I’d just crashed after a marathon work session when my mom dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn to go to the supermarket. The cashier at the beauty counter mistook us for sisters and showered us with compliments. My mom just laughed and explained we were mother and daughter. The cashier’s eyes went wide. Her tone was a strange mix of awe and pity. “You look more like the daughter…” I froze. I turned and stared at the two faces reflected in the mirror behind the counter. My mom’s skin was firm and smooth, like a twenty-year-old college student’s. The face next to hers—mine—was splotched with freckles and sagged like a fifty-year-old woman’s. The smile on my mom’s face vanished. “What kind of thing is that to say?! Are you calling my daughter old?!” Exhaustion had left my nerves frayed and raw. Hearing my mom’s words, a completely irrational fury surged through me. I was about to lash out. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The fine lines at the corners of my mom’s eyes were… vanishing. … I rubbed my eyes, disbelieving. I looked again. One of the crow’s feet was definitely gone. Last night, around twelve-thirty, I’d gone to the kitchen for a glass of water and found my mom still on the couch, binge-watching a show. I’d urged her to go to bed. She was in her fifties; she couldn’t pull all-nighters like she used to. She’d just waved me off. “You’re going to get wrinkles,” I’d warned her. At that, her face had gone pale. She’d fumbled for her phone, frantically opening the camera to inspect her reflection. When she saw the tiny crow’s feet that had appeared, she’d rushed to the bathroom and slathered her face with a dozen different creams. I had seen them clearly then. Two distinct lines at the corner of each eye. But now, impossibly, one was missing. The rising clamor of the store dragged me back to reality. I shook my head hard, telling myself it was a hallucination. I was just sleep-deprived. My mom was still berating the cashier. The noise was giving me a headache. I’d lost all patience for shopping. I turned to leave. “Tilly, you… you’re not angry?” my mom asked, her voice laced with surprise. I couldn’t blame her for being confused. There was nothing I hated more than people commenting on my appearance, on how old I looked. For as long as I can remember, my face has been out of sync with my age. At five, I looked ten. At ten, I looked twenty. Now, in my mid-twenties, I had the face of a woman pushing fifty. I was convinced it was some kind of medical condition. I’d been to every hospital, endured countless tests, but the results always came back the same: perfectly normal. Because of this face, I’d been an outcast my whole life, a target for ridicule and stares. As I got older, my temper grew shorter. The single word “old” was enough to make me explode. I’d only taken two steps when my mom caught up, grabbing my arm. She pointed to the snack aisle. “Just help me pick out some chips before we go.” She dragged me over and started poring over the shelves. While she was distracted, I pulled out my phone and dealt with a few work messages. After we paid, I was about to walk out of the supermarket. The moment I stepped past the threshold, the security alarm blared. The nearest cashier rushed over, blocking my path with her arms outstretched. “Excuse me, I’m going to need to search your personal belongings.” A vein throbbed in my forehead. A hot spike of fury shot up from my feet. It was just one damn thing after another today. As I was about to protest, my mom bumped into me from behind. I stumbled forward, and a perfectly wrapped lollipop tumbled out from my jacket and clattered onto the floor. My mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Tilly, what is that?!” I stared at it, frozen. I hadn’t touched a single thing on the shelves. How could it possibly be on me? Before I could even process it, the cashier pointed a finger at the lollipop and screeched, “Caught red-handed! You dress all nice, but you’ll steal a two-dollar lollipop!” Her shout drew a crowd. People stopped their shopping to stare. I took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Check the security cameras.” The cashier crossed her arms, smirking. “Oh, so you’re a pro, huh? You’ve already cased the joint, you know where the camera’s blind spot is.” That, I hadn’t expected. I exhaled slowly, realizing I’d have to fight this myself. I held up my shopping bag. “You can look up my loyalty account. I spend close to ten thousand dollars a year in this store. I just spent over a hundred in the last ten minutes. Do you really think I need to steal a two-dollar lollipop?” My argument seemed to sway some of the onlookers. They started nodding. “She’s right. That jacket she’s wearing is probably worth a thousand bucks.” “She doesn’t look like a shoplifter. And with the sensors at the door, who would be stupid enough to risk it for two dollars?” My mom’s eyes darted around, and then she chimed in, her voice sharp. “Exactly! My daughter is a CEO. Does she look like someone who needs to steal from you?!” The cashier just snorted. She looked me up and down, her gaze finally settling on my face with a look of pure disgust. “CEO, so what? Looking like that, she’s probably got some weird fetish for stealing…” Her words were a slap across my face. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. I could hear the whispers starting up around me, the soft clicks of phone cameras. “God, that woman looks so old. She’s older than my mom. Doesn’t she ever take care of herself?” “Maybe she really does have some kind of weird thing…” “I thought the one next to her was her daughter. Turns out it’s her mom! I’ve seen it all now. The mom looks younger than the daughter.” … The ghosts of a thousand pitying, scornful stares from my past came rushing back, stabbing at me. I could barely breathe. I instinctively wanted to duck my head, to hide my face. The cashier wasn’t letting up. She grabbed my arm, pointing to the fine notice on the wall. “The fine for stealing is one hundred times the value of the item. That’ll be two hundred dollars. Pay up, or I’m calling the police.” My fingers were trembling. I took a deep, shaky breath and forced a cold smile. “Fine. Call the police.” “Even if there’s no camera, someone in this crowd must have seen something.” “And besides, if you’re saying I stole it, then my fingerprints will be on it. We can have it tested, and the truth will come out…” Suddenly, my mom cut me off, her voice shrill. “Don’t call the police!” Her sudden outburst startled me. Her eyes flickered nervously. “Tilly, honey,” she said, her voice dropping to a soft, placating tone, “it’s just two dollars. It’s not worth bothering the police over.” “We can afford the two hundred dollars. There’s no need to make things difficult for the cashier. She’s just doing her job.” The cashier smirked, triumphant. “See? Looks like your mom is the reasonable one here.” The crowd murmured in agreement. “Yeah, no need to waste police resources.” “The mom really is the sensible one.” “What a difference between them. She’s a typical rich boss, no sympathy for the working class…” Hearing my mom’s words, a new kind of anger, hot and sharp, flared in my chest. How had this become me making things difficult for her? I hadn’t stolen anything. Calling the police was the only way to clear my name. If I paid the fine, I was admitting guilt. I looked at my mom, a flicker of resentment in my eyes. For the first time, I ignored her. “This affects my reputation,” I said, my voice hard as steel. “It could even affect my company’s stock price.” “I’ve already said we can have the evidence tested. If you insist on accusing me of theft, then charge me. If you win, I’ll pay whatever the court decides. If you lose, I’ll be suing you for defamation.” The cashier’s bravado vanished. She glared at me, muttering under her breath before finally dropping her hands. “Just my luck!” My mom was still apologizing to her. The glares from the crowd intensified. I ignored them all and strode towards the restroom. The moment I locked the stall door, my legs gave out. The memory of those stares, those whispers, replayed in my mind. My hands shook as I fumbled in my pocket for my anxiety medication. I dry-swallowed a pill, waiting for the panic to subside. As I was about to leave, I heard voices by the sinks. “Hey,” a woman said in a gossipy tone, “do you think that woman in the supermarket really stole something? She didn’t seem like the type.” A few seconds later, another voice, hesitant. “Actually… I saw it. It wasn’t her. It was the woman next to her…” “It was her mom. She slipped it into her pocket when she was looking at her phone.” The first woman gasped. “Why didn’t you say anything?” “Are you crazy? It’s not my business. Better to stay out of it.” The sound of their footsteps faded down the hall. My hand hovered over the lock, frozen. I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. My mom… she wouldn’t… But even as I denied it, the pieces started clicking into place. The way she had insisted on going to the snack aisle. The way she had “accidentally” bumped into me. For years, whenever my mom and I went out in public, something would always go wrong. I would always end up in some kind of trouble. The suspicion, once a tiny seed, was now a monstrous, thorny vine, wrapping itself around my heart. Suddenly, I remembered the words of an old holistic healer I had seen years ago. The old man, well into his nineties, had looked at me with a strange, complicated expression and told me that my problem might not be physical. I hadn’t understood then. But now… I had to know. I had to prove it. I forced myself to calm down and walked out of the restroom. My mom was standing by the curb, the sunlight making her glow. And then it hit me. For as long as I could remember, my mom’s face had never changed. For over twenty years, she had looked exactly the same. I took a slow, steadying breath and walked towards her. Using the excuse of picking a leaf out of her hair, I got close and examined her face. Just as I suspected. The other crow’s foot was gone. A sharp, searing pain shot through me. I couldn’t face the truth that was staring me in the face. I mumbled something about work and fled, like a coward. But I didn’t go to the office. I went to see a well-known spiritualist in the city. The result was just as I had feared. She told me I was cursed. And had been, for many years. Someone was feeding off my negative energy to nourish themselves. It had to be someone who was with me constantly. My first thought was my mom. I had barely left her side my entire life. I was supposed to go to a boarding school in middle school, but my mom had said she couldn’t bear to see me suffer. She sold our downtown apartment and we moved to a place near the school. When I got into a university in another city, she moved the entire family with me. What I had always thought was love was actually the source of all my suffering. Tears welled in my eyes. Why? I had cried to her so many times about my face, about my pain. And she had just smiled gently and told me not to care what other people thought. She wasn’t comforting me. She was admiring her handiwork. The more miserable I was, the more she thrived. A black, venomous hatred began to bloom in my heart. I wouldn’t let her win. Why should I be the one to suffer? If she never thought of me as a daughter, then I no longer needed to think of her as a mother. In that moment, I decided to get my revenge. My mom had told me not to care what other people thought. Well, let’s see how she felt when she was the one in the spotlight. I wiped the tears from my eyes. And I went home. I didn’t want my mom to suspect anything, so I skipped dinner, claiming I was tired, and went straight to my room. I opened up a streaming app and clicked on a livestream raising money for a baby with a cleft palate. On the screen, a young couple was performing in a rundown room. After seven hours, they had only raised about two hundred dollars. The comments were brutal. “Have the mom put on some fishnets and do a sexy dance, and I’ll send a gift!” “If the dad eats a handful of dirt, I’ll donate fifty bucks!” … A group of trolls, turning their tragedy into a joke. I couldn’t watch it. I sent twenty of the highest-tier virtual gifts in a row. Then I contacted them directly and donated a hundred thousand dollars. The continuous stream of gifts filled the entire screen. The couple burst into tears. “Thank you, Miss Tilly, thank you! You’ve saved our family!” “We will pray for you for the rest of our lives! God bless you!” “Good people will be rewarded!” The comment section exploded. “Where did all those idiots go? Can’t they type anymore?” “This is a real hero. Not like those perverts who just came to see a show.” “She’s beautiful and kind! A round of applause for her!” Hearing those words, I paused. It was the first time in over twenty years that I had heard a genuine compliment. I felt a pang of shame. I wasn’t a good person. I had done this for my own selfish reasons. But when I saw that couple, holding their child and thanking me, my eyes welled up. I knew better than anyone what it was like for a child to be judged for their appearance. I closed the app. A slow, creeping sense of pleasure bloomed in my chest. The next second, a loud crash came from the living room. Followed by a scream. It was my mom. I went downstairs to find her staring, pale-faced, at a shattered mirror on the floor. Her face was changing before my very eyes. Her skin was becoming sallow, the lines around her mouth deepening. Dark spots were appearing on her cheeks. In a single moment, she had aged ten years. I smiled to myself. Payback came faster than I thought. When she saw me, her eyes were wild. She rushed at me, grabbing my arms and shaking me violently. “Was it you? Did you do this?!” I blinked, feigning surprise. “Mom, what are you talking about?” “Oh my god, your face! What happened? Did you have an allergic reaction to a new cream?” She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “It really wasn’t you?” I just shook my head, looking confused. After a few more seconds of her intense scrutiny, she seemed to relax. She realized she had overreacted. She forced a smile. “It’s nothing. I just tried a new face cream. It must be an allergic reaction…” She tugged at her collar, trying to hide her face. Her frantic movements betrayed her panic. I just nodded. Inside, I was ecstatic. Just a small taste of aging, and you’re already falling apart, Mom? This is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. As soon as I turned my back, I found several other fundraisers for people needing surgery and donated generously. The next morning, my mom was gone. I checked the security footage. She had left at the crack of dawn, her face completely covered by a mask, sunglasses, and a scarf, and had gone to a high-end beauty clinic. I almost burst into song. With her out of the house, I had the perfect opportunity. There was someone else in this house I needed to deal with.

