Before the motorcycle race, my fiancé Lucas stopped me just as I was about to take the starting line. “Nora, you’re giving up your spot today. Lina rides first — you’re her backup.” I froze. This was the most important race of my career. The one that could cement my place as the world’s number one female rider. And he wanted me to play backup for a rookie. I refused, flat out. Lucas frowned. “Lina needs this win. You’ve already taken five championships — what’s one more going to prove?” “Nora, if you don’t fall in line, you know what happens.” I laughed. “You’re going to fire me?” Lucas didn’t deny it. And every single team member who had stood beside me through all five of those championships — every one of them stayed silent, accepting the decision without a word. In that moment, I understood. It wasn’t that Lina needed the championship. It was that they had decided the team no longer needed me. I unclipped the team badge from my chest and pulled off my engagement ring. I dropped them both in front of Lucas. “Fine Then I’m done with the team. And I’m done with you.”

I turned and walked toward my bike. But Lina was already sitting on it, wearing a brand-new racing suit. When she saw me coming, she seemed to suddenly remember I existed. She gave me a small, almost timid look. “Nora, I’m sorry. But Lucas said — starting today, this bike is mine.” My head rang like a bell had gone off inside it. I spun around, grabbed Lucas by the collar, and yanked. “What is this? You gave her my bike?! On what grounds?! That’s MY bike — who gave you the right?!” My eyes burned. I stared him down. “I built that bike over six years!” “Three hundred qualifying races. Broken bones. Hospital bills. That bike was born from every one of those nights — every hour I spent with the engineers tearing it apart and rebuilding it!” “It’s won five world championships with me. And it was the first thing you ever —” I bit my lip and stopped myself. Because that bike was more than a racing machine. It was the first motorcycle Lucas ever built with his own hands. It was the gift he gave me the day he asked me to be his. I still remembered how he looked that day — pushing it out in front of me, cheks flushed, asking if I’d ride beside him all the way to the top. He said, “Nora, racing is dangerous. Out there on the track, you face every second alone. I can’t always be beside you — but I want this bike to be.” And now he was giving it away. Handing it to someone else like it meant nothing. Lucas simply pried my fingers off his collar, his voice even and unmoved. “That bike is registered under the team.” “All the modification costs went through team accounts.” “Didn’t you just say you were done with the team? Done with me?” “If you’re leaving the team —” “then you have no claim to team property. Why shouldn’t I give it to a new rider?” I stared at him. Something cold moved through me all at once. Six years ago, when the team couldn’t even afford to rent practice track, I was the one who poured every prize check back into it. I was the one grinding race after race, chasing sponsorships, keeping the whole operation alive. All that money I had bled for — the moment it touched a team account, it stopped being mine. I didn’t even have the right to use it anymore. Lina tugged carefully at Lucas’s sleeve. “Lucas, maybe just let it go.” “Nora’s been with the team a long time. I’d feel terrible if all of this happened because of me.” Then she turned to me, voice soft. “Nora, don’t be upset with Lucas. The rally takes a real toll on your body, and you’re thirty now — he’s just worried you can’t handle the strain anymore.” I heard every word. And I laughed. Not because it was funny. But Lucas had already turned away, crossing the floor toward Lina. “Let me fix your gear.” He crouched down, lifted her foot onto his knee, and adjusted her boot straps himself. Lina’s face went bright red. Her eyes kept drifting toward me, wide and innocent. “Lucas, isn’t this a little…” Lucas gave a low, quiet laugh. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” “You’re the most important person on this team today. Nobody else even comes close.” Each word landed like a slap. The people around them closed in, filling the air with warm laughter, explaining the upcoming race — wind conditions, terrain, competitor profiles. I stood exactly where I was. Not one person looked at me. Not one person had even thought to get me a comm earpiece. What they’d left for me was a backup bike. An old model that had been retired the year before. Everyone was waiting me out. Waiting for me to cave. Because without team support, there was no way I could finish a rally race on my own. I clenched my jaw so hard my nails nearly broke the skin of my palm. Then my phone buzzed. A message from the manager of the team in next paddock over. “I heard everything. Nora — there will always be a place for you on my team.”

“Still sulking?” Lucas had come up beside me at some point. I locked my phone and looked at him. He spoke like nothing had happened. Calm, collected. “The wind shifted today. I already had someone mark the updated track conditions — you should take a look before the start.” I didn’t take it. Lucas pressed his lips together briefly, then crouched down beside the old backup bike and began running a pre-race check like it was the most natural thing in the world. After a moment, almost as an afterthought, he said: “You’ve been asking me to come meet your parents for a while now. I know we kept having to push it back — something always came up with the team. Once this race is over, I’ll go with you.” Something caught in my chest. I didn’t know when it had happened — when the Lucas who used to look at me like I was his whole world had turned into this. Every time he needed something from me, the pattern was always the same. He’d let me cool off first, wait for me to come around on my own. And if I didn’t, he’d offer something small — just enough — and then act like the whole thing had never happened. I looked down for a moment. “We’ll see,” I said. Lucas’s hands paused on the bike. He hadn’t expected that answer. But a memory was already surfacing. Every time I’d asked to bring him home, my parents would spend days getting ready. My mom would be up before dawn to get to the market. My dad would clean the house from top to bottom, inside and out. A whole table of food, kept warm from noon into the evening — and every single time, what eventually arrived was a message from Lucas saying something had come up. They were always so disappointed. But they never let it show. They’d hold their smiles together and tell me it was fine. “It’s okay, honey. His career comes first — there’s always next time.” But next time never came. They kept waiting. My phone lit up with a notification. Lina’s personal account. I had never clicked on it before. I don’t know why I did this time. My hands started to shake. Every single time Lucas had canceled on my parents — none of it was because of the team. The day he said he had a sponsor meeting, he was out shopping with Lina. The day he said there was an emergency staff meeting, he took Lina to a theme park. The day he said the training data had flaged an error — There was a photo of him sitting at a dinner table. Lina’s family’s place. Her parents on either side of them, all smiling. Lina was leaning into him, looking completely at ease. The comments were full of people asking when they were getting married. Lucas had never said a word about any of it. He’d just quietly liked every single post. My chest tightened. I kept scrolling. The most recent post stopped me cold. It was a close-up of a motorcycle. I recognized it immediately. My bike. Lina’s caption read: He said he had a special gift for me. Starting today, this bike has a new name — “Little Bell.” I stared at the photo. The name Lucas had carved into the frame with his own hands — my name — had been sanded away. In its place was a small, freshly engraved bell. Everything snapped into focus. Giving the bike to Lina wasn’t a last-minute decision. Neither was bumping me to backup. He had planned all of it. I looked up and held the phone out to Lucas. “Explain this.” Lucas glanced at the screen. Didn’t even blink. “It was a post-training activity for the new riders. Nora, if you want to be upset, fine — but don’t go spreading rumors about her.” I held my ground. “And the bike? Why was my name removed?” Lucas finally looked up at me. His expression wasn’t guilty. It was something closer to patience — like he was explaining something obvious. “Nora, you’re thirty. Every other team in this circuit has already been talking about moving on from you. I’m the reason you’ve still been in the starting lineup.”

I went completely still. Lucas kept going, like he hadn’t noticed. “You’re getting married next year. You’ll need to step back from all this eventually. Passing the bike to a new rider makes sense — and using this race to build Lina’s profile is the right call. What exactly is the problem?” “Nora. Be reasonable. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Something in me went very quiet. I looked at him. Then I noded slowly. “Got it.” I turned and pushed the backup bike toward the starting line. Lucas visibly relaxed. He thought I’d finally given in. But what he didn’t know was that when the manager from the neighboring team — Shane — had messaged me earlier asking if I’d made up my mind, I’d already sent back a single word. Yes. The moment I rolled into the starting grid, the whole venue erupted. People shot to their feet in stands. “What is going on?! Why isn’t Nora starting?!” “Isn’t that her championship bike?! Why is a rookie on it?!” “They put the champion on a throwaway bike and gave the race machine to a newcomer — has this team lost its mind?!” Someone screamed toward the team paddock. “Give Nora her bike back!” No one responded. The starting gun fired. Every bike launched forward at once. The roar of the engines swallowed the entire circuit. The backup bike was rougher than the championship machine — wilder, harder to control. Engine heat climbed fast, and the temperature burned straight through the frame into my thighs. I didn’t feel it. There was only one thought in my head. Go. Push everything you have. Corner after corner fell behind me. My tires scraped the rock face on the cliff side. The frame dipped so low it was nearly kissing the ground. The commentator’s voice broke through over the speakers, pitched higher with every update. “Nora is charging hard!” “She’s on a bike that was retired years ago!” “Oh my God — she’s already in the top five!” “Second place! Nora has moved into second!” Meanwhile, on the other side of the course — Lina was falling back. Steadily, visibly. A reporter’s voice cut through the broadcast channel. “Lina is crying!” “She’s crying while she rides!” “She’s clearly overwhelmed — the pressure has completely gotten to her!” I didn’t spare a thought for any of it. The only thing I could see was the tail of the first-place bike ahead of me. One final climb. That was all that stood between me and the pass. Then Lucas’s voice came through my earpiece — low, tightly controlled. “Nora. Are you done? Ease off. Now.” I gripped the handlebars. “No.” Silence for a beat. When he came back, his voice was ice. “Nora.” “You are still a member of this team. If you refuse to follow instructions, I will terminate your contract. You will never work in this industry again — and you will owe us seven figures in breach penalties.” “And don’t forget our engagement. Keep this up, and I will start reconsidering our future.” I fixed my eyes on first place. Closing in. “I already said it.” “I’m done with the team.” “And I’m done with you.” “Lucas.” “You have nothing to threaten me with.” “This is my win. I’m taking it back myself.” A few seconds of silence. When Lucas spoke again, he wasn’t angry. He was quiet in a way that made my stomach drop. “Nora. You’re going to regret this.” My heart lurched. The next second — The bike exploded beneath me. A violent, full-body shudder. The handlebars went haywire. The frame swung left, then right, completely out of my control. The thought hit me like ice water. Someone tampered with the bike. I fought the bars with everything I had. Tried to hold the line. Tried to aim for the finish. Even if it kills me — I cross that line first. The bike hit maximum speed. The frame buckled. We left the track entirely. The impact shook the whole mountainside. I was launched. Airborne. My body hit the rock wall hard. Blood floded my vision. My thoughts started to come apart. In the last second before everything went black — Lucas’s voice drifted through my earpiece. Soft. Almost tired. “Nora. Why couldn’t you just listen?” Then the world went dark.

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“Chloe, you must’ve had a wild time overseas, didn’t you?” My sister-in-law, Fiona, whom I was meeting for the first time, suddenly blurted this out when I came home for the holidays. “That necklace looks familiar. Black for in-person, white for video, blue for custom orders, red for no limits. What level are you at?” My relatives, who had just been prying about my income, collectively gasped in shock. “No wonder you insisted on going abroad. You were afraid of being seen if you were selling yourself here, huh?” Mom and Dad were furious. “Get out! Don’t you dare stain our family’s name!” I touched the red carnelian necklace on my neck and smiled. “Oh, Fiona, you’ve had a wilder time than me. You’re sweeter to Mr. Jenkins next door than you are to Ethan.” It had been four years since I’d been home. Mom and Dad had specifically invited all our relatives over for a big holiday dinner. I went around, toasting everyone and handing out the gifts I’d prepared. Aunt Carol kept praising me, eyeing the brand new designer bag I’d given her. “Chloe, you’re the successful one. Among all the kids in our family, no one earns as much as you. If you get a chance to get rich, don’t forget to bring us along.” Mom and Dad beamed, their faces glowing. “Chloe not only earns a lot but she’s also so thoughtful. She even sends us two thousand dollars every month while studying abroad, unlike someone else I know. We sent him to a private vocational college that costs forty thousand a year, and he still couldn’t graduate. He just lounges around at home all day, driving us crazy.” Ethan, my brother, who had been sulking and drinking heavily, bristled at the comparison. “Who knows where she got that money? It’s probably dirty money!” Fiona nudged his arm, then raised her glass with an apologetic look. “Chloe, Ethan’s had too much to drink, don’t mind him. “But I really don’t know, what kind of work were you doing abroad that paid so well?” I put down my glass, about to speak, but then I saw her raise an eyebrow, a look on her face like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. “Honestly, you don’t have to say anything, Chloe. We all understand that a pretty girl like you might be tempted to make quick cash.” The moment she finished speaking, everyone at the dinner table stared at me. Someone blunt just came out and asked, “Chloe, were you selling yourself overseas?” Fiona then seemed to realize she’d spoken out of turn, waving her hand with a laugh. “What ‘selling herself’? Why say something so ugly? I didn’t say anything at all! Eat, eat.” “But I just need to remind you, Chloe, don’t let anyone take pictures or videos. With all your male relatives around, it would be awful if they saw you online later.” I couldn’t believe Fiona, whom I was meeting for the first time, would openly spread rumors about me. I was so angry, I slammed my fist on the table. “That’s nonsense! How could you say such a thing? Did you see anything?!” She looked startled. “No, no, I didn’t see anything, I’m just talking nonsense, okay? But if you’re wearing *that kind* of necklace, why are you afraid of people talking?” But it was too late to stop the conversation. Dad slammed his fork down. “What necklace? Explain yourself!” Fiona was quick to reply. “Everyone says that international students who wear those necklaces are… wild. “Black for in-person, white for video, blue for custom orders, red for no limits. Chloe, what level are you at?” The relatives who had been showering me with compliments instantly changed their tune. “I knew it! How else could she earn money instead of spending it on studies? Tsk, tsk.” “Let her keep that money. We’re not jealous of *that* kind of cash.” Aunt Carol, who had been clutching her new bag, also changed her expression. “Ugh, no way! I don’t want anything bought with dirty money. Don’t you dare track that filth into our home.” She even stomped on the ground a few times. Mom and Dad sobered up completely, unable to process what was happening. Mom clutched her chest, struggling to breathe. “Chloe, is what your sister-in-law saying true? Speak up!”

