The day of my mom’s heart transplant, my husband, Chase, redirected the donor heart. He gave it to a stranger sponsored by Lucy, his old flame, causing my mom’s surgery to fail and her to die. While making the funeral arrangements, I accidentally walked in on Chase and a visibly pregnant Lucy looking incredibly cozy. Lucy, probably afraid I’d be furious, looked to Chase. He was the one who said, “It’s not like her mom was going to die immediately without a new heart.” Clutching Mom’s urn, I confronted him. But Chase just shot back, annoyed, “It’s just one heart. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Tears streamed down my face. My heart felt like ashes. This failed marriage… it was time for it to end. 1 Because the donor’s family backed out at the last minute, Mom’s heart transplant failed. I knelt before the doctor, begging him to talk to the family again, but he told me there was nothing he could do. And because the surgery failed, Mom had to be resuscitated twice, but it was no use. As Mom was fading, I knelt by her bedside, sobbing uncontrollably. “It’s my fault, Mom! It’s all my fault!” She was so thin, just skin and bones, her hospital gown hanging loosely on her. “Mia, sweetie, Mom doesn’t blame you.” “But when Mom’s gone, there’ll be no one left in this world to love you. Mom worries about you… You have to remember to love yourself, okay?” Listening to her hoarse voice, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, aching so much I could barely breathe. “Mom…” Beeeeep— Before I could get the word out, the heart monitor let out a piercing, long beep. At the same time, the hand Mom had been struggling to lift to touch mine fell limp. “Mom!” I screamed, my voice raw with grief, but she never opened her eyes again. The medical staff gently ushered me out. Ten minutes later, the doctor gravely told me, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” In a daze, I contacted people, got the death certificate, arranged the cremation, and then, still in a fog, I came back to the hospital with Mom’s urn to take care of the remaining paperwork. But just as I was about to turn a corner, I heard a familiar voice: “Don’t listen now, we’re in a hospital. We can listen again when we get home.” I froze, peering around the corner. There was my husband, Chase, bent over a woman who was slightly showing, his ear pressed to her belly. “Okay, we’ll listen when we get back then.” He gently stroked the woman’s hair. I knew her. Lucy, the girlfriend of Chase’s deceased best friend. Lucy cooed, linking her arm through Chase’s. They looked incredibly close. In a soft, delicate voice, she said, “Chase, thank you so much. If you hadn’t redirected that heart today, he wouldn’t have made it. It’s just… Mia won’t have a problem with it, will she?” “I heard her mom needed a transplant.” Chase’s expression darkened. “It’s not like her mom was going to die immediately without it. That kid you’re sponsoring, though, he’s the one in a truly pitiful state.” “Giving him the heart… let’s just say it’s for the good of our baby.” It felt like a knife had been plunged straight through my heart. Finally, I couldn’t hold back. Clutching the urn, I walked up to them, fighting to stay calm, but tears streamed down my face. “Chase, did you give Mom’s heart to someone else?” He looked stunned to see me there, then his brow furrowed. He admitted, “It’s just one heart. Why are you getting so worked up?” “I found the donor heart. I have the right to decide who gets it.” Yes, it was true. Chase had been the one to find the donor heart initially. But that didn’t mean he could just give it away to someone else right when the transplant surgery was supposed to happen! My hands were shaking. Lucy chimed in softly, “Mia. Chase did it for me. Don’t be upset and ruin your marriage over this. Don’t worry, Chase will definitely find another heart.” I looked up at her. “What’s the use of finding another heart? Mom’s not coming back! You two killed my mom!” Chase’s expression shifted. He was about to say something, but Lucy tugged his hand and said cautiously, “Mia has every right to be angry with me. Chase, don’t blame her.” “But… didn’t you tell me before that Mia’s mom was stable and didn’t urgently need the transplant? Did I… did I really cause a delay for Mia’s mom…?” Hearing her tearful, on-the-verge-of-crying tone, Chase grew impatient. He patted Lucy, then said to me, “Mia, there’s no need to curse your own mother just to make Lucy feel guilty. You think I haven’t seen your mom’s medical reports?” “She wouldn’t have been in major trouble if she didn’t get a heart right away.” A bitter laugh escaped me. I held up the urn for Chase to see. “Then what do you call this?” “It’s my mom’s ashes! You killed my mom!” Lucy let go of Chase’s arm and stepped forward to look. But the next second, as if startled by my words, her hand flailed and hit the urn. I lost my grip, and it fell straight to the floor! Mom’s ashes spilled onto the ground. I screamed and immediately dropped to my knees, frantically trying to scoop the ashes back into the box. “Mia, I know you’re upset, but you shouldn’t be talking like that about your mother. The surgery was just today. How could someone pass away today and be cremated into ashes so quickly?” “Besides… it’s kind of bad luck to talk like that.” Her words made me tremble with rage. The moment she finished speaking, I shot up and slapped her hard across the face, then quickly grabbed her by the throat. “Say that again! Say that again!” Chase’s face changed instantly. He grabbed my wrist, his grip incredibly strong. When he saw the red marks on Lucy’s neck, he looked pained and called the cops. 2 Chase wanted to stand up for Lucy, so he called the cops and went with me to the station after they cuffed me. Before they took me away, I begged a female officer to look after the urn. Chase shot me a scornful look. He probably thought I was still putting on an act. While I was giving my statement, through the glass, I could see Chase dabbing ointment on Lucy. So when I told the officer Chase and I were married, even he looked surprised for a moment. Humiliated, I lowered my gaze, a few tears escaping. Suddenly, another officer came over and whispered something to the one taking my statement. He then put down his pen and said, “Alright, the lady you hit has decided not to press charges.” He looked at me sympathetically and uncuffed me. I mumbled a thank you. Exhausted, I walked out of the interrogation room and ran right into Chase. One hand in his pocket, he seemed to have been waiting for me. When he saw me, he said curtly, “Lucy was kind enough to forgive you. Don’t go looking for trouble with her again.” After delivering that message, Chase turned and walked towards Lucy, who was waiting for him. I stared sadly at his retreating back. Chase wasn’t always like this. He, the proud scion of the wealthy Miller family, had once knelt before my mom to marry me, swearing he’d be good to me for life and never let me down. After we got married, he kept his promise. He supported my career, respected my decisions, gave me a shoulder to cry on when I was vulnerable, and enthusiastically celebrated my joys. And I was a good wife too. I comforted him carefully when he was down, and when his company hit a rough patch, I accompanied him to all those networking dinners with heavy drinking. Back then, for his sake, I downed half a bottle of hard liquor at one of those events, which messed up my stomach for good. Until a year ago, when Lucy married his best friend. Chase got blackout drunk, and that’s when I found out I was just his second choice. Because of that, I cried to my mom about it. Mom was so furious she went to his office and chewed him out. His best friend happened to walk in on it, and they parted on bad terms. That friend went home, had a fight with Lucy, and then died in an accidental car crash. Chase blamed my mom for all of it. He started openly taking care of Lucy and gradually grew cold towards me. “Chase, do you hate me that much?” I asked, my voice hoarse. He paused for a moment but walked out without answering. My heart ached as if pricked by needles. When I walked out of the police station, dejected and clutching the urn, I realized it had started to rain. Someone called my name: “Mia.” Lucy approached with an umbrella. She offered it to me, a soft smile on her face, but her words sent a chill down my spine: “Did your mom say anything to you before she died?” I snapped my head up and stared at her. She pouted innocently. “Actually, that kid I’m sponsoring didn’t absolutely need the heart either. But who can blame Chase for caring about me so much?” She placed the umbrella on top of the urn and waved. “Get home safe, don’t get caught in the rain. See you next time.” I watched her walk away, get picked up by Chase in his car, and then slowly disappear from sight. Without realizing it, I’d bitten my lip until it bled. “Mia, where do you live? I’m heading home too. Need a ride?” I turned to see a female officer who was getting off duty. She handed me a couple of tissues, her eyes filled with kind sympathy. I wondered how much she’d seen. “Come on.” She took the umbrella Lucy had left on the urn, tossed it into the nearest trash can, and then opened her own to lead me away. Before I got out of the car, she added, “Mia, if something’s bothering you, don’t keep it bottled up. You could talk to a therapist.” “Believe in yourself. Don’t give up.” How ridiculous. A complete stranger, someone I’d just met, showed me more compassion than Chase ever did. 3 I soaked in the tub for a while, then after contacting family back in Mom’s hometown, I got dressed and lay down on the bed. Mom’s hometown was down south. Before her surgery, she kept talking about wanting to go back. I planned to bury her there. Lying in bed, I numbly scrolled through my social media feed and saw a post Chase had made earlier in the day—just one picture: a sapphire butterfly necklace on a fair, slender neck. It was like a stab to the heart. I immediately locked my phone, covering my eyes as tears streamed down, unstoppable. I knew that necklace. It used to be mine. The Millers are jewelry tycoons. Before Chase proposed, he personally designed and crafted that necklace, naming it “Devotion.” Devotion only to me. But later, when his company faced a crisis, I pawned it for a huge sum to help bail them out. When Chase found out, he held my hand and told me firmly, “Mia, I swear I’ll buy it back. It only belongs to you.” But now, it was around Lucy’s neck. “What are you crying about?” Chase’s voice startled me. I looked up, surprised, to see he’d come into the bedroom without me noticing. Seeing my tears, Chase frowned impatiently. “Today was just to teach you a lesson. What’s there to be upset about? Lucy isn’t upset.” “Your mom’s donor heart will be here next week, so stop crying. Oh, and make a pot of that pork rib soup and bring it to the office tomorrow night.” I gave a sarcastic little smile. This was the man I’d loved for years. “Chase, let’s get a divorce.” I sat up and looked at him, my voice soft. He froze for a second, then scoffed. “Divorce? Over a little thing like today? Are you serious, Mia? Without me, you wouldn’t be living so comfortably as Mrs. Miller. You want a divorce? Who are you kidding?” “You and Lucy are having a baby. Is there any point to our marriage anymore?” “Don’t bring Lucy into this. If it weren’t for your mom, Lucy would have someone else to take care of her! Now she has no one, so what’s wrong with me looking after her a bit more?” It was only then he noticed the urn on the nightstand. His face darkened, and he strode over and knocked it over before I could even react! “Mia, don’t push it! Bringing that thing into the house, aren’t you worried about bad luck?!” Chase was furious. “If you’re so keen on cursing your mom to death, then fine, let her die without the heart I found! She owes Lucy a life anyway!” Chase slammed the door and left, my words caught in my throat. At the same time, a text from an unknown number popped up on my phone. [Your mom’s heart is working out great.] Attached was a picture of a young boy in a hospital gown. I didn’t even have to guess it was Lucy. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Buddy came up to me, his wet eyes fixed on mine, and he licked my hand worriedly. He was a stray I’d found right after Chase and I got married. I’d had him for three years; he was practically family. Now, he cared more about me than Chase did. 4 The day after that night, I left Buddy with the housekeeper I’d hired and took a flight back to Mom’s hometown with her urn. By the time all the funeral arrangements were finished, five days had passed. During that time, Chase called me over a dozen times. I ignored every call, along with his texts and messages. I found a lawyer at a firm to draft the divorce papers. After the plane landed, I went home with the divorce agreement in hand. The housekeeper told me Chase was in the study. The door wasn’t completely closed, and I could vaguely hear voices talking inside. “Chase, don’t blame Mia. It’s normal for her to be in a bad mood.” “Normal? Have I ever wronged her since she married me? It was just a small thing, and she throws a tantrum.” “Worst case, when we get in touch with Mia, just have her make soup for a few more days. Her temper isn’t great, but she’s a good cook. I’m really craving her pork rib soup…” “Alright, alright, you little glutton.” So, all the soup I’d made for Chase before had ended up in Lucy’s stomach. No wonder Chase had specifically asked me to make soup before I left. Even though I was already disappointed beyond words, it still hurt. I took a deep breath to calm myself and pushed the door open hard. Lucy was leaning against Chase’s shoulder on the sofa. “You’re finally back.” Chase stood up immediately when he saw me, somewhat annoyed. “Where have you been these past few days?” I didn’t wait for him to say more. I put the divorce papers on the table and told Chase calmly, “I’ve already signed them. I don’t want to make this ugly. You should sign them soon too. Tomorrow, we’ll go to the courthouse.” I glanced at Lucy, who clearly understood what was happening, a flicker of joy in her eyes. I gave a cold smile. “If I’d known all that soup I made was ending up in some leech’s stomach, I would’ve put something nasty in it.” “You want to divorce me?” Chase glanced at the papers, a mix of disbelief and anger in his voice. “Mia, are you really serious about this?” “Let me tell you, if you divorce me, your mom can forget about ever getting that heart transplant!” Lucy quickly tried to soothe him, then said to me in a reproachful tone, “Mia, everyone knows how much you love Chase. Even if you’re unhappy about something, you should talk it out and resolve it, not just demand a divorce. It’s so damaging to your relationship.” Chase composed himself a bit, then sneered and picked up his phone. “Zack, tell the hospital there’s no rush on the heart transplant. We’ll observe Mrs. Miller’s mom’s condition for a while longer.” Yes, everyone knew how much I loved Chase. I was a sheltered kid myself, yet when Chase had an accident, I stayed by his side for half a month straight, barely sleeping, just three or four hours a night to take care of him. I couldn’t handle alcohol, but at those business dinners, when people were giving Chase a hard time, I downed half a bottle of hard liquor for him, which led to a stomach hemorrhage and landed me in the hospital with chronic stomach problems. Because I felt guilty towards Chase about what happened with Lucy’s husband, I willingly put up with his sudden change in attitude towards me and the way he doted on Lucy, crossing all lines. “Woof woof woof—” Buddy had somehow run into the study and lunged at Lucy. Startled, she reflexively kicked out, catching Buddy right in the stomach. He yelped in pain and collapsed, whimpering by the side. “Buddy!” I was furious. I rushed forward and slapped Lucy hard across the face, sending her stumbling back onto the sofa. Tears instantly welled up in Lucy’s eyes. As I grabbed the nearest book and brought it down on her head, Chase shoved me hard. My lower stomach slammed into the corner of the desk, and a searing pain made me crumple to the floor. Chase paused for a second when he saw my reaction, but Lucy’s cry drew his attention. “Chase, my stomach hurts…” Cold sweat beaded on my forehead from the pain. The housekeeper rushed up from downstairs to the study door and screamed, “Ma’am, you’re bleeding! Don’t move, I’ll call an ambulance right away!” Chase didn’t hesitate. He immediately turned, scooped Lucy into his arms, and strode past me. His phone started ringing incessantly. He answered impatiently, “What is it? Spit it out!” He must have accidentally hit the speakerphone button, because Zack’s voice came through clearly: “Mr. Miller, the hospital said… Mrs. Miller’s mother passed away six days ago.”

