too. I thought you could understand me…” I twitched the corners of my mouth coldly. “Splitting your heart in two, of course you’d be tired.” Ethan froze in place, his expression awkward and helpless. “Chloe, listen to me explain…” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I shoved a box packed with all the things related to him into his arms and kicked him right out the door. The next day, I went to the hospital to pick up my medical report and happened to run into Ethan, who was there to pick up Mia’s prenatal checkup results. He blocked my path, insisting on giving me a ride. I looked at the dreary, rainy weather outside and didn’t refuse. But when I arrived at my doorstep, I found the front door open. A bad feeling surged up, and I immediately pushed the door and went in. It was Mia! She was standing in front of my mother’s shrine, holding my mother’s portrait in her hands. Before I could even scream “No,” the portrait was smashed to pieces right in front of me. I forgot about everything else, shoved Mia aside, and fell to my knees amidst the shattered glass. A massive scratch marred the kind smile on the photo, slicing my mother’s face right down the middle. Mia spat in my direction, pointing at me and screaming: “Stop pretending! You already initiated the breakup but you’re still stringing Ethan along. Playing the victim while acting like a slut, aren’t you a cheap bitch!” “Mia, shut up!” Ethan rushed over. Seeing the scene, he slapped Mia across the face without asking any questions. “Who told you to come here! How dare you touch this photo!” Mia looked at him in disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes. “Ethan, you dare hit me?!” Ethan ignored her and hurried over to help me up. “Chloe, you’re bleeding! Be a good girl, don’t touch these…” I ignored the pain of the glass piercing my skin. All my grievances and resentment erupted in this instant, and I started hitting Ethan like a madwoman. “You bastards! Why don’t you just go to hell!” With my bloodied fingers, I carefully scooped up the torn and battered photo. That was the last photo of my mother left in this world… Tears poured down my face, and I screamed hoarsely at Ethan: “I already agreed to break up with you! What more do you want?!” “Why! Why won’t you even spare my mother?!” “Ethan, do you really have to torture me like this?!” With red-rimmed eyes, Ethan helped me pick the shards of glass out of my flesh. “Chloe, it’s not like that… Please, don’t say things like that…” Finally, my vision went black, and I lost all consciousness. 4. I had a very long dream. In the dream, my mom never brought Ethan home. It was just the two of us, supporting each other. Our life was ordinary but happy. But gradually, all the images started flipping and twisting, eventually freezing on the floor covered in shattered glass, and the torn portrait. I cried out “Mom,” and woke up to find only a cold hospital bed. And by the bed, holding my hand but afraid to look at me, was Ethan. “Chloe, how are you feeling?…” I didn’t have a shred of energy to answer. I just asked hoarsely: “Where is my mom’s photo? Give it back to me.” Ethan pressed his lips together, looking even guiltier than before. “Chloe, Auntie’s photo… I’ll figure out a way to restore a copy…” Looking at his face, I vaguely guessed what had happened. “What did Mia do to my mom’s photo?” Ethan squeezed my hand: “Chloe…” “Tell me!” Ethan’s voice was very quiet: “Chloe, Mia was just triggered. She didn’t mean to destroy the photo on purpose…” “I promise you, I’ll try every possible way to restore it…” “Ethan,” I interrupted him. “Do you remember where this portrait came from?” Ethan’s body trembled. He lowered his head, and besides endless “I’m sorry”s, he couldn’t say another word. “My mom guessed the relationship between you and Mia, fell seriously ill, and was hospitalized.” “That day, keeping it a secret from everyone, she left me a letter and a portrait. That was the last thing she gave me.” “That letter was filled with how sorry she was to me, how she shouldn’t have blindly entrusted me to you.” “But Ethan, what did my mom do wrong?” “She just wanted her daughter to be happy…” Holding me, Ethan practically begged: “Chloe, don’t be like this… I’m begging you…” The next second, the door to the hospital room suddenly burst open. A young nurse panicked: “This is bad! The pregnant woman in bed 23 ran up to the roof! She said if she doesn’t see her boyfriend, she’s going to jump!” Ethan’s body jolted violently. He instinctively stood up, then seemed to realize something and looked back at me. “Chloe…” I completely lost the energy to respond to him. I closed my eyes and completely ignored him. Ethan froze for a moment, then gritted his teeth. “Chloe, wait for me. I’ll be right back!” He turned and rushed out without looking back. I picked up my phone and called my psychiatrist. “Do me one last favor.” … By the time Ethan managed to calm Mia down, it was completely dark outside. He pushed open the door to my hospital room, but it was empty. A bad premonition washed over him, and he uncontrollably called out my name. Just then, a message from an unknown number popped up on his phone. Ethan quickly opened it. It was a medical diagnosis certificate. Seeing clearly what was written on it, Ethan could no longer maintain his composure and let out a devastating, anguished roar.

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“Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?” I had just taken off my mask, my hands not completely out of the sterile field, when the words were thrown in my face. I looked up to see Eric Crawford standing in the middle of the hallway. His white coat was crisp, and his name badge gleamed glaringly under the lights. “Effective immediately, you’re suspended.” The surrounding area suddenly went quiet. The lights at the nurses’ station were on. Several doctors stopped in their tracks, all turning to look at us. I let out a short laugh. “Excuse me?” Eric took a step forward, raising his voice. “I said, you’re suspended. Operating Room 7 is no longer open to you.” “And whose authority is that on?” Right in front of everyone, he reached out and ripped the schedule off the wall at the nurses’ station with a loud tear. “The Chief Administrator’s.” I nodded and didn’t say another word. In that moment, I knew this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I took out my phone and sent a text to the Mayor. “I apologize, but my surgical privileges have been revoked. I’m afraid I won’t be able to perform your wife’s liver transplant.” 01 The operating room doors slid shut behind me. The moment the red light above them went out, the tension in my shoulders finally released. For ten straight hours, I had stood at the operating table, performing a highly complex organ transplant. I had personally verified every single suture. When they wheeled the patient out, the curves on the monitor were clean and sharp. I took off my surgical mask, the sharp smell of antiseptic still lingering in my breath. Just as I rounded the corner of the hallway, a figure stepped directly into my path. “Dr. Zhang.” The tone was disrespectful, the volume intentionally loud. I looked up and saw Eric Crawford. He was wearing a spotless white coat, his name badge so new it reflected the light. An intern on the surgical team, personally mentored by Chief Administrator Lauren Chen. He stood ramrod straight, as if he had been waiting here for a long time. At the nurses’ station and in the waiting area, several doctors stopped what they were doing, drawn by his shout. “Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?” Eric raised his chin, projecting his voice so everyone could hear. “Effective immediately, you’re suspended.” The air instantly tightened. I froze for a second. It wasn’t that I’d never encountered arrogance before, I just hadn’t expected it now. I gave a slight smile and tossed my gloves into the biohazard bin. My tone was very light. “Oh? And whose authority is that on?” He sneered, as if he had been waiting for that exact question. Right in front of me, he reached out and ripped the schedule off the wall at the nurses’ station. The sound of the paper tearing was unusually loud in the quiet hallway. “The Chief Administrator’s.” After saying that, he tossed the torn schedule aside, a corner of the paper brushing against a nurse’s hand. No one made a sound. I saw a few young doctors lower their heads, pretending to organize charts. The head nurse’s lips moved, but she ultimately said nothing. I nodded. “Understood.” My tone was so calm it surprised even me. Eric was visibly taken aback, clearly not getting the reaction he wanted. He took another step forward and lowered his voice, though still loud enough for those nearby to hear clearly. “Elias Zhang, know your place. You should know perfectly well who runs the surgical department now.” I didn’t answer him. The light for Operating Room 7 was still on. Through the glass window, I could see them finishing up at the instrument table. That surgery was my first since returning to the States. It was also the first time since my fellowship abroad that I was truly standing at the core of this hospital. I walked past him toward the locker room. A scoff came from behind me. “Keep pretending.” In the locker room, I washed my hands for a long time. The sound of the water drowned out the noise outside. The man in the mirror had dark circles under his eyes and a red indentation on his forehead from the surgical mask. Elias Zhang, forty-two, surgeon. I had completed numerous complex transplant surgeries abroad. According to protocol, I was supposed to be a key pillar in the hospital’s next phase of development. And now, I had been publicly suspended by an intern. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw the name: Lauren Chen. She was the Chief Administrator of this hospital, and also my wife. The message was brief. “Don’t cause a scene yet. Let me handle this.” I stared at that line of text for a few seconds before the screen went dark. She hadn’t shown up. No explanation, no denial. That scene in the hallway wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t given the nod. It suddenly became very clear to me: this was no misunderstanding. When I returned to my office, the door was slightly ajar. On the desk, my nameplate had already been removed, leaving only a faint residue of adhesive. Administration moved fast. I stood there for a moment, then began packing my personal belongings into my bag. I moved unhurriedly, even neatly organizing the documents one by one. Someone knocked on the door. It was an older colleague from the surgical department, his voice kept very low. “Elias… why don’t you head home and rest for a few days?” I nodded. “Okay.” He hesitated, wanting to say more, but ultimately just let out a sigh. When I walked out of the administration building, the sky was already dark. I stood on the steps and lit a cigarette for myself. As the smoke rose, I remembered when Mayor Richard Evans came to inspect the hospital three years ago. Mayor Evans was a man of few words. He stood in the hospital room, his gaze direct when he looked at people. At the time, he asked me a question: “If the risks become uncontrollable, will you stop?” I answered: “Yes.” He said: “Good.” Later, the Mayor’s wife, Sarah Evans, was diagnosed as needing an organ transplant. After several rounds of evaluation, it was finally decided that I would be the lead surgeon. It was a surgery with zero margin for error. My phone lit up again. Without hesitation, I opened my contacts and sent a message. It wasn’t long, but every word was clear. “I apologize, but my surgical privileges have been revoked. I’m afraid I won’t be able to perform your wife’s liver transplant.” Sent successfully. The cigarette burned down to the filter, and I stubbed it out in the ashtray. In the distance, the lights in the inpatient building flickered on one by one. Down the hallway, Eric Crawford was standing amidst a group, talking excitedly, looking as if he was already used to being the center of attention. No one noticed me. Right now, everyone thought I was just a suspended doctor. But I knew that some things were just beginning to change. 