I angrily pounded the table. “Of course it’s not true!” Dad glared. “Then why would Fiona say that? Where did you get that necklace?” I pulled up the brand’s official website to show them. “This necklace is from an international luxury brand, people all over the world buy it. What does it have to do with international students?” I never imagined that something even celebrities and millionaires wore could be used to spread rumors about me. It was like seeing someone with an expensive watch and accusing them of having a sugar daddy. But Fiona was defiant. “Exactly! It’s an expensive brand, so rich men use it to give as gifts!” Watching her spout nonsense, I felt my blood pressure rising. If I didn’t clear this up, my reputation would be completely ruined. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to calm down and asked her, “Fiona, you’ve never even been abroad. What proof do you have for what you’re saying?” To my surprise, she was prepared. She immediately shared a video to the family group chat. “This is what people who studied abroad themselves said. You female international students, you’ve had your fun, made your money overseas, and now you come back looking for some unsuspecting local guy to settle down with.” At her words, Mia, my cousin, who had just been thinking of introducing me to a friend, looked disgusted. “I knew it, none of you who go abroad are any good! Fawning over foreigners, getting used up by foreign men, then running back to contaminate our pure, good-hearted local guys!” Leo, my other cousin, stared at my stomach. “I wondered why you suddenly came back after four years. You’re pregnant and forced to come back looking for someone to marry, right? Is the baby black or white?” I almost laughed from sheer anger watching that video. The person in the video was talking about how those necklaces were popular in niche circles, but in Fiona’s mouth, it became “everyone who wears this necklace is wild.” The video clearly said that *both* male and female international students could be led astray abroad, but Fiona only mentioned female international students. I grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the door. “Olivia, Mr. Evans’s daughter from upstairs, also studied abroad, and she wears this necklace. Let’s go ask her if she was selling herself too.” Ethan, who had been silent, immediately blocked the doorway. “Chloe, haven’t you caused enough trouble? Are you trying to embarrass us even more?!” “Your sister-in-law has never even met you. Ask yourself, what good would it do her to spread rumors about you?” My whole family stood together, pointing fingers at me. A deep sense of despair choked me. Even though I hadn’t been home for four years, I’d spent countless hours and money helping Mom and Dad buy a house and helping Ethan get married and settle down. Now, those four were a family, and I was the outsider. Seeing my whole family say this, the relatives were even more convinced that I’d had a wild private life abroad. “Flies don’t buzz around clean eggs. So many people are here, why are they only talking about you and not us?” “Your parents boast to everyone that they have a daughter studying abroad. Now where are they supposed to put their faces?” “I don’t dare come to your house for the holidays anymore, lest you corrupt my kids.” Mom’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into a chair. Dad’s hand, pointing at my nose, trembled. “Chloe Miller, we never lacked food or drink in this house. Why would you do something so scandalous?!” I was about to explain again that I hadn’t, but Fiona cut me off. “Mom, Dad, don’t say that to Chloe. Maybe it really is a coincidence?” “Even if Chloe inexplicably has so much money, and out of all the branded necklaces, she happened to pick this one, it doesn’t necessarily mean she was selling herself.” I felt faint with anger. Her words seemed to be defending me, but in reality, they still implied the same thing, determined to link me to promiscuous international students. I stopped wasting my breath and pulled out the journal articles I’d published over the past four years. “I was always holed up at school. How would I have time to go out? All this money I earned from doing freelance research in the lab.” Fiona listened, then gasped in fake surprise, covering her mouth. “Chloe, you were doing *those sorts of things* in the lab? You’re so brave!” I stared into Fiona’s eyes, so enraged I felt fire spitting from them. “You’re slandering me, and that’s illegal, you know that? If you don’t have proof, I’ll call the police and have you arrested right now!” Fiona scoffed, then pulled out a photo from her phone. “You want proof? Here it is, see for yourself!”

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“Alex, we accidentally set your house on fire with the fireworks! Your parents are trapped inside!” It was a holiday evening. My old friend, Liam, invited us out to catch up. He insisted on setting off some fireworks to liven things up. Liam, wanting to make a grand show, just waved his hand and bought over ten thousand dollars’ worth of fireworks, ready to light them all at once. Watching the rows of fireworks lined up on the ground, my eyelids twitched, and I tried my best to warn him. But he wouldn’t listen, just smiled and said, “I know what I’m doing.” He finished speaking and rushed forward to light all the fireworks. Helpless, I eventually went back inside to play cards with friends. But my butt hadn’t even warmed the seat when he burst in, frantic, claiming my parents were screaming in agony inside the burning house. I instinctively thought Liam was joking. “No way, my parents…” Before I could finish, he anxiously cut me off. “Seriously! Why would I lie to you? Come on, let’s go! The fire’s out of control!” With that, he yanked me along and pulled me straight towards my house. By now, the fire was completely out of control. I hadn’t even reached my front door, but the scorching heat was already washing over me. There were many people trying to put out the fire, and I could still hear painful groans from inside the house. Someone was screaming a name heartbreakingly, but I couldn’t quite make it out. My brow furrowed. I was even more confused. My parents weren’t home. They hadn’t come back this year. So, who were the two people trapped inside? Without thinking too much, I pulled out my phone to call the fire department and the police, but before I could dial. Mayor Thompson called out to me. He hurried over, a somber expression on his face. “Alex, your parents are trapped in there. I’m afraid we can’t save them from this fire. We’ve thrown so much water on it, but it’s no use.” “You need to brace yourself.” As he spoke, he wiped sweat from his face, his eyes red. I looked up. The house was engulfed in raging flames. I could see two figures, burned, scurrying around, screaming desperately. My heart clenched. Even if they weren’t my parents, we had to get them out quickly. But just as I was about to press the dial button, Mayor Thompson snatched my phone away, stepping forward to stop me. “No, Alex, you can’t call the police!” “Our town is up for a major community grant soon. We absolutely cannot have a fire or fatalities on our record. Let’s just put out this fire and forget about it.” I opened my mouth to argue, but Liam quickly chimed in. “That’s right, Alex, we can’t call the cops. We can’t jeopardize the bigger picture. Look, everyone’s helping you put out the fire. Calling the police would be biting the hand that feeds you. I say let’s just drop this!” “Putting out the fire is the priority right now.” Though I didn’t agree with their reasoning, putting out the fire first was indeed important. I didn’t argue with them further. I quickly joined the firefighting efforts. Seeing this, they also stopped delaying and immediately started fighting the fire. We fought the fire until almost three in the morning. The flames finally died down, but the air was filled with an acrid, lingering smell of smoke. Two charred bodies were carried out and covered with white sheets. Before I could even react, Liam covered his face and started to sob first. “Alex, your parents are so tragic. They died in the fire before the holiday even ended. I wish I hadn’t set off those fireworks; none of this would have happened.” “I’m so sorry, Alex. I never thought everyone else’s houses would be fine, and only yours would catch fire.” “But I didn’t mean to, please don’t blame me.” I hadn’t even said a word, and he was already playing the victim. Even if these weren’t my parents’ bodies, they were still two human lives.

I couldn’t help but get angry, clenching my fists. “Didn’t I warn you today? But no, you had to light all those fireworks. Now the house is burned, and people are dead. What good are those words now?” Liam looked at me with tear-filled eyes, then crouched on the ground, crying even louder. He put on such a display, it almost looked like I was bullying him. Some townspeople couldn’t stand it and stepped forward to defend him. “Alright, people are dead now, what good is talking about it? Just say less and let it go.” “Exactly! No one else’s house caught fire, only yours. At the end of the day, your family just had bad luck. Who can you blame for that?” “Right, if you ask me, you should thank Liam. Your parents died early, didn’t that just cut your future burden of caring for them in half?” He spoke casually, arms crossed, and his words stunned me, instantly sending my anger soaring. “Are you even human?” “What do you mean, ‘burden cut in half’? Step forward and explain yourself!” I tugged at my sleeve, gritting my teeth, and took a step forward. I couldn’t believe those words had come from a person’s mouth. I wanted nothing more than to tear that person’s mouth apart right then. Seeing my aggressive stance, she sheepishly took a step back. Mayor Thompson quickly came forward to intervene, “Alright, alright, Alex, don’t bother with him. That’s just how he talks.” “Now, just focus on making arrangements for your parents. As for a place to stay, you can come to my place. I can’t let you be homeless in town.” Liam, having composed himself, tugged at my sleeve and spoke softly. “Alex, why don’t you stay at my place? No matter what, this is my fault, so consider it my way of making it up to you. You can treat my home as your own, okay?” “My parents can be your parents, alright?” I stared at him silently, but his eyes darted away, unable to meet my gaze directly. I’d found it strange today when he was setting off fireworks. Why so many? And quite a few of the handheld ones were pointed directly at my house. My face was tense. I stared intently at him, trying to catch any hint of something off. Seeing this, Mayor Thompson continued to play the peacemaker, but every word he said was in Liam’s defense. “Alright, Alex, let bygones be bygones. Don’t hold this against Liam. He didn’t mean for this to happen. If you don’t forgive him, he’ll feel terrible too.” “Let’s just take your parents’ bodies to the funeral home for cremation before dawn.” After speaking, he called for people to come and move the bodies. I smiled, speaking each word slowly and clearly. “But Mayor, my parents never came back for the holidays this year. These two bodies can’t be my parents’.” “I think we should call the police and let them determine whose bodies these are.” Everyone’s movements froze. Their faces showed disbelief. Liam had the biggest reaction. He immediately stood up, pointing at the two bodies emotionally. “Impossible! How can they not be your parents’?” “They died in your house! Who else could they be but your parents?” “At the end of the day, you’re just saying this because you still want to call the police, aren’t you?” “Alex! Can’t you be a little more sensible? Is your parents’ death more important than our town getting this community award? Can you not see the bigger picture?” The bigger picture? I couldn’t believe those words came from his mouth. Even more unbelievable was that no one in the entire town objected. Instead, they looked at me with a hint of blame, as if I was making trouble. A knot of anger lodged itself in my chest, neither rising nor falling. Mayor Thompson frowned and stepped forward, his words laced with a warning. “Alex, I know you’re grieving the loss of your parents right now, but you can’t make things difficult for us.” “If you make things difficult, who in town will help with your parents’ funeral arrangements?” “You’re a man; do you have the ability to ensure they rest in peace?” “This matter ends here. It’s already light out; let’s just bury your parents directly.” Saying this, he immediately called for a few men to move the bodies. But it was the holiday season, and everyone felt it was a bad omen. No one wanted to be the first to move. Liam pursed his lips and pushed me. “Alex, what are you waiting for? Give these men some money! You know you have to pay for things to get done, right?” “You’ve been working outside for years; how can you not understand how things work around here? I’ve stayed in this town, I know what I’m talking about.” “Everyone needs at least a thousand dollars, you know?” He urged me while signaling to the men to show their payment app QR codes. “Go on, pay up. After all, these are your parents’ bodies. No matter what, you need to show respect.”

A thousand dollars per person? To hell with their “how things work.” This was practically robbery. When no money was offered, no one wanted to touch them. But as soon as “a thousand dollars” was mentioned, over ten men immediately sprang forward. That would easily be ten thousand dollars. I didn’t move, suppressing my impatience and raising my voice. “I’ve already told you, these aren’t my parents’ bodies. My parents didn’t come back for the holidays this year.” “I don’t know who these two people are!” Liam’s expression stiffened. A cold scoff echoed from the crowd. The woman who had previously defended Liam stepped forward again. “Stop bluffing! I saw your parents around eight last night! I even said hello to them!” “You need to come up with a better lie, and plenty of other people saw your parents too!” A few people next to her also spoke up in agreement. “I saw them too. We were sitting by the town entrance, chatting, and we all saw your parents. We have no reason to lie to you.” “Exactly. We also saw them. Nobody lies about dead people; it’s bad luck. We’re not that bored.” Their back-and-forth chatter gave me a headache, but my parents really hadn’t come back for the holidays. My scrutinizing gaze fell on them, but their confident expressions didn’t seem fake. A sudden, unbidden dread began to creep into my heart. Liam subconsciously let out a sigh of relief, patting my shoulder to comfort me. “Alex, I know you might have trouble accepting this right now, but everyone has no reason to lie to you, right?” “If you don’t believe it, just make a call. Then you can confirm whether your parents are home or not.” My body began to tremble uncontrollably. Someone in the crowd held out a phone to me. It displayed a surveillance video from the town entrance. The footage clearly showed my parents appearing in the video, greeting people. Now I truly panicked. I quickly pulled out my own phone, trembling as I called my dad. But the phone was off. A suffocating feeling swelled in my chest, my heart pounding. My dad’s phone was unreachable, so I immediately called my mom, but her phone still went unanswered. I called five times in a row, but no one picked up. I took a breath, trying to calm myself, then immediately turned to call my brother, Ben, for one last confirmation. The phone rang once, then was answered. Ben’s voice came through. “Alex, anything wrong with calling so early?” I rubbed my stinging eyes, my voice a little hoarse as I asked, “Ben, did Mom and Dad go back to their old house last night?” My brother chuckled on the other end, complaining slightly. “Yeah, last night Dad insisted on going home for some reason—he had a special plan for dinner at home. So, Chloe and I had to drive them back.” “Why? What’s up?” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. The words wouldn’t come out. I quickly wiped my eyes. My little nephew, Leo, was crying in the background, and my brother had already hung up. Looking at the two bodies, my legs suddenly felt weak. Liam quickly supported me, comforting me while urging me to pay. “Alex, it’s come to this. It’s right to let your parents rest in peace. Don’t be too sad.” “How about we pay the men so they can bury your parents, and then we’ll talk? It’s getting late, and everyone’s been up all night with you.” I was trembling with rage. I shoved Liam’s hand away and knelt before my parents’ bodies. Staring at the charred corpses, I took several deep breaths before finally pulling back the white sheet covering them, examining them closely to confirm. I refused to believe they were my parents, but their burnt figures were so indistinct that I couldn’t even tell their gender. I bit down hard on my teeth, struggling to control my emotions. Behind me, Liam’s lips curved into a smile, then he put on a facade of false concern. “There, there, Alex, don’t be sad. It’s all over now.” Over? How could it be over? If it weren’t for him, how would my house have caught fire? How would my parents have died? I let out a deep, shaky breath, my hand trembling as I pulled out my phone to call the police. Liam slapped my phone out of my hand, annoyance in his voice. “Didn’t I say not to call the police? Don’t you understand that this matter is closed?” I rubbed my throbbing temples, ignoring him, and reached down to pick up my phone from the ground. Liam instantly kicked my phone three feet away. I was so angry I gritted my back teeth, standing up to confront him. Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded behind me. “Alex, what’s everyone gathered here for so early?” I whirled around. The speakers were my parents. David and Sarah. So whose bodies were those on the ground?

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I begged my wife for seven years, and finally, she agreed to come home with me for Christmas. My mom happily prepared the turkey, just waiting for Sarah to arrive. But by midnight, I’d called her dozens of times, and she hadn’t picked up. Just as I was starting to think something terrible had happened and was about to call the police, I saw her latest Snapchat story. “It’s been ages since I’ve been back home to see my buddies. Tonight, we party till we drop!” The picture showed her intimately embracing a man. I recognized him instantly. It was Lucas Thorne, her childhood friend she went back to see every Christmas. I remembered her throwing a tantrum for no reason a few days ago, complaining that Lucas was taking his wife and kids abroad for Christmas this year. Suddenly, I understood why she’d suddenly agreed to come home with my parents and me tonight for Christmas. A pang of pain shot through my chest, but I fought it down and commented on her story. “Didn’t you promise to come home for Christmas?” The next second, her call came in. “Lucas just got back from abroad unexpectedly, and it’s only for one day. Of course, I have to spend time with him.” Her voice trailed off, then I heard muffled kissing sounds through the receiver. A chorus of teasing laughter erupted in the background. I clutched my phone tightly and silently hung up. If she didn’t want to come home, then she shouldn’t expect to step foot in my house again.