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I’d been with my husband, Jason, from when he had nothing to when he made it big. Then, he turned around and latched onto some rich heiress. He said, “Tiffany Sterling is the only daughter of Sterling Corp’s chairman. She’s gorgeous and capable. That’s the kind of woman who deserves me!” “You? A washed-up nobody from the sticks, no money, no connections. Wasting my life with you is pointless. Let’s get a divorce.” My mother-in-law, Sarah, finished her call, wrapped her old flip phone in a red plastic grocery bag, and asked me, “Are you sure about this?” “Yes,” I nodded. Sarah nodded back. “Then let’s do it! You give Jason the savings, let him use it for my care in old age. The rest is yours. From now on, don’t call me Mom. Mia is my only daughter now.” I was stunned by her decision. After all, Jason was her blood son. Jason was equally shocked. He met my gaze for a second, then immediately looked away in disgust. “Are you sure about this, Mom? You’re really disowning me?” I heard a faint trace of hope in Jason’s tone, which infuriated me. Now that he was climbing the social ladder, going from a country boy to a city slicker, it was one thing to look down on me, his cheap wife. But now he was even ready to abandon the mother who raised him? He was less than human. Sarah sighed deeply, having long seen through Jason’s petty thoughts. “It’s my fault, son. I couldn’t give you a privileged life, and I raised you to be vain and ungrateful!” “Miss Sterling is a city girl. I won’t go over and cause you trouble. When she asks, just say you’re an orphan. Wouldn’t want to mess up your social climbing.” Sarah shot Jason a cold glance, then grabbed my hand, rubbing it gently. “Mia here has a good heart. She wouldn’t abandon me. I’ll be secure living with her from now on.” My eyes welled up. I knew Sarah was doing this for me. I had no parents; I was raised by the kindness of our community. After meeting Jason, I made him my whole world, giving up my friends back home to move with him to a strange city to build a life. I’d poured everything into our relationship, and in the end, I lost it all, while he walked away scott-free. A wave of sorrow washed over me. I’d felt so alone, but now, having Sarah to care for, I had to pull myself together. Jason lowered his head as if a sliver of conscience had pricked him, but he quickly looked up again, urging me, “It’s still early. Let’s go get the divorce papers now.” He really couldn’t wait. I looked down, my fingers twisting together, feeling a profound sense of helplessness. A pair of warm, strong hands enveloped mine. I looked up to see Sarah’s unrestrained smile. “Let’s go.” Maybe it was just me, but it seemed like Sarah was happier about the divorce than I was. She held my hand throughout the entire process, even telling me where to sign when I was dazed. The moment I got the divorce certificate, it was like I’d just snapped back to reality. Suddenly, I wanted to cry. Ten years. How many ten-year periods does a person get in a lifetime? Jason grabbed his divorce certificate, cheerfully told us to move out by tomorrow, and then vanished. Sarah and I took a cab back. I was a bundle of nerves, but she seemed perfectly at ease. Once home, I pulled out the cheap, woven duffel bag hidden at the bottom of the closet and started stuffing my faded, worn-out clothes into it. Sarah saw this, snatched the clothes, and threw them into the trash can. “We’re not taking these.” She then pulled me out the door. When I saw the luxury RV parked at the curb, I froze. Sarah just smiled and said, “Hop in!” 2 After being pulled onto the RV, everything inside looked like it was trimmed with gold; it was breathtakingly extravagant. I nervously shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my faded old clothes making me feel completely out of place. Sarah, however, sighed and sat down with an air of reluctance. I opened my mouth to ask, but just then, a man who looked like a butler emerged pushing a cart. A mountain of items was presented to Sarah – designer clothes, bags, jewelry, and more. She picked them up, casually looked them over, and then put them down. “Madam, are these arrangements to your satisfaction?” Sarah glanced at him. “They’re… adequate.” My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I didn’t know the exact prices, but I’d seen these brand logos on Jason’s clothes. Socks from these brands cost hundreds of dollars! And this was just “adequate”? “Mom, this is…” Before I could finish, Sarah swept all those things onto the floor with a clatter. “Bring out the food.” At her word, the butler respectfully served us what looked like a royal banquet. My jaw dropped. I looked at Sarah, bewildered. She just picked up a piece of steak and put it in my mouth. “Eat first. We’ll talk after you’ve eaten.” As I gently chewed, rich juices exploded in my mouth. The meat was tender yet had a satisfying, slightly gelatinous texture from the connective tissue, deeply savory and smooth. It was delicious, yet tears streamed down my face. This was the first time I’d ever eaten anything so good. Back when Jason and I were starting our business, surviving on plain instant ramen was a regular occurrence. Later, when the company started doing well, he’d curb my spending, citing cost-saving measures. To date, the best meal he’d ever taken me out for was from a cheap street food stall. Ten years of devotion, worth only a greasy takeout meal. Thinking about it, the beef suddenly felt scalding hot, making my tears fall even faster. Seeing me cry, Sarah frowned and scolded the butler, “What did you prepare? It’s so bad it made her cry.” The butler scratched his head, looking completely innocent. “Mia, don’t cry. If it’s bad, we won’t eat it.” I shook my head, wiping my tears. “Mom, it’s delicious. Thank you for preparing such amazing food for me.” I’d cried into my food before, but this time, it was with a feeling of overwhelming happiness. Looking at the empty plates on the table, I let out a small burp and smiled awkwardly at Sarah. “Mom, I’m sorry, I ate too much…” But if I didn’t eat my fill this time, I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance to taste such delicacies. Sarah picked up a napkin and gently wiped my mouth. “It’s okay. Eat as much as you want.” “You don’t need to hold back in front of Mom.” “Come on, next stop.” I asked, puzzled, “Next stop? What do you mean?” “You’ll find out tonight. Just trust Mom and let me take care of you.” Just then, the RV stopped. A line of people stood at the entrance of a high-end spa. When they saw Sarah and me, they all bowed in unison. “Good afternoon, Madam!” “Mom, this is…” The questions were piling up in my mind: the luxury RV, the butler, this spa. Who exactly was my mother-in-law? I knew Sarah worked with a dance troupe that toured nationally. When she was busy, she was completely elusive; when she was free, she’d spend half a month lounging at home, not moving a muscle. But even that couldn’t explain this level of spending, could it? Sarah didn’t answer my question, instead leading me to the most luxurious private suite on the top floor. I was attended to, my clothes were changed, and I was gently pressed onto a bed. Facial cleansing, exfoliation, a mask – the whole process was meticulously orchestrated. Cold instruments glided over my face, removing impurities and then infusing new, beneficial serums. My dull, heavy skin began to feel light and firm. I savored the sensation, realizing this is what it felt like to be pampered. After the beauty treatment, a mirror was held up in front of me. The person in it had skin like porcelain and delicate features, like someone who had stepped out of an oil painting. She was so unfamiliar that I gasped. This didn’t look like me, but it truly was… I took the mirror and stared for a long time before I got used to this “me.” Just then, my phone rang. It was Jason. 3 “Are you dead? I’ve called you so many times, and you don’t pick up!” His angry roar pierced my eardrums, startling me so much I sat bolt upright. The mirror slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor, reflecting countless images of me. I felt dazed, as if I’d been jolted from a dream back to reality. “I… I was at a spa…” “A spa?” “Is this how you waste my hard-earned money? You leech, living off me for every little thing, a complete dead weight! I must have been blind to marry such a useless woman.” “Other women are considerate and supportive, they care about their husbands. You? You’d practically give my money away! You shameless money pit, all you know how to do is spend, spend, spend!” The cells on my face suddenly felt heavy, suffocating. Guilt washed over me, making my face flush. I’d only spent a little more money today than usual. The silence on the phone stretched time, a common pressure tactic Jason used. After a long pause, he continued, “Transfer five million over. Tiffany saw a bag she likes.” His tone softened, as if offering me an olive branch. But I didn’t scramble to grab it like I used to. Instead, I laughed. Previously, when I wanted to spend ten bucks on a new grocery bag, he’d reamed me out. And now, a five-million-dollar bag for Tiffany? He didn’t hesitate. It was pretty funny, actually. During my silence, Jason started yelling again, “Speak up! Are you mute?” Just as I was about to open my mouth, Sarah snatched the phone from me and snapped, “Chasing a woman and you still need to get money from your ex-wife? Does that Tiffany girl know you’re such a shameless moocher?” “You and Mia are divorced. The savings are her personal property. Is this how you ask for help?” “Get lost, and don’t call again.” Sarah hung up, then turned and hugged me tenderly. “Mia, sweetie, don’t cry. He’s not good enough for you.” “Congratulations on your freedom. On to the next stop!” I laughed through my tears, my mood lifting under Sarah’s comfort as she led me to the next destination. Dressed in a custom-made evening gown, my hair and makeup perfectly done, I stood before a floor-length mirror, staring for a long time. Sarah then took me to the seaside and onto a yacht. A party was in full swing on board. Upbeat dance music filled the air, with a dance floor in the center. Waiters carrying trays of drinks weaved through the crowd. Everyone here exuded wealth and status. I clutched Sarah’s hand tightly, so nervous I nearly tripped over my own feet. I wanted to hide in a corner, but Sarah led me through the crowd and onto a stage. The music stopped abruptly. The dancers paused, all turning to look at us. Just then, a group of handsome young men, each with a different style, emerged from somewhere. Every one of them had legs for days and chiseled features like statues. Any one of them could have been a A-list celebrity. I recognized most of their faces from TV; they were either industry tycoons or heirs to fortunes. Now, they stood before me in the flesh, striking subtle poses. Their well-fitted clothes encased muscular physiques while perfectly outlining their forms. Sensing my gaze, one of them even theatrically ripped open his shirt, inviting me to look my fill. I blushed instantly and quickly averted my eyes. Sarah, however, remained calm, even looking slightly unimpressed. The next second, they all bowed in unison, addressing Sarah as “Auntie.” “Good evening, Auntie Ray!” They called Sarah… Auntie Ray? My jaw dropped in astonishment. What exactly did Sarah do? How could she command such respect from major players across various industries?! 