02 Early the next morning, I arrived at the hospital as usual. When the security scanner at the entrance read my ID badge, the red light flashed once before the turnstile opened. The security guard glanced at me but said nothing, quickly looking away. I entered the inpatient building. The elevator was packed with white coats. Normally, people would nod and greet me, but today, everyone seemed suddenly fascinated by the floor indicator, staring intently at the changing numbers. The elevator reached the sixth floor. The sign for the surgical department was still there, but the air inside was noticeably different. The whiteboard at the nurses’ station had a fresh sheet of paper. The handwriting was neat and clean. Under the “Lead Surgeon” column for several operations, “Elias Zhang” was missing. I put my bag down, pulled out my phone, and opened the hospital’s internal system. A prompt popped up on the login screen: Insufficient Privileges. I tried switching accounts, but it still didn’t work. I clicked on the surgical schedule. The screen looked as if it had been wiped clean. All the surgeries that were originally assigned to me were empty, showing only “Pending Assignment.” I looked up to see the head nurse standing behind the counter, clutching a clipboard, her lips pressed tightly together, turning white. “Who changed the schedule?” I asked. Her voice was very small. “The administration office sent down a notice… they said you are to suspend all surgery-related duties and wait for further arrangements from the board.” “Where is the notice?” The head nurse hesitated for a moment, then opened a drawer and handed me a stamped document. The bold title read: Decision Regarding the Suspension of Surgical Privileges and Clinical Duties for Dr. Elias Zhang. It was issued by the administrative office, and the signature block bore Lauren Chen’s name. I placed the paper back on the counter without furrowing my brow. A young nurse nearby whispered, “Dr. Zhang…” She had just opened her mouth when someone coughed lightly behind her. She immediately swallowed her words and lowered her head to continue organizing medication orders, though her fingers were trembling noticeably. The light cough came from Eric Crawford. He walked down from the end of the hallway, not hurrying, as if he were on patrol, accompanied by two interns. “Morning, Dr. Zhang.” He smiled politely, but his eyes looked as if he were taking roll. “Can’t log into the system, right? That’s normal. The Chief Administrator had someone handle it last night.” I looked at him. “Are you in charge of the surgical schedule now?” “Assisting temporarily.” Eric enunciated the word “temporarily” very clearly. “The Chief Administrator asked me to keep an eye on things, to prevent anyone from messing around. Don’t blame me; rules are rules.” The area around the nurses’ station grew even quieter. I didn’t bother arguing with him and turned toward the department head’s office. The door was unlocked. I pushed the door open to find two people sitting inside: the Deputy Director of Administration and a coordinator from Medical Affairs. There were folders laid out on the desk, as if they were waiting for me. The Deputy Director spoke first, his tone bureaucratic. “Dr. Zhang, we are just executing the board’s decision. We need you to hand over your operating room access card, your anesthesia consultation sign-off privileges, and your emergency green-channel authorization.” “Even the emergency green channel?” I asked. The coordinator chimed in quickly to explain, “It’s not stopping emergency care, it’s just that you can no longer be the final signatory. The board has arranged a replacement.” “Who is the replacement?” The Deputy Director shot a glance at the coordinator and didn’t answer directly. He just pushed a sign-off sheet across the desk. “Please sign this.” I didn’t pick up a pen. The Deputy Director’s smile stiffened slightly. “Dr. Zhang, please don’t make this difficult for us.” I flipped to the last page of the sign-off sheet and saw a name written under the “Replacement” column: Eric Crawford. I looked up. “An intern as the final signatory?” The coordinator’s face changed, and he quickly explained, “It’s not the final signature, he’s just assisting… the actual sign-off is still done by the Chief Administrator.” I closed the form. “I won’t sign this kind of document.” The Deputy Director’s voice grew colder. “Dr. Zhang, you are currently suspended from clinical duties. According to regulations, you must cooperate with the handover. If you refuse, we will have to report this through the proper channels.” “Then report it.” I stood up. “Tell the Chief Administrator to tell me herself.” I walked out of the office and bumped into an old classmate from anesthesiology in the hallway. When he saw me, he clearly hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but was afraid of being overheard. “Elias…” he lowered his voice. “Don’t fight this head-on. The winds are changing in the hospital.” I nodded. “I know.” He sighed and hurried away. I went back to the locker room to change. Just as I hung up my white coat, my phone rang. Caller ID: Lauren Chen. I answered. She skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point: “Why are you making a scene at the administration office? They are just doing their jobs.” “I was clarifying the name on the sign-off sheet,” I said. She paused for two seconds, her tone adopting that familiar “rational” edge. “Don’t get hung up on these details. The hospital needs order right now. You just got back, you haven’t adapted to many of the procedures yet. Taking a step back for a while is a good thing for you.” “Suspending surgical privileges is ‘taking a step back’?” “Elias, don’t put it so harshly.” Her voice grew tighter. “You’re too emotional right now. If you keep going into the OR, there will be problems.” I gave her no room to maneuver. “Last night’s surgery was a success. If you want to talk about risks, let the data speak for itself.” Silence on the other end. Then, she opted for a more direct approach: “I won’t beat around the bush with you. The hospital needs to move forward, and we need people who listen. You are too domineering, and it makes many people uncomfortable.” “Who are these ‘many people’?” “Don’t push me.” Lauren’s tone was clearly annoyed. “You’ve been abroad too long, you don’t understand the rules here. The surgical department isn’t your one-man show.” I heard footsteps and a knock on a door on her end, as if she were in a meeting. She lowered her voice, sounding like a warning: “Don’t go looking for Mayor Evans again, and don’t use the Mayor’s wife as leverage. That is a patient, not your bargaining chip.” I didn’t argue, nor did I explain. She took my silence as a concession, and her tone softened slightly. “I’m doing this for your own good. Go home and rest for a few days, don’t hang around the hospital. Once this blows over, I’ll make arrangements for you.” “Arrangements for what?” I asked. “You can do research, mentor the younger staff, write proposals,” she said breezily. “You don’t necessarily have to always be on the front lines dealing with high-pressure clinical work.” I hung up the phone. The only sound in the locker room was the exhaust fan, monotonously annoying. I grabbed my bag and walked out of the surgical area. Just as I reached the elevator bank, Eric Crawford appeared again. He seemed to be deliberately guarding the main thoroughfare. Seeing me, his eyes flashed before he smiled even more warmly. “Dr. Zhang, the Chief Administrator talked to you, right? Head home and rest. The hospital has a lot of inspections coming up; don’t make trouble for yourself.” “Inspections?” I stopped. Eric feigned casualness. “People from the city are coming to review procedures. I hear they’re looking into OR management. Someone like you, just back from abroad, shouldn’t get mixed up in this. Don’t worry, I’ll help the Chief Administrator keep an eye on the surgical department.” He emphasized the words “help the Chief Administrator” very loudly, seemingly to make sure the passing nurses heard him. The elevator doors opened. I didn’t get in, turning instead toward the other side of the inpatient building. Over there was the ward consultation room. I originally had post-op follow-ups with two transplant patients today, and I needed to see them. Just as I pushed the door open, the attending physician inside immediately stood up. He moved so fast that his chair legs scraped harshly against the floor. “Dr. Zhang… this consultation has been changed,” he said. “Changed to when?” “Medical Affairs sent a notice… another team is taking over.” He avoided my eyes. “Don’t show your face for now. The patients’ families are very emotional. If they make a scene, it’ll be hard to clean up.” “Who is taking over?” He paused for a moment before saying, “Eric Crawford is following along… it’s an arrangement from the Chief Administrator.” I stared at him. He couldn’t hold my gaze and added in a low voice, “There’s nothing I can do. The paperwork has already been issued.” I didn’t ask anything else and turned to leave. At the end of the hallway, a patient’s family was waiting. When they saw me, their eyes visibly lit up. “Dr. Zhang, how is the patient from last night’s surgery doing?” someone asked urgently. “We heard you were back and wanted you to look at my dad’s report.” I stopped, keeping my tone as steady as possible. “You can give me the report, I’ll look at it. But the hospital is reorganizing all your surgical arrangements now. Medical Affairs will inform you of the specifics.” The family member was stunned. “You’re not doing it anymore? Weren’t you always in charge?” I didn’t give any emotional response, just said: “The hospital has made a decision.” The moment those words left my mouth, I could feel the surrounding stares become denser. A few nurses standing nearby seemed to suddenly find their trays very heavy. I flipped through two pages of the report, marked two key indicators, and handed it back. “Control it with this regimen for a week, then recheck.” The family thanked me profusely, but they still weren’t satisfied. “Dr. Zhang, we only trust you.” I didn’t acknowledge the comment, just nodded and walked away. I didn’t need anyone to cry foul for me. Every step I took here was being watched. When I reached the lobby on the first floor, I saw a new notice posted on the bulletin board. “During the special rectification period for the standardization of surgical operating rooms, the allocation of operating rooms, authorization sign-offs, and personnel deployment will be centrally managed by the Administrative Office.” The notice was stamped at the bottom. A few people nearby were whispering, but they immediately scattered when they saw me approach. I stood in front of the notice board for a while before turning and heading toward the parking lot. Just as I started the car, my phone vibrated again. It wasn’t Lauren, nor was it anyone from the hospital. It was a reply from the Mayor’s Office. Just two words. “Please wait.” 03 I didn’t go back to the hospital. By the time I pulled up to the gate of our community, it was completely dark. The guard at the booth saw me and raised the barrier as usual, without a second glance. The lights were on at home. I went in and changed my shoes. The living room was very quiet; the TV was off. Two plates of food that had already gone cold sat on the dining table. Lauren was sitting on the sofa, holding a tablet, seemingly reading over some materials. Hearing the noise, she looked up at me, her tone flat. “You’re back?” I placed my keys in the tray on the entryway table and didn’t reply, walking to the dining table to pour a glass of water. “You don’t need to go back to the hospital anymore,” she said, closing the tablet and standing up. “I’ve already made it clear to administration. I told them to stop bothering you.” “Made what clear?” I asked. “That your emotional state isn’t suitable right now, and you need to take a break,” she said, walking over and picking up the cold dishes to carry into the kitchen. “You acting like this will only make things more rigid.” I followed her into the kitchen and watched as she dumped the food into the trash. “The sign-off sheet for Eric Crawford—did you authorize that?” Her hands paused, but she didn’t turn around immediately. “He’s just acting as a proxy,” she said. “The final process still comes to me.” “He’s an intern,” I stated. “So what?” She turned around, her tone growing impatient. “Stop constantly using status as an excuse. Young people need to be trained; someone always has to take over eventually. Is there any point in you fixating on one name right now?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “That transplant surgery was my patient.” “I know,” she frowned. “But the hospital doesn’t revolve solely around you. How long have you even been back in the country? Can you keep up with the changes in the surgical department over these past few years?” “You think I can’t keep up?” She didn’t answer directly, just sighed. “Elias, you’re too stubborn. The way they do things abroad doesn’t apply everywhere.” I gave a small smile. “So which way applies here? Putting an intern on the front lines?” Her face finally darkened. “Do you have to talk like this?” She tied a knot in the trash bag. “You just can’t accept change right now. Do you think you’re still the only option, like back then?” I stopped smiling. “You already have your answer,” I said. She stared at me, as if weighing the gravity of my words. The living room fell silent, save for the low hum of the refrigerator compressor. After a few seconds, her tone softened slightly. “I won’t deny it. What I have to consider right now is the entire hospital. The Chief Administrator position cannot be empty, and someone in the surgical department must be able to hold the fort. It’s unrealistic for you to come back and expect to pull everything back to the way it was.” “So you chose him,” I said. She didn’t deny it. “Eric is at least obedient, and he’s willing to work,” she said. “He knows which side to stand on.” That sentence landed more clearly than any accusation. I nodded. “Understood.” She seemed surprised that I agreed so quickly and was taken aback for a moment. “What do you understand?” “What you want isn’t a successful surgery,” I said. “It’s for the positions to align with your ideas.” Her brow twitched, and she lowered her voice. “Don’t make it sound so ugly.” “Then make it clear.” I looked her straight in the eye. “If someone else had been suspended today, would you have been so decisive?” She avoided my gaze and went to pour some water. “You’re too sensitive,” she said. “Between husband and wife, we shouldn’t always assume we’re on opposing sides.” “But you’ve already taken a side.” The water glass clicked lightly as she set it on the counter. She looked up at me, her eyes showing clear impatience for the first time. “Elias, this attitude of yours right now isn’t doing anyone any good.” “I’m not sure if it does you any good,” I said. “But for me, no, it doesn’t.” She was silent for a moment before her tone became more direct: “You have zero authority and zero say right now. Continuing to make a fuss will only make this harder to clean up.” “So this is a warning?” “This is a fact.” I didn’t continue the conversation, turning instead toward the study. The door to the study was ajar, and it looked exactly as I had left it. A few medical journals were piled on the desk, and the suitcase I had brought back, still not fully unpacked, sat in the corner. I pulled the suitcase out and started throwing clothes in. She followed me in and stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?” “Moving out for a while,” I said. “Is that necessary?” Her voice rose slightly. “Your home is right here.” “Here, what I say doesn’t count.” I zipped up the suitcase. “A change of scenery will be quieter.” She stared at me, as if looking at a stranger who had suddenly appeared. “Are you trying to go against me now?” she asked. “No.” I stood the suitcase up. “I just don’t want to be a part of your decisions anymore.” She let out a cold laugh. “You think taking a step back will completely wash your hands of this?” “At least I won’t be used as an excuse anymore,” I said. Her expression turned entirely cold. “Elias Zhang, don’t forget, you have absolutely nothing right now.” I paused what I was doing and looked at her. “I have my expertise,” I said. It was as if that sentence struck a nerve, and her tone became suddenly sharp. “Expertise? Who only looks at that nowadays? You are too naive.” I didn’t argue. Some things only need to be said once. I pushed the suitcase to the door and grabbed a stack of files from the study to put in my bag. They were case analyses I had compiled over the past few years, which I had intended to use gradually after returning. She stood in the middle of the living room, watching me, as if waiting for me to say something. I changed my shoes and picked up my jacket. “You’ll regret this,” she suddenly said. I stopped for a moment, not looking back. “You always think you’re in control of everything,” I said. “But you even switch the order of patients.” As the door closed, her voice was sealed inside. 