Looking at the endless call log on my phone, I just felt ridiculous. I typed out a message to her: “Since you say this isn’t your home, let’s get a divorce.” My finger hovered over the send button for a few seconds, but I finally pressed it. Watching the message deliver, the seven years of frustration weighing on my heart suddenly lifted. The next morning, I was woken by my phone ringing. As soon as I answered, Sarah’s voice, thick with a hangover and anger, blasted through. “Leo Knight, it’s Christmas, of all days! What are you making a scene about now?” “It’s not like I did anything more than go out for a few drinks. Do you really have to bring up something as heavy as divorce on Christmas?” “I’m telling you, I’m not divorcing you. And don’t be so petty. Lucas’s wife never makes a fuss with him.” “Besides, didn’t I explain it to you last night? Lucas is only back from abroad for one day. I don’t get to see him any other time. What could we possibly be doing?” “You’re just overthinking things, I’m telling you…” I didn’t listen to her lengthy explanations, just hung up and got out of bed. Was I overthinking? Every Christmas, she’d find all sorts of excuses not to spend it with me. “Our old family home is too run-down.” “My parents want me this year.” “I absolutely have to go back and see my friends this year.” … To accommodate her, I’d gone back to her parents’ place with her every year for the holidays, leaving my own parents to celebrate alone. But every year, she’d leave me by myself at her parents’ house. She’d go out to parties alone. Claiming she was afraid I wouldn’t get along with her friends. There was even one time I waited for her until three in the morning. I kept calling and texting, but got no response. Worried something had happened, I sent her a message saying I was coming to look for her. But just as I stepped out, I ran into Lucas. He was carrying my drunken wife in his arms. “I was worried Sarah was being plied with too much alcohol, so I brought her back first.” He helped her into my arms, but she clung tightly to him, refusing to let go. He had to coax her repeatedly before she finally released him. I never imagined that the next day, she’d chew me out. “Who told you to interfere? Why were you rushing me? What kind of face did I have left in front of my friends?” “And making Lucas bring me back? Did you want him to freeze?” Now I realize that my going to look for her that night was nothing but an interruption to them, which was why she was so furious. I never thought this year she’d be so blatant. She just ditched me directly, ran into Lucas’s arms, and left my entire family waiting for her. And even made me listen to them flirting. Perhaps she’d been like this for seven years; this year, she was just too lazy to even find an excuse. A call from an unknown number pulled me out of my thoughts. I answered, and an unfamiliar woman’s voice spoke. “Are you Sarah Miller’s husband?” “Yes.” “I’m Chloe Thorne, Lucas’s wife. Let’s talk.”

“Lucas hasn’t had Christmas dinner at home a single time since we got married.” I listened to Chloe recount experiences so similar to my own. I couldn’t help but ask, “Were you planning to go abroad for Christmas this year?” “Not exactly.” She paused, then added, “But every year as Christmas approaches, Lucas buys flights abroad, only to cancel them later.” “Why?” Chloe was silent for a moment before speaking. “He claimed clients from abroad wanted to celebrate here, so he’d cancel his plans.” “So, he said his Christmas dinners were always with clients.” I suddenly remembered that every year after Christmas, Sarah would ask me to invest in certain projects. I asked Chloe what those projects were. I opened Sarah’s laptop and cross-referenced them, only to find they were all the same. “So, we’ve both been in the dark,” Chloe said calmly. “How did you find out?” I couldn’t help but be curious. She gave a faint smile. “Naturally, I looked into those projects he mentioned and found your wife’s name.” “Then, looking through his PayPal transaction history, I saw their chat messages in the memo field.” “That’s how I knew they were meeting up again this year.” “So, you called me because you’re planning…?” I idly played with my mouse, listening intently. “A partnership. We both get what we need.” “Then, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” After hanging up, I copied all the project files from Sarah’s laptop. As I was checking for anything I might have missed, I noticed a huge file. I clicked on it, and it was full of nested folders. I tried opening them one by one, finally finding a locked file. I tried many passwords, but none worked. Just as I was about to give up and exit the folder, I noticed her laptop wallpaper. In the middle of a large heart, there was a prominent string of letters and numbers: ‘S520L’ I’d accidentally glimpsed her laptop once before, and she’d frantically covered it up. I thought she was just being shy. After all, I was foolish enough to believe this string of letters and numbers were the capitalized initials of our two names. But I never thought Lucas’s initial would also be ‘L’. I quickly typed in the password, and sure enough, it opened. I gave a bitter laugh internally. Even though I knew what would be inside, and I told myself I’d let her go, seeing her and Lucas’s records, I couldn’t stop the pain and hatred. The records were dense with details, big and small. Seven subfolders, one for each of the seven years. Though each year comprised only a few days, they took up a full 10GB. Year one: “Even though I married a man I didn’t love, I still keep the most important place in my heart for you. I’ll come back to be with you every Christmas. Love you, Lucas.” Year two: “I hate Leo’s touch. Only these few days at Christmas are when I truly feel comfortable, all thanks to Lucas.” Year three: “Leo was such a bother looking for me, forcing Lucas to take me home and wasting a night of intimacy with Lucas.” … I scrolled further and further, each entry more explicit. It felt like I was drowning in a river, unable to breathe. The last entry was from the day she abandoned me to go find Lucas alone. Sarah was celebrating. “Lucas really isn’t going abroad?!” “Good thing I found someone to cover my shift, otherwise I would have missed Lucas’s party.” “A six-hour drive is nothing, it’s all worth it for Lucas.” “No need to tell Leo, I didn’t want him to come with me anyway; he’d just get in our way.” There were also a few unmentionable selfies she’d taken. I clutched the mouse, blood draining from my face, my grip so tight I thought it would shatter. Enduring the sharp pain in my heart, I copied and backed up all the evidence. Just as I was about to grab a glass of water to compose myself, Sarah’s call came in. “Leo Knight, get in the car right now and bring my laptop over.”

I refused her without hesitation. Our old family home was over 300 miles from her parents’ place, a drive of at least six or seven hours. When I was pursuing Sarah years ago, I ignored my parents’ objections, determined to win her over even though she lived far away. So, I’d always make time and drive to see her. Whatever she needed, one call from her, and I’d drop everything to go to her. Everything revolved around her. Even if she just mentioned wanting an ice cream from the store downstairs. I’d willingly drive six hours to her place to buy it for her. Even if she took only one bite and threw it away, as long as she needed me, I had no complaints. Because I always believed that the woman who actively helped me to the hospital during my most vulnerable moment after a car accident must be kind and wonderful. From then on, I set my sights on her and pursued her relentlessly. For so many years, my kindness to her had become a habit. And she, naturally, had started taking these habits for granted as things I was supposed to do. So, she never considered how exhausted I’d be from the road, just like she’d tirelessly chase after Lucas. Through the receiver, my wife’s impatient voice came through. “Are you telling me I can’t even tell you what to do anymore?” “If you need it, you can come get it yourself,” I said, my voice flat. She exploded like a lit firecracker. “I’ll come get it? You know how far our old family home is from here, don’t you? Are you trying to kill me with exhaustion?” “Oh, so you know what exhaustion feels like? You didn’t seem tired driving to meet Lucas.” The other side fell silent for a moment, then she immediately hung up. I knew she wanted the laptop, no doubt to prepare Lucas’s contracts. It was even highly likely that Lucas was doing the contracts on her laptop. After all, Sarah rarely dealt with company projects herself; even though she was in the industry, she didn’t understand much. So it had to be Lucas handling them. I never thought that her asking me to bring her laptop home early this year would lead me to discover all this. But it was also possible she was afraid I’d discover the secrets on her laptop. That evening, my parents and I were watching a Christmas special. Sarah’s voice boomed from the doorway. She stormed in, full of anger, towards me. “Where’s my laptop? Where did you put it?” I was somewhat surprised she’d actually driven all that way back. Before I could speak, a male voice behind her piped up. “Sarah, no wonder you never want to spend Christmas here. If it were me, I wouldn’t either. It’s so primitive.” Lucas stood there with his hands in his pockets, glancing around with a look of disdain. My face instantly darkened. Our old family home wasn’t designed in a modern style; much of it retained its original, antique charm. But the furniture in the house consisted of priceless antique pieces. In Sarah’s eyes, however, they were just worthless old junk. Seeing I didn’t respond, Sarah felt embarrassed and stepped forward, tugging at my arm. “I’m talking to you! Did you hear me?” I scoffed, shaking off her hand. “Not only did I hear you, I saw you.” My eyes fixed on Lucas. Seeing the hostility in my gaze, Sarah immediately stepped in front of him. “Lucas came because he was worried about me coming back alone. He’s just here to keep me company.” “I also wanted to introduce you. He was the manager for all those projects we partnered on before. You can talk to him about investment opportunities.” I didn’t respond directly, just sat on the couch, not even raising my head. “You came back and said all that nonsense. Did you even say hello to my parents?” She froze, only then noticing my parents sitting beside me. This was only her second time meeting my parents. Sarah reluctantly turned her face, glanced at Lucas, and mumbled a “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Knight” to my parents. My parents’ happy faces instantly stiffened. We had been married for seven years. She had only addressed my parents as “Mr. and Mrs. Knight” twice. Other times, she simply demanded money from my parents without any form of address. I scoffed, looking at her with cold eyes. “If you don’t want to call them Mom and Dad, then don’t.” She thought I was indulging her yet again, and a triumphant smile bloomed on her face. But she didn’t expect me to take the divorce papers from the cabinet and hand them to her. “They’re not your parents, and this isn’t your home. Sign them.”

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It was our seventh wedding anniversary. My mother-in-law was cooking in the kitchen, and my daughter was playing in the living room. I was charging my drunk husband’s phone when the screen suddenly lit up. It was a SnapChat message. The contact name was “Little Ember”: “Bro, can you still make it tonight? I bought new sheets, the burgundy kind you like.” I swiped open the screen. He had a saved folder in SnapChat called 【Ember’s Wish】. I tapped on it. Ninety-nine photos. Ninety-nine different women. Ninety-nine opened condom wrappers, neatly spread out on his white bedsheets. I stood rooted to the spot, trembling all over. In the living room, my husband drunkenly hugged our daughter, calling out, “Daddy loves you the most.” I smiled at my mother-in-law and said, “Mrs. Davis, I’m going out to buy some soy sauce.” It took me forty-seven seconds to get from our front door to downstairs. In those forty-seven seconds, I replayed every single frame of my seven-year marriage in my mind. His name was Mark, and I met him on a blind date. Back then, I had just left the military. My father was critically ill, my mother had remarried, and I was all alone in the world. When he was pursuing me, he said, “Alice, your first half of life has been too hard. Let me make the second half easy for you.” I gave up my highly sought-after federal job placement, a benefit of my military service, to his younger brother, all because of that one sentence. I sold the old house my father left me to help him get startup capital for his business. I transformed myself from a scout who could carry sixty pounds and cover twelve miles cross-country into a mere housewife. And what did I get in return? He was with “Mistress #1” in a hotel room on a night when I was throwing up so hard I had stomach bleeding from morning sickness. I was in labor for eighteen hours in the delivery room, while he was accompanying “Mistress #12” to her prenatal check-up. For our daughter’s naming ceremony, the gold charm he gave her was just plated. The real one, the solid gold piece, was around “Mistress #38’s” neck. I stood by the apartment building entrance and tapped on the video I had just recorded. Ninety-nine photos, with clear timestamps. From March 17, 2020, the night before our wedding. To February 28, 2026, three o’clock this afternoon. He took the last photo in the spare bedroom while I was in the kitchen. The wrapper was strawberry flavored. I took a deep breath and dialed a number. “General Thorne, it’s Alice.” There was a three-second silence on the other end, then a deep, resonant voice spoke. “Alice? You finally decided to contact me.” I couldn’t help it; my eyes stung. Eight years ago, I saved an old man during a border mission. I didn’t know who he was then, only that he’d been trapped in a collapsed tunnel for three days and three nights. I carried him for six kilometers in a heavy downpour. Later, I learned he was a highly decorated General from a major command. He told me then, “Alice, if you ever have any trouble, call me anytime.” Eight years. I had never made that call. I always thought I could manage my life on my own. “General, I need a lawyer,” I said. “For a divorce case.” “Also, I want to rejoin the military.” The voice on the other end simply said, “Okay.” After hanging up, I looked up at our seventh-floor window. The crooked holiday decorations Lily had pasted on the window for Christmas were still there. My phone lit up. It was a message from Mark: 【Honey, did you buy the soy sauce? Dad says you’ve been out for a long time.】 【Lily’s asking when you’re coming back to watch TV.】 I stared at the text and smiled. When I got home, Mark was sitting on the couch, watching a reality show with Lily. He saw me walk in and eagerly came to greet me. “What took you so long? I thought you got lost.” Lost? I could find my way in a primeval forest, yet I was completely lost for seven years in the marriage you gave me. “The grocery store downstairs was closed, so I had to walk an extra block,” I said, handing him the soy sauce. He took the bottle and turned towards the kitchen. Watching his back, I suddenly felt like he was a stranger.

In the kitchen, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Davis, was dropping meatballs into the hot oil. Mark stood by the stove, looking down at his phone. I stood at the kitchen doorway, watching him type. He looked up, meeting my gaze. His face stiffened. “Wh-what’s wrong?” I smiled. “Nothing. It’s just… you haven’t smiled like that in a long time.” His expression changed. I didn’t say anything more and turned to set the table. Dinner was lavish tonight; Mrs. Davis’s cooking was always excellent. Mark served me food, served Lily, toasted his parents, playing the role of a perfect husband, perfect father, perfect son. I looked at him and suddenly asked, “Oh, by the way, where’s your backup phone? I wanted to track a package this afternoon, but I couldn’t find it.” He paused. “Oh, that one? The battery was dead, so I threw it out.” “Threw it out?” “Yeah, I wasn’t using it anyway.” He looked down at his plate, avoiding my eyes. I nodded, not pressing the issue. After dinner, Lily pulled me to the balcony to look at the stars. She lay on my lap, looking up at me with her little face. “Mommy, will Daddy take us to Disney this year? He said he would last year, and the year before that too.” I looked down at my daughter’s bright, shining eyes. She was five years old. In those five years, Mark had taken “Mistress #1” through “Mistress #99” to vacation in Miami, to Japan, to the Maldives. But he had never once taken Lily and me to Disney. “We will go,” I said, stroking her head. But not with him. Lily fell asleep in my arms. Holding her, I remembered the year I retired from the military, the General asked me, “Alice, what’s your dream?” I said, “I want a home.” My phone vibrated. It was a text message from an unknown number: 【Dear Ms. Miller, I am the divorce lawyer General Thorne assigned to you.】 【Your husband, Mr. Mark Davis’s bank statements for the past three years have been retrieved.】 【There are seventy-three abnormal transactions totaling $420,000, all for personal luxury goods and hotel stays.】 【Additionally, the old house you purchased before marriage was mortgaged in March 2021. The mortgagor’s signature is Mark Davis, and your signature was forged.】 【Evidence has been secured. Awaiting your next instruction.】 I didn’t reply, I just hugged Lily a little tighter. In the living room, Mark was looking at his phone again. The screen was lit, and he was smiling. Tomorrow was Sunday. He was probably going on a date with some “mistress,” right? And I should go visit some old acquaintances. The next day, Mark woke up early. He kept checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. “I have a client dinner today for the company; I need to meet a big client,” he said, his voice cheerful. “Don’t wait for me for dinner.” I sat at the dining table and asked, “What client? You have to work on a Sunday?” “You wouldn’t understand. It’s times like these that show true sincerity.” He bent down to put on his shoes. “I might have to drink, so I might not be back tonight.” “Okay.” He paused, surprised. Before, whenever he came home late, I would always ask where he went, who he saw, and when he’d be back. By the end, he found me annoying, and I found myself pathetic. “Well, I’m leaving then?” he stood by the door. I looked up at him. “Be careful on the road,” I said. He left. I went into the bedroom and opened his closet. Deep inside, hanging there, was an old jacket he never let me touch. I felt the inner lining and found a black USB drive tucked inside. I plugged the USB drive into the computer, first sending the contents to my lawyer. Then I opened the documents. The original ninety-nine photos. Contact information for ninety-nine women. And an Excel spreadsheet. Name, age, profession, date of meeting, hotel room number, amount spent. He even had a rating system. S-tier: Long-term relationship, invest resources. A-tier: Maintain periodically, invest as needed. B-tier: Short-term experience, one-time investment. C-tier: Not recommended for repeat business. I scrolled the mouse, line by line. In the “S-tier” column, I saw a familiar name. Chloe. Note: Married, stable relationship, no burden. Her husband is deployed long-term, meets 3-4 times a month. Has been ongoing for four years. Four years. I slowly leaned back in the chair. My phone rang.