4 But no matter how much I asked, Sarah would just wave her hand dismissively, looking unwilling to elaborate, and then pulled me in front of her. “This was all a bit rushed. Their looks are just… average.” Sarah looked at me apologetically. “For now, just let them keep you company and have some fun.” “If they dare to upset you, just tell Mom.” Average looks? Just let them? I understood each word Sarah said, but strung together, they made no sense. Before I could react, I was surrounded by them, each vying to dance with me, feed me snacks, or give me a massage. I wanted to refuse, but they pleaded with me not to make things difficult for them, so I had no choice but to accept. Their behavior grew bolder; they even started doing a striptease around me. Their hot skin made my face burn. I stood there, flustered and surrounded, not knowing where to look. This extravagant lifestyle continued for over half a month. One day, I was sunbathing on the deck and idly scrolled through my social media, where I saw Jason’s latest post. It was a picture of him and Tiffany having a candlelit dinner, a new designer bag prominently displayed on the table. The caption read: “Happy wife, happy life, and a prosperous future.” Even before Jason and I divorced, he used to post pictures of Tiffany. He never bothered to block me because he knew my protests were futile. Previously, I would have been heartbroken. Now, I just liked the post and scrolled on, feeling fabulous. I never expected Jason’s message to pop up the next second. “Five million is just pocket money for me. Did you really think I couldn’t afford it without you?” I rolled my eyes. He really knew how to jump to conclusions. Before I could reply, Jason’s second message came through: “Alright, you’re just jealous, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll toss you one of my wife’s cast-offs later, as charity.” I ignored his barking and put my phone aside. Messages from Jason kept flooding in on my phone. I opened my mouth and pointed, “Ah!” The next second, a handsome young man happily ran over and popped a grape into my mouth. “Here, beautiful, this one’s sweet. Let me feed you!” After eating the grape, I was playfully tackled by the young stud. He looked innocent, but he was incredibly energetic. After the cruise ended, Sarah said she’d introduce me to a job. Given my recent experiences, I’d already braced myself, but when I saw the words “Global Conglomerate” on the building, I still couldn’t control my expression. A global conglomerate… A corporation that had dominated various industries worldwide in just five years, known for being a powerhouse that could pull any string! Sarah actually had connections with this conglomerate? As I stood there, stunned, I turned and saw Jason and Tiffany. When Jason saw me, the astonishment in his eyes was undeniable. It made sense. The old me was plain and frumpy, as thin and malnourished as a monkey. The new me had skin that glowed, wore a designer suit with my hair in a high ponytail – enough to blind his sorry eyes. Jason stared for a long moment. Tiffany stomped hard on his foot, and he snapped back to reality with a wince. Tiffany shot me a jealous glance, then put on airs and ignored me. After recovering, Jason asked me, “What are you doing here?” I smiled faintly. “We’re divorced, yet you’re still so concerned about me. Aren’t you afraid your current wife will misunderstand?” Jason almost lost his composure, his eyes darting around. Then, he lifted his chin proudly. “I’m just kindly reminding you, this is a global conglomerate. Not just any Tom, Dick, or Harry can walk in.” He wrapped his arm around Tiffany’s waist, clearly trying to provoke me. “There are standards for getting into a global conglomerate. I’m here to discuss a partnership, all thanks to my dear wife pulling strings for me.” “Unlike some people who overestimate themselves and just end up making a fool of themselves.” Sarah seemed oblivious to his snide remarks, slapping her thigh. “Well, what a coincidence! We’re also here to discuss a partnership. The chairman of this company said he values our Mia’s abilities and wants to make her a general manager!” Hearing this, Tiffany glanced at me as if she’d heard the world’s biggest joke, struggling to suppress her laughter. Jason, however, laughed out loud without restraint, then pointed a finger at me. “Mia Evans, I thought our separation would make you realize your mistakes. I didn’t expect you to still be a lost cause.” “Initially, I was moved by your simple appearance, but later I discovered you’re an arrogant and conceited person.” “Take my advice: be down-to-earth and work hard. Fantasizing about landing a sugar daddy here will get you chewed up and spat out.” His numerous interpretations and readings of me didn’t constitute a millionth of who I was; instead, they laid him bare. An ungrateful hypocrite. He had probably long forgotten that I graduated from a top university and that I was the one who had built up his company. He reaped the benefits and took all the credit. If we were talking about arrogance, who would dare claim second place if he was first? Just then, someone in the crowd suddenly shouted, “The Chairman is here! Make way!” Turning to look, the disorderly crowd parted to either side. A middle-aged man in a custom-tailored black suit walked towards us, his expression stern. He looked in our direction, his pace quickening, appearing somewhat flustered. I withdrew my gaze and looked at Sarah beside me, only then noticing that her face had darkened during Jason and Tiffany’s tirade. Jason, however, thought the Chairman was coming for them and became even more smug. Tiffany crossed her arms. “Chairman Harrison is here. Weren’t you going to apply for the general manager position? Why are you just standing there?” “Such an act. No wonder Jason said you’re two-faced and couldn’t live with you.” I listened to her words without reacting. What I was really like, how I was doing – I didn’t owe them any explanation. I just didn’t expect Jason to suddenly push Sarah and me to the ground. My palms and knees scraped, and Sarah sucked in a sharp breath, her brow furrowed in pain. Jason straightened his clothes, looking down at me condescendingly. “Good dogs don’t block the way. Don’t stand between me and my meeting with the Chairman.” The two of them swaggered past us, bowing to the approaching Mr. Harrison. “Chairman Harrison, you really didn’t have to come down to greet me personally. I can make my own way up…” However, Chairman Harrison didn’t even glance at him. With a solemn expression, he bowed slightly, as if meeting a very important person, and extended his hand to Sarah: “Chairman Lei, we’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival! Please, come in!”

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The four of us grew up together, thick as thieves. But then, just like that, Frank died in a car crash. A few days later, Joey drowned while fishing. And was it all because of Chris’s damn jinx? Right after I got back from Frank’s funeral, I grabbed Chris, hard. Because I had this gut feeling Frank’s death had something to do with him. Here’s how it went down: the day before Frank died, me, Frank, Chris, and Joey were just hanging out, grabbing coffee. We were buds since forever, always getting together to shoot the breeze whenever we could. We were laughing about something, and suddenly Chris just stares at Frank and says something totally out of the blue. “Hey Frank, you driving into the city tomorrow, right? Be careful, man. Might be your last chance to have coffee with us!” The three of us kind of froze for a second, but then brushed it off. I mean, it didn’t sound that weird, maybe even a little concerned. Even if Chris was just trying to spook Frank, it was the kind of dumb joke we’d pull. But still… I saw this flash of something weird in Chris’s eyes when he said it. I didn’t think much of it then. Then the next day, Frank was driving that winding road into the city, and his car went right off a cliff. He was killed instantly. Me, Chris, and Joey couldn’t believe it. One minute Frank’s there, the next… gone. We pushed down our grief and helped his family with the funeral arrangements. As soon as it was over, I dragged Chris back to my place and laid into him. “Chris, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you cursed or something?” Chris just looked at me, totally confused. “Alex, what are you talking about?” “You practically called it! You said Frank was gonna have an accident, and the next day he’s dead! You possessed or something?” I stared him down. Chris blinked a few times, then put on this wounded look. “Alex, come on, man, don’t pin this on me. It was a stupid joke, that’s all. How was I supposed to know something would actually happen?” I stared at him for a long time, trying to see through him, but couldn’t find a crack. I let him go, feeling uneasy. Maybe it was just a horrible coincidence? But then, a few days later, something else happened that made my skin crawl. 2 Three days after the funeral, I suggested me, Joey, and Chris go fishing down by the river. Frank’s death hit us all hard. We needed something to take our minds off it, try to shake off the sadness. Joey and Chris were up for it. We got down to the riverbank, casting our lines, talking about nothing much, just waiting for a bite. Suddenly, Joey’s line went taut, the tip of his rod bending like crazy! He yanked back hard, fighting it. The rod looked like it was about to snap, but whatever was on the line wasn’t coming up. “Whoa, this is a big one!” Joey sounded stoked. He yelled for us to give him a hand. I was about to get up, but then I heard Chris say, real quiet and creepy, “Joey, man… that’s not a fish you hooked. Let it go. Seriously, let it go, or it’ll pull you down for good!” I stopped. What the hell was he talking about? It was broad daylight. I was about to tell Chris to shut up, but Joey already started cussing him out. “Chris, you asshole! What kind of crap is that? Get over here and help me!” “No way, man. I’m not getting dragged in,” Chris said, with this weird little smile. His smile looked… wrong. Sinister. Seeing Joey still struggling, I stood up to help. “Alex, watch yourself. There’s something down there,” Chris warned suddenly. I hesitated for a split second. Just then, Joey let out a terrified yell, and the rod jerked him right into the river! I jumped, startled, but didn’t dive in right away. We all grew up by this river. Joey especially was the best swimmer out of the four of us. Falling in wouldn’t normally be a big deal for him. Chris didn’t move either, just sat there watching Joey flailing in the water. But I saw that weird expression on his face again, something I couldn’t place. Then I realized something was seriously wrong. Joey wasn’t fighting a fish anymore. It looked like something unseen was pulling him down. His arms were thrashing wildly, like he was begging for help! Then, just like that, his head and hands disappeared under the water! My face went pale, my stomach dropped. “He’s in trouble! Help him!” I yelled at Chris. Without even taking off my shoes or shirt, I plunged into the river. Chris jumped in right after me, no hesitation this time. We took deep breaths and dove down. We found Joey tangled in thick weeds at the bottom. We grabbed his clothes, his arms, pulling with all our might, but we couldn’t free him! It felt like something in the weeds was physically pulling his legs down. For a terrifying second, I actually thought, Is there really something down there trying to kill Joey? But there was no time to freak out. After a struggle, Chris and I finally dragged Joey back onto the bank. His lips were blue, he wasn’t breathing. We called 911, then started CPR immediately – chest compressions, rescue breaths, everything we’d seen on TV. Water poured out of his mouth, but he didn’t wake up. Later, we took him to the hospital. We waited outside the ICU for two agonizing hours until the doctor came out. “He’s stable for now, out of immediate danger. But he might have been without oxygen for too long… it could take a while for him to regain consciousness.” My heart sank. “You mean… he could be in a coma? Or… worse?” The doctor said Joey was young and strong, he’d probably wake up soon. 3 Even though Joey was alive, I felt sick walking out of the hospital. Chris looked grim too. First Frank, now Joey barely clinging to life… what the hell was happening to us? Was it just a horrible bad luck streak? Then I remembered: both Frank and Joey had their accidents right after Chris said something weird. Chris had even mentioned something pulling Joey down in the river, and even though Joey was a great swimmer, he almost drowned. I didn’t care about the people coming and going outside the hospital. I grabbed Chris by the collar, my voice harsh. “Chris, damn it! What are you, psychic? Or did you put the evil eye on them?” Chris struggled out of my grip. “Alex, what are you talking about? Psychic?” “How else did you know Joey hooked something bad? Something that would pull him under?” “I was joking, man! Freaking kidding! You actually believed that?” “How could I not believe it? You say something about Frank, Frank dies. You say something about Joey, Joey almost dies! What are the odds of that, Chris? Winning the lottery jackpot is more likely!” “But… but I was just talking crap! Maybe… maybe it was just their time, you know? Like fate. I just happened to say something dumb right before.” Whether he was lying or just didn’t want to deal with me, Chris shook me off, hurried to his car, locked the doors, and ignored me banging on the window. I had to take the bus home, feeling miserable and confused. I couldn’t sleep that night. Losing Frank and almost losing Joey was heartbreaking, but Chris… Chris was starting to scare the hell out of me. Yeah, he liked to joke around, but he’d never said creepy, specific stuff like that before Frank and Joey got hurt. Had something happened to him? And if this kept up… was he going to be next?