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For three years, my wife, Seraphina, pretended to be paralyzed, confined to a wheelchair. The night the yacht caught fire, a burning beam came crashing down, shattering my leg. I screamed her name, a raw, desperate plea for help. She watched me from her wheelchair, her expression a cold, distant mask. “You’re too far,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “I can’t get to you. You’ll have to crawl.” But a moment later, her childhood sweetheart, Flynn, lost his footing and plunged into the sea. In a flash, Seraphina was on her feet. She shot up from her chair, sprinting to the edge of the deck with an agility I hadn’t seen in years and diving headfirst into the black, churning water. Trapped by the flames, my leg was burned beyond recognition. My mind was starved of oxygen, leaving me with the intellect of a six-year-old, forever. Three years later, after a frantic, world-spanning search, Seraphina found me again. I was on a street corner, begging for scraps. She fell to her knees before me, her eyes bloodshot and brimming with tears. “To hide from me, you let yourself fall this far? Asher, was it worth it?” I tilted my head, studying the strange woman. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a piece of candy, and offered it to her. “Ma’am, your legs are fine. Why are you kneeling like me?” I asked. “Are you trying to learn how to beg? I only have one piece of candy left. You can have it.” 1 Seraphina didn’t take my candy. “Asher, how long are you going to keep up this act?” she demanded, her voice sharp and loud. I flinched, instinctively clutching the battered bowl in my lap. There were a few coins inside—enough for tonight’s dinner. I couldn’t let her take it. My silence only seemed to fuel her anger. She grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. “Ow! You’re mean! Stop hurting me!” I burst into tears, the pain sharp and sudden. But even as I cried, my other hand held tight to the single piece of candy. Lily had given it to me this morning as a reward for not wetting the bed last night. The word “ma’am” seemed to curdle her expression. “Playing the fool!” She sneered, her eyes fixing on my clenched fist. She must have thought I was hiding something valuable. She pried my fingers open, one by one. Lying in my palm was a single hard candy, slightly melted and flecked with dust. Seraphina froze for a second, then a wave of profound disgust washed over her face. “You’re doing all this… for this?” She snatched the candy from my hand and threw it to the ground. Her stiletto heel ground it into the pavement, once, twice. “No!” I shrieked. That was my candy. A surge of strength I didn’t know I possessed coursed through me. I tore free from her grasp and fell to my knees on the sidewalk. I scrambled, my fingers frantically scraping at the sugary dust trapped in the cracks. It was so dirty. But it was so sweet. I shoved the mixture of dirt, grit, and candy dust into my mouth, tears and snot streaming down my face. “Sweet… it’s sweet…” A crowd was gathering, some people filming with their phones. My actions seemed to enrage Seraphina even more. She grabbed the collar of my shirt and hauled me to my feet, dangling me like a stray cat. “Asher! Have you no shame? Are you even a man anymore?!” I ignored her, my tear-filled eyes fixed on the sugary smear on the ground. “Give it back… Ma’am, give me back my candy…” Seraphina’s jaw was clenched tight. She dragged me across the sidewalk and shoved me into a sleek, black luxury car parked at the curb. I banged on the window, watching my little bowl, abandoned and alone on the pavement. “Money! My money!” I cried out. “Lily will go hungry!” Seraphina locked the doors and ordered the driver to go. She turned to me, her eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like a physical blow. “It would be for the best if that little stray starved to death,” she hissed. “Asher, since you love acting so much, I’m taking you back to the one place you tried so desperately to escape. You can perform there until you drop dead.” 2 The car pulled into the driveway of a massive house. It felt a little familiar, but I was too scared to remember why. The walls were too white, like a hospital. The lights too bright, like flames. The household staff lined the entrance, pinching their noses at the sight of my filth-caked clothes. Seraphina dumped me onto the plush living room carpet. “Get him cleaned up,” she ordered. “And don’t let him ruin my carpets.” A couple of burly housekeepers came over and roughly dragged me toward a bathroom. A faucet was turned on. Hissing steam and scalding water erupted from the showerhead. “Ah!” I screamed, scrambling into the corner. “Fire! It’s fire! Don’t burn me!” The hot water on my skin felt just like the licks of flame on the yacht that night. I curled into a ball, hugging my head, my body wracked with tremors, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Sir, please stop pretending,” one of them said, grabbing me impatiently. “It’s just water.” I thrashed wildly, my nails digging into his arm and drawing blood. SMACK! He backhanded me across the face. “You lunatic!” When Seraphina burst in, I was huddled in the corner of the tub, a shivering, pathetic mess. They had stripped my clothes off, exposing the grotesque tapestry of scar tissue that covered my back—a twisted, gnarled mass like the roots of an ancient tree. Seraphina’s pupils contracted violently. She raised a hand as if to touch the scars, but stopped halfway, letting it hang in the air. “You really committed to the role, didn’t you?” she bit out, her voice a strange mix of sarcasm and something else I couldn’t place. “All for a bit of theatre.” “Sera?” a smooth male voice called from the doorway. Flynn walked in, dressed in a pristine, bespoke suit. He looked like a prince from a fairytale. And I was a rat from the gutter. Flynn’s eyes widened in disgust at the sight of my back, but he quickly masked it with a look of concern. “Asher, what happened to you? Sera is just trying to help. You shouldn’t have hurt the staff.” I caught a whiff of his cologne. I sneezed and pointed at him. “Mister, you smell weird.” Flynn’s smile faltered, his face tightening for a moment. Seraphina immediately stepped in front of him, shielding him as she glared at me. “Asher, apologize to Flynn. Now!” I didn’t understand. He was the one who smelled weird. Why did I have to apologize? I stubbornly pressed my lips together and said nothing. Seraphina’s patience snapped. She strode to a closet and pulled out a box. Inside was a pair of black leather dress shoes. Three years ago, they had been my most prized possession. Now, the sight of them made my leg throb with a phantom ache. The memory of shattered bone screamed in my mind. “You always loved these shoes, didn’t you?” Seraphina tossed them in front of me. “Put them on. I want to see you wear them.” “No… I won’t wear them…” I shook my head frantically, trying to back away. “Leg hurts… fire… don’t burn me…” She took this as defiance. “You won’t wear them?” A cruel smile touched her lips. She picked up the shoes and walked to the fireplace, where a low fire was burning. “If you won’t wear them now, then you’ll never wear them again!” She let them drop. The flames instantly devoured the expensive leather. “No!” Watching the fire, something inside my head snapped. The fire. The yacht. The broken leg. The terror finally broke me. A warm, shameful puddle spread across the floor as the stench of urine filled the air. Flynn gasped, covering his nose in disgust. Seraphina stared at the puddle on her pristine floor, her face turning to stone. And in that moment, she finally seemed to understand. The man who had once stood as proud and graceful as a swan… Asher… was truly broken. 3 Seraphina locked me in a room and forbade me from leaving. But my stomach rumbled, a hollow, aching sound. I missed the simple piece of bread Lily would buy for me. That evening, the mansion was alive with noise and laughter. Seraphina was hosting a family dinner. A servant brought me downstairs and pushed me into a chair at the dining table. The table was laden with incredible food, but I was too scared to touch anything. Seraphina sat at the head of the table, with Flynn beside her, looking for all the world like the man of the house. “Go on, eat,” Seraphina said, her gaze cold. “Aren’t you hungry?” I looked at the steak on my plate. It was rare, bleeding onto the porcelain. I was afraid of blood. I shook my head, my eyes drawn to a small piece of cake in front of Flynn. It looked so sweet. Flynn noticed me staring. He smiled and pushed the plate toward me. “Go ahead, Asher. Don’t be shy. Help yourself.” I gulped, my mouth watering, and slowly reached for it. Just as my fingers brushed the edge of the plate, a searing pain shot through my inner thigh. Under the table, Flynn’s hand had clamped onto my leg, his fingers digging in with vicious force. It was a dead man’s grip. “Ah!” My hand jerked back in pain. The plate tipped over, sending the cake tumbling onto Flynn’s white trousers, smearing cream all over the expensive fabric. “My suit!” Flynn roared in faux outrage. “Asher, if you didn’t want it, you could have just said so! Why did you have to ruin my clothes?” His voice cracked with feigned hurt. “Sera gave this to me! It’s a limited edition!” Seraphina slammed her hands on the table and shot to her feet. “Asher!” she raged, her eyes boring into me. “Is your jealousy really so pathetic? You can’t even stand the sight of a new suit?” Terrified, I scrambled under the table, hugging my head and trembling. “I didn’t… The mean mister pinched me… it hurts…” Seraphina didn’t believe a word. “Get out from under there!” she commanded. “Get out here and eat that cake off the floor!” I didn’t want to come out, but I was more afraid of being hit. I crawled out and knelt on the carpet, reaching for the cream-smeared mess. Beside me, Flynn pretended to dab at his trousers. His polished leather shoe discreetly crushed a fallen glass, grinding the shards into the creamy pile on the floor. I didn’t see it. I just knew I had to obey if I wanted to eat. I scooped up a handful of cake. Sharp slivers of glass dug into my palm, and blood began to well up, bright red against the white cream. “Waaah!” I howled in pain, holding up my bleeding hand for Seraphina to see. “Ma’am, it hurts… It’s bleeding…” The blood dripped onto the white carpet, a series of stark, shocking crimson dots. Seraphina’s breath hitched, her heart lurching in her chest. She instinctively moved to stand. But then Flynn clutched his chest dramatically. “Sera, my heart… I feel so tight… I think the shock…” Seraphina froze. She looked from Flynn’s pained expression to my blood-soaked hand. Finally, she turned away, her heart hardening once more. “Take him downstairs.” “No bandages. And no food.” “Let him learn his lesson.” 4 The basement was dark. There were no windows, only the faint scratching and squeaking of mice. I huddled in a corner, licking the wound on my hand. The blood had dried into a sticky, metallic crust. I was so hungry. I missed my sister, Lily. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from outside. BANG! The iron door rattled in its frame as someone kicked it. It was followed by the angry shouts of guards and the sounds of a struggle. “Get out of my way! Let me in!” That voice… it was Lily! My head shot up, a flicker of light in my eyes. “Sister!” I stumbled toward the door, tripping over my own feet. The door burst open. Lily stood there, brandishing a blood-stained iron pipe. She was covered in scrapes and bruises, her clothes torn, but her eyes blazed with a terrifying fire. “Asher!” Her gaze fell on my bloody hand, and her eyes instantly turned red. “Those bastards!” She threw the pipe aside and rushed to me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to take you home.” Her embrace was warm. It smelled faintly of stale bread, but it was the safest smell in the world. But we couldn’t leave. Seraphina blocked the doorway, flanked by more guards. She was dressed in a silk robe, looking down on us like a queen surveying her filthiest subjects. “So this is your little stray?” Seraphina’s eyes locked onto Lily’s hands holding me, and her expression filled with murderous intent. “A garbage picker?” Lily subtly moved me behind her. “Seraphina, are you even human? He has the mind of a six-year-old! You’re torturing a child!” Seraphina let out a cold laugh. “A child? He’s a better actor than anyone I know.” She gestured with her hand, and the guards swarmed forward, pinning Lily to the ground. Seraphina sauntered over, the heel of her shoe pressing down hard on Lily’s hand. “Agh!” Lily grunted in pain but bit her lip, refusing to cry out. “Since this hand dared to touch my man,” Seraphina said softly, “then it doesn’t need to exist.” She took a golf club from a guard and raised it high above her head. “No!” I screamed, a primal roar tearing from my throat.

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1 During the New Year celebrations, I found myself at a college reunion with my husband, Joey. After a few rounds of drinks, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. Joey was the first to pick a “Truth” card. “What’s your biggest regret in love?” He answered without hesitation, his eyes darting toward Valerie, his college sweetheart, who was sitting nearby. “Not ending up with the person I truly loved. Instead, I settled for a backup, just making do with my wife.” The room erupted in whispers. Everyone expected me to storm out, but I simply smiled and motioned for the game to continue. When it was my turn, the question was: “Is there anything you’ve kept from your partner in your relationship?” “Yes.” “What is it?” “I have a seven-year-old son I’m raising outside our home.” … A profound silence fell over the private room. Joey, who had been heavily intoxicated, instantly sobered up. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. Our class president quickly tried to smooth things over. “Willow, you must be drunk. You can’t just say things like that!” “He’s right,” another classmate chimed in. “Joey was just joking. You can’t get angry and make a joke like that. It’s too hurtful!” The friend beside me laughed, patting my shoulder, trying to lighten the awkward atmosphere. I raised my glass, drained it in one go, and leaned back slowly in my chair. “I’m not joking.” “We’ve been married for seven years. Every time Joey gets drunk, he calls out Valerie’s name. When he’s intimate with me, he calls out her name. Even the little digital chick in his game is named ‘Valerie, my darling.’ We’ve been living separate lives under the same roof for so long. Is it really so unreasonable for me to have a son outside our home?” My bombshell revelations stunned everyone. Joey and Valerie exchanged uneasy glances, their faces ashen. But Joey, who always cared deeply about appearances, wouldn’t tolerate me airing his dirty laundry. He slammed his hand on the table. “Willow Sterling, if you’re drunk, go home! Don’t make a scene here!” he roared. “I merely expressed a regret in my heart. Even if you’re jealous, you don’t need to retaliate like this!” Jealous? I’d had enough of being jealous for the past seven years! If he was still pining for Valerie, then I would help these two unfaithful lovers achieve their destiny! I stared at Joey’s captivating face, and the more I looked, the more disgusted I felt. “Retaliate? What I said was nothing but the truth!” I shot back. “Your favoritism toward Valerie goes far beyond what I’ve said. Do you dare to make everything public?” My aggressive tone ratcheted up the tension in the room again. Valerie, seeing the situation escalating, quickly came over with her drink, trying to mediate. “Willow, we’re all old friends. This reunion is just a chance to reminisce about the past. Why are you getting so angry?” she said softly. “Besides, Joey and I are ancient history. I’ve been living abroad for years. Joey was just trying to amuse me.” She extended her glass to me. “I’ll toast you as an apology. Don’t let me ruin your relationship.” I swatted her hand away. “What right do you have to toast me? Let me tell you…” “Willow Sterling, that’s enough!” Before I could finish, Joey sprang to his feet. He wiped the wine splashed on his face, his eyes burning with fury. “You say I’m still hung up on Valerie? Yes, I admit it!” he bellowed. “But what kind of saint are you? Haven’t you also cheated on me, even having a child?!” He pointed at me, his voice sharp and accusatory. “You say I don’t dare to make my history with Valerie public? Fine! Then let’s turn this Truth or Dare into a full-blown confession game!” His eyes gleamed with a desperate challenge. “Whoever breaks down and leaves first, loses everything in the divorce. Do you dare?” A faint smile touched my lips. “Gladly.” Even though I knew Joey and Valerie had been entangled for years, even though I had already decided to divorce him after the holidays, I still wanted to hear him admit those truths himself. Not for anything else, but to bring closure to the seven years I had poured into this love. This confession game, with its high-stakes wager, I would play to the bitter end. 2 The game continued. Joey wasted no time, dropping a bombshell immediately. “The night I proposed to you, Valerie and I went to a hotel.” He paused, then added, “We spent the entire night together. No protection.” The words hung in the air, heavy and solid, freezing the room. No one spoke, their gazes shifting to me, filled with pity. “Joey, isn’t that a bit much?” someone ventured. “Starting with such a big revelation, can Willow really handle it?” Valerie tugged at Joey’s sleeve, feigning concern, but her tone betrayed a hint of smugness. Joey waved them off dismissively. “What’s the big deal?” he scoffed. “Starting with a bang is just to prepare her. I don’t want her heart giving out after a couple of rounds.” I offered a faint smile, my inner world surprisingly calm. “I already knew.” “Because seven years ago, when you and she were together, I was in the room right next door.” “With another man.” The night he proposed, I had received a call from Valerie’s boyfriend, Marcus. He and I had stood with our ears pressed to the wall, listening to them make love all night. Marcus had wanted to burst in and catch them in the act countless times, but I had stopped him. Because I was desperately, completely in love with Joey. I told myself it was just a farewell tryst, that after this, they would sever all ties. But time had proven that, for seven years, it had been nothing but my wishful thinking. “Willow Sterling, you think that’s enough to make me angry?” Joey lit a cigarette, blowing a cloud of smoke directly into my face. “Did you know that after that night, Valerie got pregnant?” He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “And I even told her to keep the child.” At that, the room absolutely exploded. My classmates were reeling from the relentless bombshells, whispering frantically amongst themselves. “Holy cow, this isn’t a confession game, it’s a bloodbath!” “Poor Willow Sterling! Married for seven years only to find out her husband cheated with his first love and had a love child outside the marriage!” “Pfft, what’s so pitiful about it? She knew seven years ago and still stayed. Isn’t