04 I checked into a hotel outside. The room wasn’t large, but it was quiet. After unpacking my luggage, I opened my laptop and reviewed several transplant cases I had handled over the past few years. The data was sound; the protocols were sound. The problem wasn’t the surgery. The next morning, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. The caller identified himself as a staff member from the Mayor’s Office. His tone was restrained as he asked a single question: “Dr. Zhang, is it a convenient time to talk?” I said yes. He didn’t elaborate, only confirming one thing: “You were responsible for the preoperative evaluation of the Mayor’s wife, correct?” “Yes, I was.” There was a slight pause on the other end. “Alright, we will contact you again if we need your cooperation moving forward.” The call ended. I didn’t return to the hospital, and no one reached out to me. In the afternoon, I went to an imaging center I often worked with and requested a follow-up report from another facility. It was the scan Sarah Evans had just done two days ago. The indicators weren’t good. Her liver function was fluctuating significantly, with some values already approaching the warning line. According to the original plan, if the transplant wasn’t expedited, subsequent management would become much more reactive. I placed the report back in the folder without making any extra moves. With a patient of this caliber, any delay would leave a trail. On the third day, there started to be movement at the hospital. First, my old classmate from anesthesiology sent a brief message: “You’ve been replaced on that surgery.” I replied with “I know.” Not long after, another message: “The replacement is Eric Crawford. The Chief Administrator personally selected him.” I stared at the screen for a few seconds before placing my phone face down on the table. I knew Eric’s resume. His fundamentals were decent, but he had never actually been the lead surgeon on a transplant of this magnitude. At best, he had stood as a second assistant, passing instruments and keeping time. Pushing him to the forefront wasn’t bold; it was reckless. That evening, I received a third call. This time it was the Deputy Director of Administration. “Dr. Zhang, just giving you a heads-up,” he said vaguely. “The city might inquire about the arrangements for that surgery. If anyone asks you, just tell them the truth.” “Who is inquiring?” “The Mayor,” he lowered his voice. “Richard Evans.” He hung up quickly, as if afraid of being overheard. The next morning, the hospital held an emergency coordination meeting. I wasn’t there, but word of what happened inside quickly spread. Sarah Evans’ latest test results were delivered to the conference table. Medical Affairs, Surgery, and Anesthesiology were all present. The originally finalized surgical plan was brought back out, and the comparative data was laid out page by page. Someone suggested changing the lead surgeon. The reasoning was very official: young, driven, able to handle pressure. Eric Crawford volunteered. “I can do it,” he said crisply. “I’ve been involved in the entire prep process and am very familiar with the patient’s condition.” No one objected on the spot. But no one nodded either. Mid-meeting, a secretary entered and whispered something in Lauren’s ear. Her expression shifted slightly before she regained her composure. The meeting continued. Not long after, Richard Evans himself arrived. No pleasantries, no excess emotion. After taking a seat, his first question wasn’t about the surgical plan, but directed at the head of Medical Affairs. “Who was the originally designated lead surgeon?” There was a brief moment of silence in the conference room. The head of Medical Affairs stood up. “The original plan was Dr. Elias Zhang.” “Then why the change now?” This time, no one answered immediately. Lauren spoke up, her tone composed: “Dr. Zhang’s current condition makes him unsuitable to continue taking on high-intensity surgeries. The hospital made the adjustment based on risk considerations.” Mayor Evans nodded and asked another question: “Who conducted the evaluation?” “A comprehensive hospital evaluation.” “Where is the evaluation report?” The air in the room noticeably tightened. Administration handed over a document. It wasn’t thick, consisting mostly of procedural explanations. Evans flipped through two pages without commenting. He turned to Eric: “Are you the new candidate?” Eric stood ramrod straight. “Yes. I will give it my all.” “How many surgeries of this type have you led?” “Completed as lead surgeon… none yet.” “How many have you participated in?” “Seven.” Evans closed the file. “Seven participations, and you’re taking on the ultimate responsibility?” His tone wasn’t heavy, but it was clear enough for everyone to hear. “Who made the final call?” Lauren answered, “I did.” Evans looked at her and didn’t pursue the question further. He shifted gears: “Have you all seen Sarah Evans’ test results?” “We have.” “With such massive fluctuations in her indicators, why are you still adjusting personnel?” This time, no one rushed to answer. The only sound in the room was the rustling of paper. Evans pushed the report back to the center of the table. “I don’t interfere with your hospital’s personnel arrangements. But when it comes to patients, there’s no room for trial and error.” He stood up after saying that. “Compile the approval process for this surgery from inception to now, the records of personnel changes, and the risk assessments, and submit them to the Mayor’s Office.” “By today.” With that, he left the conference room. The sound of the door closing wasn’t loud, but it left everyone unsettled. After that day, the hospital’s rhythm changed completely. The operating rooms were subjected to repeated inspections, protocols checked item by item. Approvals that usually went through quickly were paused. Eric’s name was brought into discussions for the first time, rather than being treated as a foregone conclusion. I was notified that evening. Someone from the Mayor’s Office contacted me, asking me to prepare a written statement concerning only one thing. “Why your surgical privileges were revoked.” I agreed. After hanging up, I sat for a while. Things were starting to head in a different direction, but it was far from a conclusion. Some people had already sensed the changing winds, but no one dared to make the first move. Early the next morning, I sent the compiled materials over. When the “sent successfully” notification popped up, dawn had just broken outside the window. A new problem was already on the table.

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When I found out that Arthur’s little mistress was my own biological sister… I didn’t go crazy, and I didn’t get hysterical like I used to. After all, I’m the top surgeon at City General, and my reputation is incredibly valuable. Those two just aren’t worth it. When Chloe sent me a photo of Arthur accompanying her in the delivery room, I merely glanced at it before continuing to enjoy my imported truffle shrimp. I’ve seen plenty of pregnant women with bulging bellies; her unborn child wasn’t worth ruining my good mood over. Walking past the administration desk, the young nurses were full of sweet compliments. They all said I looked radiant lately, blooming more beautifully than an eighteen-year-old. Just as I finished thanking them, Arthur’s call came through at the worst possible time: “The baby’s paperwork is all sorted out. Stella, it’s time for us to get remarried.” Hearing him say that, I suddenly remembered—oh right, I actually have an ex-husband. I cleared my throat and spoke very seriously: “Arthur, remarry? You’re ancient history to me.” … “I know I did you wrong with this whole thing, but you know how badly I wanted this child…” I waited quietly, counting to three. The man’s voice abruptly stopped. It took him a long moment to find his voice again, filled with disbelief: “Stella, what do you mean? You… you don’t want to remarry?” I checked off the caviar on my menu with a pen before replying slowly: “Yeah, exactly what you said.” “Don’t make jokes like that. I don’t like it.” Arthur’s voice grew louder, a bit grating. I raised an eyebrow and scoffed lightly: “Whether you like it or not is your problem. Anyway, I’ve said my piece.” “Chloe has already had the baby, and he’s registered on my family’s insurance. What are you throwing a tantrum for now? I told you when we got divorced.” “I just needed an heir, but the position of Mrs. Sterling will only ever be yours. Give me one more chance, okay?” Arthur rarely showed weakness, putting on a full display of trying to win me back. But I knew this was just another excuse. Just like the first time I caught him and my sister having an affair. With red eyes, he swore he would cut it off with her, begging me for a chance. I gave it to him. When I found out my sister was pregnant, I stormed into the Hayes family home, but he stopped me. He knelt at my feet, saying he would have the baby aborted, begging for one more chance. I gave it to him again. But what happened in the end? That child was delivered safely in the very hospital where I work, in my own department. The whole hospital knows. My wonderful sister gave birth to my nephew, but the father is my husband. My phone chimed right on cue. I didn’t even need to look to know the star of the show was Chloe again. “The baby is one month old, our family of five is reunited! Some people are very sensible and know not to come and be an eyesore!” My parents were holding their grandson, smiling from ear to ear. Arthur had his arms around Chloe, his gaze blindingly tender. If this were a year ago, I would have been hysterical. I would have called my parents, demanding to know why they indulged her so much. I would have grabbed Arthur by the collar, demanding to know what gave him the right to treat me like this. But now, I just smiled and commented below: “Birds of a feather flock together. A perfect match!” Our social circle is small; that one comment instantly racked up hundreds of likes. Some of my close friends even left sarcastic comments underneath. Sure enough, Arthur couldn’t sit still. He called, using his familiar tone: “Stella, I knew you were just saying you didn’t want to remarry out of anger.” Without waiting for me to speak, he kept talking to himself, a hint of joy hidden in his voice: “Chloe wasn’t intentionally showing off; she was just too happy to see Mom and Dad.” “She asked me to accompany her home for a visit before we remarry. I had no choice but to…” Chapter 2 Seeing that I remained silent, he continued laying the groundwork: “She’s nursing right now, and everything affects the baby. She can’t handle any stress. Stella, could you please just yield to her for now? Don’t make a mess on her Facebook…” I picked at my ear, not feeling a shred of disappointment. After all, I was numb to words like this. I gave up my parents, gave up my marriage, gave up my man, stepping back again and again. Now, am I supposed to give up my right to speak, too? Arthur wasn’t used to my silence. He sighed and spoke again, the same old tired clichés. “Come home tonight, okay? Chloe has already moved out of the master bedroom. The room is exactly how you left it, and I even bought that emerald necklace you love.” “Stella, once the baby is weaned, I will absolutely cut all ties with Chloe. You have my word, I do what I say…” Hearing this, whatever patience I had left for him was completely exhausted. Without waiting for him to finish—click—I hung up. The next day, a persistent Arthur showed up at my clinic. Seeing me seeing patient after patient without a break, he looked heartbroken and tried to comfort me: “Stella, don’t punish yourself like this because of me. It hurts me to see… I know you’re still angry. As long as you don’t hurt yourself, you can hit me or curse at me.” He was probably afraid I would take a fruit knife to my wrists like I did a year ago. Even when my parents rushed over, I merely moved the blade from my wrist to my carotid artery. I didn’t say a