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So, picture this: a guy ditches his wife and kid, vanishes for twenty years, and then just shows up on the doorstep expecting a welcome home party. He’s bawling his eyes out, claiming the “other woman” played him for a fool all this time. I had to laugh. Seriously, what’s his angle? That being old, broke, and pathetic is suddenly charming? The woman whose life I stepped into, Sarah, she was too much of a doormat. His whole family walked all over her. But me? I’m here to settle the score. Even if I have to play nice for a while. 1. “Excuse me, ma’am? We’re from ‘Community Concern,’ the local news segment? We got a call from a gentleman, about fifty years old, hoping to reunite with his family. He says you won’t let him in. Could you tell us why you’re shutting him out?” A TV reporter and a cameraman, gear looking like weapons, were camped out on my front lawn. Standing near them, looking pathetic, was my husband of twenty years ago, Jack. Twenty years gone, just like that. His clothes were worn thin, his skin weathered and dark, making him look older than his fifty years. More gray hair than brown on his head. Jack just stood there silently, playing the part of the poor, homeless old man perfectly. The reporter kept pushing, so I finally took the microphone she offered. “He walked out on me and our baby twenty years ago. Now the woman he left me for kicked him to the curb, and suddenly he remembers he has a family? Let me ask you, if it were your husband, would you take him back?” The reporter didn’t miss a beat. “But isn’t that exactly why you should take him in? Because he has nowhere else to go?” Yeah, I wasn’t buying that guilt trip. Suddenly, Jack dropped to his knees right there on the lawn. “It’s all my fault,” he sobbed. “I let that woman fool me for twenty years. But I’ve changed, Sarah, I swear. I just want to come home, be with you, make it up to you.” He put on his best hangdog, guilt-ridden expression. Right on cue, the neighborhood vultures started circling, eager to show off their saintly compassion. Brenda from across the street, fanning herself on her porch swing, chimed in with a sigh, “Oh, honey, he’s been gone twenty years, but he came back. You should really find it in your heart to forgive him.” “Yeah, that’s right,” added Mr. Henderson from downstairs, pausing his sidewalk stroll. He always loved sticking his nose in. “You’re almost fifty yourself. Your man’s back, might as well make the best of it. Besides, you’re on the news now! Don’t want people thinking folks in this neighborhood are heartless, do we?” Brenda nodded vigorously, her fan picking up speed. “Exactly! Being on the news like this… it wouldn’t look good if you turned him away.” See, I’m here on a job. A system task, they call it. I took over the life of Sarah Evans. Forty-nine, no kids anymore. Twenty years back, her husband ran off with his mistress, cleaned out their bank account, and to please the new woman, he… he abandoned their newborn baby by the river. The baby didn’t make it. Sarah’s life has been one long tragedy. A week ago, she became a client for our company’s ‘Revenge Package’ lottery draw. Lucky her. I’m not here to make friends. I shot the busybodies a cold look. “You all talk such a good game. Why don’t you take him in and look after him?” That shut Brenda up quick. She bristled. “What kind of thing is that to say? We’re just trying to help! We worry about you being alone. He’s your husband, it’s your job to care for him.” Mr. Henderson nodded along. “A woman’s supposed to stand by her man, for better or worse. You can’t keep holding onto the past forever.” I ignored them and looked straight at the man kneeling on my lawn. “You really want to come back? You’d die to come back?” This was part of the system contract setup. I just needed his confirmation. “Yes,” Jack choked out. “I’d die to come back.” Keywords acquired: Die to come back. A smirk played on my lips. A red-bordered window popped up in my vision, visible only to me. Inside the box, text glowed: Task Initiation: Send the Scumbag to Hell. 2 The day after I let Jack back into the house, his charming relatives showed up. No sooner had they stepped inside than Jack’s two sisters, Patty and Joan, made themselves comfortable on the living room couch. They fussed over Jack, asking how he’d been all these years, clucking sympathetically about how rough he must have had it. They even joined Jack in cursing out the mistress, calling her trash, heartless. How could she, after Jack gave up everything for her – his wife, his child – turn around and cheat on him? Make him raise some other guy’s kid for twenty years? Serves him right, I thought. Patty, the older sister, noticed I wasn’t joining the pity party. She shot me a frosty look. “Your husband’s been through hell out there, and you can’t even show a little sympathy? The least you could do is say a bad word or two about that homewrecker.” Oh, I had plenty of bad words, alright. But they weren’t for the mistress. They were for the whole damn family, going back generations. Joan, the younger sister, piped up, “Now that my brother’s back, you need to treat him right. Give him the best of everything – food, comfort, whatever he needs. It’s been twenty years without a man in the house. Now you’ve got one again. You should be happy! You haven’t cracked a smile since we walked in.” The system’s memory files filled me in on these two beauties: Back when Sarah and Jack were married, about five years in, she couldn’t conceive a son (a big deal to him, apparently). He started getting abusive – hitting, yelling, constant digs. That’s when the mistress appeared. And guess who introduced them? Patty and Joan. They helped Jack cover up the affair for two whole years, right up until Sarah finally got pregnant. The mistress panicked. She pushed Jack to leave Sarah for good. To make sure he wouldn’t go back, she told him to get rid of the baby. Dump it by the river. And his wonderful sisters? Not only did they not stop him, they were apparently more interested in… well, let’s just say they were disgustingly callous right after Sarah gave birth. Sarah, still recovering, dragged herself out and jumped into the cold river to save her baby. But the baby was premature, and fragile. Without proper care after the ordeal, the poor thing died less than a month later. Sarah was devastated, and the trauma ruined her health. Gossip flew around town. Everyone pitied Sarah. When Patty and Joan heard their own reputations were taking a hit, they marched over to Sarah’s house and started spreading vicious lies. Said Sarah was cheating, that that’s why Jack left. Claimed the baby wasn’t even Jack’s, that it deserved to be drowned. Back then, loudest voice won. People believed them. Sarah, being gentle and broken, just hid in her house, too ashamed to go out. It made my blood boil just reading it. All that pain, and she didn’t know how to fight back. Thank God she had a brother who left her this small two-bedroom house before he passed away. Just then, Jack pulled me down onto the couch next to him. Said it was time for a family meeting. Patty, ever the bossy older sister, started things off. “Now that my brother’s back, this house needs a man in charge again. Tomorrow, you should sign the house over to him. Put the deed in his name.” I stared at the three of them like they’d sprouted extra heads. “The house is mine. My brother left it to me. Why would I sign it over to him?” Joan jumped in eagerly, “If you put the house in his name, it’ll show him you trust him! It’ll keep him tied to you. He’ll definitely treat you right then.” Wow. Just… wow. I must be getting rusty at these revenge gigs if this level of audacity still shocks me. Seeing my hesitation, Jack resorted to his standard move: hitting his knees. “Sarah, trust me. I won’t let you down again. I swear it.” I looked down at him, my voice dangerously soft. “And if you do?” He saw a flicker of hope, poor fool. He held up three fingers. “Then may God strike me dead!” Keywords acquired: Strike me dead. The system’s health bar program officially kicked in. I glanced up, imagining a health bar floating over his head, a chunk of it vanishing. A small, cold smile touched my lips. “You remember that,” I said softly. “You’ll be struck dead.” 3 “Don’t say that! Bad luck!” Patty snapped, waving her hand dismissively. “Since you’re agreeing to sign the house over, we’ll let bygones be bygones.” She sounded so high and mighty. Joan chimed in, looking annoyed. “My brother’s turned over a new leaf. He didn’t come back here to listen to you making morbid threats. Less of that talk in the future.” I just gave them a bland smile. “He’s the one who volunteered to kneel and make the dramatic oaths. Got nothing to do with me.” Jack, hearing I’d “agreed” about the house, was practically buzzing with excitement. He wasn’t about to worry about some empty promise to God. “Okay, Patty, Joan, you two head on home,” he said, eager to get rid of them. “We won’t keep you for dinner.” Mission accomplished, the sisters got up to leave. As they walked out, the three of them exchanged quick glances. The look was clear: Got the house. She’s such an easy mark. As for signing over the house, I stalled. Said I needed to “get the paperwork sorted out,” maybe “check with the lawyer.” Bought myself ten days. Jack seemed completely confident he had Sarah – me – wrapped around his little finger. He didn’t push it. Dealing with scum like him… I really wanted this task over with quickly. His health bar seemed to be dropping too slowly. I needed him to trigger more keywords, run that meter down faster. Jack started gambling again. At first, his luck was weirdly good. He’d stumble home drunk every night, singing loudly in the wee hours, driving the neighbors crazy. The ones suffering the most were, ironically, Brenda across the street and Mr. Henderson downstairs. Jack would weave his way home, humming off-key, and every time he passed Brenda’s porch, he’d drunkenly yank at her flowers or knock over a planter. Just because. Brenda would be out there the next morning, yelling curses at the empty air. After a few days of this, she apparently ran out of steam yelling at nothing. So, she came to me, blaming me for not controlling my husband. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you care that your husband’s drinking like a fish? What if he drops dead drunk in a ditch somewhere? You’ll be a widow!” she lectured. “And he’s ruined all my planters!” I almost laughed. I put on my best sympathetic voice, echoing her tone from the other day. “Well, Brenda, he was gone twenty years. Now that he’s back, I have to forgive him, right? It’s just a little drinking.” The next day, Mr. Henderson showed up at my door, dark circles under his eyes. “Can’t you keep your husband quiet? He comes home singing, kicking things over… I’m right below you, the banging is giving me heart palpitations! You need to make him leave!” I gave him his own words back, sweet as pie. “But Mr. Henderson, my man’s finally back home. Guess we just have to make the best of it. Like you said, it was on the news and everything. If I kicked him out now, people might think folks in this neighborhood are heartless.” Mr. Henderson was speechless. He just muttered something under his breath and shuffled away.

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My parents, who I hadn’t seen in sixteen years, came back. They brought my sister with them, who looked exactly like me. I thought maybe they’d feel guilty about ignoring me all these years, but the first thing out of their mouths was criticism. “Can’t you even call us Mom and Dad?” “Big sisters have to give way to little sisters.” That was the line I heard most often during my time with them. 1. My mom and dad were finally back, and they brought my sister, who was my spitting image. Well, maybe not exactly identical. She wore a delicate little dress, a fluffy pink skirt that made her look adorable and sweet. Her skin was smooth and pale, cheeks rosy – you could tell she’d been pampered her whole life. I looked down at myself. Year-round, I wore the same school uniform, washed so many times it was faded. On my feet were the cheapest sneakers from a discount store, so stiff they hurt. Dark circles hung under my eyes, taking up half my face. My skin was rough, kind of sallow, and I was a good half-head shorter than her. Nobody looking at us would easily guess we were twins. I stood there for a long time, unable to force out the words “Mom” or “Dad.” I don’t know how to describe my parents. When my sister and I were born, I was the stronger twin. My sister was malnourished and had to be kept in an incubator at first. We had just turned one month old when my parents got a business opportunity. They had to go down South to start a company. They couldn’t manage two babies, so they decided to take only my sister and leave me with my grandma in the countryside. People in the village said my parents were heartless. I was too young to understand any of it. All I knew was that when I was hungry, I cried for milk. Grandma would take me around to women in the village who had just given birth, asking if they could spare some milk. The villagers pitied me; they all helped Grandma and me out in small ways. That’s how I grew up. When I learned to crawl, I crawled all over the yard. Grandma would sweep it clean first and put up wooden fences to keep the free-ranging chickens and ducks out. When I learned to walk, I’d follow Grandma to the fields. She’d work, and I’d play with the weeds by the edge of the field all day. When I learned to talk, Grandma taught me nursery rhymes. She didn’t know anything about fancy early education, so she sang me old folk songs and local ditties. During all that time, my world consisted only of Grandma. 2 When I got a little older and started playing with the other village kids, they were always saying, “My daddy said this,” or “My mommy said that.” I ran to the fields and asked Grandma, “What’s a mommy and daddy?” Hearing my question, Grandma turned away, secretly wiping tears. I stood there frozen, feeling like I’d done something wrong. There were some other women, aunts from the village, working nearby. The soft-hearted ones couldn’t help but get red-eyed too. Mrs. Gable was closest to me. She knelt and wiped the dirt off my face with her handkerchief. “Ava, honey, you don’t need a mommy and daddy. You have Grandma, and you have all of us aunts and uncles.” Mrs. Gable had lots of fruit trees in her yard. Whenever they bore fruit, she’d bring a bunch over to our house. I liked her, so I listened to her. After that, it was like the village kids made a pact. No one ever mentioned “mommy” or “daddy” in front of me again. It wasn’t until I started elementary school in town that a teacher asked us to share stories about our parents. When it was my turn, I stood up bold as brass and said, “I don’t have a mom and dad.” The teacher froze, her eyes filled with a new kind of pity. Finally, she bent down and whispered gently that she wanted to walk home with me after school. I led the teacher back to my house. She and Grandma talked for a long time about things I didn’t understand. The conversation ended with the teacher’s silence and Grandma’s tears. I gathered one thing from it all. It turned out I did have a mom and dad. And a sister who looked just like me. They were just doing business far, far away, and it was hard for them to come back. I asked Grandma how far away. Farther than going to my aunt’s house in the next county? Grandma said it was much, much, much, much farther than that. Okay, I understood then. Even going to my aunt’s house by car made me feel sick sometimes. Mom, Dad, and my sister were even farther away, so coming back must be really tough. Grandma showed me pictures of them. She told me my dad’s name was John Miller, my mom was Helen Miller, and my sister was Mia Miller. 3 After that day, I started getting phone calls from my parents two or three times a week. At first, they asked about every little detail of my life and school. I was happy to share my daily routines with them. They said they hadn’t contacted me before because they were worried I’d make a fuss if I knew they existed. As time went on, I noticed my parents on the other end of the line became colder. They started giving vague, noncommittal answers to things I shared. The calls got shorter and less frequent. From two or three times a week, to once a week, then once a month. Even that one monthly call might get cut short right after I answered, with them saying they were busy with work and would talk next time. I stopped looking forward to those calls. I figured the time was better spent helping Grandma with chores. When I started middle school, I hit that sensitive teenage phase and began to resent those parents. Back then, I often wondered what the difference was between me and an orphan. Oh, right, there was a difference. I still had a grandma who loved me, and kind, warm-hearted neighbors. My parents did come back once. The government was acquiring land, and it happened to include the fields behind our house on the hill. They came back to handle the paperwork, not planning to stay long, so they didn’t bring Mia. I was boarding at the middle school then. A friend who commuted told me my parents were back. I got permission to leave and rushed home. I was too late. As I ran back into the village, I saw them from afar, arguing with Grandma about something. I could occasionally hear my name and Mia’s name mixed in. For some reason, I didn’t dare go closer. I just watched my well-dressed parents get into their car and drive away. I saw Grandma’s lonely figure from behind. I realized her hair had gotten so white, her back so bent, her legs so stiff. Later, the villagers quietly told me Grandma had wanted my parents to take me South with them. The education was better there. But they thought I’d be too much trouble. 4 From that moment on, I stopped fooling around all day and threw myself into studying. My teachers said that getting a good education was the way out, that it would give me more choices later to do what I wanted. Back then, I didn’t have any grand ambitions. I just wanted Grandma to have a comfortable life in her old age. I got into the best high school in the city, one known for its high college acceptance rate. Grandma was overjoyed. She said the village was finally going to have a college student, that I would definitely have a bright future. But Grandma didn’t wait for me. She passed away quietly one night. The doctor said it was cerebral edema caused by a stroke. It happened so suddenly, catching everyone off guard. I knew Grandma wasn’t well, that she took medicine often, but I never thought it was that serious. My parents only found out she was sick after she had already passed away. With Grandma gone, I truly felt like an orphan. So, when my parents finally stood in front of me, I couldn’t bring myself to call them Mom and Dad. My mom frowned, her tone blaming. “Ava, why aren’t you greeting us? Can’t you even say Mom and Dad?” Before I could speak, Mrs. Gable, who was standing nearby, started scoffing. “Who are these people? Our girl Ava here has never known any mom or dad. I’ve lived in this village most of my life, Ava’s sixteen now, and I’ve never seen her have any parents.” They’d let me grow up wild in the countryside, and now they were blaming me for having no manners. My mom’s face flushed red and pale. She looked like she wanted to say more, but my dad stopped her. My sister stepped out from behind them, timidly calling me “Sister.” It was the first time I’d ever seen her. But at that moment, I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. I was just sad – sad for Grandma, and sad for myself. They had bought a house in the city and were planning to move back. Because we were nearing our college entrance exams (like the SATs/ACTs), and Mia’s residency was still registered here, she had to come back to take the tests locally. Sixteen years without living together wasn’t something you could smooth over quickly. In their beautifully decorated house, I felt timid and cautious, always like I was intruding, walking on eggshells. Sometimes they’d laugh and talk about things that happened down South, but their smiles would stiffen when they saw me. I wasn’t part of their memories. Because of this, I interacted with them carefully, preferring to be invisible at home.