that just pure masochism?” “Exactly! She cheated and had a kid too, right? I’d say these two are two sides of the same coin. Neither of them is any good!” I ignored their chatter, waving away the choking smoke. “I knew that too.” “Her prenatal reports were hidden in the coat she gave you. Oceanside General Hospital. She went three times.” Joey and Valerie’s faces visibly darkened. He had expected that revelation to shatter me. He had anticipated shouting, tears, maybe even me flipping the table and storming out. But he hadn’t expected this—I hadn’t given him the satisfaction of seeing me break. Seeing his stunned silence, I twisted the knife a little further. “But there’s one question I’ve always wanted to ask you.” “Where is that child now?” 3 Joey was silent for a moment, then laughed. “What does it matter to you? It’s not your child. What right do you have to ask?” Of course, I knew Joey wouldn’t tell me. Or rather, I knew he wouldn’t dare to tell me. Back then, to care for a pregnant Valerie, he had concocted an elaborate lie about the company needing to send him away for training. Because of that, I had postponed our wedding for an entire year. And after we were married, he had kept the secret of his illegitimate child exceptionally well. If I hadn’t accidentally found the prenatal reports while cleaning out his closet, I might have remained in the dark forever. I forced back the nausea rising in my throat and let out a cold laugh. “Indeed, I have no right.” “I’m just worried you might have secretly gotten rid of the child to keep me from finding out.” My voice was light, almost conversational. “After all, it’s a life. If it were simply discarded…” “Willow Sterling, are you ever going to shut up?!” Joey’s face was flushed crimson, the suave gentleman facade completely gone. “Are you doing this just to embarrass me? Are you purposefully bringing up the past at a class reunion to tear me down?” He slammed his hand on the table, his voice thick with rage. “Since you’re so intent on cutting ties, why don’t we raise the stakes? Truth is boring. Dare? Do you dare?” I crossed my legs, propped my chin on my hand, and looked at him with an amused smirk. “No problem. Whatever you want to do today, I’m here for it.” He didn’t waste another word, simply motioning for the class president to draw a card. The president, unable to refuse, reached into the box. A moment later, a slip of paper lay unfolded on the table: [French kiss the person you love most for three minutes.] Joey let out a soft chuckle, pulling Valerie into his arms, his strong, articulate fingers tracing patterns on her back. “Willow Sterling, I honestly didn’t realize you knew about my affair and still tolerated me for so long.” His eyes held a challenging glint. “You seem to enjoy watching Valerie and me. How about I put on a little show for you? What do you think?” Before he could even finish speaking, the class president quickly intervened. “Joey, that’s enough. This is a class reunion, for goodness sake. Have some respect for Willow.” The other classmates quickly joined in, trying to stop Joey. “He’s right, Joey. Willow might have gone too far, but you can’t do this in front of her. It’s too humiliating!” “Joey, listen to us. Leave some room for reconciliation. After all, you and Willow are still married. You still have to live together, right?” Joey’s expression hardened, becoming savage. “Leave room?” he sneered. “Get this straight: Willow Sterling cheated too! She even has a seven-year-old son! Neither of us is clean!” His gaze turned to me, filled with utter contempt. “Living with a woman like that? I find it repulsive.” With that, he directly kissed Valerie’s lips. The defiant glint in his eyes and the passionate, open-mouthed kiss exploded before me simultaneously. I knew he was waiting for me to break. But I remained seated, unmoving, not even bothering to flutter an eyelid. I knew Joey too well. He was always one to hold a grudge and seek revenge. I had publicly exposed his affair, making him lose face in front of so many people. There was no way he would just let it go. Moreover, in his eyes, I was nothing more than a cheating woman. Since neither of us was “clean,” he naturally felt he had nothing to lose. Three minutes later, they reluctantly broke apart. Joey gently wiped Valerie’s lipstick from the corner of his mouth, then looked down at me, a condescending smirk on his face. “So, did you break? If you can’t handle it, you can always leave. But all the assets will be mine in the divorce. What’s it going to be?” I merely smiled and gestured for the game to continue. The class president pondered for a few seconds, then reached into the box again. [Your dare will be chosen by the first person of the opposite sex beside you.] The first person of the opposite sex beside me was Joey. He shot me a cunning smile and delivered my dare: “Bring the son you’re raising outside our home. I want to see him!” 4 I froze for a few seconds, then gently shook my head. “I can’t do that. Pick another dare.” But Joey had no intention of letting me off the hook. He pressed on relentlessly. “I’m not changing it. I want you to do this dare. What, are you chickening out?” He leaned back, his eyes mocking. “I’m warning you, if you back out and leave, you’ll walk away with nothing.” I remained stubborn in my refusal. “What’s between us has nothing to do with this child. I swore that I wouldn’t bring him out until he’s an adult.” The situation reached a stalemate. Just then, Valerie suddenly rose, tugging at my sleeve. “Willow, don’t be so petty when you’re out having fun. Just bring the child out so we can meet him.” She batted her eyelashes, her voice laced with false sweetness. “I promise, Joey won’t hold your cheating against the child. Maybe he’ll even grow to like him, and you can bring him home openly to raise him, especially since Joey lost his fertility…” She stopped abruptly. I turned my head, my gaze chillingly cold. “Go on, why did you stop?” I asked, my voice cutting through the silence. “Afraid everyone will know Joey is impotent, and it will embarrass him?” Joey and Valerie’s excessive intimacy, their weekly twenty-plus encounters, had long ago rendered him impotent. It was thanks to them that in seven years of marriage, we had never had a child of our own. Seeing his deepest secret exposed once again, Joey could no longer contain his fury. “Willow Sterling, if you can’t handle it, then leave! There’s no need to use these things to provoke me!” I looked at his familiar yet alien face and nodded calmly. “If you’re breaking, you can choose to leave.” Joey froze for a split second, then doubled over with laughter. “Me? Break?” he roared. “I’ll break over this pathetic mess? I love sleeping with Valerie, even if I’m impotent, I’d still do it!” He paused, his eyes raking over me with disdain. “Unlike you… I wouldn’t be interested even if you were naked.” Truthfully, I couldn’t stand to be there a moment longer. Joey’s nonchalant attitude truly made me sick to my stomach. He was the one who cheated first, but the way he spoke, it made it seem like I was the unreasonable one. Seeing the situation spinning further out of control, Valerie quickly grabbed my arm, attempting to mollify me. “Sister Willow, it’s just a small matter, no need to overreact,” she said, her voice cloying. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a man as good as Joey. Give me a break; just overlook Joey’s past mistakes. Men will be men, right? Don’t you agree?” I turned to her, a faint smile playing on my lips. “So, I should be magnanimous, forgive his affair, forgive him for having a child with you, forgive him for still pining for you—is that it?” She nodded, still smiling. “Exactly! What’s a little indiscretion? For a happy life, you have to turn a blind eye. Just apologize to Joey, and this whole thing…” I raised my hand and slapped her across the face, then pointed to the wedding ring on my finger. “You’d better get this straight: until I’m divorced, you are the other woman.” My voice was a low, dangerous growl. “What right do you, a homewrecker, have to tell me what to do? My and Joey’s private matters are none of your business.” The private room fell into a terrifying silence. Everyone was stunned by my sudden outburst. The next second, a similarly crisp slap landed on my own face. “Apologize to Valerie,” Joey said, his voice cold and hard. “You can leave if you’re upset, but you can’t use violence to vent your anger. If you don’t apologize today, I’ll hire the best lawyer to sue you for marital infidelity, and you’ll still walk away with nothing.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. I had loved this man for seven years, endured seven years of his infidelity. In the end, he had never once thought of apologizing to me. Instead, his sole focus was to make me leave with nothing. I had wanted to preserve some dignity for both of us, but he and Valerie had pushed me too far. Since he wouldn’t let me end things amicably, I had no choice but to flip the table. “You say I cheated. Do you have proof?” He sneered, pointing to everyone in the room. “You yourself admitted you have a seven-year-old son. Everyone heard it. What, now you want to deny it? Too late!” As soon as he finished speaking, the classmates nodded in unison. “Willow, I know you’re angry, but Joey’s infidelity was at most emotional. You, however, had a physical affair. The fault lies with you.” “That’s right, Willow. Just apologize to Joey. Don’t let a game at a reunion ruin your entire life.” I ignored them and pulled out my phone, dialing my driver. “Bring little Ethan to my room.” Then, I looked up, meeting everyone’s gaze. “I believe you’ve all forgotten one thing.” “I only said I have a son. I never said he was my biological child.” A chilling smile played on my lips. “Since you all believe I’m the one at fault, then today, I’m going to reveal all the long-buried secrets!”

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I brought down the cardboard boxes from the attic and found 96 letters. Every single one was addressed to me. Every single one was unopened. I recognized the handwriting on the envelopes. It was my father’s. He’d been gone for eight years. Mom said he didn’t want me anymore. But he’d been writing to me for eight years. Not a single letter had ever reached my hands. 1 We were moving because my stepfather, Richard, wanted to convert the attic into a study for his son, Mark. Mark had just been accepted into graduate school, and Richard was beaming, insisting on creating a “study space” for him. “Hazel, clean out those old things in the attic,” Mom called from the kitchen, not even looking up. “Throw out anything useless. Hurry, don’t dally.” The attic had accumulated a decade’s worth of clutter: old clothes, a broken fan, outdated textbooks. And underneath it all, a heavy brown cardboard box. It was taped shut with several layers of packing tape, pressed down by an old quilt. I ripped off the tape. The moment it opened, I froze. Letters. All letters. Stacked neatly inside the box, one after another. Brown paper envelopes, each with a stamp. I picked up the topmost one. Recipient: Hazel Lin. Sender: John Lin. My dad. Postmark date: February 2017. I flipped through them. March 2017. April. May. All the way to December 2024. I counted. 96 letters. One every month. Not a single one opened. My hands started to tremble. Mom had told me that Dad had never contacted me after he left. She said he didn’t want me anymore. She said he had started a new life and forgotten all about me. I had believed her for eight years. I squatted in the attic, tearing open the first letter. February 3, 2017. “Hazel: Dad moved to the East End. Rented a small place. Not big, but I saved a room for you. If you want to come, just come anytime. Dad misses you. For Christmas, Dad made you braised fish, your favorite. Waiting for you to come back. Dad.” I was twelve that year. That Christmas Eve, I had asked Mom, “Will Dad come back for Christmas?” Mom had said, “Don’t even think about it. He won’t. If he cared about you, he would have contacted you already.” I cried half the night under my covers. I thought he didn’t want me anymore. I opened the second letter. March 2017. “Hazel: Are you angry at Dad? Dad knows. Dad didn’t say goodbye properly when he left. But Dad didn’t not want you. It was your Mom who wouldn’t let Dad see you. Dad misses you. How’s school?” He didn’t not want me. Mom wouldn’t let him see me. My hands trembled harder. The third letter. The fourth. The fifth. Every letter asked if I was okay. Every letter said he missed me. Every letter said, “You can come to Dad’s anytime.” I had never received a single one. Not one. I knelt on the attic floor, tearing open all 96 letters. From 2017 to 2024. Eight years. From “Hazel, are you angry at Dad?” to “Hazel, Dad doesn’t blame you, Dad is waiting for you.” The last letter was from last month. “Hazel: This Christmas Eve, Dad still set out two plates for you. Fish, ribs, your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs from when you were little. It’s okay if you don’t come. Dad is waiting for you. Dad is always here.” There were water stains on the paper. I didn’t know if they were his tears or mine. I covered my mouth, but a choked sound still escaped through my fingers. Eight years. He wrote for eight years. He waited for eight years. And I had never gone back. Because Mom told me… He didn’t want me anymore. I shoved the letters back into the box, closed the lid, and wiped away my tears. Then I went downstairs. Mom was watching TV in the living room. “All packed up? Threw out the useless stuff, right? Don’t want it taking up space.” I looked at her. She didn’t even lift her head. I said nothing, carrying the box back to my room. I locked the door. 2 I sat on my bed, rereading the letters, one by one. The events of eight years ago returned, frame by frame. I was twelve when my parents divorced. To be precise, Mom initiated it. She had met Richard. Richard owned a building materials store, with a car and a house. Dad was a factory maintenance worker, earning about four thousand five hundred a month. Mom said she couldn’t live like that anymore. Dad disagreed. He knelt in the living room, begging Mom. “Lydia, Hazel is still so young…” Mom didn’t look at him. “It’s precisely because of Hazel that I’ve endured this for so many years.” The day Dad left, he held me for a long time. “Hazel,” he said, “Dad isn’t leaving you. Dad has no choice.” “Dad will come to see you.” “Dad will send you money every month.” “Dad will write to you when he misses you.” I nodded. I believed him. But after he left, I never received a single letter. Not one phone call. He never came to pick me up from school. Nothing. I asked Mom, “Why doesn’t Dad come to see me?” The first time I asked, Mom said, “He’s busy.” The second time, she said, “He has his own things to do.” The third time, Mom grew impatient. “Stop asking! If he wanted to see you, wouldn’t he come? He just doesn’t want to!” The fourth, fifth, sixth times. Mom’s answers became more direct. “He doesn’t want you anymore. Stop asking.” “You don’t even rank in his thoughts.” “If he cared about you, he would have fought for custody during the divorce.” I stopped asking. I carved “Dad doesn’t want me anymore” into my bones. When I was fourteen, I called Dad for Christmas. His phone was off. Mom said, “See? What did I tell you? He won’t even pick up the phone.” I later found out it wasn’t Dad’s phone that was off. Mom had changed his number in my phone. I had been dialing a disconnected number. When I was sixteen, Mom married Richard. Richard moved into our house with his son, Mark. No, his house. Mom and I moved into his house. Mark was two years younger than me, clean-cut, and he called Mom “Auntie,” then later, “Mom.” Mom was incredibly kind to Mark. She cooked for him. Bought him clothes. Helped him with his homework. I said, “Mom, you never helped me with my homework.” Mom said, “Mark is more obedient than you. He’s easier to teach.” I stopped talking. My stepfather was indifferent to me. He neither hit nor scolded, but he wasn’t affectionate either. At dinner, the chicken leg went to Mark. “Mark, eat more. You need to grow.” I sat across from them. No one put food on my plate. No one asked how school was. I slowly got used to it. Used to being invisible in this house. Used to Mom’s favoritism. Used to life without Dad. I thought he truly didn’t want me anymore. Now, 96 letters told me otherwise. He thought of me every month. Every word he wrote was an invitation to return. It was Mom who had hidden his letters for eight years. It was Mom who made me believe I had been abandoned. I clutched the letters, my nails digging into my palms. Eight years. She had lied to me for eight years. 3 There were things tucked inside the letters. Starting from the seventh letter, each one contained a slip of paper. Bank transfer receipts. “Transferor: John Lin. Recipient: Lydia Zhao. Amount: 2000 units.” One every month. I pulled them out, one by one. August 2017. 2000 units. September 2017. 2000 units. 2018, 2019, 2020. All the way to 2024. Not a single month missed. I counted. From February 2017 to December 2024, there were 95 transactions. 95 transactions, 2000 units each. 190,000 units. One hundred ninety thousand. The letters clearly stated: “Hazel, Dad sent your mom the money as usual this month. Tell your mom what you need, don’t be frugal.” “Hazel, Dad sent an extra five hundred this month. Your birthday is coming up. Ask your mom to buy you a cake.” “Hazel, I heard you’re taking your college entrance exams soon. Dad sent an extra thousand. Sign up for a tutoring class.” Each transfer was marked with its purpose. My living expenses. My tuition. My birthday money. Money for my clothes. Not a single unit ever reached my hands. One hundred ninety thousand. When I went to college, my tuition was covered by student loans, and my living expenses by working odd jobs. My freshman year, in winter, I wore my old high school winter coat. My roommate asked, “Didn’t your parents buy you a new one?” I said, “My dad doesn’t support me, and my mom isn’t very well off.” Not very well off? One hundred ninety thousand. The four years I was in college, my tuition was six thousand a year. Including living expenses, I spent less than eighty thousand in total. So what about the remaining one hundred ten thousand? Mark. Mark went to a good university, tuition twelve thousand a year. Mark bought a used car in his sophomore year, eighty thousand. Mark got into graduate school, and my stepfather said, “Studying is a good thing. Don’t worry about money.” Where did the money come from? The building materials store hadn’t been doing well these past few years; I knew that. My stepfather had complained several times that “business is tough this year.” Mom had said, “Be frugal.” But Mark’s expenses were never cut. One hundred ninety thousand. My dad was a factory maintenance worker, earning four thousand five hundred a month. He scrimped and saved, sending two thousand to me every month. Nearly half his salary. All of it went into Mom’s pocket. All of it was spent on someone else’s son. I spread the transfer receipts across the bed, covering the entire surface. Black and white. I stared at them for a long time. Then, I pulled out my phone and took pictures of them, one by one.