word, just stood up and kicked him out. It wasn’t until after lunch that he came to my office again, his voice heavy with exhaustion: “Stella, I’ve said every nice thing I could possibly say. Why are you still making such a fuss? You won’t go home, you won’t go to Mom and Dad’s, and you won’t talk to me? How long are you going to keep this up?” A fuss? Arthur just blindly kept pestering me as if he couldn’t understand human speech. But I was annoyed. I was sick of it. I reached back, pulled the divorce certificate out of my drawer, and slammed it into his face. “Arthur, we’ve had nothing to do with each other for a long time. What right do you have to expect me to talk to you!” Arthur froze for a few seconds before reacting. He lunged forward and grabbed me: “You know I had no choice! You know Chloe and I are only doing this for the baby! Why are you so selfish?” “Fighting for our parents’ love at home, getting jealous over nothing outside…” Slap! The rest of his words were scattered by my slap. “Arthur, talking against your conscience will bring you bad karma. We ended up here entirely because of you!” I was raised by my grandmother since I was little. Chloe never liked me. Whatever I had, ate, or used, she wanted to steal it. Toys, pretty dresses, extracurricular classes, competition spots, and finally, our parents’ love. Whenever I questioned it, my parents would always say: “She’s your younger sister, she’s little. What’s the harm in letting her have it?” In the end, I slowly became an invisible person in my own home. Until I met Arthur in college. We fell in love and decided to get married early. My biological sister, Chloe, played her old tricks again, constantly harassing Arthur. My biological parents abandoned me, using the guise of being his future in-laws to create opportunities for her. Drugging him, showing up at his door in the middle of the night… Arthur was so annoyed he was forced to call the cops. She didn’t give up. Instead, she went so crazy she tried to run me over with a car. In the end, my grandmother pushed me out of the way, taking the hit under the wheels herself. When my parents arrived, they comforted the “startled” Chloe first, then slapped me across the face, cursing me for being a jinx. My grandmother’s death left me completely disheartened. But Arthur held a positive pregnancy test and hugged me, saying, “Stella, Grandma must have known you were sad, so she sent this baby to keep you company.” Because of the baby in my belly, I slowly began to recover. I managed my pregnancy while looking for postpartum care centers. Until the baby was eight months along, my parents suddenly showed up to apologize. A bowl of soup left me unconscious. When I woke up, I saw Chloe sitting on Arthur’s lap, riding him. Then, blood poured from between my legs like a fountain. I miscarried. I could never be a mother again. And Arthur and I got a divorce. Chapter 3 “You have the nerve to say I get jealous over nothing? You have the nerve to mention the baby? The people who killed my baby are you two!” Right after I miscarried, Chloe was diagnosed as pregnant. During the many nights I woke up crying. I thought it was all a dream. But Chloe’s increasingly bulging belly proved they had slept together long before. That’s why my parents couldn’t wait to use a bowl of poisoned soup to kill my baby. Thinking of all that, Arthur’s face turned deathly pale. His lips moved, but he couldn’t even string a sentence together: “Stella… I’m sorry, I regretted it a long time ago.” I regretted it too. I regretted being born into the Hayes family, regretted ever meeting Arthur. I raised my hand to wipe the moisture from the corner of my eye, pointed at the door, and said coldly: “Get out!” Arthur opened his mouth, but couldn’t make another sound. He only hunched over and left, looking like a lost soul. In the years we were together, I had seen all sorts of views of Arthur’s back. The joyous one when we got our marriage license at City Hall. The spirited one when he rang the bell at the New York Stock Exchange. But I had never seen this pathetic and defeated one. I took a deep breath, preparing for my afternoon surgery. Two o’clock. After I changed into my scrubs, I realized the person lying on the operating table was Chloe. The young nurse stammered an explanation: “Dr. Hayes, she was scheduled by the Hospital President…” Chloe curled her lips, leaned close to my ear, and provoked me: “Even if I ran over your grandmother and killed your son, even if you hate it, you still have to play the dutiful servant and perform my surgery yourself.” I shot her a cold glare and turned to leave. But someone forcefully intercepted me at the door. My biological mother clutched a white ceramic urn, looking at me coldly: “Either perform the surgery for Chloe, or your son’s ashes hit the floor. Choose!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I sluggishly looked at Arthur standing behind her. The location where my baby was buried… only he knew… no one else did. Arthur turned his head away, not daring to look at me. The taste of blood filled my mouth. I looked at them, my voice hoarse: “He’s your grandson, he’s your son. How could you…” Arthur quickly cut me off, making a guarantee: “Chloe has acute mastitis and can’t breastfeed. As long as you do the surgery, the baby’s ashes will definitely be returned to you!” My mother took the opportunity to raise her hand, urging me impatiently. “What are you standing there for! Hurry up! A piece of trash like you is only good for this much!” I didn’t care about her cruelty. But I cared about my son’s ashes. He was so small, so soft. He hadn’t even seen the world yet; he shouldn’t be left without a resting place. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the blood in my throat and turned around stiffly. Under Chloe’s disdainful gaze, I put my gloves back on and picked up the scalpel. Minutes ticked by. When the last suture was snipped. I desperately rushed out of the operating room. Only to see the baby’s ash urn falling from mid-air. “No!” Arthur rushed over from a distance, but he was still a step too late. Smash! The grayish-white powder scattered everywhere, splashing all over. My mother’s shrill voice exploded in my ear: “The psychic said this little bastard has resentment and brings bad luck to my grandson. He had to be destroyed!” As soon as the words left her mouth, I grabbed a nearby thermos of hot water and hurled it at her with all my might. “Ah—” Chapter 4 With a scream, my mother collapsed limply to the floor. I didn’t even look at her. I just dropped to my knees with a thud, desperately trying to gather the baby’s ashes from all around. I didn’t dare cry, didn’t dare shed a tear. I was terrified that the moisture would dissolve my baby’s ashes. But the hallway floor wasn’t entirely dry. The pathetically small amount of my baby’s ashes were blown by the wind and dissolved by the water. I poked my fingers until they bled, and by the end, I only had a fist-sized clump of ash left. “Baby, Mommy is useless. I couldn’t protect you…” I murmured to myself, voice hoarse, fighting back tears. My whole body convulsed with pain. “Stella… don’t be like this, you’re scaring me.” Arthur lunged forward, wanting to touch my blood-stained hands, his voice trembling non-stop. I stared at him with bloodshot eyes and spat out a single word: “Scram!” “Stella, it’s all my fault. You can hit me or curse me…” Arthur looked at me, his choking voice full of guilt. I shoved him aside, cradled the baby’s ashes, and stumbled out. When I handled everything and returned to the hospital, it was nearing sunset. As soon as I got out of my car, several bodyguards dragged and hauled me up to the third floor. The door to the VIP intensive care unit opened, revealing Chloe’s venomous face. She rushed forward, slapped me fiercely, and screamed abuse at me: “You bitch! What did you leave inside my breast? Why does it hurt even more?” Arthur was about to intervene, but she shoved him away. Chloe snatched the fruit knife from the table, held it against her own son’s head, and glared viciously: “Arthur! This bitch intentionally harmed me. I want you to punish her properly for me, otherwise, I’ll kill this child!” Arthur looked at me, then at the nearly demonic Chloe. He showed a look of exhaustion and pleaded: “Chloe, he’s your son too. Can you really bear to…” Chloe sneered and didn’t speak. She just plunged the blade down hard, instantly staining the white swaddle red with blood. The infant’s screams of pain echoed through the hospital room. A profound agony flashed through Arthur’s eyes. After giving me a look full of guilt, he gritted his teeth and asked: “How do you want to punish her?” Chloe curled her lips, her smile utterly malicious. “An eye for an eye. Cut open her breast and put some ‘seasoning’ in there. That’ll be compensation enough for me!” I turned my head to look at Arthur, hoping he still had a shred of rationality left. “Mastitis is a minor surgery. I’ve done it over ten thousand times and never failed. You can’t just listen to one side of the story…” Arthur didn’t say a word, just slowly walked up to me. He lowered his voice: “Stella, this is the last time. Once this is over, I’ll completely settle the score with the Hayes family.” With that, he turned his back and waved his hand. Like a dog, I was dragged onto the surgical table. Riiiip. My clothes were torn open and thrown to the floor. Cold air roamed over my body like needles. The person operating on me wasn’t even a doctor, just a nurse with trembling hands. “Wait!” Chloe side-eyed me: “She’s so good at enduring pain, let’s skip the anesthesia.” She spoke to me, but her eyes were fixed on Arthur a few feet away. The air went still for a moment. After a long time, the man nodded. The cold blade slithered over my chest like a venomous snake. Cold sweat, mixed with blood, poured out like water. I thought of my grandmother’s wrinkled, smiling face. I thought of my baby’s cold, stiff body. Figures blurred before my eyes. Through the haze, Chloe’s malicious voice sounded above me. “You bitch, for the sake of us being sisters, I’ll personally send you to hell!” The cold steel approached. I trembled all over, entirely powerless to fight back. Crash! The door was kicked open, and the black muzzle of a gun was pressed against the back of Chloe’s head. The intruder let out a chilling sneer: “Dare to touch her, and if Stella bleeds a single drop, I’ll make you pay with your lives!” Chapter 5 Chloe was scared stupid by the gun barrel and froze on the spot. Even her voice began to tremble: “Who… who are you? How dare you meddle in my business? How many lives do you have to lose?” Saying that, she strained her throat and started screaming. “Dad! Mom! Arthur!” But no matter how much she yelled, the area outside the operating room was dead quiet; there was no one around. The man knocked her out with the butt of his gun, then gently called out to me: “Stella, how are you? It’s Liam.” Liam… Hearing that name, my heart inexplicably relaxed, and unable to hold on any longer, I completely passed out. Meanwhile, Arthur was staring blankly at the DNA report. He scrutinized the single sheet of paper back and forth for over ten minutes. It took him a very long time to find his voice. He looked at the nurse with terror in his eyes and spoke incoherently: “Are you sure there isn’t a mistake? My son is so young, how could he have HIV?” The nurse looked at him with pity and explained patiently: “Mr. Sterling, the child is too young to be infected independently.” “This virus most likely came from genetic transmission from his parents…” “That’s even more impossible… I’m perfectly healthy, I’ve never been involved in any of that shady business…” Before he could finish his sentence, his mouth was stopped by another report the nurse handed him. The nurse pointed to the conclusion section of the report. “Chloe Hayes is his mother, right? We detected that her index is positive.” As she spoke, she glanced at Arthur’s deathly pale face and kindly suggested: “Mr. Sterling, it’s best if you get an HIV antibody test right now as well. We suspect there is a very high probability that you…” She didn’t finish the sentence. But Arthur understood perfectly. He had probably been infected a long time ago. It was an hour later when Arthur returned to the VIP intensive care unit like a lost soul. He felt dizzy, barely able to stand steady. “How is this… possible?” When Chloe got with him, she was clearly still a virgin. How could she get HIV? Could she have faked it? The child was born with HIV, so he… What was the point of all the compromises and concessions he had made recently? Arthur instinctively pulled out his phone and called Stella. But the line rang a few times and was disconnected. He called again, and it was hung up immediately. After trying a few times, the phone was turned off altogether. Nearing a mental breakdown, Arthur slumped to the floor, clutching his head and murmuring in defeat. “Stella, where are you? This isn’t real, is it?” He desperately wanted someone to give him an answer, to tell him that everything he experienced this afternoon was fake. Just like every time the company faced a crisis in the past, Stella was always the first to comfort him. The difficulties will pass. She will stay by his side forever. But this time, Stella was gone. He stumbled around, searching the entire operating wing, asking every nurse he bumped into: “Have you seen Stella? Where is Stella?” But they all shook their heads, and some even shoved him away, cursing: “What Stella? You’re crazy!” He ran through the entire inpatient building but couldn’t find a trace of Stella. Even Chloe and her mother, along with those bodyguards, seemed to have suddenly vanished. By the time he dragged his stiff legs back to the company, the entire office had exploded.