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The day I went on a blind date, my ex-boyfriend and I ended up getting hitched. What I didn’t expect was his real identity… 1 “Married? Ethan, what kind of joke is this!” “I’m not joking.” Ethan looked up, his tone so calm you’d think he was just offering me a coffee. “Marry me. That’s my proposal.” I watched his handsome lips move, and damn it, I actually felt a flicker of temptation. Showing up for a blind date only to find your ex from years ago is crazy enough. But having that ex suddenly suggest a flash marriage? That’s like crazy inviting crazy’s mom over for Thanksgiving dinner! “What?” Ethan’s tone shifted, a hint of sarcasm creeping in. “Right. Maybe Ms. Miller thinks she’s too good for me. After all, I’m broke.” He really emphasized that last word, “broke.” It hit me then. The reason I gave him when we broke up all those years ago? That he was broke. Ouch… shade. He was definitely throwing shade at me. That jab got under my skin. In a moment of heat, I said yes. And he didn’t give me a second to reconsider. That same day, we went back to our respective places, grabbed the necessary documents, and headed straight to City Hall. Half an hour waiting in line, three minutes for the paperwork. Staring at the still-warm marriage certificate, I smugly sent a picture to my mom. I couldn’t wait to see her reaction. Her daughter, impulsively married. To her ex, no less. Mom was weird, though. She’d disapproved of Ethan back then, but seeing the marriage certificate now, she was over the moon. Like she was just grateful someone finally took her daughter off her hands. So, round and round we went, and somehow, Ethan and I ended up ‘together’ again. We became one of those legendary couples who split everything fifty-fifty. 2 Life after getting married didn’t seem much different than before. We each had our own room. He worked during the day, coming home late at night. We barely saw each other. I found out later that Ethan was now a surgeon. His job was demanding, keeping him busy constantly. Even that blind date, he’d apparently squeezed it in between shifts just to appease someone. He probably never expected the blind date would be me, either. These days, I’m a freelance writer, mostly churning out relationship drama for online platforms. Knowing how precise and focused a surgeon needs to be, I subconsciously tried to keep my late-night typing quieter. Not that Ethan would probably even hear it. Today was Thursday. I’d been writing until the wee hours, so I didn’t crawl out of bed until noon. Stepping out of my room, I ran right into Ethan, who clearly hadn’t gone to work. He was sitting on the sofa, immaculately dressed. A stark contrast to me, freshly woken, hair sticking out in every direction. My mouth opened, and I managed a dry, “Dr. Ross? No work today?” “Day off.” And then… silence. Awkward, heavy silence. Ethan seemed to sense me staring. His gaze lifted from his book and landed on me. Oh, kill me now! I bolted for the bathroom. Maybe I imagined it, but I could have sworn I heard a low chuckle behind me. He was laughing at me! Later, for reasons unknown, Ethan decided he had to come with me when I needed to buy some clothes. A free driver? Sure, why not. But I seriously suspected he just wanted to show off that Mercedes he’d bought. On loan, no doubt! As far as I knew, both his condo and his car were financed up to the eyeballs. After making payments, his surgeon’s salary probably left him with just a few thousand bucks for living expenses each month. That wasn’t much different from my situation. What was there to brag about? Unless… unless he was like some romance novel hero, a secret billionaire! (Yeah, right.) 3 Today, the little indie website I wrote for was having its annual gala, and my editor specifically requested I attend. This was pretty much my first time attending such an event after years grinding away in the web fiction world, so naturally, I wanted to look decent. At the mall, I headed straight for the department store’s clearance racks on the first floor, hoping to find a nice dress. Nothing too flashy, just understated and pretty. But Ethan insisted on dragging me up to the fifth floor, to the high-end designer boutiques. Standing in front of those clothes, my feet felt glued to the floor. The sales associate was super friendly at first, but when she realized I was just looking, not buying, her attitude did a complete 180. Her words dripped with condescending pity, suggesting the first-floor clearance section might be “more suitable,” while also subtly mocking my taste. Before I could even open my mouth, Ethan stepped forward, his expression dark. “Whether she can afford it or not is my call.” Damn! Hot! Okay, maybe it was just putting on a brave face, trying not to lose ground, but still! If the price tag was even remotely within my reach, I wouldn’t mind splurging a little. The associate was clearly intimidated by Ethan’s ‘aura.’ Thankfully, the store manager arrived just then, smoothing things over politely before leading me to a fitting room. When I stepped out, I felt like my whole presence just expanded. Damn, I looked good! Catching my reflection, I fought to keep the grin off my face. How could I be this gorgeous! But then… reality check. Seeing the manager chatting quietly with Ethan nearby, I casually asked, “How much is this dress?” The manager glanced at Ethan, then immediately smiled at me. “$150!” One fifty? If I remembered correctly, the boutiques on the fifth floor usually started at four figures, minimum. “We’re having a special promotion right now, ma’am! Perfect timing!” Never look a gift horse in the mouth! With a grand wave of my hand, I declared, “I’ll take it!” As I paid, I looked up and saw Ethan, hands shoved in his pockets, just watching me. His expression was… weird. 4 After buying the dress, it was almost time for the gala. Ethan and I went our separate ways. I called an Uber and headed straight to the hotel where the event was being held. On the way, I chatted in a group message with some other authors also attending. “Sarah, did you hear? The Rockwells are having an event at the same hotel!” “The Rockwells! Like, the richest family in the city!” I wasn’t particularly interested. “Richest family booked the same hotel as our little indie site? Wouldn’t they usually rent out the whole place?” I typed back. “You don’t get it. They’re being ‘low-key’.” I snorted. Yeah, real low-key, throwing a massive party. Just as my Uber pulled up, I saw a sleek Maybach parked nearby. A man in a perfectly tailored black suit stepped out, radiating an air of authority. I couldn’t see his face, but judging by the way a group of young women nearby suddenly lit up, he had to be seriously handsome. Then I remembered my current marital status… Ah well, better not stare. It wasn’t like anyone could compare to Ethan anyway. At least, Ethan’s face was flawless. Our website’s gala was in a smaller banquet hall, while the rumored Rockwell bash was in the grand ballroom upstairs. The authors hoping to catch a glimpse of the billionaire patriarch were visibly disappointed. I sat at my assigned table, listening to the writers around me whisper excitedly: “I hear the head of the family is gorgeous! Wish I could see him!” “All I know is the last name’s Rockwell, first name is supposedly…” 5 “…Something like Ethan!” “Nah, can’t find anything online. No pictures either!” “Too bad, missed my chance to become Mrs. Rockwell… haha, just kidding!” I half-listened to the fragmented gossip, not really getting it. Feeling bored, I propped my chin on my hand, watching our site’s owner, clearly tipsy, excitedly announce round after round of prize drawings. I muttered under my breath, “Did the boss mainline caffeine? Drawing prizes like this, won’t he wake up bankrupt tomorrow?” “You didn’t know?” Maya, the author next to me, leaned in conspiratorially. “Our revenue stream did really well this year. Apparently, some big investor pumped in a ton of cash. So the boss is happy. Let him draw, who cares? It all comes out of our royalties anyway!” Good point! I nodded in agreement. Big bosses, small bosses – all sharks. I seriously doubted there were any real big prizes waiting. Famous last words. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than the spotlight suddenly swung… right onto me. I looked up, bewildered. “Number 66!” A wave of murmurs went through the room. I automatically fumbled for the numbered ticket they gave us at the door. The big, bold “66” practically blinded everyone nearby. “Congratulations to Number 66, winner of the $10,000 grand prize!” The host’s voice nearly cracked with excitement. A grand prize had literally fallen into my lap, leaving my head spinning. My legs were actually trembling as I walked up to the stage. Man, was this real? Felt like a dream. The prize was a prepaid card, supposedly loaded with the ten grand. Hope the boss wasn’t bluffing. Maya stared at me, eyes wide with excitement. As soon as I got back to the table, she grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go. “Sarah! Remember me when you’re rich!” “Yeah, yeah, don’t forget me either!” “Okay, okay! I won’t, I won’t!” I sighed, amused. Back in my seat, I definitely felt more people looking my way. “By the way, Sarah, that dress is amazing! Where’d you get it?” Maya’s eyes were glued to my outfit. “You have no idea, when you were on stage just now, you were practically glowing!” I told her the truth. “Just got it at the mall, it was only $150. You’re exaggerating!” “$150? But it looks like it cost thousands.” “It was on sale, but seriously, not as expensive as you think.” No way was I buying that the manager sold me that dress at a loss! I glanced around. Yep, still getting stares. “I need some air, it’s stuffy in here.” Maya waved me off as I headed for the door. The small banquet hall was on the first floor; the Rockwell party was reportedly on the third. I was just wandering through the hotel lobby, trying to stretch my legs, when I looked up and saw a familiar face. Ethan. Standing on the third-floor balcony, looking down at me.

