1 On a long holiday weekend, my twin boy, Lucas, and girl, Luna, innocently asked to go to an amusement park. That simple request derailed my husband, Jude’s, carefully laid plans to accompany his mistress to her prenatal appointment. In what he cruelly termed ‘discipline,’ he abandoned our children in the desolate, unforgiving desert. When I learned of this monstrous act, I immediately fell to my knees outside Jude Vance’s towering corporate headquarters, pleading for mercy. “Please, I beg you, spare our children! The desert is so dangerous, they could die out there at any moment. I promise, I’ll manage them better from now on, we won’t ever trouble you again!” But through the thin walls of his office, I heard it—the low moans of a man engaging in an illicit rendezvous, intertwined with his chillingly indifferent voice. “Get out! They’ve attended elite private academies since birth. If they can’t even handle simple survival, they’re not fit to be my children!” A week later, in the cold stillness of the city morgue, I identified my son and daughter. They had died of dehydration, their tiny bodies ravaged by scavengers, barely recognizable. That very night, the sky over Northwood City erupted in a dazzling display of fireworks, celebrating the impending arrival of his new child. “I can have more obedient children whenever I wish. Did those two disobedient brats finally learn their lesson?!” I forced a desolate, bitter laugh. “They’re… they’re dead.” Seeing the horrific state of my son and daughter, I felt as though the very heavens had caved in. My raw, heart-wrenching wails of agony echoed through the sterile silence of the morgue. “Lucas! Luna! My precious children!” The gut-wrenching agony of losing them felt like a thousand knives twisting in my heart. A sudden, coppery taste filled my mouth, and I collapsed, losing consciousness then and there. When I awoke, a breathtaking cascade of fireworks illuminated the hospital window. Nearby, nurses whispered excitedly. “They say the CEO of Vance Enterprises personally arranged this display to celebrate his beloved’s pregnancy. Such love is truly enviable.” “Spoiled rotten even before birth. It’s like they’ve stepped straight into a fairytale, the children of a novel’s heroes.” I merely managed a twisted, grotesque smile. Beneath the showering pyrotechnics, my heart slowly turned to ice, inch by agonizing inch. The image of my children’s lifeless, accusing faces, their eyes still open, flashed before me. Silently, I wiped the faint trace of blood from my lips and reached for my phone. I dialed Jude’s number. The cold, empty ringtone stretched on, an eternity of unanswered hope, before his impatient voice finally cut through. “Clara Hayes, I’m working.” “Didn’t I send someone to bring the children home today? At this hour, instead of soothing them to sleep, what new game are you playing?” But I knew. This lifetime, I would never again tell my Lucas and Luna a bedtime story. The thought choked me, words dissolving into incoherent sobs. “Jude, the children… they’re never coming home.” At my words, Jude’s voice instantly turned frigid. “Genna’s people have already reported back to me. Both children are perfectly fine. Stop trying to stir up drama!” “A doting mother spoils her children. If I didn’t harden my heart and send them away for a bit of training, what kind of future would they have? Don’t let your own spineless nature rub off on them!” “Alright, I don’t have time for your theatrics. Go home and reflect on yourself!” With that, he ruthlessly hung up. His scathing words fell, by sheer misfortune, into the ears of Grandma Vance, who had just arrived. She gasped, nearly fainting from rage, her face contorted in fury. “That monster! How dare he commit such a heinous, unspeakable act! I swear, he’s courting death!” “Clara, wait. I’m going to confront him right now!” I merely clutched the tiny charms I had made for Lucas and Luna, trembling uncontrollably from the depth of my grief. “There’s no need.” All Lucas and Luna had wanted was their father’s company, yet they were tortured and left to die! I finally saw it clearly: in Jude’s heart, Genevieve came first. Any attempts at reconciliation now were utterly futile. At the crematorium, watching my Lucas and Luna being pushed into the incinerator, I didn’t shed a single tear. Perhaps when a person reaches the absolute extreme of pain, only numbness remains. It was Grandma Vance who collapsed, clutching her chest, suffering a seizure on the spot. Finally, I tightly embraced the two small urns of ash. My voice was a barely audible whisper. “Let’s wander together, my darlings. We’ll never come back here again.” That night, the entire Vance family estate was draped in white mourning cloths. Portraits of my two children, their innocent and sweet smiles adorning the frames, stood at the very center of the grand hall. I knelt there in silence for six days and six nights, accompanying my Lucas and Luna on their final journey. This world was too cruel. Next life, my little ones, be reborn as kittens and puppies, and come find your mother, alright? Throughout those six days, Jude never even showed his face. The people sent to find him returned meekly, reporting, “Madam, Mr. Vance’s whereabouts are unknown.” “The company says he’s with Ms. Beaumont abroad, consulting a renowned gynecologist about her pregnancy.” Grandma Vance shot me a glance, her face burning with shame. She made countless calls, but none were answered. In a fit of rage, she smashed her phone. “Utterly lawless! For the sake of that woman, he even missed his own children’s funeral! My family does not breed such a beast!” Then, with tears streaming down her face, she apologized to me. “Clara, our Vance family has wronged you. We couldn’t control Jude, and he’s become this disgraceful mess.” But I remained, from start to finish, perfectly calm. 2 Only a heart that had withered and died could describe my feelings at that moment. When I spoke, my voice was dry, hoarse. “Grandma, it’s not your fault. Now, I only wish to leave with Lucas and Luna.” “From this day forward, I will have no ties whatsoever with the Vance family.” At my words, Grandma Vance’s aged eyes swam with tears, brimming with both pity and guilt. After a long silence, she agreed. “As you wish, my dear child. After all, the debt our Vance family owes you can never be repaid in this lifetime.” It wasn’t until the seventh night that Jude finally appeared. He sauntered intimately into the solemn quiet of the mourning hall, his arm around Genevieve’s slender waist, neither of them noticing me in the corner. Genevieve’s painted lips brushed his Adam’s apple, her voice a sickly sweet purr. “Darling, I’ve never tried it in a mourning hall before. I’m a little… excited, what should we do?” Jude pulled her close, thrusting against her, his voice tender. “Anything my darling wants, I’ll give you right now.” Lust shone openly in both their eyes as they passionately embraced, the portraits of my two children standing directly before them. I bit down so hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood. I wanted nothing more than to tear them limb from limb. Soon, Genevieve spotted me, gasping in alarm and hiding her face in Jude’s chest. But Jude showed no sign of being caught off guard. Instead, he launched into a furious tirade, showering me with accusations. “Clara Hayes, have you gone mad with your theatrics?!” “Lying to me on the phone wasn’t enough, now you’ve dragged Grandma into this charade at the estate? It seems I’ve been far too lenient with you!” He then surveyed the room with a disgusted sneer. “To think you’d stoop so low! Deliberately setting up a mourning hall and putting the children’s black-and-white portraits here, just to bring ill fortune upon the family, right?!” “If you frighten Genna’s baby, I’ll make you pay with your life!” For the man before me, only pure hatred remained. My voice was utterly devoid of emotion. “Jude Vance, I’m not acting. Believe it or not, I don’t care.” Seeing me dare to talk back, his face turned ashen, and he kicked me hard in the chest. “Oh, Clara Hayes, you have the audacity to argue with me!” “Since you are so unrepentant, you’re not fit to be the children’s mother. Call Lucas and Luna out now and have them accept Genna as their new mother!” “If I don’t teach you a lesson today, you’ll never learn!” A dull ache immediately spread through my chest. But I remained silent, unwilling to hear another word from him. Seeing my silence, Jude, still convinced I was acting, bristled with rage. “Bring the implements of family discipline!” Soon, several men approached with pliers, pinning me down mercilessly. With piercing, agonizing pain, two of my bloody teeth were brutally extracted. Struggling against them, my eyes blazed crimson. “The children are dead! Their coffins are in the backyard! Are you satisfied now?!” Jude visibly froze, then a mocking sneer twisted his lips. “Clara Hayes, you truly have no bottom to your depravity if you’ll stoop this low just to deceive me.” “First a mourning hall, then coffins… what, are you going to conjure up ashes next? I never realized you were so malicious before.” “Don’t think I don’t see your little game. You’re afraid Genna’s baby will threaten your status, so you’ve gone to all this trouble! But let me tell you, I no longer need your pathetic ‘support.’ Stop trying to pull that domineering act on me!” His handsome face twisted slightly as he turned and walked away, holding Genevieve. Watching their retreating figures, my thoughts drifted back to the past. My parents died young, leaving me, barely more than a girl, to shoulder the heavy burden of the Hayes family business alone. Haggling over drinks at dinner, closing deals with a fever… that was Clara Hayes at twenty. I fought to propel Hayes Industries higher, refusing to be a lamb targeted by hungry wolves. When it was time to marry, many arranged marriages were proposed. But amidst a throng of wealthy scions, I chose the struggling Jude Vance. Back then, he was humble, polite, and seemed to love me with every fiber of his being. After we married, I stepped back from the limelight for him, entrusting my entire fortune to him so he could revive Vance Enterprises. It wasn’t until his ‘fated one,’ Genevieve, returned from abroad that he first, secretly, placed her by his side. That was the first time. Then came the second, the third… The man who had once held me, promising repeatedly, “My love, I will always adore you,” felt like nothing more than a phantom of my imagination. Yet, every time I saw my adorable Lucas and Luna, I endured it. But I never imagined he would sacrifice our children for Genevieve. In just six short years, I became his first disposable accessory, enduring the unbearable pain of losing my children. In that moment, I had to admit that I had, after all, loved the wrong man. Just after the two walked out the door, Genevieve suddenly clutched her stomach, her face contorted in pain. “Jude, my stomach hurts so much.” “Is it… is it because this mourning hall has too much morbid energy, making our baby uncomfortable, causing these pains? It must have upset the baby…” 3 Jude’s face tightened with alarm. He quickly tried to soothe her. “Don’t worry, Genna, I’ll have this mourning hall torn down immediately.” My eyes shot open wide in disbelief. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Jude Vance! How dare you!” But he ignored me completely, turning to bellow orders to the outside. “Guards! Demolish this place at once!” As a group of men rushed in with tools, I shrieked in terror. “No! You can’t! You can’t smash it!” Lucas and Luna’s vigil wasn’t complete yet. They hadn’t even found their way home. With a deafening crash, half of the mourning hall was reduced to rubble in an instant. I cast aside all dignity, falling to my knees, weeping and begging them to stop. “Please don’t! I beg you, don’t smash it! I was wrong!” “Jude, stop them! I don’t want anything anymore, I’ll give up the position of Mrs. Vance, just please, spare my children!” My heart-wrenching sobs tore through me, yet they didn’t move Jude in the slightest. He sneered, then brutally smashed the children’s portraits to the ground. Then, he commanded, “And those coffins she spoke of in the backyard? Bring what’s inside!” Soon, several men brought in two small urns of ashes. I shook my head wildly, my voice a desperate, guttural scream. “No! Don’t!” I wanted to rush forward and snatch my children back, but I couldn’t move an inch. So I watched, helpless, as Genevieve casually took one of the urns, opened it, and peered inside. “Oh, it smells awful, darling. Who knows what kind of filthy things are in here.” “Clara, you’re truly vicious. Even if you hate me, you wouldn’t harm my baby like this, would you? I never even wanted to compete with you, not once.” With that, she deliberately loosened her grip, and the urn crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. “Oh, I didn’t mean to! It’s all because the baby is disobedient; it just kicked me.” She feigned delicate innocence, while I, kneeling on the ground, felt my eyes bulge with unbridled fury. “Lucas… Luna!” At that moment, the hatred in my heart reached its peak. But then Jude’s hand lashed out, slapping me across the face as he rebuked, “What are you screaming about?!” “It’s just two useless urns of ash. If you scare my and Genna’s baby, you’ll be sorry!” The force of the slap made me spit blood. My face instantly swelled, disfigured beyond recognition. Genevieve watched me with a triumphant smirk, then turned and clung to Jude’s neck, purring. “Darling, do you think Clara will resent me for this? Will our baby be born safely?” “I’m worried he’ll bear the resentment of some people, and it will affect his health. If that happens, then I don’t want to live either.” Jude pondered for a moment, then immediately stroked her head, coaxing softly. “Don’t worry, Genna. I’ll throw her into the scorpion pit right now, let her suffer a hundredfold, so she’ll never dare to harbor such evil thoughts again. Our child will definitely be born healthy.” And so, I was dragged like a discarded rag into the scorpion-infested basement. A myriad of stinging pains instantly spread through my limbs, an agony that made life unbearable. Yet, even that pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. My Lucas and Luna must have suffered this much, or even more, before they died, and they were utterly helpless. Blood, mixed with tears, soon pooled beneath me. My agonizing screams clearly reached Jude’s ears. A flicker of reluctance crossed his eyes, and he almost gave the order to release me. Genevieve, nestled in his arms, sensed his wavering and squeezed out a few tears. “Jude, if I hadn’t been forced to leave you back then, wouldn’t we be married by now, with several adorable children?” “Instead of hiding like this, and still being bullied by Clara.” At her words, Jude’s last shred of pity for me vanished. He softly consoled her. “There, there, Genna, don’t be upset over that wretch. We’ll leave right now.” Before he left, he gave instructions to the servants. “Tomorrow, have Mrs. Hayes bring the two children personally to my company, and make them kneel and apologize to Genna!” It wasn’t until midnight that Grandma Vance rescued me from the scorpion pit. She cursed Jude as she tenderly called for a doctor to treat my wounds. After my wounds were bandaged, I didn’t linger for a second. Instead, I carefully gathered the children’s ashes, repackaged them, and left the Vance family estate without a backward glance. That night, I canceled all my identities, leaving behind only a divorce agreement. I boarded a private jet with a hidden destination. The next day, Jude, who was in his office massaging Genevieve’s feet, didn’t receive the apology from me and the children he expected. Instead, his assistant rushed in, frantic. “Mr. Vance, it’s terrible! Mrs. Hayes… she’s gone!” Jude’s hand froze. He snapped, “Nonsense! If she dared to leave, what about the children?!” At his words, the assistant lowered his head fearfully. “Mr. Vance, Lucas and Luna… they’re dead.”