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After five years of long-distance dating, my boyfriend and I called each other every day to satisfy our physical needs. When reaching the climax, Liam would always say to me, still wanting more, “Chloe, I miss you so much I’m going crazy…” So, I booked a red-eye flight back home, secretly hiding in his closet to give him a surprise. But when the bedroom door opened, Liam carried my best friend onto our marital bed. Mia rolled over and straddled him, unbuttoning his shirt one by one while saying coquettishly, “Liam, that idiot Chloe hasn’t figured out we’re together for five years. It’s so boring.” “She’s proposed to you ninety-nine times. How about we give her a surprise at our wedding next week?” I gripped the engagement ring in my palm tightly. My mind went completely blank. I saw Liam’s hand slip under her skirt, his voice lazy. “What’s the rush? I’ve already exiled her to Northern Europe, are you still worried?” Through the wood, the obscene sounds were magnified infinitely in my ears. And I, huddled in the closet covering my mouth, felt my heart completely die. … The two on the bed were stark naked, kissing passionately. Tears smashed hard onto my phone, the screen suddenly lighting up with a text from Liam. [Chloe, let’s not just do a voice call today, how about a video call?] Mia looked at the chat box and scoffed disdainfully. “Liam, it’s one thing to let her listen when we’re doing it, but today you actually dare to do a live broadcast?” Liam, biting her bra, smiled roguishly. “Guess if she dares to answer?” Before I could react, Liam’s video call was already ringing. With trembling hands, I tapped the screen several times before finally hitting decline. One was the man who had formed a human bridge in the rubble of an earthquake, protecting me underneath him, risking his life to save me. The other was the woman who single-handedly rescued me when the school bullies wanted to slash my face. And now, they were rolling in the sheets on the bed I bought for my wedding. The visual impact was too much for me. So much so that even after they used an entire box of condoms, I still couldn’t snap out of it. Liam lit a post-coital cigarette and slowly looked towards the closet. Our eyes met. My heart felt like it was viciously squeezed by someone. The next second. Liam blew a smoke ring, raised an eyebrow, and smiled. “Chloe, do you have some kind of voyeuristic fetish? How long are you going to hide in the closet?” Mia, on the bed, turned pale and scared, diving straight under the covers. Three seconds later. I stumbled out of the closet, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “I, I originally wanted to give you a surprise…” Liam slowly sat up and deliberately blew smoke in my face. “A surprise? The text confirmation for your flight was forwarded to my phone ages ago. What surprise could there be?” He reached under Mia’s skirt and threw a wet bunny tail plug at me. “Learn a thing or two. This is what you call a surprise.” I had proposed to him ninety-nine times, trying different methods every time. Just to repay him for saving my life. But now, all my efforts had become a joke. “Why? Why are you guys doing this to me…” Seeing my confused look, Liam said indifferently, “Why? Chloe, you didn’t think you could monopolize me, did you? Don’t be so selfish.” “Besides, every time I called you, Mia would moan. Could you really not hear it?” It turned out that every moment he said he missed me, his body was in negative-distance contact with Mia. I was trembling all over, my stomach churning. Mia pulled my nightgown over herself and put it on slowly, saying with a half-smile, “Chloe, didn’t you used to say you were willing to share everything with me?” “You’re so busy with work, I kindly helped Liam solve his physical problems. Shouldn’t you thank me?” I pushed her away hard, grabbed a picture frame, and smashed it at her. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Ironically. The photo of me and Liam in the frame had actually been replaced with one of Mia in a bikini. And Liam told me every day, that when he missed me, he could only look at my photo. Turns out it was this photo he was looking at. After a gasp. Liam blocked Mia without hesitation. The picture frame hit his forehead, and blood immediately flowed down. “Chloe, stop acting crazy, okay? It’s not like I don’t want you anymore.” “It’s not my fault I’m not marrying you. Don’t you ever look in the mirror to see where you stand?” “Mia and I are just having a wedding. As long as you don’t make a fuss, our relationship will never change.” I crazily grabbed everything I could reach and threw it at them. “Relationship? What relationship? The relationship where I’m the other woman?” “Get out! You pair of cheating scumbags, get the hell out of here!” The door slammed with a deafening noise. Looking at the messy bedroom, I violently threw the engagement ring clutched in my hand out the window. Then, as if possessed, I picked up a small piece of broken glass. Just like when I was a kid, I numbly pressed it against my wrist and slashed down. Chapter 2 All the love and hate spilled out along with the blood. In my haze, I thought of that earth-shattering afternoon seven years ago. The school building collapsed, and I was trapped under concrete slabs, waiting to die in despair. But Liam frantically dug through the rubble, using his bleeding hands to pull me out bit by bit. But the aftershocks continued. When a huge boulder came crashing toward us, he threw himself on top of me without hesitation, using his back to form a human bridge for me. Debris smashed onto his head, back, and face, yet he gritted his teeth and smiled at me. “Chloe, don’t be afraid. With me here, you won’t die.” After that, he was left with a hideous scar on his back. I touched that scar with trembling fingertips, weeping uncontrollably. But he smiled like a fool. “Why are you crying? This scar is the proof of my love for you.” And in high school, when I was cornered in an alley by a few bullies. They called me a fatherless bastard and threatened to slash my foxy face with a box cutter. It was Mia who charged in single-handedly, shielded me behind her, and pointed at them fiercely. “Just try and touch her!” From that day on, Mia accompanied me to and from school. She told me with absolute seriousness, “Chloe, we’re going to be best friends for life.” Waking up in the hospital. Liam’s gaze fell on the crisscrossing scars on my wrist, and he sighed softly. “Chloe, I always thought you were a smart person.” His voice was very low, like stating a long-understood fact. “What’s wrong with staying by my side?” “You know your background; I could never accept your proposal.” “All that talk about marrying you on the ninety-ninth time… was just to humor you.” Ever since my father eloped with his mistress, my mother’s mental state has been unstable. But Liam and Mia are both from wealthy New York families. Whenever someone pointed fingers behind my back, Liam and Mia would viciously slap their faces for me. I often asked myself, what did I do to deserve such a prince and princess taking such good care of me. Liam paused for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “Chloe, what do you really want? Money? Love? Or medical resources for your mother? Or…” He leaned in close, his words as light as a blade. “Do you want me to give you a child?” Motherhood as a ticket to status is a proven method. Using all my remaining strength, I slapped him hard across the face. “I want you to get lost! Don’t ever let me see you again in this lifetime!” Liam froze for a second. He slowly touched his cheek with his long fingers, then smiled, grinding his back teeth. The hospital room door was pushed open again. Mia walked in carrying a basket of mangoes, her laughter light and deliberate. “Oh my, my good best friend, playing hard to get again?” She walked over to Liam, her eyes sliding sideways over me. “Liam got tired of that seven years ago. It’s really inappropriate to play it now.” Saying that, she started peeling a mango for me. But I’m allergic to mangoes. Mia knew this from the very first day we met. She deliberately showed off the dazzling diamond ring on her ring finger. Liam once said, he would buy his future wife the biggest, brightest diamond ring. Thinking of when I accidentally gouged a piece of flesh from my palm while personally crafting a wedding ring for Liam, a dense, fine pain flared up in my heart again. Mia handed the peeled mango to me, and I just swatted it onto the floor. The juice stained her dress. Liam’s eyes darkened instantly. “Chloe, if you have any grievances, take them out on me!” “Mia has been good enough to you! She doesn’t even mind me keeping you after we’re married! What more do you want?!” Mia looked at me aggrievedly. “Chloe, do you really need to target me like this?” I was just about to kick them out, when two trending topics popped up on my phone. The first was the joyous news of the marriage alliance between the two powerful families of Liam and Mia. But the second was the record of my relationship with Liam over the past seven years. The comment section was full of people scolding Mia for throwing her weight around and knowingly being the other woman. Liam’s usually unruly face suddenly turned dark. He squeezed a few words out through gritted teeth. “Chloe, you’re such a bitch…” Chapter 3 But I haven’t logged into any social media accounts since I woke up. Mia grabbed my wrist and roared. “Chloe! People need dignity to live, are you trying to force me to death?!” “Your life was saved by Liam, and your face was saved by me! Even your job in Northern Europe was introduced by us! Liam and I don’t ask you for anything in return, but how can you bite the hand that feeds you?!” During the struggle, the wound on my wrist split open. Drops of blood smashed onto the bedsheets. But Liam just looked at me with a disappointed gaze. I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “It wasn’t me.” But Liam directly grabbed my phone, skillfully entering his birthday to unlock it. Then he pointed to a transfer record of ten thousand dollars and questioned me coldly. “If it’s not you, then what is this?” He didn’t know this was the medical fee I advanced for my mother’s surgery. He threw the phone at me, shielded Mia, turned around, and left. Half an hour later. Liam used his family company’s official Twitter to post his and Mia’s marriage certificate. The date was seven years ago. Which was the very day Liam and I made our relationship official. They had gone and gotten their marriage certificate. My heart ached to the point of numbness, yet I couldn’t shed a single tear. Public opinion reversed. Countless netizens cursed me for knowingly being the other woman, and even trying to sow discord between a married couple. My personal information was quickly doxxed. My work email was stuffed with abusive letters, and my social media DMs turned into a swamp of filthy insults. Even more fatally, my boss all the way in Northern Europe called to fire me directly. Liam easily crushed everything I had spent years struggling to build. And my father abandoning his wife and child back then was magnified infinitely. “Chloe’s dad didn’t want her mom, and Liam doesn’t want her either. This mother and daughter are destined to be mistresses for life!” “And she’s so smug posting chat logs, thinking that will hurt the great Miss Mia? What a clown!” “So disgusting, how do people like this still have the face to live in this world? Chloe and her mother should just go die!” My college group chat also exploded. “Wasn’t Liam’s girlfriend always Chloe? Why is the person on the marriage certificate Mia?” “You guys don’t know this, right? Actually, the person Liam has always liked is Mia. During the earthquake back then, Liam thought the person buried was Mia, that’s why he went to save her!” “So Chloe, that simp, harassed Liam for all those years? Wow, she’s been a mistress since her student days?” Seeing this message, I almost couldn’t stand up. Just as I was about to fall, Mia suddenly caught me. She looked at my deathly pale face and said with a giggling smile. “Chloe, do you know why Liam pursued you?” She lowered her voice and enunciated every word. “Because, I have a certain kink.” “Liam loves me too much, so he lowered himself to seduce you. And now, I’m bored with playing, so it’s time for you to get lost!” “Oh right, the day after tomorrow is my wedding with Liam. As my best friend, you absolutely must come.” As Mia turned to leave, she deliberately shoved a prenatal checkup report into my hand. “The crystallization of Liam and my love, four months along now.” The world crashed down around me. Liam’s past devotion, those vows that sounded better than sweet nothings. It turned out to be just a game. Liam’s call suddenly rang. But I didn’t answer. Soon he sent a text message. [Chloe, don’t believe the nonsense people in the group chat are saying. After Mia and I are married, I will give you an explanation.] I pinched my palm tightly and typed. [Every time you called me Chloe, you were actually calling out to Mia, weren’t you?] The person on the other end of the phone fell silent. The tears I had held back for so long finally fell. I don’t know how long I stood in the cold wind. I wiped my tears and dialed a long-forgotten number. “Mr. Quinn, I agree to join your Arctic project. For the three years I’m gone, please make sure to take good care of my mother.” The other party nodded crisply and responded. “No problem, I’ll send a private jet to pick up your mother right now.” As soon as the call disconnected, my mother’s caregiver called immediately. “Ms. Davis, it’s terrible, something happened to your mother!” Chapter 4 When I found my mother, she was pinned to the ground by several maids, barely clinging to life. Her back was already lacerated and bloody, yet she continued to glare fiercely at Mia. “I’m going to kill you! Kill you!” Mia had three bloody scratches on her face, clearly from my mother. She gripped the whip in her hand and said through gritted teeth, “Tomorrow is the wedding! How am I supposed to see anyone with this face?” “You old hag! There are still 99 lashes left! I’m going to beat you to death today!” Realizing what was happening, I immediately rushed forward to protect my mother. But the doctors clearly said my mother’s condition had been improving over the years. Why did she suddenly go crazy? Crack! The whip lashed fiercely across my body. I cried out in pain. Mia, however, looked down at me from above with a triumphant sneer. “Hahaha, Chloe, your mother couldn’t compete with my mother, and look now, you can’t compete with me either.” My body stiffened. “What did you say?” My gaze followed to the family portrait in her hand. My father, who had abandoned his wife and child, was lovingly holding another woman’s waist. It turned out Mia’s mother was the mistress from back then! Mia’s laughter echoed in my ears. “Serves you right. Who told your mother to call my mother a mistress back then! Now that you’ve become a real mistress, I’ve finally vented my mother’s anger!” “Let me tell you the truth, I approved the day you and Liam made your relationship official. You were willing to be a simp just because Liam treated you slightly well. Have you never been loved by anyone? Pathetic worm.” “Now, either you take these 99 lashes for this old hag, or I start a livestream right now and tell the whole world that both you and your mother are mistresses hahaha…” Every word was like a poisoned needle, piercing into my deepest wounds. Anger rushed to my head, and I charged at Mia like a madwoman. But just as my fingertips touched her sleeve, Liam’s furious voice suddenly erupted from behind. “Chloe! Don’t you dare!” He kicked me viciously aside, his eyes fixed on the sharp scissors on the ground. “Crazy! If you want to die, go die yourself! Don’t touch Mia!” Holding my bloodied mother, I wept silently. Liam paused slightly. Instinctively, he moved to help me. But Mia stumbled and threw herself into his arms, crying a river of tears. “Liam, Chloe said her mother is crazy and won’t have to pay with her life for murder!” “It doesn’t matter if something happens to me, but the baby in my belly…” The sliver of pity on Liam’s face towards me abruptly vanished. The bodyguards immediately understood, grabbed the whip from the floor, and lashed me fiercely. Agonizing pain instantly swept over my entire body. I screamed in agony. But Liam refused to spare me another glance. At that moment, my mother, who had been on her last breath, suddenly shielded me tightly in her arms. Her cloudy eyes were full of tears as she whispered in my ear, “My sweet girl, it’s Mom’s fault for being useless and letting you suffer so much. This time, let Mom protect you…” Listening to her increasingly faint breathing, I cried and begged Liam for help. “I admit my mistake, I apologize, please, I beg you, save my mom!” But no matter how much I pleaded, there was no response.

