My husband pursued me, cherished me, for years. And then, inevitably, he betrayed me. A cold, silent smirk touched my lips. My response? A four-course revenge special, served cold. For four years, I’d supported this social climber and his whole family of ungrateful leeches. I’d invested everything and ended up emotionally bankrupt. Fine. I’ll show you what having nothing really looks like. 1. On the way to the movies with Michael, I settled into the passenger seat. Out of habit, I flipped down the sun visor, sliding open the little cover to check my makeup in the mirror. There it was. A bright red lipstick print smeared right on the glass. Instinctively, I snapped the mirror shut and glanced at Michael. He was driving, asking distractedly, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I said, forcing down the turmoil in my gut and managing a calm smile. He smiled back. Waiting at a red light, he reached over, interlacing his fingers with mine, his touch warm and familiar. Intimate. I dropped my lipstick back into my purse, digging my nails into my palm so hard it hurt. My heart felt like ice, but my face remained serene. Michael was cheating on me. In the fourth year of our marriage. That lipstick print was a blatant F-U from the other woman. Suddenly, the past six months clicked into place: the increasingly frequent “late nights at work,” the occasional hushed phone calls in the middle of the night, the times I caught him smiling softly at his phone. It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed. But I trusted him. I let his earnest explanations and consistently gentle demeanor fool me. I chose to believe. And this lipstick print? The universe practically screaming, “I told you so” at my gut feeling. Beyond the hurt, a strange sense of certainty settled over me, quickly followed by a white-hot rage at being deceived by the man sleeping beside me every night. In this marriage, Michael had played the role of the near-perfect husband. Handsome in that clean-cut, intellectual way, gentle, attentive, knew how to be romantic, how to make life comfortable. He always took such meticulous care of me. But none of that mattered now. The second I saw that print, he went from a ten-out-of-ten husband to just another lying, cheating scumbag. I never wanted to get married in the first place. It took Michael five years of pursuit, of patience, of convincing me, slowly coaxing me out of the shadow of my parents’ disastrous marriage. Like a timid turtle sticking its neck out of its shell, I’d finally gathered the courage to give him the one thing I’d sworn I never would: my trust, for life. Turns out, the only faithful man is a dead man. Michael was no exception. While I might have been passive in letting the relationship get this far, I’m a shark in my career and life. That lipstick stain made one thing crystal clear: my marriage was an emotional, idiotic mistake. And now, it was time to fix it. In my thirty-two years, no one has ever betrayed me and walked away unscathed. No. One. Ever. 2 I didn’t confront Michael. Instead, I slipped back into the mask of the happy, devoted wife. It wasn’t difficult. More than I ever loved him, I love myself. The moment I knew he’d cheated, I emotionally checked out. All that remained was the cold, calculating desire for revenge. Honestly, it felt like switching back into work mode. Putting on a smile is easy. Only this time, my target wasn’t a difficult client. It was an enemy. An enemy I would dedicate all my energy to destroying. To savor the sweet victory later, a little patience now was a necessary investment. Step one: gather intel. Know everything about his affair. Know your enemy, win the war. I planted a long-lasting listening device under the passenger seat, feeding me real-time audio from his car. Simultaneously, I hired the best private investigator in the city, sparing no expense, demanding meticulous reports on Michael’s every move. Money wasn’t an issue. I have my own successful career. Michael makes good money too. And I was confident I could make him leave this marriage with nothing but the clothes on his back. Consider it recouping my investment. Ten days later, a detailed report landed in my inbox. Michael, an Associate Professor and grad student advisor at the university. His affair partner? One of his new advisees, a student named Chloe. I stared at the photos in the report. Him, looking distinguished and gentle. Her, young, pretty, with a shy look about her. They looked sickeningly perfect together. Chloe had chosen Michael as her advisor a year ago. Initially, he hadn’t treated her any differently. But she came onto him hard from the start. Even after being rejected, she didn’t back down, constantly buzzing around him, calling him “Professor Mike” with cloying sweetness. The PI even found Chloe’s private blog, a digital diary overflowing with lovesick teenage angst. “Finally got to talk to Professor Mike today~ He’s so handsome and kind!” “He agreed to be my advisor! OMG I can see him every day now!!!” “Saw Professor Mike with his wife today. They look good together. Ugh. So depressing.” “I’ve decided! I’m going to tell him how I feel! I’ve been crushing on him since I first took his class junior year. I can’t just be another student passing through. I won’t!” “He rejected me… I couldn’t help crying. But! He wiped my tears away! OMG! There’s