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Our senior year homeroom teacher, Ms. Dixon, was notoriously unfair. If a boy came to her with a request for a day off, no matter how outlandish the reason, she’d sign off on it. But for girls? She’d subtly undermine you, imply you were overly sensitive or playing weak. She’d suggest you were just looking for an excuse to goof off. One time, I had a searing pain in my stomach. Appendicitis, it turned out. I approached her, doubled over. She didn’t even lift her head. “Just a stomachache, isn’t it?” “What’s the big deal? Drink some hot water, you’ll be fine. Do you really need to take time off for that?” “Besides, who’s to say you’re not just faking it?” 1 Ms. Dixon finished speaking, her voice light and dismissive. She crumpled my permission slip into a ball and tossed it directly into the trash can. “Out. Don’t put on a show in here.” With that, she picked up her phone and resumed scrolling through short videos. Clutching my stomach, I tried to straighten my aching back. “Teacher, I’m genuinely unwell. My family has already contacted a hospital for me.” The words had barely left my lips when Ms. Dixon slammed her hand on the desk, standing abruptly. “Amy Hayes, are you informing me? Or are you asking for permission? What do you think ‘asking for leave’ means? I haven’t even agreed yet, and you’ve already made hospital arrangements? What the hell do you need permission for then?” I stared, completely bewildered by her outburst. Going to the hospital when you’re sick—wasn’t that normal? Ms. Dixon sneered, giving me a sidelong glance. “I’ve seen countless girls like you. Always looking for an excuse to miss school, whether it’s a real issue or not. And the reasons? Always ‘it’s my period’ or ‘my stomach hurts.’ Next time, come up with something a little more original, something with actual effort.” At this, a memory clicked. My deskmate, Sarah, had warned me: if a girl complained of a stomachache, Ms. Dixon would never approve the absence. Sarah herself had once tried to get out of physical education due to severe menstrual cramps. After a few sarcastic remarks, Ms. Dixon had called her into the office. Sarah thought it was to sign the permission slip. Instead, Ms. Dixon had verbally abused her for an entire hour. Finally, she’d said, in that passive-aggressive tone, “I detest girls using stomach pain as an excuse. Each of you puts on quite a convincing act. Oh, it’s your period, is it? Well, come on, strip down and show me if you’re truly on your period.” Sarah had been so humiliated, tears streamed down her face. Ms. Dixon, still harping, sneered, “What are you crying for? Got exposed, did you? Look at the boys in this class. Not a single one of them is as dramatic as you girls.” That day, Sarah didn’t get her leave and had to run a grueling half-mile, clutching her stomach. I later asked her, “Why didn’t you just do it? Pull out your pad and fling it in her face! Maybe even get some blood on her. Let her see if you were faking it then.” But I knew Sarah’s timid nature. She was far too shy for such a defiant act. Stripping down and pulling out a pad? She’d never be able to do something like that. I still didn’t understand why getting a day off was so difficult for girls in our class. Couldn’t she tell if someone was genuinely ill? I gasped, a fresh wave of pain washing over me, and pleaded again. “Teacher, I really am unwell. If you don’t believe me, I’ll have my dad call you.” “Don’t think dragging your parents into this will make me compromise. Let me tell you, I don’t fall for that trick. I’m the homeroom teacher, responsible for so many students. If you take a day off today, and she takes one tomorrow, then no one will study, everyone will fail their exams, and I’ll be the one getting criticized and punished. Get out! No one gets a day off before the exams, not on my watch!” I persisted, swallowing my pride. “Ms. D., don’t worry, I’ll study hard while I’m in the hospital. I absolutely won’t drag the class down on the exams.” “Don’t call me ‘Ms. D.’, don’t try to be chummy! I can’t stand it when you girls try to play mind games, thinking a little bit of flattery will get you a day off. Let me tell you, no chance.” Ms. Dixon had just finished her tirade when a loud shout came from the doorway. “Coach D., permission to miss class!” 2 We both turned simultaneously. It was Jake, the sports representative. He leaned against the office doorframe, a cheeky grin on his face. “Coach D., can I get a pass? My ankle hurts; I want to go home and rest for a couple of days.” I expected Ms. Dixon to explode, to launch into a furious lecture. Instead, she giggled, a playful scolding in her voice. “You impudent monkey, is two days enough?” Jake raised an eyebrow. “How about three, then?” Ms. Dixon signed the slip quickly, without a moment’s hesitation, and even reminded him to eat well and recover at home. Jake grabbed the slip and hurried out of the office. Ms. Dixon called out to him again. “Silly boy, don’t walk so fast with a sprained ankle. Wait for me, Teacher will give you a ride on her scooter.” “No, no, I wouldn’t dream of troubling Ms. Dixon!” “Pfft,” Ms. Dixon let out a hearty chuckle, her mouth stretching into a wide grin. I was utterly dumbfounded! Why was it so easy for Jake to get time off? Didn’t he have exams? Why wasn’t she complaining about him dragging the class down now? I couldn’t hold back. “Why does he get a pass, and I don’t?!” Perhaps my voice was too loud; several other teachers in the office looked up. Ms. Dixon spun around, her face dark with fury. “What are you yelling about?! Are people all the same? He sprained his ankle and can’t walk, that’s why he’s taking time off. And you? You’re shouting so loudly, does your stomach not hurt anymore? I just can’t stand you girls, always looking for trouble. I’m not a man, so don’t try to play weak in front of me.” Another wave of pain shot through my abdomen. I was so angry and in so much pain that I sank to the floor, weeping. Ms. Dixon looked at me with disgust. “Still acting, are we? Do you think a few squeezed-out tears will make me soft? Don’t forget, I was a student once too. All your little tricks? I perfected them years ago.” Seeing that I hadn’t gotten up for a while, another teacher from the office came over to intervene. “Ms. Dixon, I think the child is truly unwell. Perhaps you should let her go to the hospital.” Ms. Dixon didn’t respond. She pulled a box of pills from her drawer and tossed them at my feet. “Here. Stomach ache, right? Just take a few pain relievers. Now, hurry back to class. Given your grades, Teacher is only thinking of your own good.” I picked up the box. It was ibuprofen, and it was expired. Ms. Dixon continued her incessant nagging, complaining that girls were always so high-maintenance, taking a day off for everything from periods to sneezes, and were simply not as tough as boys. I finally understood. Whether or not she signed the permission slip wasn’t about whether you were genuinely sick. It was entirely up to Ms. Dixon’s mood. If you were a boy, a scraped finger was enough to get you sent home to rest. But if you were a girl, even if you broke your leg, you’d still have to stay at school, confined to a wheelchair. All, supposedly, “for your studies.” But everyone knew the truth: some boys just took days off to play video games. Yet Ms. Dixon believed them unconditionally. Deep down, she saw girls as dramatic, overly sensitive, and untrustworthy. To put it nicely, Ms. Dixon favored boys. To put it crudely, she was a male-worshipping, woman-hating hag. I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. The surgery was happening regardless. Whether she signed the slip or not was entirely her problem. I struggled to my feet, pulled another permission slip from my pocket, and slapped it onto Ms. Dixon’s desk. “The slip’s here. Sign it or don’t. I don’t care.” Clutching my lower abdomen, I hurried out of the office. Behind me, Ms. Dixon’s furious curses echoed. “Insubordinate brat! How dare you slam something on my desk! What’s next, wiping your feet on me?! Little girls scheming to find excuses to get out of school, who knows which wild boy they’re trying to meet! I don’t believe it for a second. Without my signed slip, you won’t get past that school gate!” 3 At the school gate, I pleaded with Mr. Peterson, the old gatekeeper, to open the door for me. He looked at me, his face etched with worry. “Sweetheart, why are you so pale?” I gasped in pain, my words coming in ragged breaths. Before I could finish, Mr. Peterson began to curse under his breath. “That idiotic fool, what kind of simpleton has sh*t for brains? Sweetheart, call your family immediately. Get your folks to come pick you up.” The words had just left his mouth when the phone in the gatehouse rang. Mr. Peterson, hard of hearing, put it on speaker. Ms. Dixon’s voice blared through. “Old Man Peterson, I’ve got a defiant little girl from my class here who doesn’t have a signed slip. You absolutely cannot let her out of school. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you let her go and something happens, you’ll be in deep trouble.” Our school had a rule: art students could enter and exit with their special passes. All other students required a permission slip signed by their homeroom teacher to leave campus. There was a time when students would forge Ms. Dixon’s signature. On some evenings after study hall, ten or twenty students from each class would claim they had permission to leave. Someone reported it, and the school clamped down. Now, when a student needed to leave, the teacher had to immediately file a record at the gatehouse. Students could only leave with both the signed slip and a matching record. Both were indispensable. Mr. Peterson remained silent, rolling his eyes. Ms. Dixon continued to screech into the phone. “Old Man Peterson, I’m talking to you, did you hear me? If you dare let her out, I’ll go straight to the Principal. Then your job will be gone, and you’ll have nowhere to cry.” “What? What? What did you say? Speak up!” “Ugh, can’t hear, can’t hear…” Mr. Peterson hung up the phone and handed me a cup of hot water. “That woman’s crazy, isn’t she? We’re asking for a day off, not for her life. Look at her, acting like an absolute idiot. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll open the gate for you in a bit.” I called my dad several times, but no one answered. Just then, Ms. Dixon stormed over. She grabbed me roughly. “Still acting, are we? Where’s all that bravado from when you slammed the table? Come on, back to class with me.” Mr. Peterson stepped in front of me, shielding me. “Look at this girl, she’s so pale. What’s the harm in letting her go get checked out?” “You old gatekeeper, what do you know?! If she fakes illness for a day off today, then everyone else will tomorrow, and my class will turn into chaos! Are you the homeroom teacher or am I? Stand back, don’t interfere with me educating my student.” Mr. Peterson spat on the ground. “Pfft, I’m not the homeroom teacher, but I’m a human being.” Ms. Dixon put her hands on her hips, ready to launch into another tirade. Then her phone rang. It was Dad. 4 I quickly handed the phone to Ms. Dixon. “Teacher, let my dad talk to you.” Ms. Dixon refused to take it. I put it on speaker. Dad spoke respectfully. “Hello, Ms. Dixon. I’m Amy’s father. The situation with the child is quite urgent. We’ve already booked a hospital bed, so could you please approve her leave? She needs surgery, and it will likely require five days.” “Parent, you really have the nerve to ask! Five days! A whole five days! Can you even imagine how much knowledge she’ll miss in five days? Besides, I can’t approve that many days. You’ll have to find the grade-level head, or the Principal. We have to report it step-by-step, with approvals at every level.” My dad chuckled apologetically. “I’m truly sorry. Could you perhaps put in a good word for us? We’d like to take the leave first, and then we’ll follow up with the full process and all the signatures. Amy’s condition truly cannot be delayed.” Ms. Dixon’s face remained stern, unyielding. My dad continued to apologize. “I should have met with you in person, but Amy’s mother is also currently hospitalized, and I’m busy with her at the moment. Once Amy is discharged, I’d like to treat you to a meal, and we can chat face-to-face.” Ms. Dixon squinted, letting out a cold snort. “Oh, how convenient!” My dad didn’t pick up on her sarcasm, continuing. “Yes, yes, everything happened at once. Please let the child out; I’ll be there to pick her up shortly.” Ms. Dixon looked annoyed. She neither agreed nor disagreed. From the other end of the line, a doctor’s voice could be heard. My dad quickly gave a few instructions, telling me to wait by the school gate and not wander off, then hung up. Mr. Peterson pulled me aside. “Sweetheart, sit inside the gatehouse and wait. I’ll call you when your folks get here.” I was about to stand up when Ms. Dixon sneered. “Hmph, so many tricks, aren’t there? How much did you pay these actors?” I stared, baffled. Ms. Dixon continued to ramble on. “I don’t believe it for a second. You in the hospital, your mom in the hospital? Why don’t you just say your whole family is in the hospital?! You can just find anyone to pretend to be your parent and call me. Do you take me for a three-year-old?!” A person truly does laugh when utterly speechless. I asked her, “What exactly will it take for you to believe me?” “Go on, prove it. Prove your dad is your dad!” Oh, for God’s sake, this woman has a screw loose. What you’re asking, I can’t prove. But I can prove that you’re an absolute idiot. I trembled with rage. Spotting the large megaphone on the table, I snatched it up. Running, I shouted: “Help! I’m sick, I’m dying!” “But Ms. Dixon won’t approve my leave!” “Why do boys get days off, but girls don’t?!” “Why?! Why?!” “Don’t stop me! Nobody stop me! I’m going to the lake, I’m going to the rooftop! I don’t want to live!” I ran, and she chased. My voice echoed wildly. Before I even reached the Principal’s office, a searing cramp tore through my abdomen, and I blacked out.

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My husband replaced the child I bore after a difficult labor with my sister’s. He simply uttered, dismissively, “If her posthumous child were a boy, it would be easier for her in her in-laws’ family.” When my sister posted a photo of my husband and my child on social media, I merely typed a single question mark in the comments. My husband immediately called, his voice laced with blame, “It’s just a child swap, do you have to make everyone miserable?!” My mother thrust my sister’s baby against my chest, demanding, “How could you be so heartless? Not even feeding the child!” When I fully awoke, I asked for a divorce, and that’s when they panicked… 1 When Leander walked in, the baby was crying. I sat comfortably on the sofa, watching TV, paying no mind to the fuss, not rushing to greet him as I used to. He clicked off the television. “The baby is crying so loudly, why aren’t you doing anything?” I lazily lifted my gaze to him, a faint, unreadable smile playing on my lips, saying nothing. Just then, the nanny, hearing the baby’s cries, hurried over to soothe him. The house fell silent, leaving only the sound of our breathing. Perhaps unnerved by my stare, Leander faltered first. He stepped forward, putting an arm around my shoulder, and gently swayed me. “Still mad?” I subtly pulled away from his touch. Leander sighed, helplessly dangling the bag he held in front of me. “Here, your sister asked me to bring this to you. She still cares about you, her little sister.” “And what you did on social media last time, she didn’t even blame you. You should really apologize to her first.” My attention fell on the bag in Leander’s hand. It was clearly a bowl of leftover meat congee, with sticky green onions clinging to the outside of the plastic container. The stale, cold smell of it wafted up. His words left me momentarily bewildered, then a sharp, mocking realization dawned. “She’s holding my child in her arms, and my husband is sitting beside her.” “And just for adding a question mark, I have to apologize to her?” At my blunt retort, Leander’s face flushed with sudden anger. “Amelia, she’s your sister, and I’ve explained the reason to you countless times!” “If you had an ounce of compassion, you wouldn’t make such a big deal out of this and upset everyone!” I stared at him, unblinking, my voice hoarse. “That’s my child, the one I gave birth to.” Leander snapped, “That’s my bloodline! I can give it to whoever I want to raise!” How utterly absurd. I couldn’t help but laugh, though the tears streamed down my face even harder. That day, I had been alone in the hospital, enduring over ten hours of excruciating pain, to bring my child into the world. No one was by my side. When complications arose during labor, I even signed my own critical condition notice. My husband and my mother had been with my sister the entire time, never once appearing at my bedside. When I awoke after childbirth, the baby lying next to me wasn’t mine. He had swapped my child, offering only a flippant explanation: “If her posthumous child were a boy, it would be easier for her in her in-laws’ family.” The most ridiculous part was that I, the birth mother, saw my child for the first time in my sister’s social media post. And I wasn’t even allowed to ask a single question? The thought of my child made my eyes burn with unshed tears. Seeing my distress, Leander’s tone softened. He whispered consolingly, “Audrey just lost her husband. Her mother-in-law has been desperate for her to leave an heir for their family. Your sister is already pitiful enough. If you compete with her for the child, how much harder would her life be?” “Besides, you and Audrey are twins. What difference does it make whose child it is? And I’m not prejudiced against girls…” Just then, my phone screen flashed with a message. It was from Audrey. She had set that family photo, the one with my husband and child, as her profile picture. “Baby says he’s hungry, wants chicken soup.” She’d accompanied it with a playful emoji, then a photo of the baby. Less than two seconds later, she immediately recalled it. “Oops, sorry Amy, I looked at the wrong profile picture and sent it to you by mistake. You didn’t see it, did you?” 2 Leander and I, from dating to marriage, had always used matching couple profile pictures. So, the person she originally meant to send it to was none other than my husband? Seeing her profile picture of a family of three, it felt even more ironic. “Ding-dong!” Leander’s phone screen also lit up. He eagerly opened it, his eyes alight with a smile as he read the message. I subtly curved my lips, watching him walk straight into the kitchen, packing up all the chicken soup the nanny had prepared for me. The nanny stood by, wanting to speak, but seeing my lack of reaction, she didn’t interfere. Just before leaving, Leander seemed to suddenly remember me. He leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Amelia, darling… I have something urgent at the office. I need to go deal with it now.” He left without a backward glance. I grabbed a tissue and vigorously wiped my forehead. He didn’t have a habit of eating supper. It was truly pathetic that he could have just said he was going to Audrey, but instead chose to tell a flimsy, transparent lie to appease me. Twenty minutes later, Leander returned. He carried the chill of the night, snow still clinging to his overcoat. He poured out the now-cold chicken soup and offered it to me. “I don’t eat supper. You drink this chicken soup. Don’t prepare it for me in the future.” I looked at the layer of congealed fat floating on the soup and, right in front of Leander, I spat. Leander, who had been distracted, finally noticed the soup had congealed from the cold. He then abruptly poured the chicken soup into the trash can. “It’s cold, don’t eat it!” With that, he turned and walked into the bedroom. I watched his retreating back, forcing down the bitter ache in my heart, a mocking smile playing inexplicably on my lips. Of course, I knew why he was so out of sorts. Just before he returned, Audrey had updated her social media: “It’s not that I don’t want to see you, but with so many shackles on me, how could I dare?” The accompanying picture was of a snowy night, a man holding a bag, leaning against a car. That man was my husband, who had rushed out enthusiastically only to return dejected. In the past, if something like this happened, I would have gone crazy, weeping, throwing tantrums, threatening to hang myself to get Leander’s attention. But now, I was calmer than I ever thought possible. That night, I slept unusually soundly—until, in the dead of night, Leander’s liquor-laced arms slithered around my neck. His hand naturally slid under my clothes, and he mumbled, “Amy, we haven’t slept together in so long, you must miss me, right?” I slapped him. “I just finished my confinement period!” He paused, as if the alcohol was clearing from his head a little. “Can’t we? You had a natural birth; aren’t you supposed to recover quickly? Audrey had a C-section; she has a nasty scar. Why are you so delicate?” I was so angry I wanted to laugh. I had a difficult birth, a long incision below, and I was still bleeding, still trembling from the pain. And he called me delicate? I pushed him away, turned on the light, and stared at him. “I don’t like the way you smell. Let’s sleep in separate rooms.” Proud as he was, he naturally slammed the door and left. That was Audrey’s signature perfume; how could I not recognize it? Yet, I had been foolishly self-deceiving myself all this time, believing he loved me, believing his extraordinary care for Audrey was just him extending his love to my family. How intimate must they be for his body to carry her scent? During our recent struggle, a sharp pain shot through my lower body. I forced myself to move, enduring the agony, to the living room to find pain medication. Leander appeared behind me, I don’t know when. “Why are you bleeding so much?!” He immediately scooped me into his arms. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” I was startled, but too weak to struggle from the pain. I felt like I would faint at any moment. Leander drove incredibly fast. When we were still two kilometers from the hospital, Leander’s phone rang with an urgent chime. He answered, his face twisting dramatically. He slammed on the brakes, speaking into the phone. “Don’t cry! I’ll be right there!” The car screeched to a halt. He got out, opened the passenger door, and said, “Audrey’s in trouble. You go to the hospital by yourself first. I’ll pick you up later.” I was left abandoned on the road, alone in the dead of night. It was half past two in the morning, and snow was still falling. Just as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness from the pain, someone took me to the hospital. By the time everything was handled and I returned home, dawn had already broken. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Who is he? Why did he bring you back?” 3 Leander glared at Aaron beside me, his eyes practically spitting fire. I turned to Aaron and thanked him. “Thank you for bringing me back. I’ll treat you to dinner sometime.” Aaron smiled in response, then shot Leander a deep look before leaving. I had no desire to deal with Leander, but he relentlessly followed me. “Do you know how worried I was when you wouldn’t answer your phone and I couldn’t find you?! Your recklessness has its limits…” Before he could finish, I turned and looked at him. “My phone was in your car.” He had been too anxious to rush to Audrey, completely disregarding whether I had my phone or any money on me. “I left messages with the hospital security and front desk.” If he had truly bothered to look for me, he wouldn’t have failed to find me. Leander choked, speechless. I couldn’t be bothered to see his reaction, so I walked straight to my bed and lay down. A moment later, Leander entered the bedroom with my phone. His tone was softer. “What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook for you.” After a sleepless night, I was too exhausted to think straight, so I mumbled, “Congee, I guess.” When I woke up, Leander walked eagerly towards me and took my hand. “Awake? Come, sit down. I’ll get you some congee.” But a long time passed, and he still hadn’t moved. I turned my head to see him distracted by his phone, walking towards me with the bowl of congee inattentively. While replying to a message, he bumped into the table, and the steaming congee spilled onto my hand. I let out a muffled groan, rolling up my sleeve to reveal the already blistering skin. Yet he was still frantically wiping his phone screen, terrified of missing a message. I glanced at the familiar profile picture on his screen, then got up to run cold water over my hand. Hearing the running water, Leander finally put his phone away. Seeing my hand, he panicked, grabbing my wrist. “It’s that bad? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” I pulled my hand back. “It’s fine,” I said flatly. Leander looked surprised. “Really fine?” I shook my head. “Mm-hmm.” In the past, I had always been delicate, often clinging to him, playing up even the smallest injury for his sympathy, wanting him to comfort me. But now, I no longer cared about him. His comfort meant nothing to me. Leander, however, was clearly nervous. “It doesn’t look good. I’ll go buy some medicine for you. Wait at home; I’ll be back soon.” But I simply pulled open the drawer, took out the medicine, and applied it myself. The baby was crying again, and the nanny was soothing him. I sat quietly on the sofa. Two hours passed. I completely erased the last flicker of hope I had, born of indignation. I had already expected this outcome, so why had I dared to hope he would care? Just then, the lock on the front door turned. It was my mother, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. I forced a smile. “Mom, you’re here…” Before I could finish, she raised her hand and slapped me. 4 “The baby’s crying so desperately, how could you bear not to feed him? What kind of mother are you?!” I was about to speak when I saw Audrey and Leander behind my mother, and Audrey’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Thompson, holding the baby. Without thinking, I walked over, my gaze hungry for the child. “Baby, let me hold the baby.” Mrs. Thompson quickly stepped back. “Oh no, you can’t! My grandson shouldn’t be held by just anyone!” “I hear you’re still bleeding from childbirth. That’s bad luck, it’ll bring bad fortune to my grandson.” With that, she carried the baby around the house, looking around. “My, this villa is impressive, and a swimming pool too! Much better than our home was. My daughter-in-law is truly luckier than my son.” Audrey stepped forward, grabbing my hand, a smile on her face. “Amy, I said I wanted to hold a full moon party for the baby, and Leander and Mom both said to have it here. It’s spacious, it won’t bother you, will it?” “But, it’ll be perfect to celebrate with your baby at the same time.” I trembled with rage, about to speak, but Leander pulled me away. He gripped my scalded hand tightly, oblivious to the pain he caused, forcing a tight, insincere smile. “I just realized Audrey and Mom were coming over after I left the house, so I went to pick them up.” He then whispered in my ear, “Auntie Thompson is here, don’t say anything out of line.” At the same time, Mom walked up to me, her face displeased. “Amelia, if you mess things up for Audrey, don’t you dare call me your mother ever again!” My eyes filled with tears. “Mom, that’s my child. Can’t I even look at her?” Mom, I’m your child too. Why do you only love Audrey and not me? “Go back to your room and see your baby. She’s crying too loudly.” Mom ignored my words, only showing impatience. Mrs. Thompson muttered behind her, “Girls just don’t have good fortune. Her crying is so grating, like she’s calling spirits. Boys are so much better.” On the day of the full moon party, many relatives from our hometown arrived. I barely recognized any of them and couldn’t be bothered to greet them. All I wanted was to catch a few more glimpses of my child. But Mrs. Thompson kept the baby tightly guarded, unwilling to let me even approach. Mom shoved the baby that wasn’t mine into my arms. The child suckled forcefully, but I felt not a shred of maternal affection. Instead, a chill spread through me, pushing me to the brink of collapse. No matter how much I begged, she refused to let Audrey return my child. Leander and Audrey welcomed guests downstairs, acting like a loving couple. When Leander’s colleagues came in, they repeatedly called Audrey “sister-in-law.” Leander awkwardly cleared his throat, but didn’t object. I stood behind them, watching coldly. He sensed my gaze and froze. But Audrey, swaying her hips, walked up to me, covering her mouth and laughing at Leander. “He actually mistook me for Amelia! Leander, do you often mistake me for my sister?” Soon, only a few close friends remained at the party, urging each other to play Truth or Dare. I was pulled to sit down with them. The bottle landed on Audrey. Everyone egged her on, and she, with an implied smirk, said, “I choose Truth.” “What makes you feel happiest right now?” Audrey glanced at Leander and smiled. “Having the person who loves me and the person I love both by my side.” Then it was my turn. Audrey chose for me. “Our Amy has never had any secrets since she was little, so it has to be Dare!” Everyone cheered. Audrey then sighed. “Seeing Amy and Leander reminds me of how they just got married, but now…” Then she let out a little giggle. “Never mind. How about Amy’s dare is to reenact what happened when she was my bridesmaid at my wedding?” I clenched my fists, seeing the cruel amusement in her eyes. When Audrey got married, I was her bridesmaid and they threw me into the swimming pool. When I was pulled out, my makeup was completely smeared, my hair plastered to my face. I looked awful. Even now, I didn’t want to recall it, yet they constantly brought it up as a funny story. Leander, lost in Audrey’s face, chimed in, “Today’s a happy day, a little reenactment won’t hurt.” His friends, already tipsy, paid no mind to my struggles and lifted me, chanting, “Into the water! Into the water!” “Splash!” I was thrown into the pool. The biting cold enveloped me. I choked on a mouthful of water, struggling frantically like a dog being toyed with. Everyone on the shore laughed. Leander stood beside Audrey, watching her laugh. I struggled to swim to the edge. Audrey, covering her mouth, giggled. “Amy didn’t get out of the water that fast back then. No, that won’t do, we have to do it again.” With that, the group threw me back into the water. Again, peals of laughter. I refused to give up, still swimming hard to the edge. Audrey walked to me, pretending to pull me out, but then stumbled and fell into the pool herself. Leander immediately jumped into the water, pulled Audrey out, and looked at me with an expression that could have killed. Then he brutally pushed my head underwater. “How could you be so vicious? It was just a joke, and you actually pulled her into the water!” He was like a madman, pushing my head underwater again and again… I choked on water, slowly suffocating. I had no strength left to struggle, and my grip on him loosened. I slowly sank, blood now pooling beneath me, I don’t know when it started. Only when the pool turned a distinct red did someone finally gasp, “My God, she’s bleeding! Stop it!”

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1 Returning with the birth certificate, I paused at the ward door. Through the gap, I saw Desmond gently remove our newborn’s hospital band. Curiosity stirred. As I moved to enter, my blood froze—he was swapping blankets between our daughter and another baby. A sweet voice then spoke: “Desmond, I’ll treat your daughter as my own.” He gazed at Seraphina Lowell—his unattainable “white moonlight”—with unbearable tenderness. “She’ll have a complete home. I’ll be her father now.” Clutching Anya’s birth certificate, icy despair filled me. What about our daughter? Inside, Desmond cradled Seraphina’s baby with such profound care, his eyes overflowing with an affection and devotion that had never once been bestowed upon me or our child. That gentle, focused, loving gaze had never fallen on us, not once in our entire marriage. In that excruciating moment, the warmth and love on his face felt like a sharp, unforgiving blade. I didn’t even have time to think; an indescribable, searing pain tore through me, as if my heart had been gouged out, leaving nothing but raw, exposed flesh. I lowered my gaze, staring blankly at the crisp new birth certificate, at our daughter’s name: Anya Grant. My vision blurred, from sharp clarity to a hazy distortion. Even her name, Anya, meaning ‘grace’ or ‘favor,’ seemed to secretly mourn their love, a silent monument to what they shared. Only then, belatedly, did the crushing realization hit me: Desmond Grant didn’t love me. And equally, he didn’t love our daughter. Not even this child, whom I had carried for ten months, enduring a night of excruciating labor to bring into the world. This shattering truth sent tremors through me. I couldn’t even stand steady, forced to press myself against the cold, sterile wall for support, gasping for breath. From the ward, Desmond’s husky voice reached my ears again, heavy with emotion: “Seraphina, the regret of our love, unfulfilled and separated, we will atone for it through this child. My first half of life was for you; the latter half will be for her. She is the last thread connecting us, our final, bittersweet bond.” The regret of a love unfulfilled, you say? A bitter, self-mocking laugh, choked and dry, escaped me. Why must your regret be compensated by sacrificing my daughter’s entire life? A compensation at the cruel expense of another. My love for him withered, replaced by an unspeakable disappointment, laced with a bitter, simmering hatred that took root deep within my heart. I wiped away the tears streaming down my face, slowly pushing myself off the wall, gathering what little composure I had left. Then, with a chilling resolve, I pushed the door open, abruptly interrupting the intimate tableau unfolding within. Desmond’s face immediately darkened upon seeing me, his tone sharp with displeasure. “What took you so long? Is that how a mother behaves?” he snapped, his voice echoing in the too-quiet room. “Joanna Grant, can’t you learn from Seraphina? Her eyes haven’t left the baby for a single second!” I lowered my head, masking the disappointment and profound pain swirling in my eyes. In Desmond’s eyes, I had always fallen short compared to Seraphina. Even though he knew perfectly well I had just been out getting our daughter’s birth certificate. Living in adjacent apartments before, he had constantly compared me to Seraphina, his every word subtly praising her virtues. Blind as I was, I’d never once noticed the veiled intimacy between them. My gaze fell on Seraphina, who was still holding the baby she believed was hers. I forced a grim, almost feral smile, a cold hatred gathering in my eyes. The baby Seraphina was cradling was undeniably my Anya! Sensing my intense stare, Seraphina shifted, subtly shielding the baby from my view. Just then, the baby in Desmond’s arms — the one he believed was Seraphina’s — suddenly burst into loud, wailing sobs. This time, he didn’t immediately blame me. Instead, he held the infant close, murmuring soft words of comfort, his expression contorted with concern. Our daughter had been born three days ago, and he hadn’t even reached out to hold her once! Yet now, as he looked down, whispering to this stranger’s baby, he radiated the tender glow of fatherhood. So this was the stark difference between love and indifference. I stared at him, transfixed, my mind a battlefield of warring thoughts. Suddenly, a daring, desperate idea took root. Seraphina turned to me, offering a brittle, bitter smile. “Little one was born without a father,” she began, her voice laced with feigned sorrow. “Seeing you three, a happy family, it just… it doesn’t feel right in my heart.” She spoke words of self-pity, yet in her eyes, an undeniable smugness shimmered, impossible to conceal. Desmond looked up, his anguish palpable, his eyes slightly reddened. “Seraphina…” he whispered, as if her pain were his own. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp sting a welcome distraction from the emotional agony, pulling me back from my daze. Across the room, Seraphina sighed deeply, then carried Anya, my Anya, to another bed. I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing down the bitter ache in my chest, and reached out, intending to take the baby from Desmond’s arms and comfort her. “Darling,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, “is the baby hungry? I’ll go get some water to prepare her formula.” 2 Desmond pulled the baby closer, his brow furrowed in disdain. “My daughter,” he declared, his voice sharp, “will naturally be breastfed. Why are you talking about formula? Can’t you be a little responsible?” He paused, then his gaze hardened, locking onto mine. “Joanna Grant, let me tell you, we’re only having one child, and I intend to give her the best of everything! You’d better not get any ideas about a second or third child!” With that, he practically pushed the baby into my arms, gesturing for me to feed her at once. I turned my face away, my heart churning with a bitter ache, which swiftly morphed into a burning anger. Before our daughter was born, he had constantly told me to formula-feed the baby from birth, claiming his mother would take over after my postpartum recovery so I could return to work promptly. His harsh words still echoed in my mind, vivid and unforgiving: “Joanna Grant, I know your family has money, but you need to learn to be self-reliant. Don’t just sit at home being a full-time mother! From now on, the baby will be cared for by a nanny and my mother.” So it was clear, wasn’t it? The ones who held his heart, who truly mattered, were always Seraphina and her daughter. My daughter wasn’t worth his concern, nor was she deemed worthy of growing up in her mother’s embrace. Because he didn’t care, he didn’t think of her. It wasn’t until Anya, still cradled in Seraphina’s arms, burst into heartbroken sobs that my self-pitying thoughts were cut short. Hearing my daughter’s cries, I involuntarily took half a step forward, my whole being drawn to her distress. Seraphina frowned, impatiently placing Anya on the bed. As if an afterthought, she quickly explained to Desmond and me: “It’s called ‘cry-it-out.’ It helps to train a child’s independence. After all, this child was born without a father; I can’t spoil her further.” Anya cried piteously, but Seraphina simply continued scrolling on her phone, utterly unconcerned. Her preposterous words made my fists clench, and fury surged through me: “A three-day-old infant, training for what damn independence, Seraphina? Crying and fussing are a baby’s natural instincts! If you let her continue like this, she’ll cry herself sick!” Anya’s cries tore at my heart. Overwhelmed by a fierce protective instinct, I moved to rush over and pick her up. But Desmond, standing beside me, coldly blocked my path. “Joanna Grant! What right do you have to lecture Seraphina?” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “What do you even amount to?” My mind exploded. My blood ran cold, and my entire body began to tremble uncontrollably. He knew. He knew the one crying her heart out, tearing her tiny lungs apart, was our child! Stiffly, I turned to Desmond, my voice thick with emotion. “The baby is crying, can’t you hear her?” Desmond frowned deeply, his eyes devoid of any emotion. He looked at me with open displeasure: “It’s Seraphina’s own child. Don’t you think she cares? Why should you, an outsider, feel pity?” I almost couldn’t stop myself from demanding how he could be so cruel. But the words caught in my throat. I swallowed the bitter lump and reluctantly looked away, my heart aching. Yet the desperate resolve in my heart only solidified. Anya’s cries grew hoarse, but Desmond seemed not to hear them at all, focused solely on the baby he held. He didn’t even spare Anya a single glance. My fists clenched. I just needed an opportunity. An opportunity to secretly switch the two babies back. Seraphina’s child was born without a father. I wouldn’t let my Anya grow up without one too. She deserved a life of comfort and love, a life filled with two parents who adored her! I swore silently in my heart: Anya, trust your mother. I will make sure you receive all the love, both fatherly and motherly, that you deserve. Newborns, after three days, were scheduled for a communal bath at the hospital. Holding this unfamiliar baby in my arms, I knew: this afternoon, I would get my Anya back. Anya had a tiny red mole behind her ear. Only I knew about it. Since the day she was born, I had been the one feeding her, changing her diapers—never letting anyone else take over. Desmond didn’t know. Seraphina didn’t know. Did they truly believe that by swapping blankets and wristbands, they could take my daughter from me? Ha, how could they? She was the daughter I held in the palm of my hand, the one I guarded even at night, too afraid to fall into a deep sleep. In the afternoon, Seraphina’s mother arrived. Spotting the sleeping baby on the bed, she snapped impatiently: “A jinxed, money-wasting girl! Just get out of the hospital already, stop throwing money away!” Seraphina’s husband had passed away half a month ago, never even getting to see his own child. In a way, he was a pitiable man. Seraphina’s mother’s voice was loud, drawing stares from several people. The two babies in the room, startled by the sudden harsh sound, both burst into tears simultaneously. Desmond frowned slightly, as if displeased by my momentary distraction. He snatched the baby from my arms and began to soothe her in a low voice. My gaze didn’t dare leave Anya for a second. Her cries broke my heart, ripping me apart from the inside. Seraphina’s mother, hearing Anya’s cries, grew even more impatient. She roughly pulled open the baby’s blanket, her grimy fingers harshly poking Anya’s tiny face: 3 “Cry, cry, cry, that’s all you know how to do!” Seraphina’s mother snarled, her voice sharp and cutting. “Your father was cried away by you! If I’d known she was just a girl, I shouldn’t have let her be born!” Noticing the displeased glances from others in the ward, Seraphina, who still cared about appearances, half-heartedly interjected: “Mother, please, don’t say such things to the baby.” I watched Seraphina coldly, but her eyes never truly left her phone screen. How could a family like this possibly raise a child well? Yet my husband was so blind and senseless, convinced the whole world owed Seraphina, practically willing to sacrifice everything to make it up to her! Seraphina’s mother snorted, finally stopping her loud rant. She mumbled: “I’ll take the child back to the countryside to raise her. Seraphina, you’re still young, quickly find another partner! Preferably a wealthy one, so I’ll have something to look forward to in my old age…” Seeing her mother’s words grow increasingly outrageous, Seraphina finally lifted her head from her phone, her gaze instinctively darting towards Desmond. Her eyes reddened slightly, and she answered listlessly: “Mother, back then… I couldn’t marry the one I wanted. Now, it doesn’t matter who I marry.” Desmond lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the baby in the swaddle he believed was Seraphina’s. He appeared calm on the surface, but only I could discern his profound sense of loss and isolation. He held the baby, no longer attempting to soothe her, his fingers clenching the bedsheet until it was a wrinkled mess. Every word Seraphina had uttered had deeply resonated with him, twisting his features with silent pain. And my daughter, who was to be taken to the countryside, burdened with the stigma of being ‘ill-fated,’ elicited no reaction from him whatsoever. Instead, he was lost in thought, affected only by Seraphina’s words. I stared at his slightly pale face, my gaze fixed on him, probing softly: “Darling, Seraphina’s child… she’s quite pitiful, isn’t she?” My eyes remained glued to Desmond, searching for a flicker of compassion, reluctance, or even a hint of guilt. But there was none. Desmond abruptly looked up at me, his eyes filled with a chilling coldness. He pressed his lips together, speaking softly: “She was simply born under an unlucky star. No one is to blame.” I stared at him, bewildered, as if I had never truly seen him before. But I realized, for the first time, I couldn’t truly recognize him. Or perhaps, today was the first time I truly knew him. The Desmond before me was cold, indifferent, effortlessly casting the heavy words “born under an unlucky star” onto our daughter, and simultaneously, crushing my heart. An unknown emotion surged in my chest, pressing against my ribs, making it hard to breathe. The oppressive atmosphere in the ward made my heart pound with anxiety. I turned away, to hide the glistening tears in my eyes from him. Desmond’s gaze suddenly fell on me. He stared, cold and unyielding. “Joanna Grant, you’ve been strange all morning. When did you start caring so much about other people’s affairs?” I exhaled slowly, pushing out the heavy air in my lungs, and managed a weak smile. “Just seeing the baby, I felt a little… sorry for her.” Desmond’s brow furrowed even tighter. He looked confused for a moment, then a sneer touched his lips. “Ha,” he scoffed. “You’re truly overflowing with sympathy, aren’t you? Joanna Grant, instead of worrying about other people’s children, why don’t you pay more attention to your own daughter!” When the nurse announced it was time to take the newborns for their bath, my gaze fell on Seraphina, who remained unmoving. “Seraphina,” I ventured, trying to sound casual, “aren’t you taking your daughter for her bath?” Seraphina glanced at Anya, still bundled in her blanket, and was about to say something when her mother quickly cut in. “No bath for her! A girl like that, why waste money?” Anger flared in my chest, but I suppressed it, remembering my plan. “It’s free, Auntie,” I said, my voice sweet despite the simmering rage. “The hospital provides it.” Upon hearing my words, Seraphina’s mother’s eyes lit up. Driven by the philosophy of never missing a freebie, she snatched Anya from the bed. “Then she’s bathing! Your city hospitals really do have good service!” Seraphina’s mother, holding Anya, followed me out of the ward step for step. From the corner of my eye, I saw Seraphina immediately make her way to Desmond, who was sitting on the visitor’s couch. His eyes, as he looked at her, were filled with guilt. I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself to be calm. Don’t be impulsive, I told myself, for our daughter’s happiness, just bear it for a little while longer! At the infant bathing room, the nurse instructed us to line up to send the babies in. Family members were to wait outside. Anya was sent in first. Seraphina’s mother, bored while waiting by the door, started chatting with me. Upon learning that the baby I held was also a girl, she pursed her lips, her eyes filled with disdain. “Tsk, what’s the use of having a daughter?” My expression instantly froze. I had no desire to speak further with such an ignorant and narrow-minded person.

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1 A new saying spreads across the Arcane Realms: “In good times, trust the First Blade. In hard times, the Second Star. In despair, only the Junior Disciple can save you.” Thanks to Grandmaster Elara’s new apprentice Rosalyn, our Celestial Apex Order now has all three legendary roles: Kaelen (First Blade): The righteous leader Lyra (Second Star): The silent warrior Rosalyn (Junior Disciple): The charming actress But I’m Fiora, the forgotten Third Disciple. While others shine – like handsome Alaric (Fourth) and sharp-tongued Theron (Fifth) – I tend my vegetables and chickens, invisible to all. When Grandmaster entered seclusion a century ago, she declared: “The Order’s future rests on them!” Yet I remain a ghost in these halls. I once overheard some Inner Circle Adepts offering new initiates advice: “The First Blade upholds rigid decorum. The Second Star’s combat lessons are brutal. The Fourth Disciple is handsome and harbors no grudges. Don’t cross the Fifth Disciple; he has royal backing. And the new Junior Disciple is innocently charming.” The initiates, fresh from the Outer Circle after years of grueling effort, wore expressions of utter bewilderment. “The Third Disciple? Is that a brother or sister? Which glorious battle claimed their life?” The Inner Circle Adept hesitated, his confidence wavering. “Uh… the Third Disciple should be alive.” “And what about warnings concerning the Third Disciple?” “I… I can’t recall. Hey, you, Senior Adept! Do you remember anything about the Third Disciple?” Listening to them discuss me, I calmly responded, “I don’t remember.” I didn’t even bother to watch their flustered expressions, simply returned to digging for earthworms. Today’s gossip from the Celestial Apex Order: “Junior Disciple cried after delivering a potion for the Second Star. Poor dear.” “The First Blade reprimanded the Second Star for being cold-hearted, now they’re in a cold war. Scary, scary.” “The Fourth Disciple encountered an old foe, chose to let bygones be bygones. Admirable, admirable.” “The Fifth Disciple gave nicknames to various Elders and is now wanted for insubordination. Curious, curious.” “That pair of white rabbits in the back garden had a litter of black kits, sparking rumors of infidelity. Such a pity.” “…” Even the rabbits get more mentions than me. The Third Disciple is so low-key, it’s as if I don’t even exist. I drifted against the flow of students leaving their blade lessons, admiring the overflowing basin of earthworms. All that hard work hadn’t gone to waste. But when I pushed open my courtyard gate, I found all the main characters from today’s gossip already there. Kaelen, the First Blade, a man of imposing bearing, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, lecturing: “How could you say the Elder of Lore looks like an eggplant, the Elder of Runes like a potato, and the Elder of Discipline like a bell pepper?” Theron, the Fifth Disciple, slouched lazily in my favorite sun-drenched rocking chair. “One purple, one yellow, one green,” he drawled. “Makes for a perfect stir-fry of three garden delights.” Beside him, Alaric, the Fourth Disciple, a youth of peerless beauty, lifted a sleeve, a faint, ethereal smile gracing his features. “Worms! First Blade, I’m so scared!” Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, a delicate and charming girl, flung herself onto Kaelen. I could clearly see Lyra, the Second Star, her sword hand free, her fingertips white with suppressed tension. This Junior Disciple was Grandmaster Elara’s latest apprentice, taken on three years ago when she unexpectedly emerged from seclusion for half an hour, only to descend the mountain and return with Rosalyn. “Innocently charming” was the general consensus among the male apprentices. “A manipulative charmer” was the common opinion among the female apprentices. As for what I thought… This was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her. Was this truly the savior in times of despair? Grandmaster Elara’s second departure into seclusion made the initiation ritual a hurried affair. I hadn’t made it back from the village below in time, and no one had even noticed my absence. All of Grandmaster Elara’s chosen scions were supposedly present. As for the other four, it had been a hundred years since I last saw them, hadn’t it? Kaelen, the First Blade, continued to soothe Rosalyn’s feigned sobs. It was a long while before he finally noticed me, squatting on the ground, dividing earthworms, utterly lacking in presence. He looked at me. “Uh…” I nodded in understanding. “No need to say my name.” Kaelen’s handsome face flushed with embarrassment. “Third Disciple, the Mystic Realm has opened.” I snatched my little chick, nearly bald from Theron’s excessive petting, from his hand. “I’m not going.” 2 Theron, the Fifth Disciple, stared at his empty palm, his neck stiff. “This fat chick is ugly anyway. Who cares about looking at it?” Kaelen, the First Blade, spoke with firm conviction: “All Inner Circle Disciples from every Order are required to participate in the Mystic Realm.” I calmly continued dividing the earthworms. “No one will notice my absence.” “Third Disciple, how can you be so devoid of loyalty to the Order? And to claim no one will notice is simply absurd…” I listened to his passionate lecture, then murmured drily, “First Blade, I’m right behind you.” In the end, I went. The Mystic Realm, it turned out, required the presence of every Order’s Inner Circle Disciple to activate. Unless a Soul-Fire was extinguished – a literal death – the portal wouldn’t open if even one was missing. My condition for going? They had to gather a full bucket of live earthworms. My chicks needed their rations, after all. Kaelen reluctantly agreed. The sheer quantity of live worms needed meant even Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, was dragged along to help. After an entire day. Rosalyn returned clinging to Kaelen’s arm, her face streaked with snot and tears, completely devoid of her usual delicate image. Lyra, the Second Star, narrowed her cold eyes, a rare hint of satisfaction in them. With the tip of her blade, she nudged the wooden bucket forward. A few worms wriggled onto the ground. Her tone, usually detached, held a surprising note of camaraderie as she spoke to me: “Third Disciple, is this enough?” Rosalyn’s face went white. “First Blade, does the Second Star dislike me? I’m so scared~” Kaelen frowned in displeasure, scolding Lyra: “Must you always be so difficult with the Junior Disciple?” Lyra flinched visibly at his words, then turned and strode away. I’d heard this same charade had been playing out for five years, always the same tired script. I didn’t bother to watch, simply picked up the bucket and headed towards the chicken coop. There, I saw Alaric, the Fourth Disciple, bending over a pile of plump, fluffy chicks, sighing. “Third Disciple, you really are… unique.” Most people raise magical beasts or spirit familiars. Half my courtyard is for vegetables, the other half for chickens… Could he recognize me without hearing my voice? I asked curiously, “Fourth Disciple, has your… condition improved?” Alaric’s smile stiffened. He turned and drifted away with his usual elegant stride. Guess not… Even Kaelen, the First Blade, didn’t know that Alaric was face-blind. The reason he constantly flashed that dazzling, almost blinding smile at everyone he met was simply because he couldn’t tell anyone apart. We were to depart in three days. I busied myself with my courtyard, watering, fertilizing, and pulling weeds. On the journey. Unlike the others, who were arrayed in their finest ceremonial robes, I had simply changed into a disciple’s tunic that wasn’t covered in mud. Theron, the Fifth Disciple, ever the caustic wit, sneered. “You’d grow two extra biscuits by your side if you slept at the foot of the mountain. Don’t tell anyone you’re my Senior Disciple out there, alright?” Kaelen uttered a low reprimand, but it couldn’t stop Theron’s sharp tongue. “You’re carrying a mere Satchel of Holding? That’s so shabby! Aren’t you using a larger Dimensional Pouch for the Mystic Realm?” My voice was earnest. “I don’t have a Dimensional Pouch.” Theron nearly bit his tongue. The Inner Circle Adepts around him looked at him with clear disapproval. Kaelen, feeling a surge of responsibility, offered me a high-grade Rune-Carved Pendant, a charm of storing. Rosalyn, unaware of the conversation, rushed to Kaelen, her eyes brimming with feigned tears. “I can’t believe the Second Star cares so little. It pains me to see First Blade’s kindness wasted like this.” Everyone looked up at Lyra, who had just arrived, holding a Rune-Carved Pendant identical to the one Kaelen had offered me. Then they glanced at the somewhat awkward Kaelen. Kaelen, it turned out, had given one storage pendant to Lyra and one to me. Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, clearly wanted one too. I held it out to her, offering it. She scrutinized me from head to toe. “Third Disciple… you should keep it for yourself.” Even though the pendants were identical, even a manipulative charmer like Rosalyn felt too awkward to outright snatch mine. Compared to them, I was just… too obviously poor. They didn’t understand, and I didn’t understand them. Why would you wear new clothes to an adventurous, dangerous expedition? I held out the pendant, offering it to each of them. Seeing their collective shakes of the head, I calmly put it away. When I returned and sold it at the Shadow Market, it should fetch a decent sum, shouldn’t it? 3 The new generation of paragons from the three Orders and four Guilds had gathered outside the Mystic Realm. The Celestial Apex Order’s six Inner Circle Disciples and fourteen Outer Circle Adepts stood in formation. Kaelen, the First Blade, stood at the front of the line, his presence refined and composed as he calmly reminded everyone of the dangers. Lyra, the Second Star, stood at the very end, an aura of cold detachment around her. Though young, she had already achieved the Grand Magus stage, and her renowned blade, ‘Frostbane,’ hummed faintly, as if eager to be drawn. Alaric, the Fourth Disciple, in robes of moonlight white, exuded an air of elegant grace, his eyes, dark as deep pools, shimmering with a gentle smile that met every probing gaze. Theron, the Fifth Disciple, leaned casually, his body askew, his sharp tongue freely assessing the combat prowess of the other Orders. And Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, with her lively, playful demeanor, drew curious murmurs from many. As for me, my appearance was ordinary, my abilities unremarkable. Even my clothes were plain, allowing me to fade seamlessly into the crowd. I was perfectly content with this; I was merely here to make up the numbers. “The Umbral Vault… opens!” We would be gone for a month in the outside world, but within the Umbral Vault, we had three months to seek out opportunities and grow stronger. Kaelen, the First Blade, skillfully led the way, guiding everyone smoothly forward. Wherever he stepped, a silent pressure descended, awe-inspiring and formidable. The twelve Outer Circle Adepts could form a variety of Blade Formations, in groups of six, four, or three, to engage foes. Lyra, the Second Star, her Blade-Song roaring like a crimson rainbow, served as the disciples’ unwavering shield, ensuring their safety during the arduous trials. Her combat prowess was truly maxed out! My confidence in the Order’s future soared! Midway, we encountered our sworn enemies, a contingent from the Starfall Covenant. Kaelen, ever mindful of his standing, wished to avoid a verbal spat. Lyra, the Second Star, seemed to be calculating the odds of simply cutting them down. But then Theron, the Fifth Disciple, with his incessant sharp tongue, and Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, with her sly, honeyed words, delivered such passive-aggressive barbs that the Starfall mages turned green, then purple, then a mottled grey before retreating in disarray. Their verbal artillery was truly unparalleled! My confidence in the Order’s future increased tenfold! The air grew progressively hotter, and Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, began to wilt, her chatter ceasing. Seeing this, I pulled a waterskin filled with the Celestial Apex Order’s Aether-Spring water from my Dimensional Pouch and offered it to her. The Order’s future couldn’t afford any mishaps. She drank it all in one gulp, and her pale complexion improved slightly. Seeing her reaction, I pulled out another waterskin. She drank that one too, and a faint blush returned to her cheeks. I heard the sound of swallowing. I turned to see the Inner Circle Adepts looking at me with envious eyes. The disciples had prepared for a near-certain death within the Mystic Realm, but they had forgotten the most basic necessity: water. Of course, there was water in the Realm, but one sip could kill three people without a problem. And while you could sustain yourself on aether and not eat, no one said you didn’t need to drink. I held my Dimensional Pouch in one hand, digging inside, pulling out waterskin after waterskin: one for you, one for her, one for him… It was the first time the disciples truly looked at me, and they all spoke in unison: “Thank you, Third Disciple!” I looked at Lyra, the Second Star – even the ‘God of Hardship’ shouldn’t die of thirst – and handed her two waterskins specifically. Lyra seemed at a loss for words. “How much water did you bring?” I looked at the number of waterskins in everyone’s hands, then silently reattached my Dimensional Pouch to my waist. “You might want to ration it. I… I think I’m out now.” Theron, the Fifth Disciple, suddenly realized he’d been tricked. “How can a mere Satchel of Holding have so much space? You must have an Arcane Relic, you were deliberately misleading everyone!” Before I could speak, Kaelen, the First Blade, came to my defense. “It’s common knowledge that the Umbral Vault has extremely hot zones. The Third Disciple is meticulous. To empty a Satchel of Holding solely for water isn’t misleading; it’s foresight.” Everyone nodded in agreement, expressing their thanks. I looked at their appreciative gazes and offered a small smile. We soon arrived at a dense forest. I stood beside them, listening to the disciples’ unbridled discussions. “The Third Disciple is so poor… but what a kind soul.” “When we get back, let’s pool our resources and buy her an Arcane Relic.” I glanced at the “mountain” of Dimensional Pouches stacked inside my own Satchel of Holding, the one labeled “Aether-Spring” sitting right at the front. Wasn’t it just easier to organize things this way? Besides… Aether-Spring water was a shared resource of the Celestial Apex Order; it didn’t cost anything. 