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“Six thousand.” I stood in the living room, gripping my father’s hospital admission form. Aaron sat on the sofa, not even looking up. “Your dad’s surgery? Just wait a bit longer.” “Wait for what?” “Mark is twelve thousand short on his renovation payment, due by the end of the month. Have your dad try conservative treatment first, then in a couple of months, we can—” “A couple of months?” I stared at him. “The doctor said we can’t delay it anymore.” He finally looked up at me. “Mina, Mark is my brother.” I opened my mouth, but the next words he spoke made the admission form drop from my hand. “Your dad isn’t without family. Have your brother pay for half of it.” I don’t have a brother. He’d been married for eight years and didn’t know I was an only child. 1 The admission form lay on the floor. I stared at the paper. Aaron had already looked down again, scrolling through his phone. “You… what did you say?” “Hm?” He didn’t look up. “Have your brother—” “I don’t have a brother.” His finger paused. “Huh?” He looked up at me, his eyes filled not with guilt, but with confusion, as if I’d said something utterly trivial. “Oh,” he scratched his head. “Well, then… have your dad just use his health insurance for now. Insurance covers a lot.” I stood my ground. Eight years. This man didn’t know I was an only child. He didn’t know my parents only had me. He didn’t know I only went home to one family every Christmas. He didn’t know I had no brother. He knew nothing. But he knew his brother was twelve thousand short on renovations. “Aaron Davies.” I used his full name. He finally sensed my distress, putting down his phone to look at me. “You don’t even know I’m an only child?” He opened his mouth. “Well…” “Eight years of marriage,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You know your brother’s monthly mortgage payment, you know his car needs maintenance, you know his wife wants a new phone—and you don’t know I don’t have a brother?” The living room was silent. He stared at me for three seconds. Then he said, “Alright, alright, I made a mistake. As for your dad, you’ll have to figure something out. I really can’t spare anything right now.” With that, he picked up his phone and walked into the bedroom. I stood in the living room. The admission form was still on the floor. He had stepped over it. He hadn’t seen it. Or he’d seen it and hadn’t bothered to bend down. I bent down to pick it up. There was a footprint on the paper. The footprint was right over the words “Surgery Date.” I stared at that footprint for a long time. A very long time. Then I folded the admission form, put it in my bag, and opened my mobile banking app. My balance: 4,271.68. This was everything I had. Eight years. All I had left was four thousand two hundred. His brother needed twelve thousand for renovations, and he didn’t bat an eye. My dad needed six thousand for surgery, and he told me to “figure something out.” I closed my phone and stood in the living room. It was already dark outside. The living room lights weren’t on. I didn’t turn them on either. 2 The next morning, I went to the hospital. My dad lay in his hospital bed, looking noticeably thinner. “Mina’s here?” He offered a weak smile. “Don’t keep running over here, you’re busy with work.” My mom was peeling an apple beside him. “Where’s Aaron? Why didn’t he come?” “He’s working overtime.” Mom said nothing, continuing to peel her apple. I sat down, studying my dad’s complexion. It was sallow, with dark circles under his eyes. He was sixty-one. He’d worked his whole life as an electrician, his hands thick with calluses. “Dad, about the surgery—” “No rush, no rush,” he waved his hand. “Insurance will cover part of it. Your mom and I have some savings; it’ll be enough.” I knew they had no savings. Last year, Mom had knee replacement surgery, which cost over forty thousand, completely draining their nest egg. “Dad, I’ll figure it out.” “No need, no need. Just live your own life well. Is Aaron good to you?” “Yes,” I lied. “Then that’s all that matters.” I sat for an hour. Leaving the hospital, I stood by the entrance for a moment. Then I opened my phone and scrolled through my chat history with Aaron. I scrolled back. January. “Mark wants to get a new car this year. Even a used one would be fine. Should we lend him three thousand first?” “Okay.” March. “My mom said Mark’s wife is pregnant and needs to recuperate. Transfer two thousand to my mom this month.” “Okay.” June. “Mark opened a small shop and was short on startup capital, five thousand. He’ll definitely pay it back by the end of the year.” “Okay.” He didn’t pay it back by the end of the year. I kept scrolling. Last January. “Mark is short on his down payment for a house. Let’s lend him eight thousand. He’s family; we can’t just watch him struggle.” “Okay.” I scrolled through more than twenty screens. Every screen had Mark’s name on it. Every time, my reply was “Okay.” One word. Always just one word. I tucked my phone back into my pocket. On my way to work, I passed a stationery store. I remembered my daughter, Lily, saying she wanted a set of markers. I went in and asked for the price: forty-eight. I hesitated in front of the shelf. In the end, I bought a twelve-color set. Eighteen. It would be enough. Lily is nine this year. She’s never had tutoring classes. Not because she doesn’t want to learn, but because there’s no money to spare. My brother-in-law Mark’s son, five years old, is in three extracurricular classes. Aaron had said, “Mark doesn’t earn much, but his child’s education can’t be neglected.” He’d never said anything about Lily’s education being neglected. During lunch, my colleague, Ms. Liu, noticed I was distracted. “What’s wrong?” “My dad needs surgery, and we’re short on money.” “Did you talk to Aaron about it?” “I did. He can’t spare anything.” Ms. Liu’s chopsticks paused. “Then… what about his brother?” “His brother’s renovation is twelve thousand short. That took priority.” Ms. Liu looked at me, opened her mouth, and finally said, “Aaron has it tough too, with elderly parents and young children. Try talking to him again.” Talk to him again. For eight years, every word I’ve said has been a “talk to him again.” And after talking, the money still flows to his brother. I didn’t respond, just continued eating. That night, when I got home, Aaron said at the dinner table, “My mom is coming to stay for a few days tomorrow.” “Why?” “To help us with Lily. Also, to see if Mark’s renovation needs anything more.” “More?” “Yeah, the budget went a little over.” I put down my chopsticks. “Aaron, my dad’s surgery—” “I know,” he waved his hand. “Don’t rush me. I’ll figure something out once Mark’s renovation is done.” “When will that be?” “Soon, soon.” He picked up a piece of food, put it in his mouth. The topic was closed, just like that. Gone with the wind. Lily sat quietly beside me, eating her dinner. She glanced at me, said nothing. A nine-year-old child had already learned to read the adults’ expressions. 3 My mother-in-law, Mrs. Davies, arrived the next day. She carried a bag of fruit and sat on the sofa. “Mina, please be understanding. Mark’s renovation really is urgent.” “Mom, I know.” “Once Mark’s settled, I’ll have him treat you to dinner.” “No need.” “Oh, come on, we’re family. Don’t always keep such clear accounts. You earn more than Mark; what’s wrong with helping him out?” she said, smiling, her tone gentle. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. I earn more. Yes, I do earn more. I’m a quality control supervisor at a garment factory, with a monthly salary of eight thousand five hundred. Aaron drives a truck for a logistics company, earning six thousand a month. I earn more. But I didn’t know “earning more” had become “should contribute more.” “Mom, my dad needs surgery—” “I heard Aaron mention it,” Mrs. Davies patted my hand. “Your dad has health insurance, right? Insurance covers a lot. For the rest, you can scrape it together. If worst comes to worst, borrow some from your relatives.” Borrow from my relatives. For her youngest son, she deducted from my salary card. For my dad, she told me to borrow from my relatives. I looked at her. She was still smiling. “You worry too much. We’re family; we help each other. When Mark succeeds, he won’t forget you, will he?” “When.” I had heard that word for eight years. When Mark earns money, he’ll pay it back. When Mark gets stable, he won’t need help. When Mark… “When” never came. I said nothing, getting up to wash the dishes in the kitchen. The faucet ran, the rushing water covering the laughter from the living room. My mother-in-law was talking to Aaron: “Mark’s shop just got a new shipment of goods. He might need a little more—” I closed the kitchen door. The water was cold. My hands were immersed in the cold water, washing one bowl after another. When I reached the seventh bowl, I paused. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I just felt my hands were cold, and my heart was cold too. Seven bowls. Four people for dinner, seven bowls. I used three. Aaron used a soup bowl and a rice bowl. Lily used one. My mother-in-law used one. Every single one was washed by me. For eight years, every single one was washed by me. That night, my mom called. “Mina, your dad’s surgery fee—” “Mom, I’m working on it.” “Did you… talk to Aaron?” “I did.” Silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. “Your mom understands Aaron’s difficulties,” my mom’s voice was a little low. “It’s hard to push aside his brother’s issues. You… don’t argue with Aaron. Talk it out properly. Life still has to go on.” Life still has to go on. Don’t argue. Talk it out properly. Even my own mom was saying this. “Mom, I understand.” “Don’t worry, your dad said it’s okay to delay a bit longer.” “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.” I hung up the phone. I sat on the edge of the bed. Aaron was already asleep, snoring. Today, he had transferred three thousand to his brother, saying it was “urgent for stock.” My dad’s surgery admission form was in my bag. The surgery date was seventeen days away. I was still short fifty-eight thousand. I took out my phone and opened my banking app. I scrolled down the transaction history. One by one. Three thousand. Five thousand. Eight thousand. Twenty thousand. Fifteen thousand. All under the name Mark Davies. In January, March, June, October. Every year. I didn’t calculate the total. I didn’t dare. I was afraid the number I calculated would make me unable to sit on that bed for another second. 4 On the third day. I went to the finance office to ask when the year-end bonus would be distributed. Ms. Liu from finance said, “The fifteenth of next month.” It was too late. My dad’s surgery was in eleven days. During my lunch break, I went to the bank and requested a complete eight-year transaction history. It was twenty-three pages of A4 paper. I sat in the bank lobby on a waiting chair, flipping through them page by page. I wasn’t doing math. I was confirming. Confirming how every penny had left our account. March 2017, Mark’s wedding, a gift of twenty thousand, paid by us. September 2017, Mark bought a motorcycle, twelve thousand, “borrowed.” All of 2018, a fixed two thousand transferred to my mother-in-law every month, supposedly for “elderly care.” My mother-in-law immediately transferred it to Mark—I only found this out later. 2019, Mark’s down payment for a house, eighty thousand. 2020, Mark’s small shop stock, borrowed four times in total, sixty-three thousand. 2021… I stopped. April 2021. A transfer. Thirty-five thousand. Memo: Mark’s car loan. I didn’t recall Aaron ever mentioning this to me. I checked my phone chat logs. Nothing. This thirty-five thousand, Aaron had transferred himself. Without telling me. I continued flipping. July 2021. Twenty thousand. Memo blank. Recipient: Mark Davies. Aaron had transferred this himself too. Also without telling me. I sat in the bank lobby. The air conditioning was strong, but my back was sweating. I wasn’t angry. I was scared. I didn’t know how many other transactions I was unaware of. I didn’t continue flipping. I folded the twenty-three pages, put them in my bag. I left the bank, walked to the roadside, and stood for a while. Then I went to the supermarket, bought groceries, and went home to cook. That night, Aaron came home as usual. Ate dinner as usual. Scrolled on his phone as usual. And as usual, he didn’t ask me how my day was. I sat across from him at the dinner table, watching him. He scooped the last bit of rice into his mouth. “Today Mark said that the renovation is still short—” “Aaron.” He stopped. “What’s wrong?” I looked at him. I wanted to ask so many things. I wanted to ask about the thirty-five thousand. I wanted to ask about the twenty thousand. I wanted to ask how many other transactions I was unaware of over these eight years. But I didn’t ask. Because I knew how he would answer. “He’s my brother.” He would say that. Just like he had said it a hundred times before. “Nothing,” I said. “I’ll clean up after dinner.” I picked up the bowls and went to the kitchen. The kitchen door closed. I placed the bowls in the sink. The faucet wasn’t on. I stood for a minute. Then I opened my phone and searched for a phrase: “Divorce asset division.” 5 Nine days until the surgery. I did something. I took half a day off and went to a legal aid center. The lawyer who met me was a woman in her thirties, Ms. Frost. “Ms. Davies, please tell me your situation first.” I placed the twenty-three pages of bank statements on the table. “This is the joint account statement for my husband and me over the past eight years. The highlighted entries are transfers to his brother.” Ms. Frost flipped through a few pages, her eyebrows arching slightly. “I haven’t finished calculating the total,” I said, “but it won’t be small.” “Are you considering divorce?” “I’m not sure yet. But I want to know, if I divorce, what do these transfers to his brother count as?” “If they are large gifts made without your consent—or disguised as loans but effectively gifts—you can make a claim during asset division.” “What does that mean?” “It means if you can prove these funds were given unilaterally by him, without loan agreements or repayment records, the court will consider it squandering marital property, and you can request a larger share of the assets.” I sat there, absorbing her words. “There’s one more thing,” I said. “My mother-in-law owns an old house. I want to confirm its property rights.” Ms. Frost glanced at me. “You suspect—” “I’m not sure. But I want to check.” That afternoon, I returned to work. That night, I went home, cooked dinner as usual, washed dishes as usual, and helped Lily with her homework as usual. Aaron was on the phone in the living room. “Alright, Mark, don’t worry, big brother’s got your back on this one.” I heard him clearly from the kitchen. Big brother’s got your back. Who had my back? My dad was in a hospital bed, still short fifty-eight thousand for his surgery. No one had my back. The next day, Ms. Frost called. “Ms. Davies, I found it. The house on Flagship Road owned by your mother-in-law was transferred last October.” “Transferred to whom?” “Mark Davies.” I gripped my phone, standing outside the factory. The sun was blinding. “When was it transferred?” “October twelfth last year.” October twelfth last year. That day, I was at the hospital with my mom for her knee surgery. That day, Aaron said he was “out running errands.” That day, my mother-in-law transferred the house, worth eight hundred thousand, to her youngest son. Aaron and I had been married for eight years and received nothing. “Thank you, Ms. Frost.” “Ms. Davies, my advice is—” “I know. I’m preparing.” I hung up the phone. I stood in the sunlight, the sun beating down on me. But I felt cold. That night, I went home, closed the bedroom door, and spread the twenty-three pages of bank statements on the bed. I took a pen and calculated, entry by entry. Each one I marked with the date, amount, purpose. Some had memos, making them easy to track. Others were blank, so I cross-referenced them with chat logs, line by line. Two hours. I came up with a number. Four hundred thirty-seven thousand six hundred. Eight years. All I had left was four thousand two hundred. Because four hundred thirty-seven thousand six hundred had gone to Mark Davies. I stared at that number. Then I tidied up the statements and locked them in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Aaron wouldn’t search through my drawers. He never cared what was in my drawers. Just like he didn’t know I was an only child. I turned off the light. Lay in the darkness. Aaron was already asleep beside me. I lay awake, eyes wide open. My dad’s surgery was in seven days. The money wasn’t fully raised yet. But my heart felt a little calmer. Because I finally knew one thing. It wasn’t that I had no money. It was that all my money had been siphoned away by this family.