It was a message from Mr. Peterson, my lawyer: 【Ms. Miller, I have received the contents of the USB drive you provided.】 【The evidence chain regarding the marital property transfer and forged signatures is complete.】 【Additionally, your request to rejoin the military has been approved.】 【You can process your re-enlistment paperwork after May 1st.】 I looked up, gazing out the window. Downstairs, Mark’s car slowly drove out of the community. A woman was sitting in the passenger seat. I opened Lily’s room. She was still asleep, hugging her rabbit doll that was missing an ear. Mark had given it to her on her second birthday. That day, he said he had to work overtime suddenly and had it delivered by courier. I quietly closed the door. The living room TV was still on, replaying last night’s reality show. The host said, “May all lovers in the world find their happy ending.” On Monday evening, Mark returned. He carried a faint, unfamiliar perfume scent and a smudge of lipstick at the corner of his mouth. He claimed a female client was too enthusiastic during a business dinner. I didn’t expose him. But when I put his clean socks back in his closet, I quietly retrieved a second memory card from the lining of that jacket. This card contained only one video. It was filmed on June 18, 2022. In the video, he was in a hotel bed, embracing a woman in a red dress. The camera focused on the nightstand. An opened condom wrapper lay on it. The woman laughed and asked, “Aren’t you afraid your wife will find out?” He laughed. “So what if she finds out? She’s an ex-soldier, no family support, no connections. Where would she go without me?” “Besides, her scout skills were long gone, worn out in the kitchen.” I turned off my phone. His seven years of infidelity, I had collected all the evidence in just three days. The next day, Mrs. Davis said she was going back to her hometown to visit relatives and asked if I wanted to go. I said Lily had a bit of a cough, so I wouldn’t. Mark insisted on driving his mother. He eagerly carried her bags and helped her downstairs, looking like a devoted son. After they left, I took Lily to our neighbor’s house. Then I entered Mark’s study. Ten minutes later, I found a brown envelope in a hidden compartment behind his bookshelf. Inside were two insurance policies. Policyholder: Mark Davis. The first policy listed “Chloe” as the insured. The second policy listed “Leo” as the insured. The name of his four-year-old illegitimate son. Both policies were purchased on my daughter’s birthday. I picked up my phone and sent a message to Mr. Peterson: 【He bought insurance for his illegitimate son. Can this be used as evidence of bigamy?】 Mr. Peterson replied instantly: 【Yes. And in the Excel spreadsheet you provided earlier, Chloe is noted as “married.” If her husband files a lawsuit, Mark Davis could be charged with criminal interference with a military marriage. We are currently verifying her husband’s identity.】 Criminal interference with a military marriage. That alone could land him in jail for three years. I turned off my phone and stood in the center of the study, looking at our wedding photo on the wall. On Monday, Mark was sharply dressed in a suit, his leather shoes gleaming. He said the company had a meeting and he needed to meet investors, so he had to dress formally. I said okay. After he left, I changed into my old military uniform, which had been at the bottom of a trunk for three years. No insignia, no lapel pins, but the fit was still there, and so was my spirit. At ten in the morning, I stood at the entrance of the General’s office building. I was met by a young Lieutenant, about thirty years old. “Ms. Miller?” He gave a crisp military salute. “General Thorne has been waiting for you.” I followed him down a long corridor. Photographs of past Generals hung on both sides of the hallway. I paused in front of one. The man in the photo wore a General’s dress uniform, his hair completely white, his gaze piercing. “Alice,” his voice was hoarse. “You’ve grown some gray hairs.” My throat tightened, and I stood at attention, saluting. “General Thorne, sir.” He waved his hand. “Cut the formalities. Come in and sit down.” He pointed to a chair. “Tell me, how far along are things with your situation?”

I took out the evidence I had collected from my bag. He reviewed each piece, his expression growing darker with every item. He put down the last memory card and looked up at me. “Do you know what I admire most about you?” I shook my head. “Eight years ago, when you carried me for those six kilometers, you never once complained about being tired.” “I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Every time I opened my eyes, I saw you pushing forward, rain streaming down your face, and you’d just wipe it away with the back of your hand and keep going.” He paused. “Back then, I thought, this soldier carries a mountain in her heart. She doesn’t need anyone to shelter her.” I lowered my gaze. “But General, I forgot that later.” “No, you didn’t forget,” he said, pushing the evidence back towards me. “You just put it aside for a while. Now you’ve picked it up again.” He didn’t ask about my marriage, or how I’d spent those seven years. He just picked up the phone and dialed an internal line: “Roberts, get me Peterson, my lawyer who specializes in financial cases. Also, check if there’s a family member named Chloe among the active-duty officers in our command, whose husband is deployed long-term.” He hung up and looked at me. “I’ll investigate the military marital interference aspect for you.” “As for rejoining the unit, you can finalize it after May 1st. Your old scout platoon has expanded, and they need experienced leaders.” I stood up, wanting to salute, but it didn’t feel enough. Finally, I just said, “General, thank you.” He waved his hand. “Don’t thank me. You saved yourself.” It started snowing as I walked out of the office building. I stood at the doorway, reaching out to catch a snowflake. My phone rang. It was a message from Mark. 【Honey, I won a massage chair. It’ll be delivered next week.】 【Oh, do you remember Chloe? The one who used to live downstairs from us. I heard her husband came back, and they’re going through a divorce these days.】 【I really didn’t expect such a seemingly honest woman to do something like that.】 I stared at the screen and didn’t reply. Half a month later, the court summons was delivered to Mark’s company. His face went stark white on the spot, and he knocked over his coffee. At three in the afternoon, he called me like a madman. The first call, I didn’t answer. The second, I hung up. The third, I blocked. He called again from a different number. “Alice! Are you crazy? What are you accusing me of? What did I do for you to treat me like this?” I leaned back on the sofa and spoke, one word at a time: “What did you do?” “When you bought Chloe her apartment, you used my card.” “When you took her to Japan for a vacation, you used the vacation days I earned from my military transfer.” “When you bought insurance for your illegitimate son, the insured was his name.” “In these seven years, you took four million two hundred thousand dollars from our home. All of it was our joint marital property!” Silence on the other end of the line. After a long while, his voice changed. No longer angry, no longer accusatory, but pleading: “Alice, I know I was wrong. Give me a chance; let’s talk this through properly.” “Withdraw the summons, and we’ll settle this privately. I’ll give you all the assets, the house, the cars, everything. I don’t want anything.” “Think about Lily; can you bear to let her grow up without a dad?” I scoffed. “Mark.” “Listen closely.” “Whether Lily has a dad or not isn’t up to me.” “It’s what *you* decided seven years ago when you walked out of our wedding reception to go find Mistress #1.” I hung up. Then I blocked all his numbers. At eight in the evening, Mr. Peterson sent a message: 【Chloe’s husband’s identity has been verified.】 【He is an active-duty Major in a field unit, deployed long-term, with twenty days of family leave per year.】 【He arrived in the city this afternoon and has fully entrusted us with representing him in court. The evidence for criminal interference with a military marriage is complete.】 I put my phone aside and continued reading a picture book to Lily. She snuggled in my arms, pointing at the bunny in the book. “Mommy, where did Daddy Bunny go?” I paused. “Daddy Bunny went to a place where he needs to correct his mistakes.” “Will he come back?” “No.”

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1 We were in a conference room at our vendor’s office when the guy handling our account leaned back, looked me up and down, and suddenly dropped this gem: “Karen, you look seriously intense. Like a straight-up witch.” “And why don’t you wear makeup? It makes you look ancient.” I cut him a look. “Did my company pay your agency just so you could insult me?” He immediately laughed it off, waving his hand dismissively. “Chill, I was just joking! You can’t take a joke? You actually look decent.” My face remained a mask of pure ice. “Did we pay you to rate my appearance, either?” Then, right there in front of the entire room, I pulled out my phone and dialed his boss. “Mr. Reynolds? This is Karen Collins from Lumina Group. We need to talk.” The room went dead silent. The nervous tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Even Rick, who had been grinning a second ago, went pale. Panic flashed in his eyes. “Whoa, Karen, come on. It was just a joke. No need to blow this out of proportion.” I raised a single finger to my lips, signaling him to shut his mouth. Joshua Reynolds’ voice came through the speaker. “Ms. Collins! What can I do for you? Please, fire away.” “Mr. Reynolds, your account manager, Rick Briggs, has repeatedly subjected me to unprofessional verbal attacks during today’s meeting. He has made derogatory remarks about my appearance and personal character, which is a direct and severe breach of Section 5.2 of our Behavior Guidelines in Exhibit C of our contract.” “Lumina Group is immediately initiating the breach of contract protocol. I expect a written explanation and a comprehensive remediation plan from Aurelia Media within twenty-four hours.” “Furthermore, I demand a formal, public apology from Rick Briggs in front of the entire project team.” The room collectively gasped. Rick’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. “You’re making things up! You’re blowing this way out of context! I never…” I didn’t let him finish. “I am speaking to your direct superior to resolve a contract issue. Why are you interrupting? Where is your discipline? Is this the kind of training Aurelia Media provides its staff?” Joshua, hearing the icy authority in my voice, realized his multi-million dollar contract was on the line. He scrambled to placate me, promising a satisfactory resolution if I just gave him a little time to investigate. I gave a curt nod and hung up. Within three minutes, the vendor’s team cleared out of the conference room like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Since my team had been dragged into this mess, I ordered a round of high-end afternoon tea and pastries to let everyone decompress. Penny, our junior designer, practically bounced over to my chair, her eyes shining with pure worship. “Karen, you are literally my hero! That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen a boss do!” “You have no idea how much Rick has been getting on my nerves. He does zero actual work, but he loves making sleazy comments to the female staff under the guise of ‘joking.’ And if anyone gets upset, he plays the victim, saying ‘Oh, it’s just a joke!’ He’s a total creep.” “Last week, he told me I should dye my hair because black makes me look depressing. Like, mind your own business, asshole!” “And he did the same to Hannah. He told her she has thick thighs and should only wear long skirts to hide them because pants look hideous on her. Disgusting pig.” My brows drew together. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? We are the paying clients here. Since when do we pay vendors to harass our team?” Penny bit her lip. “We just didn’t want to cause a scene. You know how it is, sometimes it feels easier to just bite your tongue and get through the day.” I shook my head. “We don’t go looking for trouble, but we sure as hell don’t run from it. If someone pushes you, you push back.” The rest of the women on my team nodded fiercely, eager to testify about Rick’s constant workplace harassment. Half an hour later, my phone rang. It was Joshua. I pressed the speaker button. Joshua’s voice boomed through, entirely too casual and dismissive: “Hey, Karen. I just looked into the whole situation, and honestly, it seems like a big misunderstanding.” “Young Rick is still green, you know? He speaks before he thinks, but he didn’t mean anything by it.” “As a senior director, surely you wouldn’t want to ruin a kid’s career over a silly slip of the tongue, right?” “Our companies have partnered on so many successful launches. We shouldn’t let a minor hiccup sour a great relationship.” “But don’t worry, I gave him a stern talking-to. I guarantee it won’t happen again!” 2 I tapped my fingernails against the polished conference table, looking around at my team. Their expressions had soured. Of course. Joshua wanted to sweep this under the rug with a slap on the wrist. I let out a cold laugh. “Mr. Reynolds, I think you’ve fundamentally misunderstood the situation.” “I didn’t call you as a friend looking for an apology. I called you as a representative of Lumina Group to formally notify you of a contractual breach. Whether professionally or personally, Rick Briggs must face severe, documented disciplinary action.” “An excuse like ‘he’s young and foolish’ does not cut it.” “If Aurelia Media is staffed by unprofessional children, then Lumina Group will have to seriously re-evaluate the viability of our partnership.” “As the client, I believe we reserve the right to choose partners who actually respect basic professional standards.” “We are done for today. Until your agency delivers a proper, formal resolution, there is no need for further communication.” Without waiting for his response, I cut the call. “Everyone finished eating? Good. Let’s pack up.” “Sam, the moment we get back, pull up the files on the other vendors who made the shortlist. I want a fresh round of evaluations ready by tomorrow morning.” “On it, Karen. I’ll have the packets on your desk before five,” Sam replied. “Let’s go. What a joke of an agency. Imagine trying to insult the client who literally funds your payroll.” As we gathered our tablets and prepared to leave, the conference room door burst open. “Get in there and apologize, right now!” Aurelia’s account director barked, shoving a thoroughly miserable Rick into the room. The director immediately turned to me, bowing and scraping with a desperate smile. “Ms. Collins, please wait! This was entirely our fault. Mr. Reynolds just called and gave us a piece of his mind.” “Especially Rick here. He lost his mind and spoke out of turn. I’ve brought him back to make things right immediately!” He gave Rick a hard nudge, glaring at him to start speaking. Rick’s face was a picture of pure, unadulterated resentment. He looked like a man being dragged to the gallows by the very ‘witch’ he had mocked. He refused to look me in the eye, keeping his head tilted back with a rigid, arrogant posture. When he spoke, his voice was flat and dripping with insincerity. “Ms. Collins, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I’m a straightforward guy, and I didn’t mean any harm. It was just a casual comment, but since it apparently caused you some emotional distress, I apologize.” “But I also hope you won’t take everything so seriously in the future. Overanalyzing things can warp people’s intentions and create unnecessary drama for everyone.” “As a high-level executive, surely you won’t hold a grudge against a low-level employee like me, right?” I stared at him. Was he actually serious? He was accusing me of being fragile, oversensitive, and vindictive, all while hiding behind the shield of a fake apology. And this was supposed to be a resolution? “I do not accept your apology.” Rick’s eyes flared with rage, glaring at me as if to ask, What more do you want? “My appearance is none of your business, and whether I wear makeup is my own choice and right. As a subordinate from a vendor company and a complete stranger, your unsolicited comments on my looks were vulgar, classless, and utterly unprofessional.” “I’ve also learned you are a repeat offender. Do you think every woman you work with is a target for your sleazy banter? Who gave you that right? Who gave you that kind of confidence?” “Don’t try to mask your disrespect as a joke. We are not friends, and you do not have my permission to speak to me like that.” “If your parents and teachers failed to teach you basic manners, then the world will gladly do it for them.” My words left him completely speechless, his face burning red. Behind me, my team couldn’t help but murmur in quiet satisfaction. Ignoring the account director’s frantic pleas, I walked out of the office, my team following in lockstep. On the ride back, Penny looked a bit anxious. “Karen, if we pull out of this project now, how are we going to explain it to the board?” I gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t have walked out if I didn’t already have a backup plan.” 3 Back at the office, I spent two hours analyzing Aurelia’s main competitors and their product offerings. Once I had a solid strategy mapped out, I knocked on the door of our VP, Mr. Harrison. I walked him through the entire incident with meticulous detail, presenting my proposal to transition to a new vendor. I also pointed out several red flags I had noticed in Aurelia’s operations. In the past, we had overlooked their minor slip-ups for the sake of convenience and long-term stability. But if they were willing to assign a completely incompetent, disrespectful idiot to handle a multi-million dollar account, it proved their internal management was decaying. Mr. Harrison leaned back in his chair, weighed the risks, and nodded. “You have my full support on this, Karen. Take the lead and handle it.” I felt a wave of relief. With the green light from the top, I was free to play hardball. Meanwhile, Joshua Reynolds kept blowing up my phone. His voicemails were a broken record of excuses, promises of structural changes, and begging for a lunch meeting. I ignored them all. My time was far too valuable to waste on his empty promises. By the next day, I had blocked his number entirely, leaving the executives at Aurelia Media to sweat in their own juices. The following morning, I walked into the office to find Penny rushing toward my desk, waving her phone furiously. “Karen! Look at this! That absolute bastard Rick is smearing you on social media!” I took her phone. Rick had posted a series of updates on his public feed, accompanied by insulting caricatures of old, hideous witches: “Are vendors not human anymore? Are clients supposed to be gods? Some power-tripping, bitter bitch is trying to ruin my life just because she can’t get a man! Unbelievable!” “Talk about mentally unstable. Imagine getting someone fired over a harmless joke. Get some therapy, lady!” “Women dress up and wear makeup for men anyway. Why is she so pressed? Can’t even handle a compliment!” “She’s clearly projecting her own insecurities because she’s old and ugly. One comment and she loses her mind.” “If she didn’t have that title, nobody would even look at her twice. Desperate old maid.” In the comment section, a friend had asked what happened. Rick had replied: “Just some power-tripping client who got her feelings hurt because I didn’t flirt back. She’s ancient, ugly, and totally unhinged. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole!” “Haha, I sell my services, not my body.” So this was the “sincere reflection and deep regret” Joshua had promised me. I let out a cold laugh. “Penny, take screenshots of everything and send them to my email. I have a little gift for Joshua.” I forwarded the screenshots straight to Joshua’s personal inbox. Within sixty seconds, my phone started ringing with Joshua’s ID. I didn’t even look at it. After twenty missed calls, he finally gave up. Over the next two days, as it became clear we were actively shopping for new vendors, panic rippled through Aurelia Media. Lumina Group was their largest client, accounting for over two-thirds of their annual revenue. Losing this contract would trigger a financial collapse. When I checked Rick’s social media again, his feed had been scrubbed clean. Penny, who had a vast network of industry friends, came back with some juicy gossip. “Rick is completely ruined. The board at Aurelia absolutely destroyed him. Everyone in his office is blaming him for jeopardizing the contract. He’s not getting any bonuses, and rumor has it they’re drafting his termination papers as we speak.” I listened without saying much. When Rick was busy throwing insults, he probably never expected that the “witch” he mocked had the power to make his career vanish.