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The day I miscarried, some girl called him, cooing into the phone, “Honey, I got my period, and my cramps are killing me.” He turned to me and said, “I gotta step out for a bit. You’ll be fine if you just get some sleep.” I never imagined this man wasn’t just a cheat, but that he’d planned everything to screw me over. God, I hate that I was so blind. 1. It hurt so much. After the anesthesia wore off, my abdomen felt like it had been smashed with a sledgehammer. I leaned weakly against the pillow, tears streaming down my face as I looked at Ethan. “Stay with me, please?” He grabbed his jacket, heading for the door, his tone final. “Got something to do. Can’t stay.” I bit my lip, trying to phrase it delicately. “What is it? Something to do with her?” He paused at the door, glanced back at me sideways, a smirk darker than the night sky playing on his lips. “Yeah, exactly. Something to do with her. Ava, you couldn’t even keep the baby. What makes you think you can keep me?” I closed my eyes, a roaring filling my ears. Ethan Cole, I swear I’ll make you pay for this. … An hour later, my best friend, Chloe, showed up in my hospital room. “Ava, I hired those guys for you, they’re waiting outside the hospital, but—” “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I nodded, trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry. The place they usually meet up is pretty secluded. Getting inside will be easy.” I’d known for a while that Ethan had someone else. Our relationship crumbled under the strain of me constantly asking who she was. I hated him for cheating; he hated me for making waves. I couldn’t let this go. Not today. Gritting my teeth against the intense pain, I got out of bed. Chloe helped me leave the hospital. I wanted to surprise Ethan. But honestly, when he opened the door, he looked a lot calmer than I expected. “What are you doing here?” His tone was flat as if he didn’t care that I’d found his secret spot. I ignored him and pushed past into the living room. A woman was lounging on the sofa, wearing a fluffy pajama set. Her eyes were soft, and she held a bowl – probably some kind of comfort food he used to make for me when I had cramps. “Get out.” Ethan grabbed my arm, trying to pull me towards the door. I yelled his name, loud. That was the signal. The guys I’d hired, waiting outside, rushed in immediately. Ethan froze for a second, then sneered. “You hired people? You trying to get arrested?” I looked at him innocently, speaking softly. “Wrong guess…” Just as I finished speaking, the twenty-odd guys instantly pulled out their phones. They captured Ethan grabbing my collar, then rushed into the living room, recording the woman on the sofa. “Ahhh! What are you doing?” the woman screamed. “Stop filming! Stop! Ethan, help me!” Ethan tried to shield her, but some of the guys blocked him. He couldn’t get past them, so he turned his fury on me. I didn’t even have time to react before he shoved me hard. My stomach slammed violently against the corner of a table. I let out a choked gasp, clutching my abdomen as I crumpled to the floor. Something warm trickled down my leg, pooling on the ground. Everyone froze. Ethan seemed to snap back to reality. He looked at me, took a deep breath, and asked, “Ava, what the hell do you want?” A faint smile spread across my pale face. “Ethan, I’m making you famous.” 2 After leaving Ethan’s place, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I collapsed into Chloe’s arms and just sobbed. Chloe rubbed my back, comforting me. “Go ahead and cry. It’s good to let it out.” Through my sniffles, I asked the main guy I’d hired, who was standing nearby, “Did you get the part where he pushed me?” He was a guy in his forties, looked like he’d seen a thing or two. Probably never this kind of drama, though. Still, he was professional. He patted his chest and assured me, “Don’t worry, Miss. Got it all right here on video.” Good. Then the pain wasn’t for nothing. Chloe sighed, looking like she wanted to say something more, but in the end, just said, “Leave the rest to me. The most important thing for you right now is to rest and recover.” Women really are the reliable ones. I managed a watery smile, then closed my eyes gratefully as Chloe gently wiped my face with a tissue, muttering something about mascara. Back in the hospital, I lay in bed. A male doctor walked in. He was young, handsome, with a sunny vibe. “Ms. Evans? Hi, I’m Liam Carter. I’m a friend of your friend.” I managed a weak smile. Chloe must have arranged this, but I wasn’t really in the mood. I let him examine me, answering his questions vaguely until my phone buzzed. It was Ethan. The nerve of him to call. A cold smile touched my lips as I answered. “Ava, do you really think posting a few things online is going to hurt me?” So, Chloe had already made her move. I replied calmly, “What are you talking about? You’re my husband. Why would I want to hurt you? I just thought—” “People might like to see a different side of the great Ethan Cole.” Ethan snorted. “Have you thought about yourself in all this? You think a few videos will make me public enemy number one? Ava, don’t be naive. Public opinion can be easily managed.” I knew it wouldn’t be completely one-sided, but hearing him underestimate me like this was almost funny. “Don’t you worry about me taking you down with me. You should probably worry about your own company.” This mess would definitely impact his business, at least somewhat. And I wasn’t worried about the posts being taken down quickly. Because Chloe worked in PR. She knew the game. Hearing me say that, the man on the other end went silent. After a moment, his voice was low. “How are you feeling?” I burst out laughing like I’d just heard the world’s funniest joke. His threats hadn’t bothered me much, but hearing those words now? It just made me sick to my stomach. Just as I was about to say something sarcastic, Liam, who had been quiet until now, suddenly asked, “Ms. Evans, does it hurt when I press here?” Ethan immediately sounded suspicious. “Who’s there with you?” I smiled at the doctor’s young, fresh face and replied, “Who else would it be? Obviously—” “My new boyfriend.” 3 Ethan’s possessiveness was off the charts, bordering on pathological. When we were dating, he wouldn’t let me hang out with any other guys, not even my own cousin. Back then, I was completely smitten, treated his words like gospel, so naturally, I obeyed. After we got married, he still had his rules, plenty of them. But apparently, the rules only applied to me. He could do whatever he wanted. At first, I never thought he’d cheat. Our love story felt too perfect; it completely blinded me. I met him, married him during what should have been the best years of my life, only to find out later that he had someone he could never forget – the one that got away. Not the woman he was cheating with, obviously. Who it was didn’t matter. What mattered was that he couldn’t have her. A man with unsatisfied desires, coupled with power and status… cheating was probably the least of his offenses. But none of that gave him the right to hurt me. Since I couldn’t be his ‘one that got away,’ I’d just let someone else be mine. Ethan had already hung up. I could only imagine how pissed he was, but I didn’t care. I took Liam’s hand, smiling sweetly. “How old are you?” Liam clearly wasn’t expecting me to be so forward. His face and ears turned red. He stammered, “T-twenty-six.” Definitely younger. My smile widened. “Oh, Ms. Evans,” Liam quickly changed the subject. “You mentioned trending online earlier… actually…” “The comments aren’t very kind to you.” I shifted slightly. “Oh? What are they saying?” The young doctor looked uncomfortable but spilled it out under my encouraging gaze. “They’re saying maybe you deserved it, that a powerful guy like Mr. Cole wouldn’t hit a woman unless she did something to provoke him?” Classic victim-blaming. I chuckled. “And what do you think?” Liam seemed surprised by the question. He thought for a moment, then answered seriously, “I don’t think what those commenters say matters. What’s important now is how you keep the momentum going, keep the pressure on him. Of course, you can’t just let it stay trending constantly, or it might attract official attention, investigations. The best strategy might be to pop back into the headlines every few days, keep people engaged.” I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, you know a lot about this.” Liam scratched his head sheepishly, grinning. “I used to be interested in PR stuff.” I nodded. He had a point, but managing the online buzz wasn’t my problem. Chloe was a master at this. As they say, with a best friend like that, who needs an army? I settled back into the pillows. “You can go now. I think I need to sleep.” Liam agreed. Before leaving, he carefully tucked my feet under the blanket and adjusted the thermostat, making it warmer. I drifted off, feeling a bit more at peace. Dimly, I heard some noises. Then, a familiar voice whispered near my ear. “Happy now, baby?”

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I slipped the powder into my husband’s dinner. When his mother caught me, she just scoffed, “That little bit ain’t gonna do squat.” Later that night, she took a knife and cut off her own son’s manhood herself. 1. I was five months pregnant, and this felt like judgment day. Mama Mae said if I couldn’t give her a grandson this time, she’d pass me around to every man in this hollow. Said maybe once I’d earned back the money they paid for me, they’d sell me off to someone else. The creaky examination table in the clinic felt like the judge’s bench. “Well, Billy? Is it a boy?” Mama Mae craned her neck, squinting at the ultrasound screen Dr. Evans was holding. But the way Dr. Evans’ brow furrowed and his face fell made my heart sink. Sure enough, the next second, Mama Mae’s fist slammed into my chest. “You good-for-nothing tramp! Cost my boy ten thousand dollars, and you can’t even pop out a boy!” As she pulled her hand back, she slapped me hard across the face, making my head spin. God, that hurt, you old hag. I lowered my head, clutching it, and rolled my eyes so hard they nearly stuck. If I’m a tramp, what does that make you, practically crawling into bed with your own son every night, you dried-up old prune? “It is a boy!” Dr. Evans stepped in quickly, seeing the raw patch where she’d yanked my hair earlier. He even took a shove from Mama Mae meant for me. “It’s a boy, see? This little bump right here, that’s the little fella,” Dr. Evans explained, pointing carefully on the screen, even circling the spot with a pen so she’d understand. “It’s a buck! A buck!” Mama Mae, nearly seventy, flushed red and practically jumped for joy. But just as quickly, she calmed down, shot me a look full of hate, like she’d just remembered something unpleasant. I ignored her glare, scrambling off the table to see for myself. Relief washed over me. Only then did I dare sneak a glance at the old woman standing by the table, one hand on her hip, the other patting her own flat stomach. Sixty-something years old, hasn’t had a period in God knows how long, and still dreaming of having her own son! I scoffed silently. “Abby, your scalp is bleeding pretty bad. Let me give you something for it,” Dr. Evans said. He sat on a worn wooden stool in his white coat, his long fingers and the pen gleaming in the sunlight. After writing something down, he pulled a small paper packet from a cabinet and pressed it into my hand. Two packets, I thought, feeling the rough paper. I tried to subtly slide one up my sleeve. But Mama Mae snatched the packet right out of my hand and tried to shove it back at Dr. Evans. While doing it, she poked me hard, her fingernails caked with dirt digging right into my injured scalp. It felt like she wouldn’t stop until she drew blood again. “Don’t need it, don’t need it! She’s tough as nails, a little scratch like this? Ain’t worth using medicine on! It’ll heal on its own!” I’ll kill you someday, you miserable old witch! I kept my head down, wincing but not daring to make a sound, pretending to be meek and agreeing. My mind, though, was racing with ways to get rid of her. Luckily, Mama Mae was too busy arguing with Dr. Evans to notice my expression. They went back and forth all the way to the clinic door. Until Dr. Evans finally said, “It’s on the house.” “Well, thank you kindly then, Billy,” Mama Mae instantly stopped arguing, a folksy smile spreading across her face as she let Dr. Evans put the packet back in her hand. It was mortifying. As we left, we thanked Dr. Evans again and again, bowing and scraping like he just handed her the winning lottery ticket. By the time we walked from the clinic back to our cabin, word had spread like wildfire through Hollow Creek. Everyone knew Cletus, the man whose wife couldn’t seem to produce an heir, was finally getting a son. Big news! Cause for celebration, maybe crack open some moonshine. 2 Walking home, I stuck out my belly, which wasn’t even showing much yet, and put on a big, happy smile. After that day, my life in Cletus’s house got a little easier. They didn’t keep me locked up inside as much, the beatings lessened, and sometimes I could even wander around the hollow a bit. People started getting used to seeing me out and about. “That’s just how it is for women! Marry a man, he puts food on the table and clothes on your back. Gotta make the best of it,” one neighbor told me. “A man hitting his wife ain’t the worst thing. Long as he provides, just gotta learn to humor him,” another chimed in. “Men are just like big kids, really. Spoil ’em a little, and they’ll eat right out of your hand.” When the woman next door, Jenny, tried to run off again and got dragged back, I stood in the crowd watching. “That’s your neighbor, ain’t it?” A woman nudged me with her elbow, nodding towards the scene. “Ma’am, careful! I’m carrying a boy, you know,” I muttered, rolling my eyes inwardly and stepping away from her clumsy nudge. “Sure is,” I finally answered. “Honestly, marryin’ one man’s same as marryin’ another, right? Jed’s family, they’re better off than most around here. What’s she got to complain about? Just doesn’t appreciate what she has.” Standing there, watching Jenny tied up and beaten nearly senseless, a sick kind of superiority washed over me. But the trail of blood dripping on the dirt path unnerved me. I clutched my belly and carefully backed out of the crowd. No, I gotta protect my son. Can’t let anything happen to him. The thought sent a chill down my spine, like someone was watching me. I looked around, left and right, but saw no one staring. Still, I felt like the other women were jealous. I hurried away from the crowd and ran back towards the cabin. “Soon as that bitch pops out the boy, we sell her off quick to those idiot brothers down the holler. Then Ma’ll buy you a new wife, son.” I hadn’t even stepped inside when Mama Mae’s venomous words froze me in my tracks. I thought having a son would make things better. Clutching the bag of groceries, I ducked behind the corner of the house to listen. “Aw, Ma! Where we gonna get the money for that? Let her pop out a couple more boys first, then we’ll talk,” Cletus mumbled back. His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Freezing cold. He was agreeing with her – sell me again, squeeze more money out of me. In that instant, I saw my future clearer than ever, and it was worse than Jenny’s. At least Jenny was still alive. If they sold me off again, especially to those two… I wouldn’t last long. “Mark my words, son. Once she has that baby, you will sell her.” Mama Mae’s cryptic comment jolted me. I remembered something she’d vaguely asked me to help her with earlier, and my teeth clenched with hatred. Those brothers she mentioned were born slow, dirt poor, strong as oxen, and meaner than snakes when they got riled. If I got sold to them, forced to take care of both… would I even survive? “Ma! There’s some commotion goin’ on outside!” I called out, deliberately standing further away before walking into the yard with the groceries, head down. No way I’m letting that old hag sell me to those two. I can’t die here. I have to find a way out. I made a silent promise to myself. 3 That day, some church folks came by dropping off donation boxes, and Cletus brought home a bag of rice. Mama Mae pulled out a piece of pork, deciding to splurge, and sent Cletus out to fetch some liquor. While tending the stove, I found the packet of powder Dr. Evans had given me. Looking at the amount, I clicked my tongue. “Still seems like not enough.” My hands were shaking as I emptied the powder into a bowl. Just as I was about to reach for a spoon, I looked up and saw Mama Mae standing right there, frowning at me. A cold sweat broke out all over my body. Did she see? Before I could even finish the thought, a stinging pain exploded on my cheek. “Useless thing!” Mama Mae snatched the packet from me, dumped the rest of its contents into the bowl, and stirred vigorously with a spoon until the white powder disappeared. Still not satisfied, she added two huge spoonfuls of sugar before finally stopping. “That little bit ain’t gonna do squat! Don’t you even care about your man?” Muttering curses, she carried the bowl out. Before leaving, she deliberately kicked the empty packet into the firebox under the stove, watching it burn. Only after she left did I finally let out a breath. I unclenched my fist. The bit of powder I’d managed to palm was damp with sweat, but still usable. I mixed it into the thick gravy simmering on the stove. The gravy was dark and strongly flavored; the powder wouldn’t be noticeable. That evening, Mama Mae and Cletus ate and drank with gusto. The combination of the drug and the alcohol knocked them both out cold. Quietly, I opened the cabin door, planning to use this rare chance to escape. Everything went smoothly at first. In the distance, the rickety wooden bridge connected Hollow Creek to the outside world. It felt like a lifeline. Cross that bridge, and I’d be free! Head down, I hurried towards it, almost breaking into a run. Almost there, almost there, almost free! But then, maybe a hundred yards from freedom, I stopped. I gave up. I turned around and went back.