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Waiting at the bus stop, I scrolled through a trending local post. “What’s the cruelest thing you did at seventeen?” I was about to swipe past, but then a highly-rated reply caught my eye. “To get my crush, I photoshopped nudes of his girlfriend, spread awful rumors about her, and even hired thugs to harass her. Ended up driving her into severe depression.” Her answer exploded with tens of thousands of comments almost instantly. The replies were a torrent of abuse. But the poster didn’t care. “A bunch of jealous losers.” “If you knew I’m now the wife of a CEO worth billions, with a lovely son, you’d all think I hit the jackpot.” 01 As if to prove her point, she attached over a dozen pictures to her comment. Luxury cars, sprawling mansions. Designer watches and bags worth hundreds of thousands. And a tall, well-built man in a suit, his back to the camera, standing by a floor-to-ceiling window. I tapped on that photo. My finger hovered, frozen for a good few seconds. Even after all these years, I could recognize the man in the picture by just his back. Owen Bridgerton. In the few seconds I was lost in thought, the comment section had already escalated several floors. “Is that your justification for hurting others?” “So you’re a homewrecker and proud of it, huh? Do your parents know how shameless you are?” “Homewreckers die, affair-starters die!” Facing the barrage of insults, the poster replied with a single sentence. “Every man for himself.” At the same time, she re-edited her post. “Though many people are cursing and attacking me, I still say I don’t regret it.” “Everything I have now, I deserve it!” In her self-narration, eight years ago, she was just a poor student living in the mountains, walking miles to school and back every day. As the daughter of the family, unloved by her parents, she was destined to be married off to an old bachelor in the village upon reaching adulthood, fetching a good price to build a new house for her younger brother. “I thought that was my fate.” “But then, on the first day of my senior year, I saw him.” “He was the school’s heartthrob – handsome, brilliant academically, and most importantly, incredibly rich. A single pair of his sneakers cost more than my entire year’s living expenses.” “I decided right then and there that I had to have him.” “But he had a girlfriend.” The post ended abruptly here. The discussion below was intense. “Your husband is so amazing, his girlfriend couldn’t have been bad either, right?” The poster replied, “Of course. Good grades, very pretty, and from a well-off family. They were childhood sweethearts.” “But so what?” “The more perfect she was, the more I wanted to utterly destroy her.” As soon as she posted this, countless comments attacked her morals. But amidst them, a few envious and fawning praises were interspersed. “I don’t think the poster did anything wrong. If she didn’t fight for herself, she would have ended up marrying an old bachelor.” “Isn’t this the ultimate underdog story? You’re amazing, girl! Teach me your ways!” “To cross social classes by herself, I have to say, the poster is incredible.” Soon, the two sides started arguing. Amidst the debates, one comment quietly floated by. “Am I the only one who wants to know what happened to the ex-girlfriend?” What happened later? I smiled wryly, then exited the app. 02 Willow Reed was right; Owen Bridgerton and I were indeed childhood sweethearts. I first met Owen when I was four. A new neighbor had moved in next door, but I never saw anyone. Only occasionally, late at night, would I hear faint sobs coming from the small balcony opposite. Not long after, while playing in our yard, I overheard passersby talking about the new neighbors. “They own a company; both parents are constantly traveling abroad for business. They didn’t even come back for the move.” “It’s just a nanny watching the child, supposedly since he was little.” “That nanny isn’t any good. I’ve seen her hit the child several times.” Hearing that, I waited outside their gate that very evening. When the nanny went out to throw trash, I, being small, squeezed through the gap in the door. My little legs pattered up to the second floor, where I found Owen sitting on the stairs, lost in thought. He was curled up, small and thin, hiding in a patch of shadow. A faint blue bruise marked his pale face. Hearing footsteps, his slender shoulders flinched. He buried his head even deeper. I walked over and gently patted his shoulder. My childish voice said, “Don’t be scared, I’m here to protect you.” That night, I secretly brought four-year-old Owen home. I hid him in my bed, snugly wrapped in a small blanket. We slept together at night, and during the day, I secretly brought him food. It went on like this for a week until Owen’s parents finally learned he was missing. The couple booked the next available flight and rushed back. The nanny’s years of misconduct were exposed. It’s hard to say what my small self was thinking back then. Perhaps those nights of crying sounded too pitiful. A strong sense of responsibility welled up inside me. For a long time afterward, I considered caring for Owen my personal mission. I took him up the mountain to catch butterflies, down to the water to catch loaches. In spring, we flew kites; in winter, we built snowmen in the yard. Little by little, I drew that somewhat gloomy, introverted boy out of the shadows. Our relationship grew closer. Our feelings deepened. In the height of summer during our junior year, Owen confessed his feelings to me. The young man was still wearing his school-issued short-sleeved uniform, his pant legs rolled up above his knees. In his hands, he held a few lotus flowers freshly picked from the pond. “Summer Blossom, I like you.” “Be my girlfriend.” Dappled light fell on him. My heart fluttered in an instant. Seeing me nod, Owen grinned. Even under the sun, his smile was brighter than the sunshine itself. He pulled me into a hug, repeating softly, “Summer Blossom, I like you!” “I’ll always, always like you!” After we started dating, not much actually changed. We went to school and came home together. On weekends, we’d bury ourselves in the library or attend tutoring sessions together. The difference was, we held hands and kissed. Owen seemed to have a constant need for physical contact, wanting to be glued to me every day. I thought we’d go on like this forever. Until Willow Reed appeared. 03 Because Owen had spent the entire summer abroad with his grandparents, I went to school alone on the first day of our senior year. He called me when he found out, insisting I wait for him. I stood by the school gate for a long time, from morning until afternoon, even skipping lunch. His calls went unanswered, messages unread. It wasn’t until the academic office was about to close that he rushed over, breathless. He grabbed my hand and explained, “I actually could have been here this morning, but I accidentally hit someone on my bike.” I frowned, “Are you okay?” He shook his head, “I’m fine. It was a girl from our school. I took her to the hospital to get checked out; she just twisted her ankle.” “I was running around, and came straight here as soon as I was done.” Seeing his face flushed from overexertion, my heart softened, and I couldn’t really stay mad. I just casually asked, “What’s her name?” Owen thought for a moment, then replied, “Willow Reed. Willow, as in the tree, and Reed as in a marsh plant.” I thought it was a trivial incident that would quickly pass. I was wrong. The very next day, during physical education, a slender girl limped over. She wore a faded school uniform and carried a worn paper bag. She approached Owen, offering the paper bag with both hands, her lips pressed tightly together. “Owen, thank you for taking me to the hospital yesterday and paying for my medical expenses.” “These are rice balls I made myself. Please have some.” Owen waved his hands repeatedly, “It was my fault I accidentally hit you yesterday, so I should have taken you to the hospital. No need to thank me.” The girl shook her head, her expression stubborn, “No, I must thank you.” With that, she tried to press the paper bag into Owen’s arms. Owen refused. They went back and forth, and the girl lost her footing, about to fall backward. In a moment of panic, Owen reached out and grabbed her hand. The instant their palms touched, the girl’s face flushed crimson. She quickly placed the bag on the ground, then stumbled away. Watching her retreating figure, I narrowed my eyes. “Is she Willow Reed?” Owen nodded. For some reason, the first time I saw her, I felt an uneasy sensation. So I said, “I don’t like her. Stay away from her.” Owen looked surprised but still nodded. But the other person’s persistence was simply too much.

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The word “divorce” hit me just as I picked up a piece of braised pork. “Let’s do it,” Liam said, setting down his chopsticks. His tone was as casual as if he were mentioning a business trip tomorrow. I bit into the pork, chewed twice, and swallowed. “Alright.” He froze. His chopsticks hovered mid-air for five seconds, then another five. I kept eating. The braised pork, rich with sauce, was perfectly cooked – a dish I’d spent forty minutes preparing. He never touched his chopsticks again. After finishing the last piece, I got up to clear the table. As I passed him, he grabbed my wrist. “Audrey, did you hear me clearly? I said divorce.” I looked down at his hand, then up at him. “I said, alright.” His grip loosened. I walked into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. The rushing water drowned out everything. Including the gentle flutter I felt in my lower belly when my hand instinctively touched it. 01 The faucet turned off, and the kitchen fell silent. I dried my hands and pulled my phone from my apron pocket. Sarah’s message was still lit up, sent three minutes ago: “Business license approved, pick it up tomorrow.” I replied “Got it” and put the phone back. Liam leaned against the dining room doorframe, arms crossed. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask why?” I untied my apron, folded it neatly, and placed it by the stove. This apron, cream-colored linen with a small daisy embroidered on the corner, was a gift from him our first year of marriage. Three years on, the embroidery was frayed. “No need to ask,” I said. His jaw tightened. Having known Liam for six years, I recognized that expression well. He was waiting for me to cry, to make a scene, to grab his sleeve and demand: Is there someone else? Did your mother say something again? Then he could storm out, leaving behind a classic line: You’re always so unreasonable. I’d played this script for three years, knowing the lines by heart. But not today. “So… Monday, at the courthouse?” he probed. “Sure. Morning or afternoon?” “Morning. Nine o’clock.” “Alright. I’ll set an alarm.” I walked past him to the bedroom. Though “bedroom” wasn’t quite right. After our big fight three months ago, he moved to the study. I slept alone in the master bedroom. In this 1400 square-foot apartment, we each occupied a half, separated by a hallway and three months of silence. I locked the door and pulled open the innermost drawer of the wardrobe. Beneath the drawer lay a file. Inside was a newly signed apartment lease, a bank card I’d had for three years, a brand-new family registry book, and today’s detailed ultrasound report. On the report, a tiny figure was curled up, its limbs clearly visible. Thirty-two weeks. Eight months. My hand rested on my belly; beneath my loose loungewear, my pregnancy was quite noticeable. But Liam wouldn’t know. He hadn’t really looked at me for three months. 02 Monday, at the registry office. The divorce cooling-off period application forms lay on the windowsill, one for each of us. Liam finished quickly and slid his over to me. He used that Montblanc pen. A limited edition I’d queued three hours for last Valentine’s Day. He’d glanced at it then, saying, “Keep the box, I’ll put it in my office.” The pen was given away, but the box remained. The irony struck me now. I signed my form with the ballpoint pen from the counter. The clerk took the forms, her face expressionless. “Thirty-day cooling-off period. Both parties must return to collect the certificate when it expires.” Leaving the office, the November wind gusted into my collar. I wrapped my coat tighter. This coat was two sizes too big, a loose black style, like a flag draped over me. Sarah had specially chosen it two months ago. “To hide the belly, who’d ever notice?” she’d said, crouching outside a changing room, handing me sizes. Liam stood in the parking lot, hands in his pockets, watching me. “Need a ride?” “No.” I pulled out my phone and called a car. He took a step forward. “Audrey, have you… gained weight recently?” My heart skipped a beat. Just one. “Too much hotpot.” My ride arrived. I opened the back door. Before getting in, I looked back one last time. Not out of longing. But to remember the scene—him standing beneath the grand “Marriage Registration Office” sign, autumn wind ruffling his hair, a look of bewilderment on his face I’d never seen before. Three years of marriage, and this was the first time he showed me such an expression. It wasn’t because he was reluctant to let go. It was because he was confused. He was confused because: Why aren’t you following the script? 03 Day three of the cooling-off period. I was packing my things in the master bedroom. Clothes in the wardrobe hung in four rows, separated by season. The left two rows were mine, the right two were Liam’s. I’d ironed his shirts a thousand times. Light blue for business functions, white for client meetings, gray for overtime. The collars and cuffs were always immaculate. I took down my two rows of clothes, folded them, and packed them into boxes. Not much. Two suitcases held everything. In three years of marriage, everything I brought into this home amounted to just two boxes. And what I left behind in this home— The print from the antique market in the living room, I hung it. The row of pothos on the balcony, I planted it. The storage basket under the coffee table, the categorized spice jars in the kitchen, the toiletries neatly arranged by function in the bathroom. All my handiwork. But they wouldn’t come with me. They belonged to this house, not to me. My phone rang. It was my mother-in-law, Mrs. Hayes. I hesitated two seconds, then answered. “Audrey dear, I hear you two are getting divorced?” Her voice was as cheerful as if she were discussing good news. “Yes.” “Oh, that’s good, that’s good. You’re young, finding someone else won’t be hard.” She paused, her tone suddenly dropping a notch. “By the way, that credit card of yours, what was the limit again? Five thousand? Remember to close the account after you pay it off.” I didn’t speak. That card was in my name, with my credit limit, and I’d charged nineteen thousand to it over three years. Twelve thousand of that was for her wellness classes and health check-up packages. “Alright,” I said. “If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” After ending the call, I squatted by the suitcase, taking a moment to compose myself. Not sadness. It was a sudden feeling of lightness. Like a shackle, slipped on at some unknown point, had finally been removed. The baby in my belly kicked again. I looked down and whispered, “Mommy’s taking you away.” Day five of the cooling-off period. Liam returned once. He stood at the master bedroom door, looking at the suitcases spread on the floor, but didn’t enter. “Are you really moving out?” “Yes.” “Where to?” “To a friend’s place.” He leaned against the doorframe, as if waiting for something. I continued packing, tucking a half-read book from the nightstand into a box. He suddenly said, “Audrey, do you think I’ve wronged you?” I straightened up, looking at him. “Liam, you were the one who suggested divorce.” He didn’t reply. After a long silence, he said, “My mother said you recently…” “What your mother says isn’t important.” I zipped up my suitcase. “What matters is what you think.” He opened his mouth—no, he didn’t say it. He turned and left. The door closed softly, as if afraid of disturbing someone. 04 Day seven of the cooling-off period. The moving van was parked at the complex entrance. Two suitcases and a bag of books didn’t even fill the trunk. The driver helped me load my belongings, then looked back at me. “Ma’am, moving alone? Need help finding someone?” “No, this is all of it.” The van pulled out of the complex. I glanced in the rearview mirror one last time. The lights on the seventeenth floor were off. Liam wasn’t home. Sarah picked me up and drove me to my new apartment. A two-bedroom, one-bath, 680 square feet, in a new complex on the west side of the city. Rent was $4200 a month. She’d found it for me three months ago, paid a deposit plus three months’ rent, and it even came fully furnished. “The landlady is a sweet old lady, she even brought you a microwave when she heard you’d be living alone,” Sarah said, carrying my suitcase inside, glancing back at my face as she walked. “How are you doing? Tired? Maybe lie down for a bit?” Her gaze lingered on my belly. With my coat off, even a loose sweater couldn’t hide the curve anymore. “I’m fine.” I sat on the sofa, a hand supporting my lower back. A 32-week belly was heavy, and just a few steps made me breathless. Sarah pulled a stack of documents from her bag and placed them on the coffee table. “Business license, bank account opening, tax registration—all done.” She flipped to a page and pointed it out to me. “Timeless Media LLC, legal representative Audrey Ye, registered capital fifty thousand.” Fifty thousand. It was all the savings I’d accumulated over these three years. Liam didn’t know I had this money. He thought my entire salary went to household expenses. In reality, for three years, I’d siphoned eight hundred dollars from my monthly salary and deposited it into an account he didn’t know about. Eight hundred times thirty-six months, that’s twenty-eight thousand eight hundred. Adding a few freelance projects I took on, it just reached fifty thousand. Those freelance projects were done late at night—after Liam fell asleep, I’d open my laptop on the kitchen dining table, writing proposals, revising PowerPoints, and developing marketing strategies for clients. Once, he got up for water in the middle of the night and saw the light in the kitchen. “Not sleeping this late?” “Can’t sleep, watching a show for a bit.” He grunted and returned to the study. He didn’t even bother to walk over and glance at the screen. Sarah sat next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Audrey, you’re finally out.” I didn’t speak. Outside the window, the city lights of the west district were not as bustling as the east, but they were certainly quieter. The baby in my belly turned over. I thought, this might be the first night in nearly three years that I don’t have to pretend to be happy. 