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On Valentine’s Day, I discovered that the gold jewelry from our home safe was being shown off on the livestream of a college student my husband sponsored. Just this morning, I had asked my husband to cash in that gold. It was life-saving money for my father. On the screen, Maya Reed smiled coyly. “This is real gold from my sugar daddy. Let’s see who dares to say he isn’t the real deal now.” My hands trembled as I dialed my husband’s number. My father had suffered a severe stroke and was in the ICU. It was costing thousands of dollars a day. That gold was supposed to be his lifeline. I called over a dozen times, but he hung up on every single one. He only replied with one text. [I’m busy.] Right at that moment, his laughing voice came through the livestream. “Baby, let me see who’s jealous of you.” I put my phone down and dialed 911. It didn’t take long before the couple’s public display of affection was abruptly cut short. Through the screen, I heard a muffled, stern voice. “City Police Department. We’re here to investigate a grand larceny case involving stolen gold.” 1 Ever since we got married, Arthur would gift me gold every year. Bracelets, bullion, custom ornaments—he bought it all. He always said it was to make up for the expensive bridal jewelry he couldn’t afford when we first tied the knot. But now, all of those things were sitting in another woman’s livestream. Being flaunted as tokens of their love. The sheer irony of it made me want to laugh. The electronic lock on the front door beeped twice, and Arthur walked in, bringing the chill of the winter night with him. The moment he stepped inside, he launched into a furious tirade. “Elena, did you have the cops arrest Maya?!” His voice was full of utter disbelief and rage. “Do you have any idea that by calling the cops, you’ve ruined her life?! She just graduated! How is she supposed to get a job or live a normal life with a felony record?” “You know how hard she worked to get through college! You’re going to destroy her over a little bit of gold?” I hadn’t even said a single word, yet he was already painting me as the villain. The burning agony that had been searing my chest all day suddenly froze over in the face of his coldness, leaving me completely numb. “A little bit of gold?” I curled my lips into a mocking smile, my eyes burning. “Arthur, I told you clearly this morning to take the gold from the safe and cash it in. You said you were busy. You said you didn’t have time.” I pulled up the screen recording I had saved and shoved the phone in his face. In the video, Maya’s delicate face was zoomed in, and her sickeningly sweet voice echoed from the speaker. “Is this what you were busy with? Busy calling her ‘baby’ on a livestream? Busy watching her show off the tokens of love you gave her?” Arthur’s face went completely white, then rapidly flushed a deep, angry red. “Elena, listen to me, I can explain…” He softened his tone, trying to sound reasonable and placating. “Maya’s family is in a really tough spot. Her dad has terminal cancer and is in a hospital back in her home state. The daily medical bills are suffocating her. She only reached out to me because she was completely desperate. I’ve sponsored her education for years; how could I just abandon her now?” “And about that gold… I just lent it to her as a prop for her videos, to see if it could help her get some traffic. All that stuff she said on the livestream was just a scripted act. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d overreact exactly like this.” “There is absolutely nothing going on between us! Elena, how could you think so poorly of me?” His brows were knitted tightly together, his eyes brimming with the look of a falsely accused victim. Watching his performance, I almost wanted to give him a standing ovation. He was so brazenly twisting the truth, deflecting the real issue, and packaging his filthy affair as some noble act of charity. “Helping her?” I scoffed, opening my mobile banking app to the transaction history page. “Does helping her require wiring her cutesy, romantic amounts like $1,433 and $5,200? Does helping her require you to spend Valentine’s Day and our anniversary with her?” “Arthur, save this bullshit to fool yourself. Don’t say it out loud and disgust me.” Arthur’s expression froze. He suddenly raised his voice, trying to overpower me with sheer volume. “Elena, are you investigating me?! Is there absolutely no basic trust left between us?” He took a step closer, his breath hot against my face. “I bust my ass out there every single day! I drink with clients until my stomach bleeds! And for what? For this family! To give you and your dad a good life! And just because you caught wind of some baseless rumor, you call the cops to arrest a young girl without even talking to me first?” “Where does that leave me?! How are my colleagues and partners supposed to look at me? Do you know this could ruin the company’s reputation and tank our next round of funding?!” His accusations were so self-righteous, as if I were the unreasonable, hysterical sinner who was destroying everything. There was no point in arguing anymore. I let out a long, exhausted sigh. “You don’t need to gaslight me. I didn’t tell you about my dad being hospitalized because I thought you were actually busy with work, and I didn’t want to distract you. The reason I asked you to cash in the gold today was to pay for his medical bills.” “And because you told me all our liquid cash was tied up in your new project, I had no other choice but to—” To my surprise, Arthur let out a mocking scoff. “Do you really need to make up a lie like that? Your dad is healthier than I am! Hospitalized? Please. You’re only doing this because I told you Maya’s dad has cancer, and you’re trying to play the sympathy card.” My eyes widened in absolute shock. I stared at him, completely paralyzed. It was as if I didn’t recognize the man standing in front of me. His expression remained cold as he sneered. “I’m telling you right now: drop the charges immediately, or this isn’t over!” With that, he slammed the door and stormed out. I stood alone in the living room for a very long time. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed a friend’s number. “Can you do me a favor? I need a deep dive into all of Arthur’s personal bank statements and transaction histories for the past year. The more detailed, the better.” I paused, my gaze sweeping over my own pale, bloodless face in the hallway mirror. “Also, that apartment I bought before we got married—list it on the market ASAP. I don’t care if the price is a little low, but it has to be an all-cash offer. I need it sold as fast as possible.” 2 I opened my text messages. My chat with Arthur was still stuck on the day before yesterday. [Elena, I have to entertain some investors tonight. Don’t wait up for dinner.] That was the day my father was in the resuscitation room. I had called him seven times, and he didn’t answer a single one. It wasn’t until 3:00 AM that he finally texted back. [Drank too much. Going to sleep.] I swiped across the screen and, as if possessed, clicked into Maya’s Instagram profile. Her latest post was from yesterday. “Who says sugar daddies are all greasy old men? Mine has impeccable taste, and that’s what I love most about him.” The video showed a high-end Omakase restaurant that cost at least a thousand dollars a head. The camera only panned to the hands of the man sitting across from her. He was wearing a luxury watch from last year’s latest collection. It was the birthday present I had given him. I kept scrolling down. Last year, on the night of our wedding anniversary, I waited at the restaurant until they closed. He called to say he had to fly out of the country for a last-minute business emergency and couldn’t be there. But on that exact same day on Maya’s account, she posted a picture of the night view from a revolving restaurant in another country. In the one second he briefly appeared in the frame, I recognized those custom cufflinks. I had driven across half the city to find them for him. The night my dad fainted and was rushed to the hospital for the first time, I was pacing the ER hallway, utterly helpless. He said he was in a critical meeting that would determine the company’s Q3 revenue. At almost that exact same time, Maya posted a photo dump. In the corner of one picture, I could see his thermos. The center photo was a looping video of a girl playfully wrapping a man’s silk tie around her finger. The caption read: [Bringing some warmth to someone who’s working so hard today, so I’m claiming this tie as my reward! 💕] Staring at the screen, I suddenly burst into laughter. The sound of my laughter was piercingly harsh in the empty living room. When Arthur and I first got together, he was a tech geek who didn’t even know how to match a dress shirt with a suit. His closet was full of ill-fitting, cheap blazers. I was the one who taught him, little by little, how to choose fabrics and recognize good tailoring. I took him to custom tailors and taught him what to wear for different occasions. His first decent suit was picked out by me. His first expensive watch was gifted by me. Even the cologne he wears now… I chose that woody scent specifically to match his cultivated aura. And now, all of it had become his capital to please another woman. Before I realized it, tears had completely covered my face. I didn’t snap out of it until my phone started vibrating endlessly. It was messages from my friend, along with a series of attached files. [Elena, I got the bank statements. There’s a major problem; you need to look at these files right away. Also… that apartment you asked me to list? I just talked to a broker. He said… your apartment was already mortgaged last year.] My fingers went stiff. [Mortgaged? I never authorized or signed any mortgage paperwork.] I hurriedly opened the files. Aside from the fraudulent loan documents, there were actually several credit cards from different banks opened in my name. I clicked open the billing statements one by one. The accounts started opening two years ago; the most recent one was activated just last week. The combined credit limit was over eighty thousand dollars. The billing address for every single card was Arthur’s company. And the transaction details were filled with luxury hotels, designer boutiques, high-end jewelry, and Michelin-starred restaurants. The charges spanned across the country, and there were even a few international transactions. As I flipped through them page by page, my blood ran cold. Last October, on my birthday, he said he had to work overtime at the office. But the credit card statement showed a charge of $1,200 at a high-end restaurant in Manhattan that very night. Last Christmas, he said he was taking clients out to play golf. Yet there were three consecutive days of charges at a top-tier luxury resort in Miami, totaling over $8,000. And today, Valentine’s Day— There was a charge of $13,140 at a luxury jewelry brand. Meanwhile, I hadn’t even received a simple ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ text from him, let alone a gift. I closed the digital folder and shut my eyes. So many memories flashed through my mind. Three years ago, when his first startup failed and left him with over a hundred thousand dollars in debt, I drained my savings and begged my parents for a loan just to bail him out. His eyes were bloodshot as he hugged me, his tears soaking through my shirt. He had said: “Elena, if I ever betray you in this life, may God strike me down with lightning.” Two years ago, when his company finally took off, he held my hand and said: “From now on, half of every penny I make belongs to you.” Every single vow had now become a vicious slap across my face. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, trying to stop my body from trembling. [Keep digging. I want every single debt investigated thoroughly. Also, help me find a ruthless divorce attorney. Someone who specializes in marital debt fraud and hidden assets.] After sending the text, I put my phone down and walked to the window. The night outside was pitch black, a darkness that seemed to have no end. 3 Right after the Monday morning meeting wrapped up, a colleague stopped me, sounding a bit panicked. “Elena, there are two women downstairs asking for you. They said they’re Maya’s family. They’re extremely agitated… it looks like they’re here to cause a scene.” Before she even finished her sentence, the sound of crying and screaming reached us. “Where is Elena Harper?! Tell that black-hearted bitch to get out here!” A woman in her fifties charged to the front, her expression ferocious. The entire department’s attention instantly zeroed in on us. The woman pointed a finger right at my nose, screaming at the top of her lungs. “You’re Elena?! You vicious wretch! How dare you call the cops on my daughter! She’s an innocent, pure college girl, and you pushed her so hard she almost jumped off a building, do you know that?!” The aunt next to her immediately chimed in, her tone dripping with toxic sarcasm. “Let everyone here be the judge! She accused my niece of stealing her gold. But it was all fake! Cheap gold-plated garbage! Worth maybe a hundred bucks tops, and she insisted it was real just to ruin our Maya! This is attempted murder! Where is your boss? Tell him to come out and see what kind of trash he hires!” The gold was fake? Impossible. Then, another thought crossed my mind. This was probably just their tactic to get Maya out of trouble. I let out a cold laugh. “Ladies, this is a place of business. If you have an issue, we can discuss it in a conference room.” “Discuss my ass! You’re going to drop the charges right this second! Otherwise, I’ll come to your office and make a scene every single day! I’ll make sure you can’t show your face in public ever again!” Maya’s mother spat as she yelled. “Let me tell you, we had that garbage ‘gold’ appraised. It’s nothing but cheap gold-plated silver! Just you wait, we’re going to sue you!” I frowned slightly, my tone turning icy. “I called the police because there was clear video evidence showing my personal property in a place it shouldn’t be. As for whether it’s real or fake, the police will handle the appraisal.” Maya’s aunt jumped up. “Don’t try to bully us just because you think we’re stupid! We consulted a lawyer, and we have the lab reports. The evidence is rock solid! You framed her! We’re pressing charges! We’re suing you for malicious prosecution and defamation! If you don’t drop the case, your life is going to be a living hell!” When she slapped the appraisal report down in front of me, my heart plummeted. But I couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of them. I kept my voice steady. “I’ve already filed the police report. If you keep causing a disturbance here, you can go sit in a cell right next to Maya.” I ignored them after that, walking straight through the crowd of staring coworkers and toward the elevator. I could still hear the aunt’s hushed curses echoing behind me. “That gold was obviously fake… let’s see how much longer she can act so arrogant!” My heart was trembling. Right at that moment, I received a call from the police detective. “Ms. Harper, we sent that batch of gold jewelry and bullion in for testing. They are indeed gold-plated items. The outer layer contains less than 1% gold, and the base material is 925 sterling silver. The overall gold content is under 10%…” I couldn’t hear a single word the detective said after that. The entire world faded into an endless, deafening ringing in my ears. Which meant, Arthur had spent only a tenth of the cost to maintain his image as a “generous,” “family-oriented” husband. And I had been played for an absolute fool. I had even treated it as my only lifeline when my father was at death’s door. I took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that I didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. All that was left was a crystal-clear, icy reality. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Arthur. [Elena, I heard Maya’s family went to your office to make a scene? Please don’t stoop to their level. Let’s sit down and talk properly when we get home tonight. We can fix this.] [There’s a huge misunderstanding here, please don’t listen to them…] [Elena, are you busy? Why aren’t you replying?] A misunderstanding. I stared at his texts. I could feel his sheer panic radiating through the screen. I suddenly really wanted to laugh. Is he only feeling scared now? After deceiving me and betraying me time and time again, what did he take me for? I actually completely agreed with something Maya’s aunt had said. Arthur, your life is about to become a living hell.