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My wife lay dead in our home, terminally ill. All the signs pointed To the mistress of her husband, the one who’d married into her money. But the real killer… well, no one saw that coming. 1. The living room was a disaster zone. A woman’s body, clad in pajamas, lay face down in a pool of blood. Behind her, a horrifying blood smear stretched nearly six feet across the floorboards, marking a desperate crawl. Every drawer, every nook, anything that could hide something, had been violently ransacked. On a load-bearing wall, there was a sickening impact point, blood spattered outwards like the killer had slammed the victim’s head against it, hard, maybe more than once… I took a quick scan of the scene, my assessment interrupted by my assistant Leo’s confused voice in my ear. “Dr. Sharma, this scene was locked down tight. How did that anonymous tipster even know a crime happened here? Could they be the killer?” I frowned, pulling latex gloves from my pocket. “Let’s put that aside for now. Focus on the case in front of us.” “Right.” Leo nodded, grabbing his kit and heading towards the body to prep for my initial examination. Just as I was about to ask someone for details, a solid figure emerged from the bedroom. He wore a crisp police uniform, the peaked cap shadowing sharp, deep-set eyes that seemed to take everything in. It was Detective Kincaid, from Homicide. We’d been working cases together for about six months. He usually favored practical biker gear, though, not the formal blues. The uniform gave him a different air. Seeing me, his usual tough-guy expression softened slightly. He crossed the room quickly but stopped a respectful few feet away, holding out a pair of disposable shoe covers with a hint of awkwardness. “Finally made it, huh?” I took the covers, his warm fingers brushing the back of my hand – a stark contrast to the cold touch I dealt with daily in my line of work. “What’s the preliminary?” I asked, pulling the covers over my shoes. “You know, you don’t always have to look so serious. They call you the ‘Ice Queen’ behind your back, you know?” He offered a slight, teasing smile, maybe emboldened because I hadn’t refused the shoe covers. He quickly got back to business. “I was actually in a meeting nearby when the anonymous tip came into your office. Got here within five minutes, but it was too late. She was gone. This one… could be anything. Revenge, jealousy, money…” I stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. Kincaid tapped his tablet, pulling up the victim’s file. “Victim is Eleanor Vance. Pretty well-known locally, businesswoman, wealthy. Made her share of enemies, I’m sure. So, motive could easily be financial, some deal gone bad. Plus, her husband, Greg Thorne, married into the money. They’ve been together over ten years, no kids. Eleanor was an only child, and her parents died in a car crash not long ago. If she’s gone… Greg inherits everything.” “Where’s Greg?” I calculated the time; Kincaid had been here at least twenty minutes longer than me. The husband should have been notified and rushed over by now. “Don’t get me started. Called his cell countless times, goes straight to voicemail. Called his office, secretary says he never showed up today.” I glanced back at the crowd of onlookers held back by the yellow tape outside. “Any witnesses?” Kincaid shook his head. “No witnesses to the event itself. Neighbor next door gave us something, though. Heard a vase shatter, followed by crying.” “How was their relationship?” I pressed. “Based on what the neighbors are saying… not great.” Kincaid gave my shoulder a light, supportive pat. “Don’t stress too much. Looks like we can rule out a random home invasion robbery. The killer didn’t force entry from the outside. The struggle is concentrated here, in the living room, not starting at the door.” He was right. If it were a break-in or someone following her home, the signs of struggle would likely start near the entrance as she was overpowered. The killer… was someone Eleanor Vance had let inside without fear. 2: The Husband’s Mistress – A Motive for Murder? “Detective, got something.” Chris, from the evidence team, walked over holding a medical file. It was open, and I immediately saw the diagnosis. Patient: Eleanor Vance. Condition: Stage IV Liver Cancer. Prognosis: Six months, maximum. The appointment date was two months ago. Which meant she only had about three, maybe four months left. “Interesting. With that diagnosis, she wouldn’t have been managing her business affairs much. Rules out a current business dispute driving a revenge killing. Which leaves…” Kincaid didn’t finish his thought as Jake, from Forensics, approached, holding up his infrared scanner. “Detective, the trace evidence here is… complicated.” Kincaid took off his cap, rubbing his brow with a familiar frown. “How so?” “Take a look.” Jake tapped the scanner’s screen, bringing up a multicolored display. “Red is blood spatter. Blue indicates footprints and fingerprints. And gray… gray means someone wiped it down.” Following his explanation, my eyes immediately traced a distinct gray path leading from the front door towards the bedroom. “The killer cleaned their tracks?” Jake nodded. “Exactly. Which makes it hard to say if the four distinct sets of shoe prints and three sets of latent prints we lifted definitely belong to the killer.” “Don’t jump to conclusions yet,” Kincaid told Jake, signaling him to keep processing. He turned back to me. “Alright, Dr. Sharma. Your show.” I gave him a brief look, then moved toward the victim, crouching beside the body to begin my preliminary examination. “Livor and rigor mortis haven’t set in yet. Body temperature is still slightly elevated. Consistent with death within the last hour. Also…” I lifted Eleanor’s hand gently, examining it closely. “Fingernails on all ten fingers show cyanosis – a bluish tint – and heavy abrasion. Significant debris under the nails. Consistent with the claw marks on the floor. Caused during her crawl.” I motioned for Leo to collect samples from under her nails. Next, I carefully brushed the hair away from her face. Her cheekbones were sunken, dark circles prominent under her eyes. The illness had clearly taken a heavy toll. What was strange, though, were the distinct petechial hemorrhages in her eyelids and the cyanosis around her lips. There was also a small amount of vomit near her mouth. All classic signs of asphyxiation. Yet, there were no ligature marks on her neck, no bruising around her nose or mouth. I used a gloved finger to dab a tiny bit of the vomit, bringing it close to my nose. Amidst the sour, acrid smell, there was a faint, peculiar chemical odor, almost medicinal. Leo leaned in to collect a sample of the vomit. “Dr. Sharma, could the asphyxia be from aspiration? Maybe induced by the head trauma causing vomiting? Or maybe the cancer itself caused it?” I didn’t answer immediately. I pressed the impact point on her forehead. No crepitus, no indication of a skull fracture. Besides Leo’s theories, mechanical asphyxia – smothering – was a strong possibility. The exact cause of death would require a full autopsy. Seeing that none of the visible injuries accounted for the sheer volume of blood, I signaled Leo to help me carefully turn the body over. Just as I suspected. The femoral artery, high on her inner thigh, had been slashed by a sharp object. The edges of the wound were jagged, and I could see tiny fragments of glass embedded in the skin. I looked back along the blood trail. Near its starting point lay the shattered remains of a large, ornate vase. The basic sequence of events was becoming clearer. Eleanor was first assaulted near the wall, suffering the head impact. Then, somehow, she ended up near where the vase broke, cutting her artery on the shards. From there, she crawled nearly six feet before finally succumbing. I instructed the team to carefully bag the body for transport to the morgue for the full autopsy. Kincaid walked over, phone in hand, a triumphant look on his face. He couldn’t resist his usual playful routine with me. “Guess what I just found out?” I focused on meticulously labeling the sample vials, not responding. For some reason, he always seemed to dial up the boyish enthusiasm around me, a stark contrast to the cool, disciplined detective everyone else described. He was used to my frosty demeanor by now and didn’t seem offended. Instead, he crouched down beside me, helping organize the vials while sharing his finding. “Just got a call from Financial Crimes. They tracked Greg Thorne’s credit card usage. Guess where? The downtown Women’s Clinic.” My hands paused. A likely scenario clicked into place. “You guessed it.” Kincaid met my eyes, a shared understanding passing between us. “Greg Thorne didn’t just have a mistress on the side. He got her pregnant. And from here to the Women’s Clinic? It’s only a fifteen-minute drive. He had the motive, and he had the time.” 3: Sleeping Pills and a Killer? “And here’s the clincher…” Kincaid raised an eyebrow. “I checked the security footage from the elevators and stairwells in this building. Greg Thorne left the premises thirty minutes ago. Lines up perfectly with Eleanor’s estimated time of death.” I calmly closed my forensic kit, refusing to get carried away by the seemingly straightforward evidence. My first mentor in forensics taught me day one: never jump to conclusions, whether you’re investigating a scene or examining a body. Avoid tunnel vision at all costs. “Looks like this one might wrap up without needing too much overtime from you, Doc!” Kincaid patted my shoulder confidently, then stood and motioned to another detective. They were heading to the Women’s Clinic to pick up Greg Thorne. I wasn’t as optimistic. Something about the case felt off, too many strange details. I wasn’t ready to declare it solved. Back at the office. I sent Leo off to the lab with the collected samples, requesting rush processing, then headed straight into the autopsy suite. We donned our light blue scrubs, masks, and fresh gloves. Eleanor Vance lay on the stainless-steel table. Bruises marked various parts of her body, particularly severe subcutaneous hemorrhaging in areas typically grabbed during restraint – arms, shoulders. Given the signs of asphyxia noted at the scene, that was my starting point. I examined her oral cavity and dissected the subcutaneous tissues of her neck. Then, I carefully shaved her head, made a precise incision from behind her left ear, across the scalp, to behind her right ear. Peeling back the scalp, I used the oscillating saw to remove the skull cap. Her brain tissue, like her mouth and neck tissues, showed no signs of trauma or hemorrhage. It almost looked like a sudden natural death, except for the clear signs of violence. However, after removing the brain and the dura mater covering the base of the skull, the petrous portions of the temporal bones were visibly dark, showing distinct hemorrhage. “Smothering,” I stated definitively. Hemorrhage in the petrous temporal bones, which house the inner ear structures, indicates a significant pressure change, often seen in smothering or drowning cases. “But there were no marks around her mouth or nose…” Leo looked completely baffled. I met his confused gaze. “Could have been done with a soft object.” Light dawned in Leo’s eyes. “Oh! I remember now! I think one of the sofa cushions was missing from the living room scene.” I didn’t comment further, moving on to open the thoracic and abdominal cavities. Just as the medical report indicated, her liver was hard, riddled with large, irregular masses. The cancer was aggressively advanced. Critically, her lungs showed no significant aspiration of vomit, and her bronchial passages were clear. Cause of death was becoming undeniable. Just then, a knock sounded at the autopsy suite door. I looked up as Ben from the toxicology lab entered, holding a report. “Dr. Sharma, we found traces of Zolpidem in the victim’s vomit.” “Zolpidem? Isn’t that Ambien?” Leo exclaimed. I stripped off my gloves, took the report from Ben, and asked Leo to handle the closing sutures. I headed straight for the digital forensics unit. With the team’s help, it didn’t take long to pull up security footage stills of Greg Thorne purchasing a bottle of Ambien from a local pharmacy a week prior, clearly using connections to bypass normal prescription protocols. By the time I got to the Homicide division, Kincaid had already brought Greg Thorne back from the clinic. Inside the stark interrogation room, Greg Thorne, dressed in an expensive suit, looked extremely agitated. “How did Eleanor die? She was fine when I left this morning, I swear!” “You’re the husband, you tell me,” Kincaid’s voice was hard, his demeanor intimidating when he switched into full interrogation mode. “I suggest you start talking, tell us everything. Lying will only make things worse.” “You… you don’t suspect me, do you?” Greg stammered, then rushed to defend himself. “Yes… she found out about… the other woman. We fought about it constantly. But you have to understand, she didn’t have long left! If I just waited, didn’t push for a divorce, all her assets would come to me eventually. Why would I kill her?” Kincaid slammed his hand on the table. “Maybe you couldn’t wait! Maybe you decided to speed things up!”