05 Day ten of the cooling-off period. Mrs. Hayes came by once. Not to see me, but to see Liam. I had already moved out, but the security guard Sarah knew in the complex messaged her: “Your friend’s ex-mother-in-law is here, with a young woman.” I didn’t ask for details. But that night, Sarah couldn’t help but tell me anyway. “The guard said the woman was in her mid-twenties, walked in arm-in-arm with your mother-in-law, laughing and chatting.” Lily White. The name wasn’t unfamiliar to me. Liam’s senior from college, who went to the UK after graduation. Even before we got married, Mrs. Hayes used to lament, “Liam had a classmate named Lily, such a wonderful girl, what a shame she went abroad.” Later, Lily returned to the country. It was last autumn. Mrs. Hayes specifically mentioned it at a family dinner: “Little White is back, an executive at a foreign company, earning a million a year. Audrey, can’t you try a little harder?” The whole table fell silent. Liam’s aunt tried to smooth things over: “Sister Hayes, Audrey is great too, she keeps the house so clean.” Mrs. Hayes pouted: “What good is clean? It doesn’t put food on the table.” On the drive home that day, Liam didn’t say a single word in my defense. The entire elevated highway, forty-five minutes, not a single word. I watched the streetlights flash by, one after another, counting to the one hundred thirty-seventh, then finally stopped. Not because we were home. But because I didn’t want to count anymore. Now Lily was being led in by Mrs. Hayes. I wasn’t surprised at all. What surprised me was the WeChat message Liam sent me the next day. “My mother brought someone without my permission. I’ve already sent her away.” I stared at it for ten seconds, didn’t reply. A minute later, he sent another: “Where did you move to? Send your location.” Still no reply. His avatar flickered on and off above the chatbox, as if he was typing and deleting repeatedly. Finally, it settled on one sentence: “Audrey, don’t be like this.” I flipped my phone over, face down on the table. Don’t be like what? Don’t cry, don’t make a scene, don’t beg him to stay? Don’t follow the script he’d set? Unfortunately, I was no longer that Audrey.

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I’m incredibly prone to allergies. The first time I went to my boyfriend’s for dinner, he handed his mother an A4 sheet of paper. “Riley is allergic to seafood, mangoes, strawberries, eggs, milk, beef, lamb… so please don’t use them when you cook.” But there were just so many allergens. It was only after dinner that his mother remembered. “I added a spoon of oyster sauce to the greens earlier, Riley. You’re not feeling unwell, are you?” Under their concerned gazes, I slowly shook my head. “No, but aren’t I allergic to seafood…?” My parents had told me all this. Because of it, from a young age, only vegetables were placed in front of me, while all the fish and meat went to my younger brother. I was often mocked by him— “Born with no taste buds.” Still disbelieving, after a long period of mental preparation, I drank a glass of milk, ate a piece of mango, and tried a large chunk of steak… No reaction, nothing. I couldn’t help but burst into tears. 1 Stark’s mother was an exceptionally thoughtful woman. She knew about my allergies. A table full of eight dishes, all vegetarian. She untied her apron and spoke with a touch of apology. “Riley, I know you’re allergic to seafood, mangoes, beef, lamb, and over 20 other foods.” “So, I made all vegetarian dishes, and even went light on the salt.” “Please try it and see if it suits your taste.” This careful kindness warmed my heart. I ate small mouthfuls of rice, feeling both reserved and grateful. However, when a bite of stir-fried greens entered my mouth, I froze. It tasted better than any plain stir-fried vegetable dish I had ever eaten in my life. I couldn’t help but blurt out: “Auntie, these greens… they’re delicious! Much better than what we have at home. Did you use any special seasoning?” The moment the words left my lips, Stark’s mother’s face changed as if she’d remembered something, and she slapped her thigh. “Oh dear!” Her voice was filled with panic. “I remember now! I added a spoonful of oyster sauce while stir-frying the greens to enhance the flavor! Oyster sauce… it has oyster extract, which is seafood!” The air froze instantly. Stark’s face went white. He threw down his chopsticks, pulled me up abruptly, and rushed towards the bathroom: “Do you feel a tightness in your throat? Difficulty breathing? I’ll take you to the hospital right away!” His mother also panicked, following behind, her voice trembling. They pushed me in front of the sink, my ears filled with the rushing water and their anxious urging. “Rinse your mouth quickly! Several times!” But I just stared blankly at my reflection in the mirror, my mind empty. “No, I don’t feel uncomfortable at all.” “But aren’t I allergic to seafood…?” I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. The face in the mirror was flushed with health, eyes clear. No redness. No rashes. I tried to take a deep breath, once, then again. There was no tightness in my chest, my breathing was steady. Everything was exactly as usual. Yet my parents had adamantly told me I had a severe seafood allergy. The kind that would cause breathing difficulties, full-body swelling, even anaphylactic shock and death, if I merely touched it. “Riley, if it’s really bad, should we go to the emergency room right now? Don’t try to be brave.” Stark’s mother’s voice came from beside me. She held a glass of water, her hand still trembling slightly. Her worry was so genuine, so real, that it brought with it an overwhelming sense of absurdity. I shook my head. For the first time in twenty years, I doubted the “allergy” that had been deeply ingrained in my life. My voice was a little dry. “Auntie, I… I seem to be fine.” Stark released my hand, but his brows were still furrowed. “But didn’t you say… your parents said you had a severe allergy? Even a tiny bit would…” His words were cut off by his mother’s urgent interruption. “Riley, it’s good that you’re alright.” Stark’s mother’s eyes held a hesitant, unspoken message. There was panic, there was indecision. And a hidden hint. The rest of the meal, I couldn’t taste anything. Every bite was like chewing on wax. 2 When Stark drove me home, he tried to speak several times, his lips moving, but he ultimately just gripped the steering wheel in silence. It wasn’t until the car came to a stop beneath my old apartment building that he finally turned off the engine, faced me, and quietly asked, “Are you okay?” It was then that I snapped back to reality, realizing my hands and feet were icy cold. “I’m so sorry,” I forced a smile that was uglier than a grimace. “I wasn’t myself today. My first time meeting your parents, and I caused such a scene. I hope your family isn’t too shaken.” Stark sighed, reaching out to gently ruffle my hair. “Silly, Mom won’t think anything of it. She was just worried about you. Go on up, take a hot shower, get a good night’s sleep, and everything will be fine when you wake up.” I nodded, unbuckled my seatbelt, and opened the door to get out. “Riley, please don’t overthink this,” Stark called after me. “Call me anytime if you need anything.” “Okay.” But how could I not overthink it? My mind was in chaos. These past twenty years of my life felt like a meticulously woven lie, now abruptly unraveling. Back in my tiny rental apartment, I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights. In the dark, I fumbled for my phone. My first action was to order a lot of takeout. All the foods I had previously dared not even imagine, let alone eat. Milk, mangoes, steak, roasted chicken… and even a steaming portion of seafood fried rice. I arranged them one by one on the table. Picking up the carton of milk that once filled me with dread, I twisted open the cap and carefully took a small sip. The warm liquid slid down my throat, carrying a faint milky aroma. I held my breath, waiting. Waiting for my skin to itch, my throat to tighten. But nothing happened. I picked up a piece of mango, then put it into my mouth. Next was the steak; I clumsily cut a piece with a plastic knife and fork, chewing it fiercely. Roasted chicken, cake… I tried them all. Bite after bite. Greedily, almost frantically, I put them into my mouth. Yet, my body showed no adverse reactions whatsoever. My stomach felt full as never before, but my heart was as empty as a bottomless black hole. I stared blankly, putting down my chopsticks. Looking at the empty containers, which I had devoured. Suddenly, a colossal, inexpressible sorrow. Like a tsunami, it crashed over me. The tears streamed down, unstoppable. The scene before me blurred, yet my memories surfaced with crystal clarity. 3 Our family dinner table was always sharply divided. The side closer to my parents and brother was always steaming hot, fragrant with food. Shiny braised pork. Succulent hairy crabs. But on the other side of the table, in front of me, there was always only a plate of boiled greens and a bowl of white rice. The greens, blanched in water, without oil, just sprinkled with a little salt, lay limply on the plate. My brother sat opposite, eating large mouthfuls of meat, his face gleaming with grease, while not forgetting to mock me with his childish yet malicious voice: “Sis, you truly have no taste buds! Look at you, poor thing, just eating grass.” He would even deliberately bring his oily hand close to my face, letting me smell the aroma, then giggle, watching the longing and restraint in my eyes. Mom would give the last spare rib to my brother. And her gaze never once spared a glance for me. She just kept repeating the same words I’d heard since childhood: “Riley can’t eat that, severe allergy, it’ll kill her.” These words, like an invisible chain, bound me tightly. At school, other students went to the cafeteria for their meals. They paid for their food and could choose from a variety of hot dishes. My lunch, however, was always a packed meal of boiled vegetables made by my parents. A cold lunchbox. Inside, only a few blanched greens. And some dry, hard rice. No changes. No surprises. My lunchbox stood in stark contrast to the abundant meals of my classmates. I always sat quietly in a corner by myself, quickly finishing the bland food. Afraid of being seen by classmates. Afraid of them curiously asking, “Riley, why do you always eat that?” I dreaded those strange looks. The consequence of long-term malnutrition was that my body was smaller than my peers, my hair was dull and yellow, and my complexion was pale. During P.E. class, when we ran the 800-meter race, I was always the last one, my vision blurring and feeling nauseous halfway through. When my teacher asked about my well-being, my parents would simply say: “This child has an allergic constitution, she’s naturally weak.” That year I was seven, and seeing the plump, tender hard-boiled egg in my brother’s bowl, I finally couldn’t resist. While Mom was in the kitchen scooping soup, I, with lightning speed, poked a small piece of egg white with my chopsticks and popped it into my mouth. It was the first time I tasted egg; it was fragrant and soft. But before the taste could fully melt on my tongue, a hand fiercely grabbed my ear. Mom’s face was contorted with anger, her sharp voice almost piercing my eardrum: “What did you steal?!” She rushed over, grabbed my chin, and forcefully poured saltwater into my mouth. The bitter, salty water made me cough violently, tears and snot streaming down. She wasn’t done, using two fingers to forcefully dig into my throat. “Spit it out! Spit it out! Do you want to die?!” My stomach churned, and I threw up uncontrollably, leaning over the cold toilet. That humiliation and pain, like a branding iron, were deeply etched into my childhood. From then on, I developed a physiological fear of those so-called “allergens.” My body would instinctively reject them, my brain would sound an alarm, telling me, that is danger, that is death. I never dared touch anything that might cause me an allergic reaction again. But today, I ate oyster sauce, roasted chicken, steak, mangoes, drank milk… I ate all the forbidden things, yet I was perfectly fine. I lay on the cold floor, curled into a ball, shaking with sobs. Twenty-seven years. A full twenty-seven years. I lived in this colossal lie, like a donkey with blinders pulling a millstone, deprived of the right to taste the world’s delicacies, and branded with the label of “frail and sickly.” 4 The next day was Sunday, and my mother’s phone call summoned me home, her tone allowing no refusal. At the dinner table, the same clear division, which I was long accustomed to but now found utterly ironic, remained. My father and brother’s side was laden with braised pork hock, sweet and sour ribs, and a steamed sea bass proudly sat in the center. My side, however, still only had a plate of boiled greens, not a single speck of oil visible. And a bowl of white rice. Just yesterday, I might have felt a pang of injustice from the savory aroma of meat, but now, only cold mockery remained in my heart. Honestly, I truly didn’t understand. Our family wasn’t poor at all. Both my parents worked in public institutions, with stable incomes. Not incredibly rich, but certainly not so destitute that I had to live like a child from a bygone era. Yet, they begrudged me even a single bite of meat, going so far as to concoct the malicious lie of a “severe allergy,” reinforcing this impression in my ears day after day. “Riley,” My mother spoke first, carefully picking a fish bone from a piece of fish and placing it in my brother’s bowl, her eyes, however, darting towards me. “How was Stark’s mother yesterday? Did she give you a welcome gift?” Her eyes darted around, the cunning and greedy glint almost spilling from her sockets. Stark’s mother did give one, a thick red envelope, saying it was ten thousand and one dollars, for a “one in a million” good omen. But looking at my mother’s calculating face, I simply lowered my gaze. “No.” The fake smile on my mother’s face instantly dropped, her lips downturned, and her voice became sharp. “No? How can there be none?!” “That’s so rude! First visit, not a penny to show for it? This kind of family won’t do, too much trouble, you’ll suffer for it later!” She began to calculate to herself: “Since their family is so stingy, the bride price can’t be small! It must be twenty-eight thousand eight hundred, not a penny less! I raised you this big, provided you with good food and drink, I can’t have done it for nothing, can I?” Good food and drink? My gaze slowly fell on the plate of boiled greens in front of me. What a grand joke. “So, how much dowry are you preparing for me?” My mother froze for a moment, then self-righteously said, “Dowry? What dowry does a girl need? We’ll buy you a few new blankets, and you’ll marry off splendidly, that’s enough.” “Oh,” I nodded, “Actually, Stark and I discussed it. Modern weddings are popular now, and we’re not planning to ask for a bride price.” “No!” My brother, forgetting to chew his ribs, his eyes wide. “Sis, if you don’t ask for a bride price, how will I get the money to marry my girlfriend? My girlfriend said her family won’t agree to anything less than a twenty thousand dollar bride price!” The moment the words left his mouth, everyone at the dinner table revealed different expressions. My father quietly lowered his head and ate, pretending not to exist. My mother’s face turned red then white, she glared fiercely at my brother, and quickly smoothed things over. “Eat your food! Children shouldn’t interrupt adults!” She turned back to me, her tone softening, with a hint of coaxing. “Riley, don’t say things in anger. Eat first.” Alright, eat. Under their three stunned gazes, I reached out my chopsticks, crossed that invisible line in the middle of the table, and steadily picked up a piece of braised pork hock from my brother’s plate. Then, right in front of them, I took a big bite. “You’re crazy!” My mother finally reacted, letting out a shriek, her whole body springing from her chair, her hand trembling as she pointed at me. “Do you want to die?! Spit it out! Quickly!” Her voice was identical to when I stole the egg years ago, filled with that ingrained horror. “But Mom, I don’t feel uncomfortable at all.”