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1 Brent returned from another trip with gifts for Evelyn and her daughter, Eva. This time, news of his “grand gesture” broke online before he even landed—a medieval Scottish castle bought to fulfill their princess fantasies. He walked in frustrated. “The media ruins everything,” he muttered. “I spent weeks securing that estate, and some reporter steals the surprise.” I cut him off. “Where’s my gift?” He blinked, then tossed a cheap plastic magnet onto the table. “Figured you’d love another souvenir. Go on, guess the city.” I stared at the mass-produced junk, its barcode still peeling off. Sixty-eight trips. Sixty-eight magnets. Meanwhile, Evelyn and Eva got custom jewelry, antiques, and now a castle. The exhaustion settled into my bones. Right in front of him, I tore every identical magnet off the fridge and threw them in the trash. “Cheap plastic garbage,” I said, a bitter smile on my lips. “What made you think I ever liked these?” Brent frowned, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. “Audrey, don’t be so childish,” he said. “If you don’t like them, tell me what you want, and I will bring it back next time.” I met his gaze, my voice flat. “Do you even know what I like, Brent?” “What do you like, then?” “When you bought those gifts for Evelyn, did you ever have to ask what she liked?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. That was why every gift he gave her was a thrilling surprise. In eight years, Brent had managed to anticipate every single one of her desires, yet he knew absolutely nothing about his own wife. Brent chuckled, dismissing the tension as if it were a minor annoyance. “It has been so long, Audrey. Are you really still jealous of her? I told you before, we have to keep Evelyn’s emotions stable. If she spirals, what will happen to her daughter? Right?” We? Yes, I had been dragged into this twisted sense of duty too. Evelyn had suffered from severe depression after her messy divorce, and her mental health remained fragile. Because of her, and because of Eva, Brent had to be on call twenty-four hours a day. He would leave at a moment’s notice, whether it was a holiday, in the middle of our private moments, when I was sick, or on the day our five-month-old daughter died. One phone call from Evelyn, and he would run to her. And my only job was to endure. To swallow the loneliness, the rage, and the grief. Seeing my silence, Brent stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. “Alright, next time I go abroad, write me a wishlist. I promise to buy everything on it, okay?” I wanted to tell him not to bother, but before the words could leave my mouth, the front door clicked open. “Uncle Brent! When are you taking Mommy and me to our castle?” It was Eva and Evelyn. Brent had given them the security code to our house without my consent. He had said, “Our home is Evelyn’s home too, Audrey. She should feel welcome.” Only now did I realize that this was indeed their home, and I was the intruder. Brent immediately let go of me and scooped Eva up in his arms. “How about tomorrow?” My chest tightened with a sharp, physical ache. I thought of our honeymoon, a trip we had planned for eight years but never took. Every year, when I asked him about it, he said he was too busy. He was too busy for me, yet he could always find the time to whisk Evelyn and Eva away on a whim. “So soon? I haven’t even packed yet,” Evelyn murmured, gently swatting Brent’s shoulder, her eyes brimming with delight. “No need to pack. I’ll have everything bought and waiting for you,” Brent said, smiling. Watching the three of them, they looked like a perfect, happy family. It made my eyes sting. Evelyn finally seemed to notice me, stepping forward to warmly take my hand. “Audrey, you should come with us! The more, the merrier. Brent is so wasteful, buying such a massive place. There is no way we can use all that space. You can choose a room for yourself, Audrey, your own little corner.” Her words reminded me of the tiny magnet in the trash. A grand castle for them, and a single, small room for me. That was my worth in their eyes, and in his. I pulled my hand back, my voice cold. “I’m not going.” Evelyn’s face fell, her expression turning hurt and apologetic. “Are you upset with me, Audrey?” Brent frowned, drawing Evelyn behind him. “Audrey, don’t take your moods out on others. I’ll take them for just two days, and you can use the time to cool down. Send me what you want.” “Uncle Brent, I got a new princess dress! Come see it at our house!” Eva urged, pulling at his sleeve. Brent agreed. He hadn’t even been home for an hour, and he was already leaving with them. I called out to him before he could step through the door. “Brent, do you even know what tomorrow is?” “What?” Brent looked back, genuinely confused. “It is our daughter’s memorial.” 2 Brent froze, a look of conflict finally crossing his face. Seeing his hesitation, Eva’s lower lip trembled, and she began to cry. “Are we not going? No, Uncle Brent! Eva has been waiting for days! You promised!” Evelyn pulled Eva back, her voice firm but gentle. “Eva, stop. Audrey has something very important to do with your uncle Brent today.” They called me Audrey, but they called him Uncle Brent, as if he and I had no relation at all. And Brent had never once corrected them. Brent looked at Eva’s tear-stained face, then turned to me with a sigh of helplessness. “The itinerary is already set, Audrey. It’s difficult to reschedule. How about I make it up to you? I’ll head straight to the cemetery to visit Grace the moment I get back.” He was suggesting we postpone a memorial. It was laughable, really. He only dared to suggest it because Grace could no longer cry or call him “Daddy.” But she was his flesh and blood, only five months old when she passed. It had been six years since we lost her, and I wondered how many times he had actually thought of her. Not a single toy he bought Eva ever made its way to Grace’s grave. He had even forgotten her memorial. My hands shook at my sides. I took a deep, shuddering breath and finally spoke. “Fine.” Grace probably didn’t want to see this kind of father anyway. Brent sighed in relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you for understanding, Audrey. Pick any gift you want, and I’ll find it, no matter how far I have to go.” I looked at the drawer of the coffee table, a quiet decision solidifying in my mind. I forced a faint smile. “Go on then.” They left. I stood in the quiet living room for a long time before opening the drawer to pull out the divorce agreement. It had been sitting there for two months, drafted the day after I received his last cheap souvenir. Back then, a tiny shred of hope still lingered in my heart. I had told myself that if Brent showed some real care on his next trip, I would rip the papers up. Now, there was no need. This agreement would be the gift I requested. The next morning, Brent left early. He pressed a light kiss to my forehead before slipping out, the one ritual he never forgot, the last soft spot in my heart. My eyelashes fluttered, but I pretended to sleep. Now, even that soft spot had turned to stone. Once he was gone, I got out of bed. I packed a basket with toys and sweets and drove to the cemetery alone. Six years ago, during a raging storm, Evelyn had called to say she was terrified, and Brent had rushed to her side. There were no cars, cabs were impossible to find, and the emergency lines were completely busy. Out of options, I had wrapped my feverish baby girl in a waterproof bag, strapped her to my back, and run through the pouring rain to the hospital. By the time I arrived, it was too late. Brent didn’t see her lifeless body until the next day. He wept and said he was sorry, but the funeral was rushed because Eva had fallen ill, and he had to go nurse her. “He wasn’t a good father, Grace,” I whispered, kneeling before the headstone. “Don’t think of him, it will only make you sad.” “You’re right. I wasn’t a good father. I’m sorry.” The voice behind me made my entire body freeze. I turned around in disbelief to find Brent standing there, holding a plush rabbit, his head bowed. “Weren’t you supposed to be on a flight?” I asked. “The flight was grounded due to the weather. The trip has been delayed.” So, it was because of a flight delay, not guilt. Knowing the truth actually made me feel lighter. He knelt beside me, placing the plush rabbit down. I recognized it instantly. It was the stuffed animal he had bought Eva last holiday season. “Isn’t this the toy you got for Eva?” I asked, my voice rising. “Yes, but she has too many toys to play with. This one is practically brand new.” My eyes burned with unshed tears. “You brought a secondhand toy that someone else didn’t want for our daughter?” “I didn’t think about it that way,” Brent said, looking baffled. “Do you want me to go buy a new one right now?” I snatched the rabbit and threw it back into his arms. “No need. Grace doesn’t want it.” Brent’s face darkened as he held the toy. “Audrey, we shouldn’t fight in front of our daughter’s grave.” “We shouldn’t. But you’ve done plenty of things you shouldn’t have, or our daughter wouldn’t have died in the first place!” I stood up abruptly, casting one last look at the headstone before walking away. Brent caught up to me at the cemetery gates, grabbing my arm. “Stop being angry,” he pleaded. “Evelyn felt terrible for holding me back, so she cooked a whole dinner for you. Let me take you there.” “No.” “Audrey, can you stop making a scene? We are trying our best to make it up to you, especially Evelyn. She is struggling with her own illness, yet she’s still thinking of you!” “Oh, so you’ve always known you were hurting me?” I asked, looking at him with mock surprise. “Then why keep doing it? Do you think a plate of food or a few cheap gifts can erase the damage? Can it bring my daughter back, or make me forget the scars?” 3 Brent froze, the grip on my wrist tightening. For the first time, I saw real guilt and panic flicker in his eyes. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “Audrey, I was careless. I neglected you. Let’s not go to Evelyn’s. Let’s have dinner, just the two of us. I’ll spend the whole day with you.” We hadn’t gone on a date in years. He knew it, but he had waited until our marriage was in ruins to try and change. I didn’t refuse him. I wanted to see just how far his sudden guilt would carry him. We drove away from the cemetery, and he took me to a small, quiet diner we used to frequent when we were dating. It had been seven years since we last stepped foot inside, but the rustic decor hadn’t changed at all. The owner came over to greet us, his eyes widening when he saw me. “Well, look at that! After all these years, this lovely girl is still by your side!” I froze. Brent quickly interrupted, his expression tense. “Actually, we’re married now.” “Really? Then the other woman and child you’ve been bringing here these past few years…” Before the owner could finish, his wife slapped his shoulder. “Mind your business and get back to the kitchen! Sorry, dear, my husband gets confused easily. Don’t mind him.” But I knew he wasn’t confused. The other woman and child were Evelyn and Eva. Even this sanctuary of our past had been overwritten by them, and Brent was the one who did it. It was fine. Leaving would be easier if nothing was left untainted. “Audrey, don’t overthink it,” Brent whispered quickly. “Evelyn is a picky eater, and this is one of the few places she actually likes. That’s why I brought her here.” “I don’t own the restaurant,” I replied, looking down at the menu. “Bring whoever you want.” Brent’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t press the matter. He turned to the owner’s wife and ordered my old favorite dishes, all of them spicy. “Actually, I can’t eat spicy food anymore,” I said. “Let’s get something mild.” Brent stared at me. “Since when?” I offered him a thin smile. “Since my tumor surgery.” Three years ago, I had a benign stomach tumor removed. When I told Brent about the diagnosis, he was on vacation in Paris with Evelyn. “Since it’s benign, I won’t rush back,” he had said over the phone. “I’ll ask my parents to look after you.” The medical consent form had listed a fifty percent risk of complications, but he had ignored it, or perhaps he had never bothered to read it. My parents had stayed with me until I was discharged. Brent’s face drained of color. “Why didn’t you tell me? If I had known, I would have come back.” “There was no need. We barely eat together anyway.” This dinner would likely be our last. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking down. “I’ll make sure to be there for you from now on.” I offered no response. When the food arrived, it tasted like ash in my mouth. Food only tastes good when you’re sharing it with the right person. Sitting across from someone who made my chest ache, every bite felt like a chore. As I swallowed the last bite, Brent’s phone rang. It was Evelyn, her voice trembling and wet with tears. “Brent, Eva couldn’t wait for you guys. She tried to climb onto the table to eat and got burned by the hot soup. Brent, what should I do?” Brent stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Didn’t I tell you not to wait for us?” “But Audrey didn’t come, and I felt so guilty. Brent, is this my fault? Am I just a burden?” Brent broke into a cold sweat. “Calm down. I’m coming right over.” He hung up and turned to me, his gaze suddenly cold. “If you hadn’t thrown a tantrum today, this wouldn’t have happened. Are you satisfied with this kind of payback?” 4 Brent rushed out into the pouring rain, his figure quickly disappearing into the gray sheets of water. I let out a soft laugh, picked up my fork, and kept eating. The owner’s wife walked by, and I looked up at her. “The food is still as wonderful as it was years ago.” She pulled a tissue from her apron and gently handed it to me. “Thank you, dear. But let me get you a tissue, otherwise the food will taste too salty.” I reached up to touch my cheek. I was crying. I still hadn’t managed to hold back the tears. It was pathetic, really. I took a cab back to the house. The balcony window had been left open, and the plants we had bought together at the nursery were broken and drowned by the storm. They wouldn’t survive. Brent had never cared for them, leaving all the watering and pruning to me. Now, I didn’t have to care anymore. I opened the closet. Most of the clothes inside were mine. Over the years, Brent’s wardrobe had slowly migrated to Evelyn’s place, piece by piece. I packed my belongings into a single suitcase, placed the signed divorce papers on the coffee table, and sent him a text. “Brent, I’ve decided on my gift. The wishlist is at the house. Swing by and pick it up before you leave.” Within a minute, my phone rang. I answered, and Brent’s frantic voice came through. “Aren’t you even going to ask how Evelyn and Eva are doing?” “You’ll take good care of them,” I said. He was silent for a long time, struggling to keep his temper in check. “Take a photo of the list and text it to me. I have to look after them for a few days, so I won’t be coming back to the house.” “Then come get it when you’re finished.” “Why can’t you just send a photo?” I didn’t answer. I hung up the phone. A second later, his text arrived: “Are you really still trying to make things difficult for me?” “You can buy an entire castle in Scotland,” I replied. “But swinging by the house to pick up a list is too much of a chore?” He didn’t reply for a long time. Finally, a single text came through: “I’m sorry.” I swiped the notification away, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door. I was born and raised upstate in Vermont. I had moved to this bustling southern city only for him. Now, it was finally time to go home. During my first few days back in Vermont, Brent began texting me constantly. He told me what he ate, what he did, and how Evelyn’s condition had stabilized. He wrote that Eva’s burns were healing well, that they had postponed the trip to Scotland, and that he would buy me a real gift on his next trip. I didn’t reply to any of them, nor did I answer his calls. Then, a week later, he sent another message. “I’m home today. I bought your favorite cheesecake from the bakery. I really want to see what’s on your wishlist. Are you asking for the stars?” He was trying to joke, but I knew he wouldn’t be laughing for long.