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Five years ago, I walked out on Ethan Hayes. His career was just taking off, and I left him. Turned around and married an old man. Five years later, at a college reunion, Ethan’s a success story, and I’m… well, I’m a mess. Later, in the semi-darkness of a rooftop, he asked me, his voice rough, “Leaving me like that… you happy now, Ava?” 1. I was rushing to the hospital, practically sprinting, when I slammed right into someone. The papers he was holding scattered everywhere. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I dropped down to help him gather the files, and the ugly bruises and cuts on my hands were suddenly right there, under the harsh fluorescent light. “Ava?” Ethan’s voice was hesitant, testing the name. He grabbed my hand gently. “What happened to your hand?” My fingers froze on a stray document. That voice… so familiar. It was the first time I’d seen him in five years. Never thought it would be like this. “No, I… you’ve got the wrong person.” I snatched my hand back, my instinct screaming to run, but he caught me, pulling me into a hug. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion. “I’d never mistake you. You’re Ava!” “Ouch…” I hissed, sucking in a breath. He was holding me tight, and the hidden injuries on my body throbbed in protest. He pulled back immediately, his eyes scanning me, finally noticing the other marks, the ones peeking out from my sleeve. “Ava, what happened to you? The cuts… I need to get you to the ER.” Ethan took me to the hospital and stayed with me the whole time. The nurse who treated my cuts was an older woman, kind but blunt. “Honey, we need to get an X-ray of this arm, make sure nothing’s broken. And that burn on your hand – keep it dry, okay?” She looked pointedly at Ethan, her expression shifting to disapproval and suspicion. “You know, young man, you look like such a nice, respectable guy. I wouldn’t have figured you for someone who gets rough like this.” Ethan just stared at me, looking completely bewildered. I saw the nurse’s judging eyes and knew what she was thinking. I quickly jumped in. “Oh, no, you misunderstand. He didn’t do this.” “Sweetie,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “domestic abuse is illegal. You don’t have to be scared. We have resources, people who can help. Do you want me to call the police for you?” I shook my head quickly. “No, really. Thank you for your concern, though.” The nurse sighed, a flicker of frustration in her eyes, but she didn’t push. “Okay, well… let’s get you over to radiology for that X-ray.” After the X-ray confirmed no broken bones, just deep bruising and the nasty burn, Ethan led me outside to a small hospital garden. He lit a cigarette, took a long, deep drag, and exhaled slowly, the smoke mingling with the scent of antiseptic and damp earth. The air crackled with unspoken questions. He finished the cigarette, stubbed it out, but still seemed wound tight, his eyes bloodshot as he finally looked at me. “Ava Miller. Aren’t you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” I didn’t answer, just looked at him, my expression carefully neutral. I’d honestly thought I’d never see Ethan Hayes again. “You didn’t used to smoke,” I said quietly. “Ava, do you even have a heart?” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “You disappeared without a word back then… was this the life you left me for?” He grabbed my shoulders, his grip tight, desperation and a deep, aching sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s getting late,” I said, pulling away gently. “I should go home. Thanks for… for today. Take care of yourself, Ethan.” Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked away, not looking back. Ethan and I met in college. I was a freshman; he was a senior assigned to help orient the new students. I was instantly drawn to him. It took all my courage, but I got his number and started messaging him constantly, checking in, asking how he was, finding excuses to bump into him, making sure he noticed me. Eventually, I confessed how I felt, and to my shock and delight, he said yes. My roommates always teased me, saying I landed the campus heartthrob through sheer shameless persistence… I could see it in his eyes today – Ethan still had feelings for me. But me? I’d fallen so far, dragged myself through hell. How could I possibly deserve someone like him now? 2 When I got back to the house, Arthur Morgan was sitting on the sofa, a dark, thunderous look on his face. “Where have you been?” “Just picking up some medication from the pharmacy,” I lied, trying to edge past him toward the bedroom. But Arthur was in a mood, maybe suspicious, maybe just needing an outlet. He shot up and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Who told you you could go to a hospital?” His voice was low, menacing. “Were you trying to tell everyone what I do to you?” I clawed at his hand, my voice trembling. “No! You’ve misunderstood. I didn’t say anything. Arthur, please, let go.” He shoved me away, and I stumbled, catching myself on the wall. He dusted off his hands as if he’d touched something dirty. “You wouldn’t dare!” With that parting shot, Arthur grabbed his keys and left. I slid down the wall until I was huddled on the floor, tears finally breaking free, silent drops tracing paths down my cheeks… A few days later, my phone rang. It was Chloe, an old college friend. “Ava? It’s Chloe! Hey, there’s a reunion happening next weekend. Are you gonna come?” My first instinct was to say no, absolutely not. But before I could get the word out, Chloe rushed on. “Ava, seriously, you just vanished sophomore year. I finally tracked down your number. Please come? I really want to see you.” My hand tightened on the phone. Chloe had been my best friend back then. When my family situation imploded, I never even got to say a proper goodbye. After a moment’s hesitation, I gave in. “Okay. Yeah, okay. Text me the details.” The reunion was at some downtown bar with karaoke rooms. When I walked in, the place was already packed. Chloe spotted me immediately and threw her arms around me. “Ava! You actually came! Oh my god, I’ve missed you so much!” I found a seat on a couch, trying to fade into the background. These kinds of gatherings weren’t my scene anymore. Too much pressure, too much pretending. College reunions are mostly about comparing lives, seeing who’s climbed higher. A woman I vaguely recognized, wearing a very flashy outfit, suddenly turned her attention to me. “Ava Miller… I remember you dropped out sophomore year, right? What are you doing now?” “I’m not working,” I mumbled. “Just… at home.” Chloe looked at me, surprised. “Ava, you… are you married?” I nodded stiffly. Someone else chimed in. “Wait, Ava, weren’t you dating Ethan Hayes back then? The law student?” “Yeah!” another voice added. “You probably haven’t heard, Ava, but Ethan’s huge now. Like, one of the top lawyers in the state. Super successful.” I forced a small, tight smile. “That was a long time ago.” Crash! Someone dropped a glass. I didn’t look up, just kept my eyes fixed on my lap. Then a tall shadow fell over me, blocking the dim light. 3 Someone dropped a glass. I didn’t look up, just kept my eyes fixed on my lap. Then a tall shadow fell over me, blocking the dim light. I glanced up, and before I could react, a hand grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet. He dragged me out of the noisy room, through the bar, and into the cool night air. Only then did I see clearly – it was Ethan. I struggled against his grip. “Ethan, let go of me!” He ignored me, his jaw tight, pulling me toward the building’s service elevator. He didn’t stop until we were on the rooftop terrace, the city lights spread out below us. Only then did he release my arm. “So,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “The bruises, the cuts… it’s your husband, isn’t it?” I nodded slowly. There didn’t seem to be any point in lying anymore. “When did you get married?” “Five years ago.” Ethan’s handsome face hardened, the lines around his mouth deepening. It had been exactly five years since I’d broken up with him. He laughed, a short, bitter sound devoid of any humor. “So, you broke up with me and immediately turned around and married someone else?” His voice rose, laced with pain and disbelief. “Ava! Did you ever even love me?” I remained silent. Of course, I loved Ethan. I’d never stopped. But saying it now felt pointless, irrelevant. Ethan walked to the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the streams of headlights on the street below. He lit another cigarette, smoked it down to the filter in tense silence, then spoke without turning around. “Ava… haven’t you ever thought about leaving him? Getting a divorce?” His voice was softer now, laced with confusion. “He treats you like this… why are you still with him?” I managed a wry, humorless smile. Divorce? If only it were that easy. I’d tried more than once. None of them stuck. I shook my head, refusing to answer. Ethan’s frustration flared, and he turned and stalked back towards the elevator, leaving me alone on the roof. After a few minutes, I went back down, exchanged numbers with Chloe, and left too. On the way home, Chloe texted me. Hey, btw, Ethan actually gave me your number. He asked me to invite you. I had no idea you were married. I typed back: I figured. I turned off my phone after that. It wasn’t a huge leap. Chloe suddenly finding my number just days after I’d run into Ethan? She never had it before. Truthfully? I think I agreed to come tonight because I wanted to see him again, too. 4 It was past midnight when I finally got home. As I switched on the lights, my heart leaped into my throat. Arthur was sitting on the sofa in the dark, his eyes fixed on me with a chilling intensity. I flinched, then forced myself to sound calm. “Arthur? Why are you sitting in the dark?” “Why are you back so late?” His tone was flat, dangerously calm, which was always worse than yelling. Warning bells screamed in my head. I opened my mouth to explain, but it was too late. Arthur stood up and walked towards me. The stench of alcohol hit me like a wave; he was clearly drunk. I instinctively took a step back, which only seemed to enrage him. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, and slapped me hard across the face. The force snapped my head back. “You shameless tramp!” he snarled, his face inches from mine. “Who were you out screwing around with?” I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “Arthur, please, calm down. Let me go.” But reasoning with him when he was drunk was impossible. He started hitting me again, landing blows on my arms and shoulders. Maybe it was the alcohol making him clumsy, or maybe it was pure adrenaline, but I managed to shove him hard. He stumbled backward, lost his balance, and crashed to the floor. I didn’t hesitate. I turned and ran, bolting out the front door, not even stopping to grab my shoes or purse. I’d just reached the edge of the condo complex, gasping for breath, when a sleek black Bentley pulled up silently beside me. The tinted window slid down, and Ethan’s sharp profile came into view. His expression was grim. “Get in.” My first instinct was to refuse, but he cut me off, his voice low and urgent. “Unless you want your picture plastered all over the gossip sites looking like this tomorrow morning, get in the car, Ava.” I looked down at myself – barefoot, wearing only a thin dress, no phone, no wallet. I really had nowhere else to go. I climbed into the passenger seat. The leather was cool against my skin. Ethan immediately leaned over, his arm brushing mine as he clicked my seatbelt into place. His proximity was overwhelming. “He hit you again?” His voice was tight. I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. “Just… take me somewhere. Anywhere.” The drive was silent, the tension thick enough to cut. Ethan drove to an upscale apartment building across town, pulling into the secure underground garage. He parked, and I reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped me. “Wait.” I looked at him, confused. He got out, walked around to my side, and opened the door. Before I could react, he scooped me up into his arms. “You don’t have shoes on,” he said gruffly. “Don’t walk on this dirty floor.” “Thanks…” The word came out as a choked whisper. I suddenly felt tears welling up. It had been so long since anyone had shown me even the smallest kindness. I leaned my head against his chest, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of safety. “How did you… how did you know where I was?” I asked softly as he carried me towards the elevator. “I said I was just passing by, right? Would you believe that?” I shook my head slightly against his shoulder. Of course, I didn’t. My neighborhood was nowhere near his usual routes. Ethan sighed, a heavy sound. “I followed you home from the reunion. I needed to know where you were living.” He carried me into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind us, and gently set me down on a plush sofa. “This is my place. You can stay here tonight.” He added quickly, “Don’t worry, I live alone. It’s no trouble.” “Okay. Thank you, Ethan.” 5 Ethan brought me a glass of water, then retrieved a first-aid kit from the bathroom. He knelt in front of me and gently started cleaning the cut on my cheek. “Ava,” he said softly, his eyes meeting mine, “divorce him. He doesn’t deserve you.” I was silent for a long time. Finally, I looked at him. “Ethan… are you any good at divorce cases?” His eyes, which had been shadowed with concern, instantly lit up with a fierce determination. “Ava. For you? I can do anything.” He hesitated, then asked gently, “If… if you’re comfortable, can you tell me what happened? How did you end up with him?” So, I told him. “My parents… they ran a business, you remember? My sophomore year, they were on the verge of bankruptcy. Arthur Morgan—that’s my husband—he offered my dad a bailout, a huge sum of money. But there was a condition.” I took a shaky breath. “He wanted me to marry him.” “My dad pulled me out of school immediately. Pressured me, guilted me… until I agreed. After the wedding… Arthur started hitting me. Regularly.” Talking about it felt like ripping open a barely healed wound, raw and agonizing. “Arthur Morgan? Of Morgan Construction?” Ethan asked, his voice tight with disbelief. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the first-aid kit. “Yes. He’s twenty-five years older than me. I didn’t want to marry him, I fought it, but my parents… they threatened drastic things, laid on the guilt thick.” “After we were married, I tried to leave, tried to file for divorce. Each time, Arthur would just get worse. He’d beat me, then threaten me. I called the police once, but he produced some kind of doctored medical report from a shady clinic, claiming I had mental health issues, that my injuries were self-inflicted. My parents backed him up.” My voice broke. “I tried to find a lawyer to take my case for divorce court, but no one would touch it. Arthur has too many connections, too much influence.” When I finished, Ethan covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking. Broken sobs escaped him. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I’m so, so sorry. If I’d just paid more attention back then, if I’d reached out after you left… maybe you wouldn’t have gone through all this hell.” I reached out and put a hand on his arm, then impulsively leaned forward and hugged him, resting my head on his shoulder. “Ethan, it’s not your fault. How could you have known? You were just starting your career, working crazy hours.” “I’m such an idiot!” he choked out, pulling back slightly to look at me, his eyes filled with self-reproach. “When you broke things off, I was too proud, too arrogant to demand answers. If I’d just come after you, found out what was really going on…” He buried his face in his hands again, crying like a lost child. I tried to comfort him, but he was lost in his guilt. Finally, I sighed, feeling utterly drained. “Ethan, I’m exhausted. I need to sleep.” “Right. Okay. Let me get the guest room ready for you. Wait here.” I watched him go, his back straight but radiating tension. A wave of uncertainty washed over me. Was telling him everything the right thing to do? He returned quickly, scooped me up again, and carried me into a spare bedroom, placing me gently on the bed. “Wait here,” he said again. “Let me get some warm water. For your feet. They must be freezing.” He came back moments later with a basin of warm water. He rolled up his sleeves and knelt down. I instinctively pulled my feet back. “Ethan, no, you don’t have to. I can do it.” He just gave me a look, then gently took my feet and placed them in the warm water. “Is the temperature okay?” I nodded, biting my lip. “Ethan… why are you being so nice to me?” “My Ava deserves this,” he said softly, his voice thick. He washed my feet carefully, meticulously, as if handling priceless artifacts. My eyes stung. Ava Miller… what did I ever do to deserve a man like Ethan Hayes? After drying my feet, he went to his closet and pulled out a crisp white button-down shirt. He handed it to me, his ears turning slightly red. “You can’t sleep comfortably in that dress. Wear this for tonight. I’ll get you some proper clothes tomorrow.” Seeing his slight awkwardness made me smile faintly. “Ethan,” I asked, suddenly curious, “have you… have you dated anyone? These past five years?” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to slap myself. What right did I have to ask, me, a married woman trapped in a nightmare? “No,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “All these years… I never forgot you, Ava.” The raw honesty in his voice hung in the air. He dropped the shirt onto the bed beside me and quickly left the room. The large bedroom felt quiet, almost too quiet, but for the first time in five years, lying there in the dark, I felt a profound sense of peace. In Arthur’s house, I hadn’t had a single night of truly restful sleep.

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