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To pay off my fiancé’s debts, I slaved away day and night in his family’s small workshop. Even when his parents, to save money, fired all the workers and made me do the work of five people, I gritted my teeth and accepted it. He promised that once the debts were cleared by the end of the year, he would marry me lavishly and give me a big diamond ring. But when the year-end arrived, his mother handed me a hard-seat train ticket back to my hometown, saying that a woman like me, who only knew how to do manual labor, was unworthy of him now that he had turned his fortunes around. 1 The Geller family’s workshop was exceptionally bright tonight. The moment the last batch of custom leather bags was sealed and loaded onto the logistics truck, I let out a long breath. Three million in debt, finally cleared. Looking at my calloused hands and the dense needle pricks on my fingertips, my heart felt sweet. Leo had promised me a big diamond ring and a grand wedding once the debt was paid. For that promise, even when my finger was pierced by an awl, I’d just slap on a bandage and keep working. His parents fired all the workers to save money; I took on five people’s jobs, toiling day and night. Fortunately, the hard times were over. I purposely changed into a clean dress, an old model from three years ago, but neatly pressed. Passing a cake shop, I spent fifty dollars on a small cake, thinking of it as a celebration. Pushing open the private dining room door, the cheerful chatter inside instantly ceased. Leo was gently peeling a shrimp for the woman beside him, his movements tender. She wore a Chanel suit, her makeup exquisite, an air of arrogance in her every gesture. Leo’s mother sat beside her, her face wreathed in smiles, serving the woman food. “Willow dear, eat more, look how thin you are. How will you bear me big, chubby grandchildren?” I stood frozen in the doorway, the cheap cake in my hand feeling glaringly out of place. Leo’s mother looked up, her smile vanishing instantly. “What are you standing in the doorway for? Don’t you know to close the door? The cold draft is coming in.” She waved her hand dismissively. Leo had just finished peeling the shrimp and placed it in the woman’s bowl without even glancing at me. “Since you’re here, sit down. This is Willow Crawley, our new design director. Don’t overthink it.” I wanted not to overthink it. But what design director gets peeled shrimp from the boss? What director makes that caustic Mrs. Geller smile like that? I quietly sat in the corner. The table was laden with abalone and lobster, but there wasn’t an extra set of chopsticks for me. Willow Crawley glanced at me, covering her mouth with a soft chuckle: “Liam, is this the capable ‘big sister’ you mentioned? She looks so… down-to-earth.” Mrs. Geller interjected: “Isn’t she? Just destined for rough work. Nothing like you, Willow, enjoying an office job.” At the dinner table, they chatted about the company’s future IPO plans, about traveling to ten countries across continents. No one mentioned my wedding, or the promised diamond ring. I took a deep breath, interrupting their grand visions: “Leo, the debt is cleared. When are we getting married?” The air froze instantly. Willow Crawley put down her chopsticks, looking at Leo with a smirk. Mrs. Geller slammed her chopsticks onto the table, making a sharp sound. She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and slapped it in front of me. “Married? Married to what? Amy, you’re too clueless.” I recognized the paper. It was a hard-seat train ticket back to my hometown for tomorrow morning. “The debt’s cleared, you should go back to your hometown and rest. This is tomorrow morning’s ticket. No need to thank me.” Mrs. Geller’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if she were dismissing a beggar. I looked at Leo in disbelief: “What does this mean?” Leo lowered his head, sipping his soup, avoiding my gaze, his voice muffled: “Mom is doing this for your own good. You’re too tired. Go back and rest for a while.” “Rest? Are you trying to get rid of me?” My voice trembled. Willow Crawley laughed. “Oh, don’t say such harsh things. It’s mainly that the workshop is moving towards a high-end route, dealing with the upper crust.” She looked me up and down, her gaze settling on my scarred hands. “Your artisan style is too rustic. Those hands are rough as bark. What if you damage top-grade leather? Even selling the company wouldn’t cover the cost. Leo is now Mr. Geller. He can’t have a factory worker for a wife, can he? How undignified.” I stared intently at Leo: “Is this also what you mean?” Leo finally looked up, his eyes evasive yet tinged with impatience: “Amy, Willow is the daughter of a leather factory owner; she can bring resources to the company. You… what can you do besides mend things? One needs to know their place.” Three years of ceaseless toil, in his words, became “only good for mending things.” Yet, when he knelt before me, begging for help, he called me a “modern-day master craftsman.” I didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene, didn’t grow hysterical. I picked up the train ticket and, in front of them, tore it into tiny pieces. “Leo, don’t regret this later.” Mrs. Geller rolled her eyes: “Regret? Regret not making you pay for this meal? Get out, seeing you turns my stomach!” I turned and left, Willow Crawley’s triumphant giggle echoing behind me. 2 I returned to the workshop, not for sentimentality, but to retrieve my livelihood. That set of tools was a gift from my master when I started my apprenticeship; some had been with me for ten years. I had just opened the toolbox when Willow Crawley, arm in arm with Leo, followed me in. She covered her nose, a look of disgust on her face: “Liam, what’s that smell in here? So foul, like the sweat of common laborers.” Leo chuckled apologetically: “I’ll have someone spray air freshener right away. We just finished a rush order.” I ignored the despicable pair, reaching for my specialized awl and trimming knife. “Hey! What are you doing!” Willow Crawley suddenly shrieked. Mrs. Geller appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my toolbox. “Amy, why are your hands so dirty? You’re fired, and you still want to steal company property?” I looked at her coldly: “These are my own tools. My name is engraved on them.” I had scrimped and saved for two years for this set of tools; every knife was custom-made from top-grade steel. Leo frowned, walked over, and pushed my hand away. “Amy, don’t be so petty. Willow just took over the design department and needs some handy tools. Just leave these old things for her to practice with. I’ll buy them from you.” Buy? Every penny he had now, I had earned for him. “Not for sale.” I reached out to grab them. Willow Crawley, quick-witted, snatched my most cherished century-old sandalwood pony clamp. It was an heirloom passed down from my master, used to hold leather in place, and utterly irreplaceable on the market. “This wood looks nice, dark. I can just chop it up to brew tea; it has an antique flavor.” She knocked the pony clamp against the table corner with loud thuds. My rage instantly flared. “You wouldn’t dare!” I rushed to retrieve it, but Leo pushed me away. My foot slipped, and I fell hard into the scattered leather scraps. My palm landed on a discarded leather cutting blade. Excruciating pain. Blood instantly stained the floor. Leo didn’t even glance at me, anxiously pulling Willow Crawley closer: “Willow, are you okay? Didn’t hurt your hand, did you?” Willow Crawley coyly snuggled into his arms: “You scared me to death, her eyes are so fierce, like she wants to eat people.” Mrs. Geller pointed at my nose and cursed: “Defying heaven! Still daring to fight back? Believe it or not, I’ll call the police!” I picked myself up from the floor, blood dripping from my palm. Looking at this shameless trio, I burst out laughing. “Fine, keep your things.” “I just fear that these high-end tools might be too much for certain delicate claws to handle.” I took nothing, walking out the door empty-handed. Outside, it was raining heavily, cold water washing away the bloodstains on my hand. It hurt, but I felt clear-headed. My phone vibrated. Leo sent a Venmo transfer: 200 dollars. Note: Travel expenses, don’t think it’s too little. I’ve been more than generous. I stared at the number and simply turned off my phone. 3 Less than two hours after leaving the Geller family workshop, I found myself sitting in a coffee shop. The wound on my hand had been simply bandaged. Just then, a news notification popped up on my phone. A certain international luxury brand was recruiting a chief restorer in this city. I looked at my calloused hands and dialed the number. After receiving a reply, I turned on the camera in the Geller family workshop. I had had it installed previously when things went missing from the workshop. At this moment, the Geller family workshop was filled with a joyful atmosphere. Their big client, “Mr. Smith,” had placed an urgent additional order. This order involved three top-grade Himalayan crocodile skins, priceless, and represented the Geller family’s first big score after turning their fortunes around. If done well, the Geller family could enter the ranks of high-end manufacturing. Mrs. Geller was beaming, praising her new daughter-in-law for bringing prosperity to her son. “See, Willow arrives and a big order comes in, unlike that jinx who only knew how to work herself to death.” In the workshop, Willow Crawley looked at the three skins, her brows furrowed. “What kind of skin is this? It smells fishy, disgusting.” She had someone bring several bottles of cheap, strong perfume and sprayed it generously onto the million-dollar skins. “To get rid of the smell, otherwise how can Mr. Smith use them?” An old worker nearby tried to advise: “Director Crawley, this leather can’t come into contact with chemical agents…” “Shut up! Am I the university graduate or are you? Do you understand what ‘fragrance treatment’ is?” Willow Crawley snapped. Then, to speed up the process, she complained that natural air drying was too slow. “Turn on that dryer, full power, blow directly on them! They must be dry tonight!” Crocodile skin relies heavily on activity and oil balance; high temperatures are strictly forbidden. Even more fatally, when it came to the stitching phase, Willow Crawley, holding my set of tools, had no idea how to use them. The diamond chisel felt like an iron block in her hands; after a few taps, she complained her hand hurt. “What kind of broken tools are these, so outdated!” She threw down the chisel and had someone fetch an electric drill meant for renovations. “Use this to drill the holes, quickly!” As the drill whirred, the originally taut, delicate, and snow-mountain-gradient colored crocodile skin began to shriek. The high temperature caused the leather fibers to break, and the surface quickly wrinkled and cracked. The violent drilling created ugly, blown-out holes. Three hours later, Leo looked at the three pieces of leather on the table, wrinkled like old tree bark, and felt a little panicky. “Willow, this… why does this look different from what Amy used to make?” Willow Crawley swept her hair back, brimming with confidence: “What do you know? This is the current ‘aged style,’ it’s artistic! Foreigners like Mr. Smith love this unique, imperfect beauty the most.” “Really?” “Of course, I’m a professional. This is called Vintage style, it’s even more expensive than new!” I laughed inwardly; this family actually believed her, still immersed in the dream of millions about to come in. I turned off my phone, no longer caring about their self-destructive behavior, and began preparing for my interview a few days later. When the French interviewer looked at my portfolio and then at my scarred hands, he said only one sentence: “Start tomorrow, annual salary of one million. Miss Lin, we need your hands.” I signed the contract, walked out of the building, and the rain had stopped. 4 On my first day at work, I scrolled through Leo’s social media. A nine-grid post, all photos of Willow Crawley wearing a large diamond ring, with the city’s most luxurious hotel as the backdrop. The caption: [Finally met the right person, this is a soulmate. For the rest of my life, please advise me.] The location showed they had booked the entire place; I heard it cost two hundred thousand. And they used Mr. Smith’s newly transferred deposit. In the comments, Mrs. Geller replied: [Ten thousand times better than that country bumpkin who only knew how to work! My son has excellent taste!] I sneered, just about to toss my phone aside, when an unknown number called. It was the gatekeeper’s number from the Geller family workshop. But I knew it definitely wasn’t the gatekeeper calling now. The moment I answered, Leo’s furious roar nearly deafened me. “Amy! You b*tch! Did you tamper with the leather? Why did all the skins crack?” It turned out Mr. Smith had just inspected the goods. Seeing the three crocodile skins “aged” into rags, the foreigner erupted on the spot. Not only did he return the goods, but he also demanded ten times the compensation as per the contract. That was a full fifteen million! I held the phone a little further away, replying coolly: “Leo, a brain is a good thing to have. When I left, the leather was locked in the warehouse, and the key was in Willow Crawley’s hand. What, did your university-educated expert not tell you that crocodile skin is most afraid of high-temperature drying and alcohol sprays?” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Clearly, Willow Crawley hadn’t dared to tell the truth. Leo’s tone softened slightly, but still carried a commanding edge: “Alright, stop sulking. Come back quickly and fix this batch of skins. As long as you fix them, I might consider letting you be Willow’s assistant and I’ll pay you a salary.” “Assistant? Leo, are you still dreaming?” I almost laughed out loud. “I am now Cartier’s specially appointed chief restorer, earning five thousand an hour. Want to hire me? Fine, get in line. There are three other luxury brands waiting ahead of you.” “What BS are you spouting! With your looks…” Before he could finish, I hung up and immediately sent him a photo. It was the first page of the contract I had just signed, clearly stating: Top Leather Goods Restoration Expert, Annual Salary of One Million (after tax). After sending it, I blocked him. Ten minutes later, a commotion erupted downstairs at the company. The Geller family trio had actually shown up. Mrs. Geller charged at the front, pouncing like a mad dog, trying to scratch my face. “Amy! You ungrateful wretch who watched us die! How can your heart be so vicious! You could fix it, so why didn’t you?!” Colleagues crowded around, curious onlookers, and security guards were rushing over. Willow Crawley hid behind Leo, crying tearfully, pointing at me and shouting: “It’s you! You deliberately didn’t teach me! Those tools must have been tampered with by you, otherwise how could I have made such mistakes!” Leo, thinking he had found my weakness, yelled loudly: “Everyone, come and see! This is a tramp I dumped, and now for revenge, she’s trying to destroy my ex-boyfriend’s family!” Colleagues whispered, their eyes complex. At this moment, I no longer held back. I pulled a document from my bag and flung it directly at Mrs. Geller’s face. The papers scattered across the floor. “This is my lawyer’s letter. For those three years at the workshop, I never signed a labor contract and never received a single penny in wages. I have records of all the accounts. According to labor law, you owe me one million eight hundred thousand in salary and overtime pay.” “Furthermore, the set of tools Willow Crawley destroyed, that pony clamp is a Qing Dynasty antique, valued at three hundred thousand. And that diamond chisel she threw away is a discontinued item.” I stepped closer, my gaze like a knife. “Pay up!” Mrs. Geller was startled by my imposing presence and collapsed onto the ground. “You… you’re extorting us!” “Whether I am or not, we’ll see in court. The evidence is irrefutable; you can’t deny it.”