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1 My college alumni group chat suddenly exploded with activity over two major pieces of news. First, the famous actress, Nicollette Cross, had officially announced her divorce. Rumor had it that a top-tier lawyer had handled her case, securing a massive victory in court and winning her half of her cold-hearted ex-husband’s fortune. Second, that very lawyer was none other than her college sweetheart, Luke Bennett. “He handled his first love’s divorce case? That is literally the plot of a romance novel!” “Please tell me they’ll get back together. They were the ultimate couple back in the day!” During our university years, Luke and Nicollette had sat firmly at the top of the campus couple rankings. Countless people had witnessed their passionate, whirlwind romance. Including me. I looked up at our wedding photo hanging on the wall, staring at Luke’s cool, sharp eyes. A quiet, heavy sadness settled over me. “Luke Bennett usually only takes on high-stakes corporate cases. He never touches ordinary lawsuits. Why would he make such a massive exception for a divorce?” “Because Nicollette is special to him, obviously. He used to spoil her rotten back then. Of course he would break his own rules for her.” “But he’s a senior partner at a top-tier firm now. Is it possible he already has a family?” The chat went quiet for a few seconds after that question. Then, someone quickly replied. “No way. If anyone actually managed to marry Luke Bennett, they’d be bragging about it all over social media. You couldn’t keep something like that a secret.” “Besides, knowing how intense Luke is about his feelings, he’s not the type to settle for a marriage of convenience.” Everyone in the chat simply assumed Luke was single, and the matchmaking comments grew even more frantic. “Back then, it was the spoiled rich girl and the brilliant, low-income law student. Now, it’s the gorgeous starlet and the elite law partner. How do these two always look like they walked straight out of a best-selling romance novel?” “Look at this photo of them leaving the courthouse. Just standing next to each other, the tension is unreal!” I remained silent, staring at the screen. The image in the chat was a paparazzi shot of Luke holding an umbrella over Nicollette as she walked out of the court wearing a mask and sunglasses. His own shoulder was completely soaked by the rain. Their eyes met under the dark canopy of the umbrella. They weren’t saying anything, yet it felt as though they were saying everything. It was a simple tabloid photo, but it captured an intimacy that rivaled the private picture Luke kept hidden. Once, while cleaning his study, I had found a photo tucked away in the deepest corner of his desk drawer. Nicollette was smiling beautifully at the camera. Luke wasn’t looking at the lens; his head was turned toward her, his eyes filled with a quiet, deep tenderness. If you looked closely at the blurred crowd in the background of that photo, you could see my shadow. But Luke’s eyes had never held room for anyone else. He had probably never even noticed I was there. A light knock on the bedroom door pulled me back from my thoughts. “Are you having breakfast?” Luke asked, leaning his head in. 2 The door wasn’t locked. But given the polite, careful distance that defined our marriage, he still knocked out of habit. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the faint, sharp outline of veins on his forearms. He looked effortlessly handsome. “Yes, thank you,” I said, getting out of bed. Breakfast was simple: warm milk and toasted bread. Luke had always disliked bread crusts. He would always tear them off and leave them on the side of his plate, and because I hated wasting food, I would eat them. Over the past two years, this silent exchange had become a routine. Today, he automatically placed his discarded crusts onto my plate. I stared down at them, my fork suspended in the air. Actually, I didn’t like crusts either. But I wasn’t Nicollette, and Luke had never bothered to ask about my preferences. I still remembered seeing him standing outside Nicollette’s dorm building during our college days, holding a bag filled with half a dozen different breakfast options. “My beautiful, stubborn girl,” he had said with an indulgent smile. “You didn’t finish your breakfast last time because you said it tasted awful. Surely one of these will please you today?” Living in the room next to Nicollette’s, I had occasionally been on the receiving end of those leftover breakfasts, thanks to her casual generosity. Luke sat across from me now, eating with the same meticulous, deliberate grace he displayed when dissecting an opponent in the courtroom. He glanced up at me, his voice calm. “Why aren’t you eating?” I pushed the plate aside. “I’m not very hungry.” Luke turned a page of his newspaper. “You should at least drink some milk.” “Luke,” I interrupted him, “did you take Nicollette’s divorce case?” I had never asked about his clients before. This was the first time. Luke paused for a brief second before speaking in a low, level tone. “She married the wrong man. As an old classmate, it was only right to help her out. Besides…” Besides, their relationship went far deeper than mere classmates. They had occupied the absolute center of each other’s lives for four years. I didn’t want to hear the rest of his explanation. Before he could finish, I stood up from the table. “I’m heading to work.” My focus was entirely gone that day. I moved through my tasks like a ghost, feeling a dull, hollow ache in my chest. During a team dinner that evening, I remained quiet, trailing behind my colleagues as we walked through a high-end restaurant downtown. Suddenly, a coworker grabbed my arm, her voice buzzing with excitement. “Oh my god! Isn’t that the famous corporate litigator, Luke Bennett?” I looked up sharply. A few yards away, Luke was standing by a table, his suit jacket draped casually over his forearm. Sitting across from him was a woman in a tailored cashmere coat. Even from behind, I recognized the elegant, familiar slope of her shoulders instantly. 3 I tried to quicken my pace to pass them unnoticed. “The woman sitting across from him… is that Nicollette Cross? Oh my god, Hazel, we just stumbled onto some major celebrity gossip!” my colleague whispered loudly, using my English name. Luke looked up from the menu, his sharp eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. His eyes had always been his most striking feature, intense and deep. Now that he was older, that gaze had only grown more refined and cold. “Hazel,” Luke called out. I froze, turning around slowly to meet Nicollette’s gaze. She was still as radiant and breathtaking as ever, the kind of beauty that made everyone else in the room feel invisible. She rose from her seat with a polite, hesitant smile. “…Hazel? From our class?” Luke’s eyes drifted over me as he gave a soft nod of confirmation. He didn’t offer any explanation about who I was to him, nor did he look particularly guilty about being seen with her. I wasn’t surprised. But a bitter, heavy ache still swelled in my chest. Nicollette looked me up and down. “I remember you. You were always so quiet and small back in college. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman.” Her words instantly dragged me back to those suffocating college days, when I was a painfully self-conscious orphan, ignored and pushed to the margins of every social circle. I forced a tight, polite smile. “I should get back to my colleagues.” I turned and walked away, finally escaping the weight of their presence. During the dinner, my coworkers couldn’t stop asking questions. “You never told us you went to college with a superstar and a celebrity lawyer! That is so cool!” “We weren’t very close,” I replied quietly. “That’s a shame. Our company tried to hire Luke’s firm for a major restructuring contract last quarter, but the boss couldn’t find anyone to get us a meeting. His rates are astronomical.” “But why are those two dining together? Do you think they’re having a secret affair?” I let out a silent, bitter laugh. Luke’s secret spouse was sitting right here at this table. If he were with Nicollette, he would probably want the entire world to know he had finally married the love of his life. I shook my head and remained silent for the rest of the night. When our group went to pay the bill, the receptionist informed us that a Mr. Bennett had already settled our tab. My colleagues immediately began speculating again, wondering if Luke and I had been close friends in college. I couldn’t tell them the truth, so I simply offered a vague response. “He has always been generous.” Nicollette was generous too. Later that evening, she shared a photo of her dinner with Luke in our alumni group chat, delighting the gossips and triggering a fresh wave of excitement. “Oh my god, I didn’t think Luke even looked at this chat! Seeing the two of you together again makes my heart so happy.” “Luke looks even more handsome now. Honestly, Nicollette is the only woman who could ever stand beside him.” As the messages scrolled rapidly down my screen, my chest tightened. When I arrived home, the house was dark except for a single, warm floor lamp in the living room. Luke was sitting on the sofa, a nearly empty bottle of Romanee-Conti resting on the table in front of him. He was drinking heavily and quickly. For a man who was normally the definition of discipline and control, he only ever lost his composure when it came to Nicollette. My heart ached sharply. I wondered if I needed to see a doctor about this physical pain. From the shadows of the sofa, Luke’s cold voice cut through the quiet room. “Do you have nothing to say to me?” 4 The question was so sudden that I stood frozen for a moment before replying. “No.” Ours was a marriage of quiet convenience, built on polite distance. What right did I have to demand explanations? I knew better than anyone that Luke did not love me. But Luke didn’t let it go. He stood up, walked over to me, and pulled me into his arms. Before I could react, his lips pressed against mine in a sudden, desperate kiss. I went completely stiff, my mind racing. Before I could even raise my hands to push him away, he pulled back. His voice was rough and strained. “We need to talk.” Talk about what? A divorce? Was this kiss just a parting favor, a sweet transition before the end? Panic flared in my chest, and my instinct was to run. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep.” Luke didn’t try to stop me. But that night, as I lay in bed, he reached out from behind and pulled me against his chest, whispering a quiet, heavy “I’m sorry” into the dark. A man only says he is sorry when he knows he has done something wrong. It was the last thing I wanted to hear. The sharp pain in my chest flared up again. It was strange how simple, quiet words could cause such physical damage. The next morning, I woke up early and went to the clinic for a full check-up. The results showed that I was perfectly healthy. Confused and seeking peace, I decided to visit Luke’s grandmother at her estate on the outskirts of the city. The villa was vast and quiet. Luke and I had met because of his grandmother, and our marriage had been put together largely through her gentle matchmaking. She had always treated me with immense kindness. The moment she saw me, her wise eyes softened with concern. “Hazel, sweetheart, did you and Luke have a fight?” I shook my head. We didn’t fight. We didn’t even have disagreements. “That boy has no idea how to cherish a young woman,” she sighed, patting my hand. “I’ll have a serious word with him.” I knew his grandmother had never met Nicollette. She had no idea how incredibly attentive Luke could be when he actually cared. During our university years, Luke was the most photographed student on our campus confession boards. He was lean, sharp-featured, and carried himself with a quiet, scholarly distance. Even in a simple, faded t-shirt, he looked like a prince who had stepped out of a classic tragedy. He was the unattainable, intellectual crush of every girl on campus, keeping everyone at a strict, polite distance. Yet, he had completely surrendered himself to the school’s most notoriously demanding drama queen. He had met Nicollette’s every whim with absolute devotion. He would eat nothing but plain bread for two weeks just to save up enough money to take her to a high-end restaurant she had mentioned in passing, even if she only took a single bite for a social media photo. He had once skipped a final exam to carry her to the campus clinic when she faked an illness just to get out of a physical fitness test. I had never had the luxury of being high-maintenance. I had learned at a very young age that nobody has patience for an orphan’s tantrums. So I grew up quiet, polite, and accommodating. After marrying Luke, I became even more careful. I knew I wasn’t Nicollette. I knew he wouldn’t tolerate my moods. “Luke does love you, sweetheart,” his grandmother said, her eyes filled with gentle sincerity. But I felt only a cold, creeping dread. If Luke truly loved me, why was I constantly living in fear? At that moment, the physical pain in my chest finally made sense. I was terrified.