4 Beasts roared, blades flashed in a chaotic dance. Four of us were protected for various reasons: Alaric, the Fourth Disciple, was an Alchemist. Theron, the Fifth Disciple, wasn’t suited for direct, brutal combat. Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, lacked experience. And I… well, I was simply forgotten by everyone. This life of fighting five battles a day, three of them deadly serious, was utterly intolerable. I spotted a gnarled, leaning tree about three hundred paces ahead, planning to slip away and lie low there. I’d just reappear when the trials ended and leave with them… Two hours later, a thick-trunked black python crashed to the ground with a thunderous thud. The disciples supported each other, exhausted but victorious. Rosalyn, the Junior Disciple, scurried over to them, offering concerned words. The male disciples: “The Junior Disciple is so kind! She’s even crying out of sympathy.” The female disciples: “No, she just took a tonic from the Fourth Disciple.” Alaric, the Fourth Disciple, despite having his credit stolen, didn’t show the slightest displeasure. His smile even widened. Everyone praised him for his beauty, kindness, gentleness, and generosity. But I had just seen him pacing in distress, clutching a pouch of potent tonics. To him, every injured person on the ground looked the same. It would have been all too easy to administer the wrong one! Then Rosalyn snatched the tonic, her voice syrupy sweet. “The Fourth Disciple has been frightened. Let me take care of everyone, okay~?” I mused on her cunning. A century, and no one had noticed he was face-blind. Theron, the Fifth Disciple, specialized in heavy mauls, a singular fighting style. Against a beast like the giant python, with its impenetrable defenses, he could only hang back. Now, he grumbled, taking out his hammer to vent his frustration, pummeling the frenzied, man-eating black python until it was nothing but a bloody pulp. At the front, Lyra, the Second Star, wiped black blood from her blade. Kaelen, the First Blade, shakily rose to his feet, counting heads. “This area is dangerous. We must leave quickly.” I seized the opportunity, slipping behind the gnarled tree and hiding. I watched them, a weary procession, pushing onward. With a grunt, I began to climb the leaning trunk, ready to rest, when I saw a scattered group lying ahead. Why were the future pillars of the Order sleeping on the ground? The Celestial Apex Order contingent, all nineteen of them, had been poisoned. I saw the white mist swirling above their heads. I tore a strip from the hem of my old tunic and tied it over my nose and mouth. This was the benefit of old clothes; no heartache over tearing them. The Umbral Vault was indeed a place where death lurked around every corner, not just a rumor. If a beast appeared now, there would be no survivors. I trusted Kaelen; they must have known there was danger. They just didn’t know a single breath of that mist could bring them down. It took me over half an hour to drag my Senior and Junior Disciples out of the mist-shrouded area. I was panting, completely exhausted. Thankfully, all those years of dragging fertilizer had given me some useful experience. I leaned over them, checking for breath. They were all alive, but even slapping their faces wouldn’t rouse them. This was a job for Alaric, the Fourth Disciple. He definitely had antidotes on him. I knelt, gripping his slender wrist, straining with all my might to pull off his storage bracelet. “Third Disciple, what are you looking for?” I gasped in surprise. “You’re awake?” Alaric’s eyes, usually sparkling, held a resentful glint. “I was in pain, so I woke up.” He flexed his wrist, then rummaged through his bracelet for the antidote. Perhaps my gaze was too eager, for he offered an explanation. “I often test potions on myself. I’m immune to most poisons.” At his words, I patted his shoulder, ready to slip away. With you here, I can comfortably lie down. But his eyes, usually so welcoming, were now filled with scrutiny. “Third Disciple, why did you stray from the group just now? Are you up to something… unsavory?” My hand instinctively clenched, a cold dread creeping up my spine at his words. Alaric continued rummaging through his vials and jars. “Third Disciple must be wondering how I knew.” He was right. It was impossible. For a hundred years, we’d attended lessons together, often crossed paths. Back then, Alaric treated me no differently from anyone else. “Why?”

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My mother’s chemotherapy had failed, and her final wish was for our family to share a last, peaceful dinner together. But on that very evening, Alexander’s new partner, visibly pregnant, brazenly showed up at our doorstep, intent on provocation. The shock sent my mother’s condition spiraling, and she passed away that very night. I called him relentlessly, but my calls went unanswered. It wasn’t until I had already made all the arrangements for my mother’s funeral that his call finally came through. “The girl is young, still naive, you and Mom shouldn’t let her bother you,” he said, his tone annoyingly nonchalant. “She’s emotional right now with the pregnancy, so please don’t go looking for trouble with her.” He paused. “If you can’t accept her, I’ll make sure she doesn’t appear before you again. But she is the mother of my child, and I need to spend time with her. From now on, I’ll be home with you on weekdays, and I’ll be with her on weekends.” His voice held no room for discussion, no hint of compromise. I didn’t argue, didn’t raise my voice. I simply hummed in acknowledgment. The next moment, I was submitting my application to Doctors Without Borders. Since the promises of our youth had withered to dust, it was time to let him go, and in turn, set myself free. 1 As Alexander laid out his arrangements, my eyes quietly scanned the conditions for applying to Doctors Without Borders. Discovering that I met all the requirements, I began filling out the application form without hesitation. Alexander finished what he had to say, then, hearing the faint, erratic tap-tap of keys, his voice tightened with a hint of displeasure. “Anna, did you hear everything I just told you?” I gave a faint ‘mm-hmm,’ a minimalist acknowledgment. He fell silent, seemingly surprised by my easy acquiescence. After a long moment, his voice softened, laced with a sigh. “Anna, if only you had always been this compliant.” His words made me pause, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I was instantly flooded with memories of our countless arguments. In our five years of marriage, countless women had shown up at our doorstep, challenging me. I still vividly remembered the first time someone tried to provoke me. I had collapsed, smashing everything in the house, hysterically demanding to know why he was doing this to me. Back then, his eyes held only weariness, and he pleaded, “I was just playing a part for business; there’s nothing going on between us. How many times do I have to tell you before you’ll believe me?” He was disappointed by my lack of trust, exhausted by my willingness to believe others over him. Afterward, I reflected, wondering if I had truly been overly suspicious. I humbled myself, apologized to him, and sought his forgiveness. But it wasn’t long before gossip about him and a trending celebrity checking into a hotel together went viral. I spiraled again, confronting him, desperate for an explanation. Yet, his eyes were full of disappointment, and he simply shook his head. “Anna, is that how little you trust me? If so, then I’ll give you what you want.” From that day forward, he stopped bothering to hide anything, constantly making headlines with different women. I even witnessed him intimately kissing a woman in his car. When I confronted him, he no longer offered explanations, choosing silence instead. In five years, I’d lost count of how many arguments we’d had. But I felt a deep, profound weariness. I had considered divorcing him, ending this ridiculous and tragic marriage once and for all. However, my mother’s greatest wish was to see me happy. She endured agonizing pain every day, and I couldn’t bear to cause her any more worry or sorrow. So I endured, deliberately avoiding anything to do with Alexander, turning a blind eye to the women who sought to provoke me. I thought that by doing so, I could maintain a façade of happiness. Until the moment my mother passed. Skeletal and frail, she lay on her sickbed, silent tears streaming down her face, murmuring faintly, “My darling girl, your mother has ruined you… all I ever wanted was for you to be happy… if you’re hurting, darling, then set yourself free…” Her dying wish had shifted from a simple family dinner to hoping for my happiness. Thinking of my mother’s last words, my eyes welled up. My voice, when I spoke, trembled with a faint sob. “Alexander, you can no longer give me the happiness I desire, can you?” 2 He didn’t answer my question directly, merely sighing. “Anna, we’re both approaching our thirties. It’s time to be mature. Whether there’s love or not, it’s not that important anymore.” This was his indirect way of telling me he no longer loved me. I understood, and a bitter laugh escaped me, laced with a mournful sob. “Alright, then. I’ll let you go, and I’ll set myself free.” The moment those words left my lips, my heart gave a sharp, sudden tremor. Five years ago, Alexander had said something similar to me. Back then, we were struggling financially, living in a cramped, dimly lit, dilapidated rental apartment. The only ring he could afford was a plain silver band. When he proposed, he spoke with fervent, fierce devotion: “Anna, I promise you, wherever I am, that will be your home. I’ll build you the most perfect sanctuary, so you’ll never suffer again. Your life will be nothing but happiness.” I believed him, and I accepted his proposal. He was like a child who had received a precious gift, beaming, almost skipping with joy. “Anna, from this day forward, you are my wife, Alexander’s wife. This life, this world, we will never be apart. Don’t you ever think I’ll let go of your hand!” But now, he had forgotten those promises. After I spoke those words, he didn’t contradict me. Instead, he said, “Alright, but don’t worry, the position of Mrs. Thorne will always be yours. No one can ever take your place.” When we first got married, hearing the term ‘Mrs. Thorne’ used to fill me with pride and joy. But now, that title had become nothing more than a cruel irony. When he started frequently making headlines with other women, many people in our circle pitied and sympathized with me. Some even dared to openly mock, “Given how fast Mr. Thorne changes women, who knows how long you’ll even be Mrs. Thorne? While you still have a chance, maybe try to have a child. You might be able to secure a better settlement if you divorce later.” “If she could have children, why hasn’t she had a baby bump in five years of marriage? I bet she’s barren; that’s why she can’t hold onto Mr. Thorne’s heart with a child.” They didn’t know that in our first year of marriage, I had carried our child. But that time, Alexander, during a business dinner, had been pressured into excessive drinking and enduring humiliating remarks. To secure the deal, he endured the disrespect, putting on a smile. I happened to be out with colleagues for a team-building event and witnessed the scene, my eyes welling up with a bitter ache. My heart ached for his silent endurance, for him forcing smiles even as his stomach churned from the alcohol. I walked over, wanting to take him away. But those people jeered, saying if I drank a glass of strong liquor, they would not only sign the contract but also arrange for us to be driven home. I knew how much effort Alexander had poured into securing this project. I couldn’t bear to see him disappointed. I mustered all my courage and, right in front of them, downed the strong liquor. That day, he secured the long-awaited contract. And we lost our first child. From then on, no matter how hard we tried, how we nurtured our bodies, I never conceived again. Perhaps, this was heaven’s punishment for my failure to protect our child. Maybe even God believed I didn’t deserve to be a mother. As Alexander’s words hung in the air, tears welled in my eyes and silently slipped down my cheeks, a searing heat against the coolness of my hands. 3 After my mother’s funeral was handled, I returned to the hospital for work as usual. My mentor, who had learned of my application to Doctors Without Borders, came specifically to ask me about it. “Anna, have you really thought this through? The place they’re going is a war-torn country. Once you’re there, you’ll be facing a life under constant fire and falling shells every day…” “Professor, I’ve already made up my mind. I wanted to go before, but I just hadn’t found the right opportunity.” Before, I couldn’t let go of my ailing mother. I couldn’t let go of Alexander. Now, my mother was gone forever, and the Alexander who once loved me was also gone. I no longer had any reason to cling to this place. For me, it didn’t matter where I was. Perhaps I could do something meaningful. Seeing my unwavering resolve, my mentor stopped trying to dissuade me. She gave me a few instructions and then left my office. No sooner had she stepped out than Alexander walked in. He looked at me, a confused frown on his face. “Where did you say you wanted to go just now?” My movements, as I tidied my desk, froze for a moment. I looked up at him, my voice flat. “To travel. I’ve rarely gotten out since I started working.” Back when we were in college, I used to always arrange trips with friends to various places, eager to see new landscapes. He knew this about me. He didn’t seem suspicious, instead expressing his approval. “That’s good then. Getting out more is beneficial for your health. Oh, by the way, Serena needs to come to your hospital for her prenatal check-up. Can you arrange a suitable time for her?” He offered no preamble, directly stating his purpose for coming. He wasn’t even bothering to pretend anymore. A sharp pang pierced my heart. I couldn’t help but think of the child we had lost before they even saw the light of day. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to demand, loudly, if he, now full of anticipation for their child, ever spared a thought for our lost child. But I opened my mouth, then closed it again, dismissing the notion. The past was the past; there was no need to dredge it up again. Or perhaps, he had already forgotten. Suppressing the turbulent emotions churning within me, I reminded him, “Our doctors here are all very responsible. You can simply register and wait in line.” As my words faded, a familiar figure appeared in the office doorway. Serena, with her visibly prominent baby bump, slowly walked in. She linked her arm through Alexander’s, a wounded pout on her lips. “Alex, honey, is Dr. Thorne unwilling to help us? It’s all my fault for forgetting to make an appointment; otherwise, you wouldn’t be wasting your time here.” Alexander didn’t push her away. He gently squeezed her cheek, his voice soft. “I always have time for you and our baby. It’s alright if she doesn’t want to help; I’ll wait with you.” Noticing she seemed a little tired, he tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering soft reassurances into her ear. This tender scene before me was a blinding, agonizing sight. There was a time, not so long ago, when he used to be this tender with me. He would gently comfort me, make silly faces to cheer me up, and spend every last dime he had to buy me a necklace I loved. He had told me that whatever other women had, I would have too. He constantly strived to climb higher, enduring hardship and exhaustion outside, yet always greeting me with a smile when he came home, recounting amusing anecdotes from his day. Even when he was so exhausted his eyes could barely stay open, he would still talk to me, listen to me. He said it gave him a deep sense of contentment. But at some point, gradually, we went from confiding everything to this chilling silence. I averted my gaze, no longer wanting to witness the searing image that clawed at old memories. Alexander, however, suddenly recalled something. He said flatly, “What Serena did last time was wrong. I had someone buy some tonics. I’ll send them to Mom as an apology later.” “No need,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. “She won’t be needing them anymore.” 4 The day my mother died, I called him countless times, but no one ever answered. With each repeated, cold, automated female voice, my heart slowly gave way from initial anger to numbness. I had considered going to confront them, demanding they pay for what they had done to my mother. But every time I closed my eyes, I would recall my mother’s dying words. She told me not to blame anyone, not to live with hatred. All she wanted was to see me free, unburdened, and living happily. And I would listen to her. I would live freely, unburdened, and happily. Regarding my words, Alexander thought I was still dwelling on Serena’s earlier outburst. He frowned, displeased. “Anna, you don’t need to keep dwelling on minor incidents. It’s all in the past.” In his eyes, it was in the past. But in my eyes, it could never be in the past. I looked at him with cold, detached eyes and stated blandly, “My mother isn’t here anymore. You won’t find her.” “Anna! Don’t be so absurd! No matter what, she’s still your mother. How can you curse her like that? She’s so ill right now, where else would she be but the hospital?” My mother, during her lifetime, treated him even better than she treated me. Anything good she had, she would save for him. When he first started his business, someone sabotaged him, and he lost everything. It was my mother who took out her life savings to help him pay off his debts, helping him climb out of that mire. Yet, because of him, she found no peace even in her severe illness. Serena chimed in, echoing his sentiments. “Dr. Thorne, I know you and Auntie resent me for my thoughtlessness before. I apologize, okay? Alex is truly worried about Auntie, so please don’t be difficult with him.” “You don’t deserve to even speak her name!” Hearing her mention my mother, the fury I had suppressed erupted. “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” I rose abruptly, issuing a clear command for them to leave. Alexander, seemingly afraid I might do something to Serena, quickly shielded her behind him. His gaze turned cold. “Anna, maliciously kicking out a patient – is this your professional medical ethics as a doctor?” He then proceeded to dial a complaint number right in front of me, articulating each word coldly. “I’m reporting Dr. Anna Thorne from the surgery department for unprofessional conduct…” He said he wanted to teach me a lesson, to make me understand what professional ethics were. Watching him unequivocally accuse me, a ripple of disturbance spread through my calm heart. Without waiting for me to say anything, he turned and led Serena away. As they stepped out of the office, Serena looked back, flashing me a triumphant smirk. It seemed to say, “See? Alexander is on my side. You’re a complete and utter failure.” Soon after, I received a warning from the hospital administration. My mentor, having heard what happened, helped me apply for an early leave of absence to prepare for my volunteer mission abroad. After completing the suspension procedures, I returned home. Alexander still hadn’t returned, but his social media feed was constantly updated. One moment he was posting ultrasound photos from Serena, sharing his joy of becoming a father. The next, he was posting pictures of the nursery he had personally decorated, captioned, “Baby, come out soon; Mommy and Daddy can’t wait to see you.” He hadn’t blocked me from seeing his posts. I collected myself and silently ‘liked’ one. When I checked again later, I discovered he had blocked me. I wasn’t angry. I tapped his profile picture and, mirroring his action, blocked him too. From that moment on, we would never cross paths again.