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A week before my wedding, I went camping in the snowy mountains with Jeremy Hayes. But his childhood sweetheart insisted on sleeping between us. After I refused, she ran crying out of the tent. Jeremy, anxious, chased after her and disappeared into the snowy night. Worried, I thought about following them. That’s when Jeremy’s group chat with his friends lit up. He sent a message there: “Everyone, no need to worry. I’ve found Alice, we won’t be back tonight.” The picture attached was a hotel at the foot of the mountain. Alice and his clothes were scattered on the floor beneath the bed. Alice’s playful voice message followed closely: “It’s all Jeremy’s fault for being too rough, I can’t even get out of bed.” “But I still need to drain Jeremy dry, I wouldn’t want Emily to have all the fun on our wedding night.” The group immediately became lively, someone asking what I would do. Jeremy casually replied: “Don’t worry about her, she can’t live without me. I’ll just sweet-talk her tomorrow morning.” My worry instantly vanished. I dialed a number. “The wedding is still on, but we need a different groom.” Jeremy didn’t know what he had just ruined. It was the Hayes Group’s last lifeline. … After hanging up, I contacted my chauffeur to pick me up and take me home. The next day, I was woken by a barrage of calls from Jeremy. He angrily and worriedly demanded: “Emily, where did you go? Didn’t I tell you to wait for me in the tent?!” I pulled open the blackout blinds, my tone flat: “Home, of course.” Jeremy froze: “Why did you go back early? Weren’t you going to camp with me?” Before I could reply, Alice’s passive-aggressive voice cut in. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s probably mad you left her to find me last night, so she deliberately ran home to make you coax her.” “Sister Emily’s a spoiled princess. How will she ever be a good Mrs. Hayes? We need to set her straight now before she gets married, can’t pamper her!” Jeremy immediately flared up, coldly scolding me: “If you hadn’t made a scene last night, letting Alice sleep between us to keep warm, would I have gone looking for her? You’re the one who pushed me to her.” “If there were really something between us, you wouldn’t have a chance. Don’t bother with this camping trip, just go home and reflect.” The two spoke with righteous indignation, as if I were truly being unreasonable. But anyone with eyes could see Alice liked him. I merely did what a rightful girlfriend should do. However, since last night, his affairs no longer concerned me. I calmly told them: “Then I wish you both a pleasant time.” The call had just ended when the group chat lit up again. Alice posted a photo of her and Jeremy kissing on the snowy mountain. “It’s great when certain people aren’t around. I can finally be openly with Jeremy.” The group instantly exploded. “In my heart, you two are the most compatible. Emily can’t hold a candle to Alice!” The first to speak was Vance, who always exaggeratedly called me his sister-in-law whenever he saw me. The second was Sterling. “Emily just acts high and mighty because she’s from an equally wealthy family. All that ‘no pre-marital cohabitation’ nonsense, but she probably plays around more than anyone in private. Jeremy, remember to check if she bleeds on your wedding night.” Yet, usually, whenever I was at a gathering, he’d suggest no drinking, no going to clubs, and no dirty jokes. All because my family was strict, and he worried I’d be corrupted. The third was Leo, known as the perfect boyfriend who doted on his girlfriend. But his words were exceptionally harsh: “When it comes to women, you have to choose someone who’s open-minded and fun. An old-fashioned type like Emily is fine as a trophy wife, but in bed, you need someone like Alice.” Alice, flattered, looked quite pleased: “Don’t compare me to someone like Emily. My future is free; I absolutely won’t be trapped in marriage. Let Emily endure the hardships of marriage; I’ll just enjoy myself.” The people in the group were all having fun at my expense, quite a lively scene. And Jeremy said not a single word in my defense, until his friends’ remarks grew increasingly crude. Only then did he stop the farce. “Alright, stop talking. It won’t look good if this gets out.” I was so angry I laughed. Years of genuine devotion, now felt like stinging slaps to my face. Even half a month ago, when Mr. Hayes approached me about the Hayes Group’s economic crisis and their need for the Tao family’s help, I, to spare Jeremy’s pride, even proposed to him, using our marriage as a way for my parents to assist the Hayes Group. Suddenly, Sterling tagged me. “Who’s this? Why haven’t they said anything? Is this one of your alt accounts?” Everyone’s attention fell on me. Jeremy spoke first: “Not mine.” The others also said it wasn’t theirs. The group was silent for two seconds. Vance couldn’t help but say, “Could it be Emily?” “No way. With her personality, if she saw the chat history, she’d definitely break up with me,” Jeremy said without hesitation. “Besides, I’ve never shown her my phone; she doesn’t know this group exists.” Alice also chimed in: “How could her pea-brain sneak in unnoticed? I checked her profile; she doesn’t even have an avatar. Probably a zombie account, just kick her out.” “Even if it’s not, who would dare spread our business? Unless they have a death wish.” Their words clearly soothed the others’ emotions; the confidence that had just faded was now back. They promptly kicked me out of the chat. But they didn’t know that the owner of that account was the very person they had been so freely critiquing. Two days ago, I borrowed Jeremy’s laptop and found his WeChat logged in. I trusted him enough not to invade his privacy. But just as I was about to shut down the computer, Alice sent a message in their group chat. “That idiot Emily actually thought the red marks on Jeremy’s neck were mosquito bites. Those were clearly my love bites.” “If he found out Jeremy has my nickname initial tattooed on his… well, you know, would she think it’s hers, hahahaha?” Alice’s nickname was Yi. My blood instantly ran cold; I froze. With trembling hands, I scrolled up through their chat history, feeling something shatter inside me. It was then I learned that Alice wasn’t just unrequited love; she and Jeremy had been casual partners for ten years. Yet, Jeremy and I had only known each other for five years. During our relationship, what happened in the library in 30 seconds was happening all the time. On our first anniversary, Alice claimed to have a fever, and Jeremy left me to spend the night with her. Afterward, he told me the company had an emergency and he worked overtime all night. When I had a car accident and called him thirty-one times with no answer, he was busy helping a drugged Alice. Even when accompanying me to buy clothes, he was still instantly replying to Alice’s messages. It was as if they were the real couple, and I was the other woman. So, I created a dummy account and joined the group through an account search. I wanted to see their true colors completely. Three days later, Jeremy, uncharacteristically, called me. “Emily, we’re back from camping. Let’s have dinner with my friends tonight.” I refused: “Why should I? If you want to, you invite them.” Jeremy frowned: “We agreed to go camping together, but you came back early. Not only did you make me lose face in front of my friends, but you also completely ruined the atmosphere. It’s only right for you to treat everyone to dinner.” “I’m doing this for your own good. If you don’t handle these social niceties now, you’ll be a better Mrs. Hayes once you marry into our family.” I wanted to tell him our engagement was off. But before I could speak, he hung up. To clarify things with him, I went to the restaurant at the address he gave me. No sooner had I opened the door than I was splashed with wine. Alice’s eyes gleamed with triumph as she surveyed me, taunting, “Sister Emily, you’re late. This is your little punishment.” I looked at my stained dress, wiped my face, then slapped Alice across the face. Alice gasped, covering her face and burying it in Jeremy’s embrace. Jeremy shoved me hard, coldly snapping, “Emily, what’s wrong with you?! Apologize to Alice immediately!” He completely ignored my wine-splashed face, as if I were being utterly unreasonable. Alice, feigning hurt, whimpered, “Sister Emily, I know you’re jealous of my good relationship with Jeremy, but driving me out of the tent during camping was bad enough. Now you’re hitting me? Isn’t that going too far?” “Although Jeremy and I have slept in the same bed since childhood, bathed each other, and consider each other family, if you keep targeting me like this, I think I’ll just cut ties with Jeremy.” At her words, Jeremy’s friends immediately grew angry. Sterling extinguished his cigarette, glaring at me with displeasure: “And Alice was even thinking of you during the camping trip, worried we’d dislike you, so she specifically gave you a chance to treat us. And you repay kindness with ingratitude!” “With your petty personality, how will you ever be our sister-in-law?!” Vance roared in agreement, “Sister Alice is our group’s favorite! If you dare bully her, you’re picking a fight with us!” Leo pushed away his girlfriend, who was trying to mediate, and fumed, “Apologize to Sister Alice immediately, or you can forget about being our sister-in-law!” With the wedding imminent, I would soon be the Hayes family’s daughter-in-law, and the three of them had already taken on the role of in-laws. Their usual gentleness was discarded; their true colors were exposed. Alice, hands in pockets, looked at me triumphantly. This dinner party was undoubtedly her way of asserting dominance. I suppressed my anger, saying coldly, “I can apologize, but what about Alice splashing me?” Jeremy’s face darkened completely. He walked over, grabbed my hand tightly, and snarled, “Haven’t you made enough of a scene?! Aren’t you embarrassed enough?!” “My friends are already very unhappy about you leaving the camping trip early. If you keep making trouble, you won’t get their approval. Apologize to Alice now! Maybe you can still salvage something!” I scoffed, my last flicker of hope for him extinguished. I violently pulled my hand away from his, saying, word for word, “Who do they think they are? Why should I apologize?” “I came here today to tell you: we’re breaking up! I’m not marrying you!” Jeremy’s expression turned panicked at my words, but I didn’t bother to watch his reaction, turning and leaving. That night, Jeremy called me many times. I didn’t answer a single one. I never expected to run into him at the bridal shop. The night I left the snowy mountains, I had asked the bridal shop owner to custom-make a new groom’s suit. It was finished today, and I was there to pick it up. Jeremy first froze when he saw me, then sneered, “Didn’t you act tough yesterday, wanting to break up with me? In the end, you still rushed to pick up your wedding dress.” I wanted to tell him I was there to pick up the groom’s attire, but I was interrupted by Alice’s sudden appearance. She walked out wearing a magnificent wedding dress, not at all surprised by my presence. Instead, she provocatively said to me, “Sister Emily, Jeremy was worried he’d be too nervous and make mistakes during the wedding, so he asked me to try on your wedding dress and rehearse with him. You don’t mind, do you?” The wedding dress she was wearing was custom-designed by a chief designer I had hired at a high price; the diamonds alone embedded in the skirt cost hundreds of millions. Alice’s figure was fuller than mine, and the wedding dress had already been altered by her, so now only she could wear it. I couldn’t be bothered to get angry at her. I turned to the shop assistant and said, “Take off the wedding dress she’s wearing.” Jeremy’s face changed dramatically. He stepped in front of Alice to shield her. “Emily, are you ever going to stop?! Alice was kind enough to help you rehearse for your wedding; you should be grateful!” Alice, feigning hurt, said in a high-pitched voice, “Sister Emily, you’re becoming increasingly unreasonable. We initially allowed you to be with Jeremy because we thought you were sensible and wouldn’t be jealous like other women.” “Now it seems I was wrong. You’re more petty than any of them. If you keep being so unreasonable, be careful I don’t ask Jeremy to call off the engagement with you.” “From what I understand, your Tao family is experiencing internal strife leading to an economic crisis and desperately needs the Hayes family as a lifeline. I advise you to be smart and not do anything that harms your family’s interests.” I was a bit surprised that Alice knew about this. However, it wasn’t my family experiencing the crisis, but the Hayes family. Before I could correct her, Jeremy stepped forward and warned me, “If you still want to save the Tao family, you’d better behave. Otherwise, even if you are my girlfriend, I won’t give your Tao family a single cent!” I was so angry I laughed. To protect his self-esteem, I never mentioned the Hayes family’s predicament to him. Yet, he was now threatening me based on a few provocative words from Alice. This reminded me of how carefully he used to ask me when he was pursuing me. “Emily, I love you. Can you give me a chance to be your boyfriend?” “I promise I’ll only be good to you my entire life, and never let you suffer any harm. Our entire Hayes family is yours.” I suddenly felt tired and didn’t want to argue with them anymore. I stepped aside, clearing a path for them. “Then please, go ahead.” Jeremy thought I was scared, a look of relief on his face, as he turned and carried Alice out. Alice continued to provoke me with silent mockery. I didn’t care in the slightest, simply instructing the shop assistant: “Charge that wedding dress to Alice Zhao.” I wanted to see if the Zhao family could afford a wedding dress worth a billion dollars. That night, I received a video from Alice. In the video, she was pinned against a car hood by Jeremy, her legs wrapped around his waist, making continuous sounds of pleasure. The wedding dress was spread out like a carpet, soiled with dirt and filth, utterly unusable. Alice also sent a provocative voice message: “I used your wedding dress first, and your fiancé too.” I felt no anger, just a slight chuckle, then forwarded the video to the Hayes family group chat, where Jeremy’s parents were members. Everything, it was time for it to end. …

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