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1 Devin guarded his boundaries fiercely. Three years of dating, and I’d never set foot in his apartment—his so-called sanctuary. I wasn’t allowed near his phone, not even to check the time. At group dinners, he always made sure I sat at the far end of the table. I told myself he just needed space. Then, the night before our wedding, I got a location pin from him. Thinking he was finally letting me in, I went to his building. The door was unlocked. Inside, a woman curled up on his sofa in one of his oversized shirts. Her bare legs draped over his thighs as she giggled, whining for a calf massage. Devin looked up, startled—then his expression cooled. “What are you doing here?” “I meant to send that to Valerie,” he said. “I was rushing and tapped the wrong name.” “Renee, you need to learn boundaries. Don’t come running every time I share a location.” A hollow laugh caught in my throat. He was draped over another woman, yet demanding space from his fiancée. I didn’t argue. I looked down at my phone and accepted the overseas transfer my manager had sent earlier. If he wanted distance, I’d give it to him—so much that I’d vanish from his world entirely. … I clicked accept. A confirmation message appeared on the screen. “Transfer Period: Three Years. Destination: London Branch. Please report to your new location this Saturday.” Today was Wednesday. There were exactly three days left until the wedding, and three days left until my flight. Devin saw me staring at my phone, his brow furrowing deeper. “Renee, I’m talking to you.” I locked my screen and looked up at him. “I heard you.” He hadn’t expected me to be this calm. The lecture he had prepared seemed to get stuck in his throat, and his expression soured even further. Valerie, who was still draped over his lap, finally slid her legs down. She adjusted the hem of the black t-shirt, which I recognized as Devin’s favorite, and looked up at me with a shy, fragile expression. “Dev, is this Renee?” Dev. We had been together for three years, and I had almost always called him by his full name. When we first started dating, I had suggested we use cute nicknames for each other, but Devin had shut it down immediately. He said those sweet, clingy names made his skin crawl. Now I realized he didn’t hate nicknames. He just hated them coming from me. Valerie stood up from the sofa, holding onto the armrest for support. “Renee, please don’t misunderstand. I sprained my ankle, and Devin was just helping me massage the swelling.” I looked down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of plush pink slippers with little rabbit ears. On the coffee table rested a cute, star-shaped mug filled with warm milk. On the sofa, the cushion she had been leaning against was a limited-edition Disney design. None of these items belonged to Devin. And they certainly didn’t belong to me. It was almost comical. The very first time I stepped into my fiancé’s home, I felt like an intruder walking into a cozy nest he had built with someone else. Seeing my silence, Valerie’s smile faltered slightly. “Renee, Dev and I were born in the same year and grew up together. We’ve always been this close. We don’t really do boundaries.” I turned my gaze to Devin. He stood there with a frown, clearly seeing absolutely nothing wrong with her words. Yet for three years, he had enforced our boundaries with a cold, almost clinical precision. I was forbidden from entering his apartment. I was forbidden from touching his phone. I was excluded from his social circles. He had even scolded me once when I accidentally adjusted the air freshener in his car, telling me he hated when people messed with his things. The strict rules he had created to keep me at a distance simply did not exist for Valerie. I offered a small, quiet smile and looked at her. “Valerie. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Devin’s face darkened instantly. “Renee, what is with that sarcastic tone?” I looked at him, genuinely surprised. I wasn’t being sarcastic at all. I really had heard her name countless times before. The first time was on my birthday. I had booked a reservation at a high-end restaurant weeks in advance, but Devin cancelled at the last minute because Valerie had watched a horror movie and was too terrified to sleep. He had to go over to her place to tuck her in. The second time was when I had a high fever. I called him, asking if he could drive me to the urgent care clinic, but he refused, saying Valerie wanted lemon tarts from a bakery uptown and he had to go buy them before she started crying. The third time was the day of our wedding dress fitting. He showed up two hours late, his cuffs stained with coffee. He told me Valerie had lost her cat and had been crying hysterically, so he had spent the entire afternoon helping her search the neighborhood. Through all of those moments, I had never truly lost my temper. I had assumed that the girl who required so much of his patience and care was a young, helpless teenager. I had even resolved to be kind to her after we got married, knowing Devin didn’t have much family left. But standing here today, I realized Valerie wasn’t a child. She was twenty-eight years old, two years older than me. Valerie bit her lower lip, her eyes turning shiny with tears. “Dev, I don’t think Renee likes me very much.” She reached for her coat on the sofa. “Maybe I should leave. I don’t want to be the reason you two fight.” Before she could touch the fabric, Devin caught her wrist. “Why should you be the one to leave?” he said coldly. “The uninvited guest is the one who should leave.” A sharp, cold ache bloomed in my chest. I forced a quiet laugh. “Fine. I’ll leave.” I turned around and walked out the door. As I waited for the elevator, I realized this was my very first time visiting Devin’s apartment. And it would be my last. 2 I returned to my own apartment near midnight. I had bought this place with my own savings, and Devin had never spent a single night here. Even when I was down with severe cramps and called to ask if he could drop off some pain medication, he had simply declined over the phone. “Renee, we aren’t married yet,” he had said. “A man and a woman spending the night together in an apartment ruins a woman’s reputation.” At the time, I was actually touched by his old-fashioned chivalry, believing he was simply looking out for me. Only tonight, seeing Valerie lounging in his clothes on his sofa, did I realize the truth. His chivalry was nothing more than an excuse to keep me at arm’s length. I forced the thoughts from my mind and pulled my suitcase out to begin packing. Halfway through, my hand brushed against a heavy garment bag at the back of my closet. Inside was the wedding dress I had paid for with my own money. Throughout our wedding preparations, Devin had been entirely hands-off, though he was generous with the budget. He paid for the finest venue, the most expensive catering, and hired a tailor to hand-craft his own Italian suit. But when it came to my dress, he had shrugged. “Just rent one,” he had said. “You’re only going to wear it once. There’s no need to waste money.” On the day of our fitting, when he finally showed up two hours late, he had casually pointed at a basic, off-the-rack dress. “Just take that one. Let’s not make a big deal out of this.” But I didn’t want to compromise. I wanted to look beautiful for the man I loved, so I had gone back to the boutique alone and bought the most elegant dress they had. Now, it would never be worn. I took a few high-quality photos of the dress and posted them on a wedding consignment app. “Brand new, never worn. Selling at a discount.” Almost as soon as the listing went live, a notification popped up on my phone. A social media friend request. The profile picture was a woman standing by the sea, her back to the camera. The image looked incredibly familiar. It took me a moment to realize that the sea in her photo was the exact same background Devin used for his own landscape avatar. He had simply cropped her out of the shot. I accepted the request. A message arrived immediately. “Renee, I am so incredibly sorry about today. I didn’t mean to cause any misunderstanding.” “Please let me buy you dinner tomorrow to make it up to you.” My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed “No need,” but before I could hit send, another message popped up with an address. “This is my absolute favorite restaurant. Let’s meet there tomorrow at five.” I stared at the address, a dull ache settling in my chest. That was the exact restaurant Devin had taken me to for almost every date during our three years together. I had never really liked it; the food was too sweet, and the lighting was far too dim. But because Devin always insisted on going there, I had assumed it was his favorite. During those dinners, he would usually be buried in his phone, handling work, while I sat quietly across from him, cutting my steak. I had convinced myself that this quiet, domestic routine was a form of happiness. How incredibly foolish I had been. I decided to go. The next afternoon, I walked into the restaurant at precisely five. Sitting by the window, Devin and Valerie were already seated side by side. I walked over and sat down across from them. Valerie offered a playful, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Renee. I wanted to come alone, but Dev was so worried about me that he insisted on tag-along.” Worried about what? He was simply terrified that I might make her uncomfortable. I remembered my second year of dating Devin. A major client had a reputation for getting handsy with the female employees after a few drinks. After our team dinners, my colleagues’ boyfriends would always show up to drive them home safely. I had asked Devin to pick me up once. He had simply replied over the text, “I trust you. You’re an incredibly capable woman, Renee. I’m sure you can handle a client.” Love is defined by the exceptions we make. He was terrified of letting Valerie have a simple dinner with me, but he had been perfectly content to let his own girlfriend fend for herself against a predatory client. 3 The dishes were already ordered, and the server began bringing them out. As the plates filled the table, a cold realization washed over me. Almost every dish was seafood: butter-poached lobster, Chilean sea bass, oysters Rockefeller. The menu was nearly identical to our wedding reception menu. During our wedding planning, I had questioned Devin about the catering. “I have a severe seafood allergy, and you aren’t particularly fond of it either. Why did you choose so much seafood?” He hadn’t even looked up from his tablet. “The guests prefer it.” I hadn’t thought much of it then. Now, looking at the table, I finally understood who that specific “guest” was. Throughout the dinner, I didn’t touch a single piece of food, only playing with a few spears of steamed asparagus on my plate. Valerie, on the other hand, was in high spirits, happily shelling shrimp and chatting about their childhood memories. At one point, she naturally picked up a piece of crab meat with her fork and held it out to him. “Dev, try this. It’s incredibly fresh.” My hand froze on my fork. Devin had scolded me more than once for trying to share food with him, telling me he hated when people fed him. Yet now, he simply leaned forward and ate the crab meat directly from her fork, his expression perfectly relaxed. I felt completely invisible, like an uninvited stranger gatecrashing an intimate dinner. I set my fork down and stood up. “Enjoy your dinner. I have some things to take care of, so I’ll head out first.” Devin finally looked up at me. “Renee, what are you throwing a tantrum for now?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked out of the restaurant into the cool evening air, feeling a sudden, lightness in my chest. The suffocating weight I had carried for three years seemed to vanish. I pulled out my phone and sent Devin a text. “Let’s cancel the wedding. I’ll be at the hotel tomorrow morning at ten to handle the cancellations. Please join me if you’re free.” After sending the message, I hailed a cab and went home. Devin didn’t reply that night, and I didn’t waste my time waiting for one. I completed my transition paperwork for the London branch, took a warm shower, and went to sleep. The next morning, I arrived at the hotel lobby right on time. I waited for half an hour, but Devin never showed up. I called his number. It rang twice before he answered, his voice dripping with irritation. “My mother wants us to come over to finalize some wedding details. I’m already at her place. Just take a cab and meet us here.” I stared at the phone in silence. He either hadn’t read my text, or he had simply chosen to ignore it, assuming I was just throwing a minor fit. “Fine,” I said softly. I would tell him face-to-face, in front of his family. Devin’s family, much like Devin himself, were people who valued their boundaries. Despite the upcoming wedding, I could count the number of times I had visited his mother’s house on one hand. Every visit had been defined by a polite, chilly distance; his mother would offer me a cup of tea, and his father would remain buried in his newspaper. We were about to become family, yet we felt like strangers behind a glass wall. But today was different. As soon as my cab pulled up to the driveway, I could hear bursts of laughter coming from inside the house. When I opened the door, I realized Devin hadn’t come alone. Valerie was sitting right next to Mrs. Ross, her arm looped affectionately through the older woman’s. “Auntie, you need to talk to Dev,” Valerie pouted, leaning her head on Mrs. Ross’s shoulder. “I wanted to wear my favorite skirt today, but he made a huge scene and forced me to change.” Mrs. Ross laughed warmly, patting Valerie’s cheek. “I think Devin was right. That skirt was far too short. Let’s go shopping this afternoon and buy you some beautiful new dresses.” “Auntie, you’re the absolute best,” Valerie giggled. My own mother had passed away when I was young, and when I first started dating Devin, I had truly hoped to build a maternal bond with Mrs. Ross. I bought her thoughtful gifts for holidays and brought back souvenirs from every business trip. I had carefully invited her out for lunch and shopping. But she had never worn the silk scarves I bought, and the skincare sets ended up gifted to her housekeeper. Every invitation was met with a polite, vague “Let’s do it another day” or “When I have some free time.” I had assumed she was simply a busy, reserved woman. Now I understood that when someone truly wants to see you, they give you a specific date. They don’t push you away with empty promises of “another day.” The laughter in the living room died the moment they noticed me standing in the doorway. Mrs. Ross’s face quickly smoothed into that familiar, polite mask of distant hospitality. “Renee, you’re here. Please, have a seat.” I walked over and sat down in the armchair furthest from them. I looked at Devin. “Did you see the message I sent you last night?” Devin frowned. “What message?” He pulled out his phone. “Why can’t you just say whatever you need to say to my face instead of sending…” He stopped mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. 4 “The entire conversation thread is gone. What happened?” Valerie quickly slid off the sofa and ran over to Devin, clasping her hands together in a pleading gesture. “Dev, I’m so sorry! I was playing a game on your phone last night and must have accidentally deleted Renee’s thread. It wasn’t anything important, was it?” Devin let out a soft, indulgent chuckle. “It’s fine. You formatted my entire phone once and I didn’t scold you, did I?” Valerie giggled and trotted back to Mrs. Ross’s side. I sat in my chair, my fingers turning cold. He wouldn’t even let his own fiancée touch his phone to check the time, yet he was perfectly fine with another woman deleting his messages and formatting his data. Devin turned back to me. “What did you text me? Just tell me now.” I looked at him, and the desire to explain myself suddenly vanished. For three years, he had never treated me with the basic respect a girlfriend deserved. Why should I waste my energy offering him a formal, polite notification of our split? I lowered my eyes. “It was nothing important.” Devin shrugged and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Mrs. Ross offered a pleasant smile. “Renee, how are the bridesmaid arrangements coming along? Is there a spot left for Valerie?” She patted Valerie’s hand affectionately. “Devin spent the entire evening helping her choose a gorgeous bridesmaid dress. She’s absolutely dying to wear it on Saturday.” I curled my fingers into my palms. Devin had never found the time to accompany me to a single bridal boutique, but he had spent an entire evening helping Valerie select her dress. But since there would be no wedding, who cares who the bridesmaid was? “Sure,” I said quietly. I stood up. “I have some urgent work to handle at the office. I’ll take my leave.” Mrs. Ross didn’t even offer a polite attempt to keep me for lunch. I left the house and took a cab straight back to the hotel. The event manager’s face fell when I told him I was canceling the wedding. “Ms. Reynolds, the ceremony is scheduled for this Saturday,” he said, looking at me with concern. “Canceling now means you’ll lose almost the entire deposit.” “I understand,” I replied, my voice steady. “Just process the cancellation.” He looked at me standing alone at the reception desk and didn’t press further. He had worked with countless couples, and he knew how rare it was for a bride to handle every single wedding arrangement completely on her own, without a single member of the groom’s family ever showing up to help. By the time I signed the final cancellation forms, the sun had set. As I walked out of the revolving doors, my phone buzzed with a notification from the consignment app. “Hi, is this dress still available? I’d love to purchase it.” The buyer had already processed the payment. Almost immediately, a long message followed. “I’m so sorry to message you so late. My fiancée and I have been together for three years, and our wedding is this Saturday. I don’t make a lot of money, and we couldn’t afford to buy a proper dress, so we had planned to rent a simple one. She kept telling me she didn’t mind, but I know she secretly wanted a beautiful dress of her own. When I saw your listing at such an incredible price, I wanted to surprise her. Thank you so much.” Standing on the chilly street corner, my eyes welled with sudden, warm tears. Three years of dating. A wedding on the exact same Saturday. One man was willing to stretch his modest budget to give his bride a beautiful surprise, while another man, despite having a massive budget, couldn’t care less about his fiancée’s wedding dress. I typed a quick reply. “I hope you have a beautiful wedding.” He sent back a smiling emoji. “Thank you! I wish you all the happiness in the world, too.” I stared at his blessing for a long time before offering a soft, quiet smile. I would find my happiness. It just wouldn’t have anything to do with Devin. Back at my apartment, I carefully pulled the wedding dress from its garment bag. The delicate white fabric flowed across my bed, shimmering softly under the light. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I had once imagined how wonderful it would feel to walk down the aisle toward Devin in this dress. Now, I was simply relieved that I had never worn it for him. The courier arrived twenty minutes later. I handed the large box to him and watched the elevator doors close. When I stepped back into my apartment, the silence felt incredibly peaceful. I didn’t delay any further. I grabbed my packed suitcases, turned off the lights, locked the door, and walked out of the building. My ride was already waiting at the curb. The driver loaded my bags into the trunk and looked back at me. “Heading to the airport, miss?” “Yes,” I replied. “JFK.”