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1 My best friend and I found ourselves transported into a novel. She became the obsessively devoted fiancée of the aloof male lead, while I was the “canary in a gilded cage,” kept within a luxurious mansion by a disturbingly obsessive villain. Then, the male lead’s first love returned from abroad. My best friend found me, tears streaming down her face, claiming that her wretched fiancé hadn’t slept with her in three days. She wanted a divorce. As for me, my wifely duties these past few years had been upheld solely by my lack of funds. But then my best friend showed me her secret savings. “You divorce, I divorce too!” I declared. Life after divorce was surprisingly freeing. My best friend and I found ourselves with more “husbands” than we could count. Until one day, I received a text message. “I’ve prepared a gift for you. Your best friend’s husband and his first love – only one can live. Who do you choose?” … It was midday when I woke in the sprawling eight-foot bed, my body still carrying a faint, lingering ache. The sound of water running in the bathroom signaled that Alexander hadn’t left for work yet. I scrambled out of bed, quickly dressed, and, forgoing my morning routine, hurried to his study. That man had already showered three times today. I certainly didn’t want him showering a fourth. Stepping out of the bedroom, a maid approached me. “Madam, Mrs. Hayes from next door has been waiting for you downstairs for an hour.” I quickly rushed downstairs. The moment my best friend saw me, fresh tears welled in her already swollen eyes. “Anna, I’m getting a divorce, boohoohoo…” This year marked our third year since transmigrating into the novel. She had become the obsessively devoted fiancée of the domineering CEO next door. And I had become the “canary in a gilded cage,” held captive in a lavish mansion by a possessive villain. On the surface, she had lowered her noble status and shamelessly moved into Eddy Hayes’s house, ostensibly to relentlessly pursue him. In reality, it was to be my neighbor and to indulge her own little eccentricity. You see, she had a peculiar condition, and so did I. In our previous lives, we were fellow “patients.” She suffered from an obsessive devotion that found pleasure in giving and seeking approval. I, on the other hand, had severe social anxiety, disliking any interaction or communication with anyone other than my best friend. So, for these three years, we had both lived quite pleasantly. Watching my best friend sob uncontrollably, I carefully chose my words, asking gently, “Did he die an early death or become paralyzed in a car accident?” I couldn’t imagine a third reason. My best friend pouted, her voice brimming with grievance. “His first love, Eleanor, came back…” “Eddy hasn’t been home for three days, saying he was busy with work. Then this morning, he came back, and he didn’t even kiss or cuddle me. He just collapsed into bed and fell asleep.” She sniffled. “It was so out of character. So I secretly looked at his phone, and that’s when I found out Eleanor came back three days ago, and they even had dinner together, boohoohoo…” A husband who didn’t come home for three days? How wonderful that would be. If Alexander stayed away for three days, I’d wake up laughing in my dreams. But people were different, and their conditions were different. I handed my best friend a tissue to wipe her tears, asking, “Are you sure you want to divorce? If you do, will you be able to adjust to being someone else’s ‘devoted admirer’?” My best friend showed me her bank balance. “I’ve saved enough to support many men. I’ll try out a few; surely one of them will make me happy.” Seeing all those zeros in her balance, my heart fluttered. “Then you can support one more: me!” “You divorce, I divorce too!” The moment the words left my lips, I heard a soft chuckle behind me. “Hmph.” My best friend saw the person behind me first. Her face went white with fright, and without another word, she dropped me and bolted. “Divorce what?” The sofa beside me dipped. A warm, familiar hand easily settled on my waist. The man’s voice, though tinged with amusement, carried no hint of genuine happiness, sending a chill down my spine. When I didn’t answer, he pressed on, “What did Mrs. Hayes from next door say to you? Is she complaining about his front gate again, thinking it’s time for another replacement?” … When I first transmigrated, I was terrified of Alexander, this stranger, and his overly intimate behavior made my life a living hell. My best friend, feeling sorry for me, tried to help me escape eight times. Each time, I was caught and dragged back. And each time, Alexander had his men smash the front gate of her husband’s house. Even our two families’ companies had been constantly at loggerheads, so it was no wonder my best friend bolted at the sight of Alexander. “Nothing. You should go to work.” I subtly shifted sideways, evading Alexander’s hand. The next second, his entire body pressed against mine. His arm, unrestrained, wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me firmly into his embrace. “If they divorce, I can help her find ten, twenty other men. But if you dare to run…” The subtle scent of his elegant shower gel, the warmth of his body, no longer terrified me as they had three years ago. Yet, his words made my heart pound erratically. “You might have to suffer a little.” I looked up. Alexander’s handsome face was expressionless, but his gaze, full of deep meaning, rested on my hand. I remembered the iron chain I’d found in the corner of his study a few days ago. I had a chilling suspicion Alexander was about to lose his mind. 2 My social anxiety had been with me for over a decade. I loathed talking to people, and I detested eating, shopping, or working with anyone else. When I first transmigrated into this world, I was an employee at Alexander Thorne’s company. Even if I barely spoke a word for three days, my looks still attracted unwanted attention from colleagues. Mustering all my courage, I went to Alexander to resign. To my astonishment, he suddenly asked me, “Would you consider marrying me? No work, no in-laws, no social obligations. You just wouldn’t be able to leave the Thorne estate, ever.” The words “no social obligations” hit me hard. In this strange new world, that lifestyle seemed to be the only one that would offer me some peace. So, I married him. It only required dedicating two or three hours each evening. I figured I could endure it. It wasn’t until I discovered that the obsessively devoted fiancée of the domineering CEO next door was my best friend that my world finally brightened. She told me Alexander was deranged. She said I didn’t just dislike socializing; I needed to socialize. She argued that he shouldn’t restrict my freedom. So, my best friend helped me escape eight times. Alexander chased me down eight times, and each time he became more unhinged. The last time I was brought back, he had all the windows in the house sealed, threatening to burn down the entire neighborhood if I ever tried to escape again. I was terrified. I told my best friend I didn’t want to run anymore; the Thorne estate was a good place. But now that my best friend wanted a divorce, what was the point of me staying here? That night, Alexander called, saying he’d be home around midnight due to work. I immediately packed a bag, climbed out a window, scaled the wall, and made my way to my best friend’s house. “You two never officially tied the knot, so there’s no need for divorce papers. Tonight, the stars are aligned, the timing is perfect. Are you ready to go?” My best friend deftly stuffed jewelry and valuables into a large bag. “Yes! Absolutely! If your husband heard us talking about this during the day, and we didn’t leave tonight, he’d flay me alive anyway!” As I helped my best friend pack, I pondered thoughtfully. “He only threatened arson. Flaying someone alive is life-threatening; I don’t think he’d dare commit such a crime.” My best friend stared at me. “As if arson isn’t a crime he’d dare to commit!” We quickly finished packing. My best friend instructed me to drive to the airport, while she busied herself in the passenger seat, booking the earliest possible flights. Near the airport, I stepped on the brake and told my best friend to get out. “Are you backing out?” she complained, pouting. “Anna, you said today was perfect! If we go back now, after I divorce, we won’t be neighbors anymore…” Despite her grumbling, my best friend didn’t stop moving, dutifully following behind me. It wasn’t until I led her to another car and started driving away from home that she realized what was happening. “Huh! You’re not going back, are you? Where did you get this car?” I explained calmly, “I bought the car online and arranged for a valet to park it here. Flying would be too easy for them to track us with the real names on tickets. We’d be intercepted by the Hayes and Thorne people before we even boarded. Even if we flew abroad, they could still follow the trail. We need to go somewhere absolutely safe first.” My best friend’s eyes gleamed as she looked at me. Then, her voice turned syrupy sweet. “Anna, you’re so smart~! I love you so much~! Thank goodness I have you on this trip! Mwah!” Even as a woman, I couldn’t resist the emotional validation offered by another beautiful woman. My lips curved into a delighted smile. However, before I could bask in my pride, my best friend continued, “I always thought you were just a useless homebody. When I first started thinking about divorce, I even searched online for ‘adult child care guides.’” She paused. “Oh, by the way, where is this ‘absolutely safe’ place you mentioned?” The words “useless homebody” stung me deeply. I shot a side-eye at my best friend. “Your husband’s house,” I replied. My best friend froze. “…” 3 Our car pulled up in front of a grand mansion in the suburbs. My best friend, still bewildered, began pummeling my shoulder with her little fists, the blows more amusing than painful. “You scared me to death! This is my husband’s grandfather’s house! How could you trick me and say it was my husband’s house?” I asked her, “Is this house not your husband’s?” Hayes Enterprises was once the wealthiest corporation in the city. Mr. Hayes Sr.’s only son, Eddy Hayes’s father, had died in a car accident over a decade ago. Mr. Hayes Sr. himself wasn’t in good health, so now the vast family fortune was entirely managed by Eddy. My saying this was her husband’s house was technically correct. My best friend huffed. “Well, then it’s your husband’s house too!” I chuckled. “While Alexander is Mr. Hayes Sr.’s illegitimate son, he’s never been acknowledged by the Hayes family. So, nothing of the Hayes estate concerns him, and therefore, nothing concerns me.” This was also the reason Alexander and Eddy were constantly at odds, and why Alexander became the novel’s antagonist. “Alright, alright,” my best friend conceded, unable to argue with me. She quickly changed the subject. She looked anxious. “But why are we here? If Grandpa Hayes finds out about the divorce, it’ll be disastrous. Eddy really cares about his grandfather…” “It’s not about divorce,” I interrupted my best friend. “You’re here to prepare a birthday surprise for Eddy. You want to secretly go abroad to buy him a gift, so you’re asking Mr. Hayes Sr. for help to use his private jet. And you’re asking him to instruct his people to keep your whereabouts a complete secret from Eddy.” My best friend’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “Ah! With Grandpa helping us, no one will be able to track us! And Eddy, for his grandfather’s sake, definitely won’t dare to make a fuss about my disappearance or our divorce here…” A quick learner, she was. Mr. Hayes Sr. quickly arranged for us to be flown abroad, thoughtfully booking us a hotel in a bustling downtown area. After checking in, my best friend eagerly rushed out to shop and enjoy herself. I, on the other hand, felt a wave of relief wash over me. I wrapped myself in the duvet and sank into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. It had been so long since I’d left the house; the journey seemed to have drained all my energy. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but I found myself dreaming of my previous life. Back then, my best friend and I would read novels together in the hospital. She’d say she loved how the male lead, Eddy Hayes, was so deeply devoted to Eleanor, his first love, even divorcing the wealthy female lead and remaining a widower for Eleanor his entire life. Such a good man was impossible to find. I, on the other hand, said I liked the obsessive villain, Alexander Thorne. His background as an illegitimate child was pitiable, and he’d clawed his way up to become the city’s richest man, even taking down the Hayes family. It was just a shame he was such a simp for love. He’d kidnapped Eddy’s first love for revenge, but then fell for her himself, and in the end, actually handed over his entire fortune to the male lead for love. I also dreamed of when I first transmigrated and married Alexander. The Thorne estate was empty and desolate, like a prison, without even a single servant. I would sleep until the afternoon, my stomach growling with hunger, only to find the refrigerator bare. But I was unwilling to leave the house. The result was that I fainted during our intimate moments with Alexander one evening. When I groggily woke up, my best friend had returned and was posing in front of the mirror, admiring her new clothes. Seeing me awake, she asked with a mischievous grin, “Why is your face so red? Quick, tell me, what did you dream about?” I answered truthfully, “I dreamed that Alexander and I were… exercising, and then I fainted.” My best friend burst into peals of laughter. Between giggles, she asked, “Do you want me to find you some high-class room service, or should I take you to a bar on the next street to blow off some steam? Hahahaha!” I rubbed my aching head and continued, “The dream was real. When I woke up that time, Alexander even told me… that if I ever left him, I wouldn’t survive seven days.” My best friend stopped laughing. In these three years, whether through Alexander’s actions or Eddy’s words, she had witnessed Alexander’s chilling aura and ruthless methods. She quickly sat on the edge of the bed, her face serious. “How about we go to the hospital for a check-up? See if Alexander put any poison or hex on you. Otherwise, how could he come up with such a precise number as seven days?” I accused my best friend of reading too many novels. But she insisted on taking me to the hospital. Knowing I disliked contact with strangers, she simply booked two appointments, saying she could accompany me for both check-ups that way. An hour later, we both stared at the papers in our hands, dumbfounded. I was pregnant. And so was she.