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I was helping my husband pay off his credit card, and when I logged into his banking app, I discovered something—the balance on his payroll account was over four million dollars. I looked at it three times. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. We had been married for three years, and he told me his monthly salary was five thousand. We split the bill for every meal, dividing every expense clearly. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a $399 coat. I stared at that string of numbers, my fingers turning cold. Arthur, who exactly are you? 1. It was a Wednesday. Arthur was going on a business trip, and before he left, he asked me to pay his credit card bill for him. “You know the password. Send me a screenshot when you’re done.” He sent a text message, complete with a kissing emoji. I said okay. We’d been married for three years, and we always split expenses 50/50. He said his monthly salary was five thousand, and mine was eight thousand. Rent was four thousand: he paid two thousand, and I paid two thousand. Utilities and HOA fees, split down the middle. Meals, split down the middle. He said, “It’s not easy for either of us; splitting it 50/50 is the most fair.” I thought that made sense. Even though my salary was higher, 50/50 was fair. So for three years, I lived very frugally. I ate at the school cafeteria for lunch, twelve dollars a meal. I bought all my clothes online, and if something cost more than two hundred dollars, I’d think about it for three days. Last month, I had my eye on a coat for $399. I tried it on three times but didn’t buy it. I told myself to wait, to buy it when it went on sale for Black Friday. Arthur found out and said, “If you like it, just buy it.” I said, “Never mind, it’s not a necessity.” He smiled. “You really know how to manage a household.” At the time, I felt that even though money was tight, it was nice for the two of us to be working hard together. Until that day, when I opened his banking app. He had given me the password. A long time ago, he asked me to pay his phone bill once. Back then, I just paid the bill and logged out. This time, after paying off his credit card, I got ready to take a screenshot. While taking the screenshot, my finger slipped. I swiped to the “My Account” page. A number popped up on the screen. $4,171,283.67. I thought I misread it. I closed the app and opened it again. $4,171,283.67. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. I sat on the sofa, holding my phone, completely motionless. Someone was honking a horn outside the window. A child was crying downstairs. I couldn’t hear any of it. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. He said his monthly salary was five thousand. We had split expenses for three years. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a coat. 2. Before we got married, Arthur told me he worked in sales at a small company. “Base salary is three thousand, with commissions it’s about five thousand.” He dressed very plainly, wearing Uniqlo and Gap. He drove a used Toyota with scratched paint. I never suspected a thing. I’m an elementary school teacher, making eight thousand a month. In this city, a combined income of thirteen thousand for two people isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to get by. When he suggested splitting expenses, I thought it was reasonable. “I don’t make much, but I don’t want you to support me. Splitting it 50/50 is about respect.” Those words warmed my heart. My mom said, “Although this young man doesn’t earn much, he has good character and knows how to respect you.” So I married him. Life after marriage could be summed up in one word: frugal. We never went out to eat. I cooked, and we split the grocery bill. I used a budgeting app and recorded every single transaction meticulously. “Today’s groceries were $23.50. You owe $11.75, and I owe $11.75.” He would say, “I’ll round up and give you $12.” I’d laugh, “Alright, Mr. Generous.” Back then, I thought these little calculations were quite sweet. On my birthday, he sent me a $520 red envelope. “It’s the thought that counts.” I accepted it, thinking it was nice. For his birthday, I bought him a pair of headphones for $899. He said, “Why did you buy something so expensive?” but even as he said it, his eyes were smiling. I didn’t think anything was wrong. Until last winter. My cold turned into pneumonia, and I was hospitalized for a week. The medical bills were over six thousand. I asked if he could front the money for me, since I hadn’t been paid yet. He thought for a moment. “How much will insurance cover?” “Probably about half.” “Then put it through insurance first, and we’ll calculate the rest.” I said okay. On the day I was discharged, he calculated the bill for me. “Insurance covered $3,200, leaving $3,400. You pay $1,700, and I’ll pay $1,700. Fair, right?” I said fair. I was still coughing that day. He drove me home and bought a box of pears. “Drink lots of water, get well soon.” I felt he treated me well. Truly. He was just poor. And there’s nothing shameful about poor people pinching pennies. That’s what I thought at the time. Laughable, isn’t it? Laughable. My mom was diagnosed with diabetes last year. She needed to take medication long-term, costing about eight hundred a month. I told Arthur about this. “I want to send my mom a thousand dollars every month.” He was silent for a moment. “That’s fine, but that’s your family’s business. It should come out of your share.” I said okay. From then on, my disposable income each month became even less. I switched from eating at the school cafeteria to bringing my own lunch. I’d cook extra the night before and bring it to school the next day. My colleagues asked, “Why are you always bringing lunch?” I’d smile, “It’s healthy.” When Arthur found out I was sending money to my mom, he said one thing. “Don’t give too much, your mom still has your dad.” I said, “My dad’s pension is only two thousand.” He said, “Then just do what you can.” Do what you can. At the time, I thought those words were meant well. Thinking about it now, it’s a joke. A man making fifty thousand a month telling his wife, who makes eight thousand, to “do what you can.” But that night, I didn’t explode in anger. I was very calm. Frighteningly calm. I took a screenshot of the balance. Then I logged out of the app. Then I sent Arthur the screenshot of his credit card payment. “It’s paid.” He replied, “Thanks, honey,” with a heart emoji. I looked at that heart. Put down my phone. Went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Then I sat in the living room and started thinking. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary was five thousand, his savings over three years would be eighteen thousand at most. Even if he lived extremely frugally, twenty thousand at the absolute maximum. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. This isn’t something you can save up. This is a completely different level of income. I needed to know more. But I couldn’t let him find out. I couldn’t. 3. The next day, I took half a day off. Not to go to school. To see Mia. Mia was my college roommate and is now a lawyer specializing in family and marriage law. We met at a cafe downstairs from her firm. I showed her the screenshot. She took one look. “Over four million?” “Yes.” “He said his monthly salary was five thousand?” “Yes.” Mia set down her coffee cup. “What do you suspect?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I just feel something isn’t right.” “Do you know where he works?” “Yes. A company called Apex. He said he does building materials sales.” Mia took out her phone and searched. “Apex Industries?” “That should be it.” She scrolled through a few pages. “This company had a revenue of 1.2 billion last year and is preparing to go public.” I was stunned. “1.2 billion?” “What does your husband do at this company?” “He said… sales.” Mia looked at me. “A sales rep making five thousand a month at a company with 1.2 billion in revenue?” She didn’t finish her sentence. I understood. Mia helped me organize my thoughts. “Don’t alert him just yet. You need to do three things right now.” “First, confirm his true income. Check his bank statements. Do you have his password?” “Yes.” “Second, confirm where this money went. Four million is the balance. You need to see how much came in, how much went out, and where it went.” “Third, confirm if he’s having an affair.” I looked at her. “You think he is?” Mia didn’t answer directly. “A balance of four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary is fifty thousand, that’s eighteen million over three years. Subtracting the four million balance, where did the remaining fourteen million go?” Fourteen million. That number hit me like a ton of bricks. “It could be investments, it could be real estate, it could be something else,” Mia said. “But the fact that he’s hiding it from you is not a good sign.” I nodded. “Find out the truth,” she said. “Find out the truth before you decide what to do.” She looked at me. “Don’t cry, don’t make a scene.” “Find out the truth, and then do what needs to be done.” I said okay. That night, Arthur hadn’t returned from his business trip yet. I sat alone in the living room and opened his banking app. This time, I wasn’t in a rush. I looked through every single transaction. Payroll deposits, arriving every month. Not five thousand. It was four hundred and eighty-seven thousand, three hundred and twenty-one dollars. Every month. On a fixed date, the 15th. Source: Apex Industries LLC. I scrolled down. Expenses. Transaction by transaction. There was a transfer, a fixed amount every month. $15,000. Note: Mortgage. Mortgage. We rent our apartment. What mortgage? I took a screenshot. I kept scrolling. Another series of transfers, varying amounts. Three thousand, five thousand, eight thousand, twenty thousand. Same recipient. Different notes. “Buy whatever you want, baby.” “For you, don’t hold back.” “Happy Valentine’s Day.” I stared at the word “baby.” My hands didn’t shake. My heart didn’t break. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me, from head to toe. Freezing me to the bone. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt anymore. I kept scrolling. I found a massive transfer. Three million, two hundred thousand. Exactly 3.2 million. It happened a year and a half ago. The note was just two words: “Down payment.” A 3.2 million dollar down payment. While I was eating discounted bread in our rented apartment. He was buying a house for someone else. I finished looking through all the statements. Closed the app. Stood up and went to the bathroom. Splashed water on my face. The person in the mirror had red eyes, but no tears. I looked at myself in the mirror. “Arthur,” I said softly. “You’re finished.”