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1 Under her best friend’s expert guidance, my wife finally divorced me. The day she slammed the door and walked out, my only real reaction was a sigh of relief: I finally had sole custody of the TV remote. It didn’t take her long to realize that the guys sweet-talking her on the dating scene were all talk and no commitment. They wanted a free trial, not a subscription. But what truly broke her was discovering that her dear best friend, the very one who had coached her into signing the divorce papers, was currently marching over to my apartment with a hot tray of homemade lasagna. When Brooke slammed the divorce papers onto the dining table, I was deeply engrossed in a food delivery app, trying to decide on a new fried chicken combo. “Tedd, sign it.” I looked up at her, glanced down at the papers, and then looked back at my phone. “Hang on a second. This coupon expires in three minutes.” Brooke’s face flushed, shifting from a pale white to a deep, furious crimson. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised we had reached this point. Her best friend, Amber, had a mouth that acted as a catalyst for disaster. Since last year, Amber had been practically living at our place, showing up every few days like she was reading from a script. “Babe, you deserve so much better.” “Tedd is just a mid-level corporate drone. What kind of future do you have with him?” “There are plenty of wealthy, single guys out there driving luxury SUVs, just waiting to treat you like a queen.” At first, Brooke would defend me. But over time, her defenses grew quieter. Eventually, she stopped defending me altogether. And finally, it led to this. I placed the order for the chicken, picked up the pen from the table, and flipped to the signature page. “How are we splitting things?” Brooke blinked, clearly caught off guard by how cooperative I was. “The house… my dad paid the down payment—” “Fine. The house is yours.” “The car… we bought it after we got married—” “Take the car too. I can bike to work. It’s better for the environment anyway.” Brooke’s expression turned incredibly complex. She had probably rehearsed this moment a hundred times in her head. She might have pictured me begging on my knees, crying, pleading for another chance. What she hadn’t anticipated was me ordering takeout while signing away our marriage. “That’s… that’s it?” I signed my name, slid the folder back to her, and capped the pen. “What else do you want?” “Aren’t you even going to try to save this?” I thought about it for a second. “If you can waive the delivery fee on my chicken, I might consider it.” Brooke took a sharp, ragged breath. She snatched the papers, turned on her heel, and marched toward the door. Just before leaving, she looked back, her eyes rimmed with red. “You’re going to regret this, Tedd.” The front door slammed shut. The apartment suddenly felt empty. Truly, physically empty. Brooke had cleaned out all her clutter, her towering shoe racks, and her endless supply of skincare products. I sat down on the sofa, picked up the remote, and pressed the power button. The sports channel flared to life. For three years, I hadn’t been able to watch a single game without sitting through hours of mindless reality TV first. The doorbell rang. Dinner was here. I opened the door, and the delivery guy handed me a steaming bag of fried chicken. “Big meal for one, man?” I took the bag and smiled. “Just got divorced. Treating myself.” His look of pity instantly morphed into pure envy. “Man, you are the happiest-looking divorcee I’ve ever seen.” He didn’t get it. It wasn’t just happiness. It was the feeling of a bird seeing the cage door open after three years of confinement. Once I finished the chicken, I shot a text to Marcus. It’s done. Signed. Three seconds later, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from him. “What do you mean, done? She actually went through with it?!” “Yeah.” “How are you holding up? Where are you? Are you okay? Bro, I’m coming over right now.” “I just finished some fried chicken. Grab a six-pack of beer on your way.” A brief silence stretched over the line. “Are you sure you just got divorced and didn’t win the lottery?” “Honestly, it feels about the same.” Marcus hung up. Twenty minutes later, he kicked open my door carrying a case of IPA. First thing he did was look around the living room. “Damn. She really cleared the place out, huh?” “Yep.” “The vanity desk?” “Gone.” “That massive shoe rack?” “Gone.” Marcus’s eyes lit up. “Your living room literally looks twice as big!” He collapsed onto the sofa, popped a beer, and tossed it to me. “Bro, let me be real with you.” “Go ahead.” He began counting on his fingers. “First, no more handing over your paycheck to a shared account. Second, no more playing mind reader when she’s mad. Third, no more getting kicked out of bed at two in the morning because she had a dream that you cheated on her.” I choked on my beer. “How do you know more about my marriage than I do?” “Are you kidding? You called me at three in the morning crying because she dreamed you were eating tacos with another girl, and she made you sleep on the freezing living room floor. You forgot about that?” “Can we please strike that from the record?” Marcus took a slow sip of his beer. “Never. I still have the voice memo of you crying. I play it whenever I have a bad day. It’s better than therapy.” I seriously considered dumping the rest of my beer on his head. But since he bought it, I let it slide. Around midnight, Marcus let out a soft burp and got unusually quiet. “Seriously though, what’s the plan now? Living solo?” “What else?” “Just watch your back. Newly single guys are prime targets. Some women smell the freedom and pounce.” I laughed. “Pounce on what? I’m a mid-level IT guy making ninety grand a year. Who’s targeting me?” Marcus shook his head, looking incredibly wise. “You don’t get it. Some women aren’t looking at your bank account.” At the time, I brushed it off. It wasn’t until later that I realized Marcus had actually been far too conservative with his warning. 2 Three days after the divorce, my life took a massive turn. Not for the worse—for the better. It was so good I started wondering if I’d spent the last three years in a white-collar prison. First of all, my bank account didn’t hit zero at the end of the month. When we were married, my paycheck would clear, and a chunk went to Brooke’s allowance. Then she’d want a new designer bag—money transferred. Then she’d have brunch with her girls—money transferred to cover her share. Yes, you read that right. I was covering her portion of those endless lunches with her friends. Now, that money stayed right where it belonged. Looking at the balance, I felt a sensation I hadn’t experienced in years. I had to search my vocabulary for the word: wealthy. Second, I suddenly had an abundance of time. Our old weekends used to go like this: morning shopping trips, afternoon movies, dinner dates, followed by late-night drinks with her friends. And then, I’d have to drive her friends home, only to get grilled by Brooke on why I dared to look at Amber through the rearview mirror. My new weekends looked like this: sleeping in, playing video games, ordering takeout, and playing more video games. Marcus warned me I was going to turn into a vegetable. I told him that being a vegetable was a luxury he couldn’t comprehend. Just as I was settling into this peaceful routine, Amber reached out. Yes, Amber. The very same best friend who had spent years telling my wife to “find herself,” “aim higher,” and “know her worth.” The architect of my divorce. She sent me a text. Hey Tedd. I heard about you and Brooke. Are you holding up okay? I stared at the screen for ten seconds. The sheer audacity was almost impressive. I replied: I’m fine. Amber: Make sure you’re eating well. Takeout is terrible for your stomach. You should have some real food. Tedd: Sure. Amber: Why don’t you come over tomorrow? I’m making a batch of homemade lasagna. Tedd: Can’t. Got plans with Marcus. Amber: How about I drop some off at your place then? I hesitated. Free lasagna. Only an idiot turns down free lasagna. Tedd: Alright. The next afternoon, Amber showed up at my door holding a heavy, foil-wrapped glass dish. Objectively speaking, Amber was attractive. Slender, nice style, always wore perfect makeup. But today, she had definitely dialed it up. Her makeup was heavier, and she was wearing a low-cut sundress that left very little to the imagination. When she bent over to set the dish down on the kitchen counter, well… let’s just say I kept my eyes on the counter. “Just put it on the table,” I said, grabbing a fork. Amber hovered by the entryway. “Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down?” “Oh. Yeah, come in.” She stepped inside, looking around the living room. “You keep this place pretty clean for a bachelor.” “Fewer people, less mess.” She smiled, taking a seat on the couch. I dug into the lasagna. She watched me quietly. “How is it?” “Really good.” “I made it with three types of cheese, just the way you like it.” I paused mid-chew. How did she know I liked three-cheese lasagna? I’d only ever mentioned that to Brooke. I looked up. She was smiling sweetly. I shrugged and kept eating. Whatever, the lasagna was incredible. When I finished, Amber insisted on washing the dish. When she came out of the kitchen, her sleeves were rolled up, and her hands were still slightly damp. “Tedd, you’re almost out of dish soap. You need to replace it.” “Yeah, I’ll grab some.” “I can bring some over next time I visit.” “Oh. Sure, thanks.” Amber smiled again, this one lingering a bit longer. After she left, I texted Marcus. Amber just dropped off lasagna. Three seconds later, he sent a flurry of texts. Are you an idiot?! Why is she bringing you food?! Have you lost your mind? You don’t think that’s incredibly shady? I replied: The lasagna was spectacular. Marcus: I hate you. I tossed my phone aside. Marcus was a good guy, but he was paranoid. Amber was probably just being nice, checking in on her friend’s ex out of basic human decency. Even when she posted a photo of the lasagna on Instagram later that evening with the caption “Simple joys,” I didn’t think much of it. People post photos of food all the time. I chose to believe in the basic goodness of people. 3 A week after the divorce, I saw from Brooke’s social media that she had officially entered the dating market. She posted a heavily filtered selfie with the caption: “New beginnings, new me.” Her friends flooded the comments with praise. Amber’s comment was right at the top: “Babe, you look stunning! You deserve the world!” I scrolled past it. Honestly, Brooke wasn’t a bad catch. She was pretty, had a decent job, and was generally pleasant when she wasn’t being influenced by her friends. In a normal dating pool, she’d do fine. The problem was the criteria Amber had set for her: a guy with a luxury SUV, a six-figure salary, a degree from an Ivy League school, and standing at least six-foot-two. Brooke made forty-five thousand a year. That wasn’t dating; that was fantasy. How did I know all this? Because of Mrs. Gable, our neighborhood gossip. She lived down the hall, knew everyone’s business, and loved sharing it. Ten days after the divorce, she cornered me near the mailboxes. “Tedd! Have you heard about Brooke?” “No, what?” “She went on a blind date last weekend! The guy claimed he owned a tech startup. Took her to a high-end steakhouse downtown.” “And?” Mrs. Gable slapped her knee. “After a hundred-and-fifty-dollar dinner, the guy said he forgot his wallet in his car. He walked out to get it.” “Did he?” “Did he hell! He bolted! Left her with the bill! Your ex-wife had to pay the whole thing herself.” I just stared. I wasn’t hurting for Brooke, but I felt a phantom pain in my own wallet. In the past, that would have been my money. Mrs. Gable leaned in closer, dropping her voice. “But that’s not even the worst part.” “What happened?” “On her second date, she met a guy who actually seemed legitimate. Nice sports car, expensive watch. They went out three times. After the third date, he vanished. Blocked her number, ignored her texts.” I sighed, leaning against the mailboxes. “She was crying to her friends about it. Apparently, the guy just wanted a quick hookup. He had no intention of taking her seriously.” Mrs. Gable shook her head. “Essentially, he wanted the free trial, not the subscription.” I kept quiet. Even though we were divorced, hearing about her getting treated like that felt a bit uncomfortable. Not out of lingering affection, just human empathy. But it wasn’t my problem anymore. Our paths had diverged. A few days passed, and Mrs. Gable caught me again. “Tedd! You won’t believe this!” I sighed. “What now?” “Brooke’s third date! This one was set up by Amber herself!” My eyebrows twitched. “Amber set it up?” 4 “Yeah! Supposedly some big-shot venture capitalist, making millions. Want to guess how that turned out?” “How?” “Married. With a wife and kids. Just looking for a side piece.” I gripped the keys in my hand a little tighter. “Your ex-wife got so angry she threw a glass of water right in his face. And the guy just laughed and said, ‘I like them feisty.’” I didn’t say anything. No matter how things ended between Brooke and me, she was still my wife once. Hearing someone treat her like that was irritating. But what bothered me more was something else. The guy Amber set her up with was married. Did Amber not know? Or did she know and do it on purpose? A picture flashed in my mind: a wolf standing guard at the chicken coop, smiling warmly. But I brushed the thought away. After all, Amber’s lasagna was really good. That was enough of a reason to suspend suspicion for now. People are simple creatures. Sometimes, a warm plate of food is all it takes to keep your mouth shut. How pathetic. 5 Amber’s visits shifted from once a week to three times a week. Monday was lasagna. Wednesday was slow-cooked ribs. Friday was beef stew. My fridge had never been this well-stocked. Honestly, I started feeling guilty. Groceries cost money, and I couldn’t just keep accepting her charity. So every time she brought food, I tried Venmoing her. She declined it. I tried again. She declined it again. “You not taking my money is making me feel bad,” I told her. Amber blinked, her long lashes fluttering. “Then how about you buy me dinner?” “Sure.” I took her to the cheap taco truck down the street. Two street tacos and a soda. Total cost: twelve dollars. My treat. Amber sat on the metal stool, looking at the paper plate of greasy tacos. Her lip twitched. “You… normally eat here?” “Yeah, best tacos in the city. The salsa is homemade, and the meat is incredibly tender.” “You said you’d buy me dinner, and you brought me here?” “Is this not dinner?” Her mouth twitched again. I took a massive bite of my taco, juice running down my hand. “Eat up before they get cold.” She stared at her plate for a few seconds. Then, she picked up a taco and took a bite. As we walked back to my apartment, she suddenly spoke up. “Tedd, you know you’re different from other guys.” “Different how?” “You’re just… real. Genuine.” “Is that a compliment or an insult?” “A compliment.” Back home, Marcus called again. “Did you go out with Amber again today?” “How do you know?” “She posted on her Instagram. A photo of the taco truck with the caption ‘Simple joys’.” “It’s just a taco truck. Why is she posting about it?” Marcus’s voice cracked. “Are you dense? She’s clearly into you!” “No way. She’s my ex-wife’s best friend.” “That’s exactly why it’s terrifying! Think about it—” “I’m hanging up. I have a raid in ten minutes.” Marcus was a great friend, but his paranoia was exhausting. Amber was just a nice person who felt bad for a guy living alone. And as for the Instagram posts… maybe she just liked the aesthetic of street food. Over the next week, Amber’s routine changed. She wasn’t just bringing food anymore. She started helping me clean. She washed my curtains. She bought me a new set of bedsheets. She even put a vase of fresh baby’s breath on my coffee table. I stared the flowers for a long moment, a vague sense of unease settling in my chest. But I couldn’t put my finger on why. The most obvious shift happened last Saturday. She came over wearing a thin slip dress. It was November. It was forty degrees outside. The dress was incredibly short, revealing a fair amount of smooth, pale leg. She sat on my sofa, crossing her legs, letting one high heel dangle from her toes. I looked at her, then silently walked into my bedroom and grabbed a thick fleece blanket. “Here, drape this over yourself,” I said, handing it to her. “The draft in here is pretty bad. Don’t want you catching a cold.” When she took the blanket, her fingers brushed against my palm. My skin tingled. Probably just static electricity. That night, Marcus texted: Did she come over today? Yeah. She helped me put up the new curtains. And you still don’t think she has an angle? She’s a five-foot-five girl. What kind of angle could she possibly have? Marcus sent a link to an article titled: When a Woman Starts Cleaning Your House, It’s Time to Worry. I replied: Get help. Then I blocked him. I unblocked him two seconds later, of course. I still needed him to carry me in our game tomorrow.

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