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My father, heartbroken by my decade-long unspoken crush, took matters into his own hands. He drugged his cross-age friend and deposited him in my bed. Waking up, the man, Dominic Hale, coldly agreed to marry me. But soon after our wedding, Dominic began frequent business trips abroad, each lasting three years. I gave birth to our daughter, Lily, alone, waiting for him to return. Three years later, I heard he was finally coming home. I abandoned an important business engagement, taking our daughter to the airport to meet him. Lily, brimming with excitement, begged him for a hug. He merely glanced at me, his voice flat. “I’m sorry, I have a phobia of germs.” From that day on, Lily and I washed our hands at least three times, and our home was kept impeccably spotless. Yet, he never came back. And he never once held our daughter. Until I saw a video clip. Someone asked him: “Dominic, what’s the happiest thing for you?” He replied casually, “Last week, I guess, abroad. After putting Daisy to bed, I pulled Chloe into the bathroom.” Amidst the sounds of laughter and teasing, my hands and feet turned to ice. Chloe was his ex-girlfriend, with whom he’d had a long, complicated history. Daisy was Chloe’s daughter. I’d heard he’d been living with them for the past three years abroad, and now I knew it was true. My heart shattered. I left the divorce papers, canceled our identities, and took Lily out of the country. 1 The nanny brought Lily home from kindergarten, her eyes swollen from crying. “Mommy, does Lily not have a Daddy…?” She hiccupped between sobs, utterly heartbroken. “Daddy promised he’d come to my parent-teacher conference, but when he got there, he said he was Daisy Miller’s daddy.” Her voice broke. “Mommy, everyone says Lily is a child without a Daddy, boohoohoo…” A sharp pain shot through my chest. My eyes burned as I pulled my daughter into my arms. I wanted to say something comforting, but Dominic’s cold indifference choked the words in my throat. I regretted everything. I had waited three years, believing he had finally come to his senses, willing to return home and reunite with Lily and me. But no, it was merely because Chloe had expressed a desire to come back to the States. He had then, without a second thought, booked tickets, arranged everything, even transferring his ex-girlfriend’s daughter to the best kindergarten. The day we went to the airport to greet him, Lily wore her prettiest dress, asking me nervously, “Mommy, will Daddy like Lily?” I nodded. “Lily is Daddy’s only daughter, of course, he will.” But when we arrived at the airport, full of joyous anticipation, we saw Dominic, holding Chloe’s hand, a three-year-old girl in his arms. Lily and I froze. Dominic barely glanced at me. “Excuse me, I need to get Chloe and Daisy settled first. You two go home.” He didn’t even spare Lily a look, yet his gaze upon Daisy was filled with tender affection. The memory made me close my eyes in despair. “I’m so sorry, Lily. It’s all Mommy’s fault. Next time, Mommy will go to your parent-teacher conference.” After washing Lily’s face and finally coaxing her to sleep, her tiny brows remained tightly furrowed. “Daddy, hug me…” My heart felt as if it were being pricked by needles. If it weren’t for what happened three years ago, Lily might not have to suffer like this. Three years ago, my father, feeling sorry for my decade-long secret crush, simply drugged Dominic Hale and placed him in my bed. I was utterly shocked. “Dad, are you trying to ruin my life?” My father sighed. “I saw it, darling. You like Dominic, and that boy has a soft spot for you too, he just won’t admit it. That night, when he was drunk, I even heard him calling your name. I thought you two were dragging your feet, so I decided to push things along.” I resisted with all my might, but the next second, a feverish heat consumed me. My father chuckled. “I put something in your drink too. Cherish this night.” Then, he locked the door from the outside. After that night, Dominic sobered up and said coldly, “Yvonne, I will take responsibility and marry you.” I thought a happy life was about to begin. But at a gathering soon after, I accidentally overheard his conversation with a friend. “Dominic, you’re not seeing the good in this. Yvonne is beautiful, rich, and she loves you. You should just settle down and be happy.” Dominic took a drag from his cigarette and scoffed. “Initially, I did have some feelings for her, but I never expected her to be so… opportunistic. The thought of her drugging me that night, aggressively throwing herself at me, just makes me… sick.” Before I could even figure out how to properly explain, he obtained a visa and left the country two weeks later. But that one night had given me a child. I gave birth to our daughter, Lily, alone, eagerly waiting day and night for him to return. What I waited for, however, was his increasingly entangled relationship with Chloe and her daughter. In the empty, silent mansion, I pulled out my phone, about to call Dominic and ask when he was coming back. Suddenly, the door opened, and Dominic walked in, his expression detached. He glanced at the sleeping Lily and said casually, “Daisy is coming over tomorrow to play. You and Lily should go out.” Meeting my bewildered gaze, his lips curled into a faint smile. “Daisy is quite possessive; she doesn’t like other little girls calling me Daddy.” The anger that had been simmering within me finally boiled over. I laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. “Dominic Hale, do you even remember who your biological daughter is anymore?” My voice cracked. “Do you know what happened to Lily at kindergarten today—” Dominic frowned slightly, cutting me off. “Yvonne, I don’t need you to remind me of this. I’m sorry about kindergarten today; Daisy also had a parent-teacher conference. Chloe and her father are divorced; she’s overwhelmed raising a child alone. Besides, before I even met you, I swore to Chloe that I would never let her suffer any injustice.” He continued, his voice firm, “I’ve already married you as you wished. You can’t stop me from caring for them. I owe them that much.” Dominic finished speaking, tossed his jacket aside, and went into the bathroom. The rushing water drowned out my desperate, helpless sobs. If only I had known that marriage to him would become like this, I would have chosen death over succumbing to that night. I looked at the freshly written divorce papers on my laptop, a bitter smile on my face. If not for Lily, given my personality, I would have filed for divorce long ago. But thinking of Lily’s wounded little face, I wanted to fight for her, unwilling to let her grow up without a father. Lily woke up early, overjoyed to learn her Daddy was back. She bounced excitedly on her small bed. “I’m going to take the picture I just drew to show Daddy!” Children forget easily. Lily had already forgiven Dominic for yesterday’s kindergarten incident. Lily happily ran downstairs. But she saw Chloe and Daisy already there, Dominic gently peeling an orange for Daisy. “Daddy, who are they?” Seeing Lily still at home, Dominic frowned. “Why are you still here? Where’s your mother?” Lily was startled, but she still carefully offered the family portrait she had spent a week drawing. “This is Lily’s family portrait. I drew it thinking I’d give it to Daddy when he came home…” The drawing was just about to be handed over when a small hand unceremoniously snatched it away. “What a trashy drawing!” Daisy stomped her foot and tore it in half. She put her hands on her hips defiantly, then violently shoved my daughter. “He’s my Daddy! Lily Hale, all the kids say you’re a bastard! Who said you could call him Daddy?” Seeing Lily fall to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, I panicked. I helped Lily up and glared coldly at Daisy. “Apologize.” Dominic frowned tightly, displeased. “Yvonne, why are you being so harsh with a child?” Without a word, he scooped Daisy into his arms. “I told you last night that Daisy doesn’t like others calling me Daddy. She’s just upset and hurt, she didn’t mean to push Lily.” I remained unyielding, still insisting. “Didn’t you see if she meant it or not? Dominic, she just called Lily a bastard to her face. Tell her, is Lily really a bastard?” Dominic hesitated for a moment, but then he continued to gently console Daisy, with no intention of making her apologize. Chloe’s eyes flickered, and she smiled gracefully and apologized. “Miss Hale, I’m so sorry. Daisy grew up abroad and has a very straightforward personality; she just speaks her mind. Please don’t take it to heart.” As soon as she said that, the little girl in Dominic’s arms looked even more smug. “I wasn’t wrong! All the kids said Lily Hale is a bastard! She’s the one who stole my Daddy!” I clenched my fists, staring coldly at Dominic. Before, when he said he had a phobia of germs, Lily and I endured it, constantly accommodating him. He chose to get involved with other women under the guise of working overtime, and I turned a blind eye. But now, I could not tolerate anyone calling my daughter a bastard. “Dominic Hale, I’m asking you one more time—” “Is Lily one?” A flicker of displeasure crossed Dominic’s face, but he laughed coldly. “Don’t you know how she became my daughter?” Then, his voice changed, laced with a warning. “Alright, today is Daisy’s playdate. Let’s not make everyone unhappy.” Chloe and Daisy smirked from the side, clearly gloating. Dominic, his heart aching, picked up Daisy. “Daddy will buy you toys, okay?” “And a pretty Elsa dress!” “Alright,” Dominic agreed, his face full of doting affection. Watching his retreating back, my heart turned cold. Finally, I spoke the words I had weighed countless times but never dared to utter. “Dominic Hale, let’s get a divorce!” Dominic’s steps faltered. He turned back, his gaze chilling. “Yvonne, do you think this is amusing?” His voice dripped with disdain. “If you believe this can threaten me, then so be it. Have it your way.” With that, he left without another glance. A flicker of triumph danced in Chloe’s eyes, quickly suppressed. She returned to me, offering profuse apologies. “I’m truly sorry, Miss Hale. Dominic and I are completely innocent. He’s a man of integrity and deep loyalty. He felt sorry for me divorcing so early and my child not having a father, so he just took a little more care. Please don’t take it to heart, and don’t let this cause any unpleasantness…” Before leaving, Chloe added me on contact. She said she wanted to compensate Lily for the drawing. “Chloe, come here.” Dominic, holding Daisy, stood a short distance outside, calling her softly. “Coming!” Chloe hurried out, her face beaming. Their conversation, before they were out of earshot, drifted clearly into my ears. “Dominic, you really shouldn’t have. Miss Hale saying she wants a divorce was just out of anger. How could you agree so readily?” Dominic sneered, “She used every trick in the book to force this marriage. How could she possibly bear to divorce?” He scoffed. “Her being so harsh with our Daisy just now was a small punishment for her. It won’t be long before she’s begging me to come back.” I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. Dominic Hale, people change. The Yvonne who once loved you recklessly, putting everything on the line, is dead. Now, for my daughter’s sake, I will choose to leave you for good. Lily hid in her room, sobbing uncontrollably. “Mommy, the kids at school say Daddy is Daisy Miller’s daddy, but Lily isn’t trying to steal her Daddy…” Later, she fell asleep clutching a photo of Dominic, but I lay awake all night. I opened my phone and saw Chloe had updated her social media. “Daisy finally has the fatherly love she was missing. What belongs to us, no one can take away!” Beneath the text was a photo of the three of them intimately embracing, smiling for the camera, looking like a perfect family. I casually ‘liked’ the post when suddenly, a message popped up on my phone. It was a video from Chloe. I opened it and saw Dominic Hale’s handsome face. The timestamp was from when he had just returned to the country. A friend asked him: “Dominic, what’s the happiest thing for you?” He replied casually, “Last week, I guess, abroad. After putting Daisy to bed, I pulled Chloe into the bathroom.” Combined with the tenderness in his eyes and the teasing laughter from his friends, my hands and feet turned to ice. Chloe had once shared a post on social media: “Ever since having a child, we haven’t been able to have a private world for just the two of us. We can only wait for Daisy to fall asleep, then sneak off to do this and that…” I was lost in thought when another message from Chloe came through. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I accidentally clicked the wrong button just now and sent it to you. By the time I realized, I couldn’t unsend it.” She continued, “But honestly, you must know Dominic’s true feelings by now, right? You forced him into marriage with those underhanded tactics and became Mrs. Hale. For the past three years abroad, he’s been with Daisy and me.” She added, “Even though the child isn’t his, Dominic has been more thoughtful and considerate than a biological father. Even after we broke up, he still couldn’t bear to let me go. It won’t be long before we’re back together.” She pressed on, “Miss Hale, I know your family is wealthy, and you’re not short of men. I advise you not to make things difficult for yourself. Just step aside voluntarily.” Then she sent another picture. Daisy smiled brightly in the middle, while Chloe and Dominic simultaneously kissed the girl’s cheeks, truly looking like a perfect, happy family. I smiled and replied, “Alright.” Then, I called my father. “Dad, I’ve made up my mind. I’m taking Lily to live abroad. We’re leaving in a few days.” My father’s surprised voice came through the phone. “Really? But I heard Dominic’s back. You two just reunited as a family; does he agree to this?” I laughed, a desolate, bitter sound. “He couldn’t be happier.”

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What does it feel like to be pinned to an operating table by your own mother, about to have a kidney removed? I learned at eighteen. Perhaps I understood she didn’t love me long before she divorced my father. I just never imagined her hatred ran this deep. 1 When I was seven, my parents joined the ranks of countless divorcing couples. In court, I watched my parents feign civility, shifting blame back and forth. Expressionless, I stood up and addressed the judge. “I choose to live on my own. I don’t want either of them.” Then, amidst the astonished stares of everyone present, I walked out. No one ever knew how I managed to grow up. My mother was a gambler, spending her days playing cards and seeking thrills with her friends. My father, disappointed I was a girl, worked away from home year-round, never even returning for holidays. Independence, for an ordinary seven-year-old, might seem a distant concept. For me, it was second nature. For the next ten years, they paid no attention to me. Then, at eighteen, my mother suddenly appeared at my door. No gentle inquiries about my well-being. She wanted my kidney. After she left, I went back inside. The house was stripped bare of anything that had belonged to my mother. My father said spitefully, “Your mother already found someone else. She was probably afraid you’d be a burden and scare him off, so she likely didn’t even mention she had a child.” Seeing my lack of reaction, my father grew annoyed and muttered, “I’m going to rent this place out. I’m always on the road anyway, and you…” I wasn’t surprised he was kicking me out, just shocked it was happening so soon. As I packed my meager belongings, a morbid curiosity made me ask him, “Dad, if I had been a boy, would you still have abandoned me?” My father froze, then averted his gaze, mumbling evasively. I hadn’t truly expected an answer. Once my things were packed, I held out my hand to him. “There’s a semi-basement storage room downstairs in this building. It’s too small to rent out. Give me the key. I need a place to stay when school’s out.” This time, my father was surprisingly quick to hand over the key, almost desperately so. That very night, after a trip to the real estate agent, he left without looking back. With the help of the community center and kind neighbors, a month later I successfully enrolled in a boarding school, not too close, not too far. Spring turned to autumn, years passed. I grew, vigorous as a resilient wild grass. In a blink, my eighteenth birthday arrived. It wasn’t a day for celebration; my financial lifeline was cut. And with it, my monthly contact with my parents ceased entirely. Truth be told, my grades were average, enough to get into a decent college. But I resolutely gave up on university and became an apprentice at the largest auto repair shop in our city. A girl learning auto repair? Not only did the owner find it unbelievable, even my master mechanic thought it a waste of time to teach me. But I persisted. Over time, everyone saw that I wasn’t just having a fleeting interest. I could endure more hardship than anyone, and I was eager to learn and improve. Gradually, not only was my master willing to teach me everything he knew, but my senior colleagues were also happy to share their experiences. I established myself at the shop, my skills growing steadily, and my bank balance multiplied. Everything was heading in the direction I had planned. If only my mother hadn’t shown up at the shop and caused a scene. She burst into the shop, hair disheveled, just as I was under a BMW, working on the car. All I could see were her feet. “Is Aubrey here? Tell her to come out. I’m her mother, and I need to see her urgently.” The people in the shop had never heard me mention parents, so they looked at her with suspicion. But upon closer inspection, her face bore a five-point resemblance to mine, making them hesitate. I quietly scooted further into the shadows under the car. My boss casually glanced over, his expression unwavering as he spoke. “What do you need her for?” My mother hesitated, then spoke with a forced maternal tenderness. “Isn’t it getting cold? I was worried Aubrey didn’t have warm clothes, so I wanted to take her shopping for a few things. Where is she? Tell her to come out! Do you think I’d lie to you?” This time, it was my master who spoke. He stood strategically, placing himself between my mother and the BMW. “Aubrey doesn’t work here anymore. Please leave. We’re about to wash the cars; you wouldn’t want to get your clothes wet.” Seeing that no one in the shop believed her, my mother dropped the pretense and began creating a huge ruckus. “Bullshit! I asked around! She works here! What are you trying to hide her for, you creeps?!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “A bunch of grown men hiding a young girl! I… I’ll go outside and yell that you’ve corrupted my daughter and won’t let me take her!” “Don’t stop me! I must find Aubrey today! I can’t wait; there’s no time left!” Her shouts attracted more and more onlookers outside the shop. My master and senior colleagues were honest, decent men. Faced with such a belligerent shrew, they didn’t even know how to respond. Yet, even as she hurled insults and smeared their reputations, they held their ground, protecting me. But I couldn’t hide any longer. I couldn’t let her hurt these people who had genuinely cared for me. I crawled out from under the car, grabbed a rag to wipe the black grease from my hands, and stood expressionless before my mother. “Brenda Lin,” I said coldly, “I’m giving you two choices: either tell the truth, or get out.” My mother pointed a finger at my nose and shrieked, “What did you call me?! I’m your damn mother! You call me Brenda Lin?! Are you even human, disowning your own mother?” I was too tired to argue. I simply stated, “I have all the time in the world to stand here and listen to you. You can curse for a day, a month, a year; I’m all ears.” Her urgency, her impatience from earlier, wasn’t feigned. Grasping her weakness was the fastest way to restore peace to the shop. Sure enough, Brenda stopped cursing. A flicker of guilt crossed her face, quickly masked by her deliberately raised chin and wide, defiant eyes. She said self-righteously, “Your brother is sick and needs a kidney transplant. You need to come with me for compatibility testing. The doctors say a biological sister has a high success rate. It’s your duty!” … The onlookers, who had initially joined Brenda in criticizing the shop for hiding a girl and me for addressing my mother by her first name, now fell silent. Their eyes on Brenda were filled with disbelief and outrage. I, however, burst into laughter, bending over with amusement. So, His Royal Highness was sick, was he? My laughter, sharp and piercing, unnerved Brenda. She swallowed, puffed out her chest, and issued a command. “Laugh, laugh, laugh! Your brother is sick, and you can still laugh? You’re worse than an animal! Get with me now! At most, after the transplant, I’ll give you two thousand dollars for supplements to recover.” She scoffed. “Hmph, I don’t even think you’ll need supplements. Your body’s tough as nails.” The smile slowly faded from my face. My expression darkened. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, scrutinizing her shameless face. Tsk, tsk, tsk, truly unsightly. “Brenda Lin, from the moment you screamed ‘I don’t want this daughter!’ ‘I don’t want this daughter!’ in court when you divorced my father, you ceased to be my mother. The five hundred dollars in child support you sent me each month before I turned eighteen, I will now, in front of everyone, return to you in one lump sum. From this moment on, we are completely even. As for your precious prince needing a kidney transplant…” I deliberately drew out the last words. Brenda’s eyes held a flicker of desperate hope as she looked at me. Then, I spoke each word clearly, emphatically: “That has nothing to do with me. If you make another scene here, don’t blame me for personally dragging you to the police station. If you don’t believe me, feel free to test whether I’ll actually do it.” Watching the hope in Brenda’s eyes shatter into fragments, an inexplicable surge of satisfaction rose in my heart. She didn’t know. On nights spent in that basement, I too had trembled uncontrollably from thunder and lightning, hoping she would come to see me, or at least answer a call so I could hear my mother’s voice. Yet, she had blocked me. The thought of her comforting her son, telling him not to be afraid, letting him sleep soundly, made a wave of hatred instantly override my fear. In the thunder, I had opened the window level with the ground, stood on a stool by the sill, letting the wind and rain lash against me, fearless and unafraid. Brenda knew I meant what I said. She cursed me as an ungrateful wretch and a white-eyed wolf, then pressed me to transfer the money to her. Finally, she left reluctantly, defeated. I ignored the complex glances cast my way, slipped back under the car, and continued my work. By the time I finished, it was well past closing time. My boss sat by the shop door, smoking. Seeing me emerge from under the car, he put out his cigarette, looking as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. All my life, I had seen mostly the cold indifference of the world. My boss’s hesitation, I interpreted as him not knowing how to fire me, a potential magnet for future trouble from Brenda. I thought for a moment, then, being considerate, spoke first: “Boss, could you give me a few days to find a new place before I leave?” My boss shot up, his voice tinged with anger. “What are you talking about, Aubrey? What kind of person do you take me for, John Bell? I… I was going to ask if you needed to borrow some money, since you gave her all yours? Or if you wanted an advance on a few months’ salary? I just didn’t want to hurt your pride.” This time, it was my turn to be surprised. Wasn’t my boss afraid Brenda would cause trouble again? She was a greedy, insatiable woman. Thinking this, the question slipped out. My boss grinned, showing off his pearly whites, and said honestly, “No businessman wants trouble, but I especially don’t want my employees to be bullied. I don’t look for trouble, but if trouble comes, I’m not afraid of it. Aubrey, you just keep working here steadily. If you have any financial difficulties, just say the word.” A warmth silently bloomed inside me, spreading through my whole body, and a moist light filled my heart. “Thank you, Boss.” My boss scratched his head uncomfortably as he closed the door, saying, “Oh, come on, we’ve known each other this long. ‘Boss, boss’ sounds too formal. Just call me John from now on.” I repeated the name to myself. The end syllable made me smile, as if every time I said it, I would be happy. Back at the dorms John rented for us behind the shop, the moment I stepped inside, I noticed a difference. Usually, by this time, snores would be echoing through the rooms. But today, there was no snoring, only the clinking and clanking of pots and pans from the kitchen. Hearing the door open, my master stuck his head out from the kitchen. This surprised me even more. My master owned his own house and didn’t live in the dorms. What was he doing in our kitchen so late at night? Soon after, a few senior colleagues also appeared, waving me to sit at the dining table. A feast was coming. Watching dish after dish being placed on the table, I suddenly understood. These men, not given to many words, were comforting me in their own way. During the meal, no one mentioned the day’s events. Everyone spoke of lighthearted topics. My usually quiet master even told me a corny old joke. I ate more that night than I ever had. I had always been used to fighting my battles alone. Now, suddenly, having people standing behind me, it felt like I had a strong support system, a new motivation. My fearless heart grew even stronger. After seeing my master off, I tidied the kitchen. I began to make careful plans. Over the years, although my contact with Brenda had been minimal, it didn’t mean I didn’t understand her. On the contrary, I knew her very well. She had tasted sweetness from me today; tomorrow, she would demand more. Rather than being passively exploited, I needed to actively bare my fangs. I needed to let Brenda know the price of provoking me.