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I stared at that line of text for a very long time. It was printed in black and white on the lab results—”The test concludes that there is no paternity relationship between the child and the alleged father (Mark Miller).” It wasn’t him. I had prepared myself a hundred ways to face the absolute worst outcome. I was going to smash things, scream, call the cops, and shove that report right in his cheating face. But it wasn’t him. Then who is Leo’s father? The administrator at the DNA center noted that the child’s Y-chromosome markers were an exact match for the Miller family lineage. The Millers. Not Mark Miller. But a Miller. I closed my eyes. The smiling, cheerful face of my father-in-law, Robert Miller, drifted up out of the darkness. 1 Three months ago, Chloe came over for dinner. She brought Leo. He was three, a chubby little boy, incredibly sweet and impossible not to like. I asked her, “Chloe, Leo is getting cuter every day. He really looks like his dad.” Chloe offered a tight smile, looking down to wipe Leo’s mouth. “Don’t bring him up.” Chloe had always said Leo’s father was an ex from college, that she hadn’t realized she was pregnant until after they broke up. She had the baby alone, raised him alone. My heart ached for her. Chloe and I had been best friends in college; I’d known her for twelve years. I helped her find her job, I went with her to look at apartments, and I sat outside the delivery room waiting when she had Leo. Mark used to tease me about it: “You treat Chloe better than you treat your own sister.” I always said, “It’s hard for her, doing it all alone.” After dinner that night, my mother-in-law, Eleanor, stopped by. The second she walked in and saw Leo, her eyes lit up. “Oh, look, little Leo is here!” She crouched down, pulling a sleek, expensive Transformer toy out of her purse. I froze. I’d seen that exact Transformer. It was a collector’s item displayed in the department store, priced at over fifty dollars. My son, Toby, had asked for it last month. I told him it was too expensive and we should wait for a sale. Eleanor handed the Transformer to Leo, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Leo took it, saying in his adorable toddler voice, “Grandma.” I glanced at Toby. Toby was standing to the side, staring at the Transformer. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything, either. Eleanor never even looked at Toby. Later that night, as I lay in bed, a sudden realization hit me. Leo called my mother-in-law “Grandma.” When did Chloe teach him that? I tossed and turned. Forget it, I told myself. Kids are just sweet-talkers. They call older people ‘Grandma’ or ‘Grandpa’ all the time. But the next morning, as I was stuffing a water bottle into Toby’s backpack, I saw he’d drawn a square box in his notebook with a pencil. Next to the box, he had painstakingly written one word. “ROBOT.” The letters were crooked and wobbly. I stared at that word for five full seconds. Then I stuffed the bottle in and zipped the bag shut. Chloe texted me later that afternoon: “Sarah, Leo’s preschool needs some paperwork. A paternity test, actually. Do you know where I can get one done quickly?” I wrote back: “Just go to the health clinic. It only costs a couple of hundred bucks.” Hours later, she replied: “Never mind. I’ll figure something else out.” I said: “Paternity tests are fast, Chloe. Just a blood draw.” She didn’t reply. That evening, I asked her again. She said: “I don’t want to do it. Too much trouble.” What was so troublesome about a paternity test? Blood draw, wait a few days, get the report. It was the first time I felt like Chloe was hiding something. But back then, I thought she was hiding from her ex. Maybe the ex was married now. Maybe she didn’t want anyone tracking down who the father was. I didn’t think much more of it. But with those two incidents stacked on top of each other, I couldn’t sleep soundly anymore. Eleanor’s attitude toward Leo. Chloe refusing to take the test. Was there a connection between these two things? I told myself there wasn’t. But that night, I dreamed that Leo was sitting on my living room sofa, calling my husband, Mark, “Daddy.” I woke up from the nightmare. Drenched in sweat. 2 I started noticing things I’d ignored before. Like how often my mother-in-law visited. It used to be once, maybe twice a month. After Leo was born, she started coming two or three times a week. Every time she came, she brought things. For Leo. Designer clothes, shoes, fancy snacks, brand-name toys. For Toby—nothing. Once, I couldn’t help but say, “Mom, Toby’s birthday is coming up soon, too.” Eleanor didn’t even look up. “Toby doesn’t need for anything.” “Leo doesn’t need for anything, either.” Eleanor looked up at me then. I will never forget that look. It wasn’t anger. It was defensiveness. Like I had just said something I was absolutely forbidden to say. She set down the apple she was peeling and said slowly, “Chloe is raising that boy on her own. It’s hard. You’re her best friend; don’t you have any compassion for her?” I said nothing. She continued, “You shouldn’t be so keeping score all the time.” Keeping score. I have cooked dinner for her son for eight years, done his laundry for eight years, given birth to her grandson, and raised him. She comes over three times a week, bringing gifts every time for someone else’s child, and if I even ask about it, I’m “keeping score.” I lowered my head and continued peeling the shrimp for dinner. Mark was next to me, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t say a single word from beginning to end. That night, Toby was in his room doing homework while I washed dishes in the kitchen. In the living room, Eleanor was holding Leo, reading him a story. Leo was giggling wildly. I looked out through the glass kitchen door. Eleanor leaned down and kissed Leo’s forehead. She had never kissed Toby. Not once. I turned back to the sink. Kept washing the dishes. I turned the faucet on full blast. I couldn’t hear the laughter in the living room anymore. Chloe came to pick up Leo the next day. As I was helping Leo put on his shoes, I felt the socks on his feet. They were thick cotton, the brand tag still attached. I glanced at the tag. Fifteen dollars for one pair of socks. I buy Toby’s socks at Target—ten bucks for a six-pack. I said nothing. I finished putting on his shoes, picked Leo up, and handed him to Chloe. Chloe said, “Thanks so much, Sarah. I’m always imposing on you.” I said it was fine. After she left, I stood at the door, watching her get into a taxi. A taxi. Chloe worked as an administrator at a small company, making less than forty thousand a year. Single mom, forty thousand a year, fifteen-dollar socks for her kid, riding in taxis. Where was her money coming from? I’d never thought about this question before. Because I assumed her life was incredibly difficult. Raising a kid alone, renting an apartment, nobody to help. I’d been transferring her five hundred dollars every month, telling her it was “a little something for the groceries.” Every time, she would say, “No, no, you don’t have to,” but she always accepted it. But still. Does a person who wears fifteen-dollar socks need me to “help out” with five hundred dollars a month? I stood at the door, watching the taxi turn the corner and vanish. The wind blew in. It was pretty cold. 3 I started checking Chloe’s Instagram. Her profile was very sterile. Occasionally a picture of Leo, occasionally reposting parenting articles. But she had posted something once, a long time ago, and then deleted it. I remembered what it was. It was a photo. Leo was sitting on a leather sofa in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling window. Neither the sofa nor the window looked like they belonged in the cramped little apartment she was renting. I’d even commented on it at the time: “Where was this taken? It’s beautiful.” She replied: “A friend’s place.” And the next day, that post was gone. I opened up Amazon and searched for the brands of clothes Leo wore. A winter coat—a hundred and fifty dollars. Sneakers—eighty dollars. I scrolled down. Nothing Leo wore cost less than forty or五十 dollars. A single mom making forty thousand a year. I turned off my phone. That Saturday was my birthday. I had told Mark the day before: “It’s my birthday tomorrow. Let’s just eat at home; I’ll cook a nice dinner.” He said okay. I also called Eleanor: “Mom, tomorrow is my birthday, come over for dinner.” Eleanor said: “Okay, I got it.” I went grocery shopping early the next morning. I came back and made a huge meal. Ribeye steaks, roasted salmon, Caesar salad, garlic butter shrimp, and a potato soup. Toby helped me set the table. “Mom, when is Grandma coming?” “Soon.” I waited until 5:30. I called Eleanor. No answer. I called Mark. “Where are you?” “My mom said she took Leo to the zoo, and she wanted me to pick them up. I’m on my way.” “Leo?” “Chloe had something come up, so she dropped Leo off at my mom’s.” “Today is my birthday.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I know. We’ll celebrate when I get back.” He hung up. I sat at the dinner table. Steaks and salmon. The grease on the steaks had already congealed. The salmon was cold. Toby sat opposite me, poking a shrimp with his fork. “Mom, let’s eat.” “Let’s eat.” I put a steak on his plate. I didn’t eat. They all came back later that evening. Eleanor walked in saying, “The zoo was so packed today.” Nobody mentioned my birthday. Mark hung his coat at the door, put on his slippers, and went straight into the home office. I went to the kitchen and poured the potato soup down the drain. I had never cried in that house. I didn’t that day, either. I washed the dishes, wiped the counter, mopped the floor. Then I went to the bedroom, turned off the light. Lied there in the dark with my eyes open. Thinking about one thing. Where was Chloe’s money really coming from? I made a decision the next day. When Chloe brought Leo over to play, I waited for my moment. Leo was on the sofa watching cartoons. I walked over, crouched down, and stroked his head. “Leo, honey, let me get this little stray thread out of your hair for you.” Toddlers don’t know the difference. I pulled three hairs, ensuring I got the roots, and sealed them in a plastic baggie. I slipped it into my pocket. Chloe was in the kitchen helping me wash fruit. She didn’t suspect a thing. 我把口袋里的密封袋攥了一下。 My palm was covered in sweat. 4 I needed a comparison sample. I thought about it for two days. I knew a paternity test required samples from two people to compare. Initially, I only wanted to test Chloe’s “ex-boyfriend”—but I didn’t have his DNA. All I had were samples from Miller men. Mark Miller. If my suspicion was correct—if Leo was Mark’s child—then comparing it against him would be enough. I snagged a few hairs from Mark’s hairbrush. Hairs with the roots attached. I sent them to the testing center. I waited seven days. Those seven days felt like I was walking on air. I cooked, did laundry, picked up Toby from school, helped him with his homework every day. Everything was normal. But every night, I lied awake until two or three in the morning. Next to me, Mark was sleeping soundly. Snoring. On the seventh day, the testing center called. “The results are in. You can come pick them up.” I took a half-day off work. I took the bus there. My hands were cold the whole way. When I got the report, I sat on a bench in the hallway for a very long time. “It concludes that there is no paternity relationship between Test Sample 1 (Child) and Test Sample 2 (Adult Male).” It wasn’t Mark. I stared at that line of text, my mind a complete blank. It wasn’t him. Then whose was it? I thought the worst-case scenario was—husband and best friend. I was prepared for anger, prepared to storm out, prepared to file for a divorce and take him for everything he had. But now I was being told it wasn’t him. Then who the hell does this child belong to? I walked out of the testing center holding the report. Standing under the bright sun. One phrase kept looping in my head— “Y-chromosome markers were an exact match for the Miller family lineage.” That’s what the administrator at the center had said. “While it’s not a paternity match, the Y-chromosome markers are a highly significant match, meaning the child’s biological father and the sample you provided belong to the exact same paternal line.” The exact same paternal line. Not Mark Miller. But a Miller. How many Miller men were there? Mark Miller. Mark’s younger brother, Steven Miller, who lived across the country and only came back once a year. Mark’s father. Robert Miller. No. Impossible. I stood by the side of the road for a long time. Then I bought a bus ticket home. The whole way back, I kept thinking: Impossible. Robert Miller was fifty-eight years old. He was the archetypal wholesome American grandpa. Retired, loved playing chess, went for walks in the park every morning. Every time he came over for dinner, he was dressed neatly, spoke to Mark in a booming voice, and loved to preach about “living with integrity.” Eleanor often said, “The best thing about your father is that he’s a decent man.” Decent. I suddenly remembered something. The year Chloe had Leo, I went over to her place to drop off some homemade casserole. The door wasn’t shut all the way. I pushed it open and saw Robert Miller sitting on her sofa. He was holding a grocery bag full of fruit. When he saw me, he stood up and offered a polite smile. “Mark asked me to stop by and check on Chloe, said it’s hard for her on her own.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. A father-in-law checking on his daughter-in-law’s best friend—what was strange about that? But looking back now— Mark asked him to go? I got home and called Mark. “Your dad went to see Chloe at her apartment a few years back. Did you ask him to do that?” There was a pause on the other end. “What? No, I didn’t. He went by himself? I didn’t know that.” He went by himself. Mark didn’t know. I hung up the phone. It almost slipped from my hand.

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