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Five years had passed since I, Noah Sterling, returned to my wealthy birth family—and since Lucas Sterling, the “son” who replaced me, shattered my world by crashing a car into my leg. My parents and childhood sweetheart, Seraphina, rushed me to the hospital. When doctors said I might never walk again, Seraphina proposed, vowing to care for me. My parents cut ties with Lucas, urging me to hand over evidence against him so they could “handle it.” Later, they claimed he drowned fleeing justice. I believed them. Until, five years into our marriage, I saw Lucas—alive. He held my son, Leo, sighing at Seraphina: “Without you and Mom and Dad, Noah would’ve sent me to prison. That cripple will never know the boy is mine—or that they swapped his meds for placebos.” Seraphina softened. “Marrying him let me sign affidavits to protect you. As long as you’re safe, it was worth it.” My heart tore open. My own family had conspired against me. If this was their game, I’d simply… quit. … In the hospital lobby, I watched Lucas embrace Leo, Seraphina nestled beside them, a picture of familial bliss. My chest constricted, a hollow ache where my heart should be. I couldn’t breathe. My precious son, the boy I adored, wasn’t mine. My wife, who’d vowed to care for me forever, was in love with the man who’d nearly ended my life. Even my parents, after destroying the evidence, still hadn’t trusted me, pushing Seraphina to marry me so she could always provide Lucas with legal cover. My phone vibrated. It was Mom. “Noah, why didn’t you wait for us to come to the hospital? We’re almost there, where are you?” Her voice was laced with urgent concern, and a wave of searing fury washed over me. I clenched my fist, nails digging deep into my palm. “Oh, I was thinking I couldn’t burden you my whole life, so I decided to come for this rehab session by myself.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “We’re family, darling! How could you ever be a burden? Have you made it inside the hospital yet? We’re on our way!” Every previous physical therapy session, Mom and Dad had always accompanied me. I’d believed it was out of love and concern. Now, I saw the sinister truth beneath the surface. “Yes, I just arrived. Heading into the main lobby on the ground floor.” I steered my wheelchair to a secluded corner, speaking deliberately. Just as I expected, their tone grew frantic. They told me not to go in, that it was too crowded and unsafe, and they were close by, about to find me. I gave a cold affirmation and hung up. Across the lobby, I saw Seraphina answer her phone. Her face instantly tightened with alarm. She muttered a few words to Lucas, then quickly scooped Leo from his arms and exited through a back door. Lucas melted into the crowd, vanishing from sight. A bitter realization dawned on me. That call must have been from Mom and Dad. They hadn’t wanted me to enter because they were afraid I’d see Lucas and Seraphina, not because they were worried about my safety. Shock and anguish surged through me, threatening to drown me. Everyone, everyone, had conspired to deceive me for the sake of Lucas, the man who was truly the culprit! My nails dug so deep they almost tore my palm, the sharp pain a lifeline, pulling me back to a semblance of clarity. Very well. If they wanted a show, I’d give them one. I pulled out my phone, started a voice recording, and steered my wheelchair towards the hospital entrance, meeting my parents as they rushed in. Mom’s eyes were wide with a flicker of panic. “Noah, why did you go in without waiting for us?” Dad, beside her, frowned. “Didn’t we tell you the hospital is busy and you shouldn’t go in alone?” “I waited for ages, then had to use the restroom.” I replied calmly, my expression neutral. Mom’s gaze was probing. “You didn’t… see anyone, did you?” Her nervous expression was a fresh stab to my heart. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to scream, to demand an explanation. Why lie to me? But I knew, deep down, that asking was pointless now. I had already decided to leave them behind. “See anyone? I was in the restroom for a while, too busy to notice.” My unwavering demeanor seemed to reassure them. “Come on, then. We’ll go up with you.” Dad took the handles of my wheelchair, while Mom knelt to secure my face mask. “Flu season is bad, sweetie. You need to protect yourself, or Mom will worry sick if you get ill.” In the past, her worried eyes and caring words would have moved me deeply. But now, I could feel not a trace of genuine love from her. We arrived at the rehabilitation center on the twelfth floor. I lay on the hospital bed, letting the doctor administer the anesthetic. Then, in a haze between sleep and wakefulness, I heard my parents’ conversation with him. “Mr. Sterling’s leg has been neglected for far too long. If he doesn’t have surgery soon, he really will never walk again…” “The previous rehab sessions were all half-measures, and the medication was swapped for placebos, just as you instructed. Mr. Sterling, are you truly going to stand by and watch your son remain crippled at such a young age?” Dad’s voice was stern, cutting. “I paid a fortune to bring you here from overseas, not to listen to your pointless questions. Just do as I say!” Mom chimed in, her voice cold. “So what if he can’t walk again? We can support him for life. Do you, an outsider, need to worry about that? Don’t forget, we’ve been paying your salary for five years. Don’t start thinking you’re actually part of the hospital staff.” The doctor quickly conceded. “No, no, I just meant… Mr. Sterling has been on anesthetics for years. He might develop a tolerance later on. What would we do then?” “That’s your problem to figure out. Just make sure his leg neither recovers nor gets worse. Maintain that balance.” “Yes, sir.” The door opened, and my parents walked out. I lay there, feeling as if I’d been plunged into a freezing hell. They didn’t know I was already developing a tolerance to the anesthetics. I’d heard every word, and every word was now recorded. They had even hired a doctor from overseas and kept him on their payroll for five years, all to deceive me! A sharp, agonizing pain tore through my chest. Tears welled in my eyes, tracing silent paths down my temples. After the ‘treatment’ ended, my parents enthusiastically pushed me back home. Seraphina, who just two hours ago had been engrossed with Lucas at the hospital, now greeted us at the door, apron tied around her waist. “Honey, rehab must have been exhausting, right? I made bone broth for you. Drink it, it’ll help you get better faster!” Her eyes brimmed with tenderness and concern, as if she were still the loving woman who swore to care for me for life. If I hadn’t seen her with Lucas at the hospital, if I hadn’t overheard their conversation, I might have been deeply moved. But now, her smile felt utterly fake. The man she truly loved was the very one who’d shattered my leg. To provide him with legal immunity, she’d willingly sacrificed her own marriage, feigning affection for me. I glanced at Leo, who was playing on the sofa with a tablet. It had taken me so many years to realize he had never once called me “Dad.” Seraphina had always brushed it off, claiming he was too young, that it was normal for him not to say it yet, telling me not to overthink things. Now, I knew. It was simply because I wasn’t his father. During dinner, Mom’s eyes suddenly turned red as she stared at the dishes on the table, and she began to cry softly. Seraphina quickly put down her utensils and asked what was wrong, while Dad sighed, gently patting her back. “Your mom probably saw Lucas’s favorite dishes. She misses him.” He paused, his voice heavy. “That boy, even though he did something wrong, he was still our child for over a decade. He didn’t deserve to die like that…” I sensed they were watching my expression, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. Didn’t deserve to die? So, it’s okay to sacrifice me for him? Is this my fate? “Honey, it’s been five years,” Seraphina said, her voice gentle. “Lucas was only twenty back then. Maybe he just acted rashly. We grew up together; he always had a bit of an extreme personality. He must have felt you were trying to steal everything from him.” Her eyes were a little hesitant. “His… anniversary is in five days. I know you don’t want to go. Can Dad, Mom, and I go pay our respects for him?” “Hmm. Go ahead. After all, he was in this house longer than I was. It’s natural for you to have feelings for him.” I replied, my voice flat. Seraphina visibly relaxed, her tone growing even softer. “Honey, I knew you were kind-hearted. You wouldn’t hold a grudge against your… late brother.” Mom wiped her tears. “My good son. It’s true, my own child is more understanding.” I bowed my head into my bowl, letting tears drip silently. So, they knew I was their biological child all along. My stomach clenched in a painful knot, and I excused myself, claiming to feel unwell, and retreated to my room. Seraphina followed shortly after, carrying a cup of stomach medicine she’d prepared, her eyes filled with worry and sympathy. Seeing that I didn’t want to talk, she silently brought in warm water and gently wiped my face with a cloth. For the ten years since I’d been brought back home, her eyes had only been on me. Even when Lucas had confessed his feelings to her, he’d only been met with her cold rejection. Now, I finally understood. She didn’t love me; she simply wanted to marry the future heir of Sterling Enterprises. Her love and her marriage were two entirely separate things. Late that night, after Seraphina and Leo had fallen asleep, I quietly got up and picked up her phone from her bedside table. The password was Leo’s birthday. The top contact in her WeChat was me, followed by Mom and Dad. I scrolled through, finding no anomalies. It wasn’t until I tried switching accounts that I discovered Seraphina had a second, private account. The chat history on that account was with only one person: Lucas. Seraphina, it’s been five years. How much longer do I have to hide? He doesn’t have any evidence of me hitting him, and he’s a cripple now, utterly harmless. Can you bear to keep our son separated from his father any longer? Seraphina’s replies were reassuring: Mom, Dad, and I are already planning our next move. Don’t rush things. I discovered that Lucas had returned to the country a few days prior. They had arranged a new identity for him and even registered a real estate company in his name. In five days, it would be the company’s grand opening. My fingers trembled as I clicked through his social media feed. My heart turned colder with each photo. Over the past five years, Lucas had been living a lavish life overseas, funded entirely by my parents. He wore luxury brands from Sterling Enterprises, lived in lavish villas owned by the company abroad. Seraphina had used ‘business trips’ as an excuse to fly out and be with him. Even my parents were beaming in the photos, their smiles wide and genuine. At that moment, I finally understood: they were the real family. I fought back the burning tears in my eyes, snapping screenshots of all the evidence. Then, I switched back to her main account. That’s when I noticed Seraphina had changed her personal status. It used to be just one word: [Waiting]. I’d asked her what it meant, and she’d smiled, saying she was waiting for my leg to heal. Now, it read: [He’s Returned]. I finally understood. “Waiting” meant waiting for Lucas to come back. “He’s Returned” meant Lucas was back for good. I placed the phone back on her bedside table, then went out to the balcony and made a call. “Hello, I’d like to book a flight for five days from now, heading overseas.” Five days. Enough time to bid farewell to five years of fake love. Back in bed, I lay awake through the night. The next day, during lunch, my phone screen lit up. Seraphina, glancing over, instantly blanched. “Honey, what card are you applying to cancel?” I calmly pressed the screen off. “My bank card is expiring. I just scheduled a replacement.” She seemed to want to say more, but her phone rang. “Honey, something’s come up at the company. I need to take care of it. I won’t be able to join you for lunch.” I nodded. As she left, Leo insisted on going with her. Mom and Dad stepped in, promising to take him out to play, and Seraphina quickly departed. I was finally alone in the house. Just as I was about to leave, a friend request popped up on my phone. Noah, you heard everything at the hospital yesterday, didn’t you? It was Lucas. My wife, my son… they’re all mine. Even your real parents, once they heard the doctors speculate you might not be able to have children after the accident, immediately decided to protect me. They even pushed Seraphina to be with me, to give me children. We’re the legitimate couple. You’re just a clown. They even opened a company for me. The grand opening is in five days. I bet they’re keeping that from you too, right? I really regret not crippling you sooner. All of this should have been mine ages ago. Each word was a razor-sharp blade, twisting in my heart. So that was why. That was why my parents had chosen to protect him. That was why Seraphina had willingly borne him a son. I took screenshots of all the messages, then found my marriage certificate with Seraphina. Beneath her bedside table, I discovered the affidavit. Clenching these documents, I went to see a lawyer. The lawyer informed me that chat records couldn’t be considered definitive evidence, and a letter of understanding provided by a family member held legal weight. I asked him to draft divorce papers, but he frowned, telling me my marriage certificate was fake. The words struck me like lightning. My heart plummeted into an abyss of despair. Lucas hadn’t been wrong. I was nothing but a fool, a clown in their elaborate circus. The lawyer’s eyes, however, lit up. If the marriage certificate was fake, then Seraphina’s affidavit was legally invalid. It amounted to fraud and obstruction of justice! I was overwhelmed with gratitude, begging him to help me draft a complaint. After leaving the law firm, I took a taxi to another hospital for a full medical examination. When the doctor told me there was still hope for my leg, tears of joy welled in my eyes. He explained that the old car accident had caused a blockage in my vas deferens, preventing me from having children, but it could be corrected with surgery. As for my leg fracture, since it hadn’t worsened over five years, I could regain the ability to walk with prompt surgery.

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