still hope! I’m not giving up!” “Professor Mike agreed to celebrate my birthday! He thinks it’s a group thing, but it’s just gonna be me, hehe.” “Professor Mike wasn’t even mad when he found out I tricked him! He just tapped my head gently and said since it was my birthday, he’d ‘deal with me’ tomorrow.” “I poured him drinks, and he didn’t refuse! We drank a lot, talked for hours. He told me about his childhood, how he clawed his way up from a dirt-poor background to become a professor. Talked about how he met his wife, how unhappy he is in his marriage, how his wife and his mom don’t get along, how stressed he is… I hugged him to comfort him, and then… we slept together hahaha!” … “I can’t stand being his dirty little secret! I want to be his wife! I’ll be way better than that cold fish who can’t even handle her mother-in-law! He deserves better!” “I told him I want him to get a divorce. He didn’t say yes, just that he needed to think about it.” “I know he’s always wanted kids, but his wife refuses to have any. What a selfish bitch! But that’s okay, I’m willing! I’ll give him lots of babies! We’ll have a happy family!” “He took me to meet his mom today! She really liked me, held my hand the whole time. She even said she wished Michael had met me sooner, then she wouldn’t have to deal with a daughter-in-law who apparently starves her and won’t let her eat meat freely.” “Before I left, his mom gave me a bunch of supplements and told me to hurry up and give the Peterson family an heir. She promised she’d stand by me and make sure I wouldn’t be stuck as his mistress without any official status!” “He said he doesn’t want me having a baby before I finish my degree, that he’d worry about me. But I worry about him wanting a baby so badly. Today, I secretly swapped the morning-after pill he gave me with a vitamin. Hope I can give him a surprise soon…” 3 I closed the report, my face expressionless. Hah. One relentlessly pursued, the other played coy before giving in. Carrying on right under my nose. No wonder Michael’s mother had been less annoying these past six months. Turns out she’d already picked out a replacement daughter-in-law she liked better. Just then, my phone buzzed. The listening device picked up activity. I put in my earbuds. The unmistakable sounds of panting and moans filled my ears. Seriously? Getting it on in the car? Then again, a young, energetic college student… what middle-aged man like Michael could resist? I continued typing up a work proposal on my laptop, listening blankly to the trashy soundtrack of their affair. After a while, things quieted down. The girl’s coy voice purred, “Honey… I think my period is like, two weeks late…” Hmm? I raised an eyebrow. Michael’s hesitant voice came through the earbuds, “Chloe, are you saying…?” Chloe sounded shy. “Can you come with me to the doctor tomorrow to check?” I could hear the barely contained excitement in Michael’s voice. “Yes! Okay!” Tomorrow was Saturday. That evening, Michael came home with a bouquet of peonies for me. Then, trying to sound casual, he said, “My mom’s not feeling well. I’m going to take her to the doctor for a check-up tomorrow.” I looked up, feigning concern. “Oh no, what’s wrong with Mom? Should I come with you?” His hand paused while hanging up his coat. He forced a smile. “No need. Probably just her blood pressure acting up again, making her dizzy. It’s an old issue. I’ll handle it.” “She didn’t stop taking her medication again, did she?” “No, no. Just want to get it checked to be safe. Nothing serious.” “Okay then. Well, I should call her later to see how she is.” Michael arranged the flowers in a vase, looking perfectly composed. “You should. That’s very thoughtful of you, honey.” I gave him a warm, loving smile. Right. So he’d already coordinated the story with Mommy dearest. 4 The next day, the PI sent photos straight to my phone. There they were: Chloe and Michael embracing, his mother beaming ecstatically beside them. I knew the answer. A small smile played on my lips as I methodically plucked the soft peony petals, crushing them in my hand until they stained my palm. Intel gathering complete. Time to launch Operation Payback. “You’re going away for a fellowship? For six months?” Michael looked surprised when I told him. I pouted playfully. “Yeah, Mr. Henderson called me today. Said it’s a fantastic opportunity he recommended me for. Once I come back and work another six months, get some results, I’m basically guaranteed the VP position.” I saw the flash of relief – no, joy – in his eyes before he masked it with mock sadness. “Honey, six months is so long… We haven’t been apart that long since we started dating…” I scoffed inwardly but mirrored his reluctant expression. “Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t go. The thought of being away from home this long… I’ll miss you too much…” He immediately changed his tune. “No, no! This is a huge opportunity! I can’t hold you back. Go! I’ll be right here, holding down the fort, your biggest supporter!” I leaned in, fixing my eyes on his, trailing a crimson fingernail over his heart through his shirt. My voice dropped to a purr. “Six months is a long time. You won’t go messing around behind my back, will you?” His eyes flickered guiltily. He lied smoothly, “Don’t be silly. If you don’t trust me, at least trust your own irresistible charm, right?” I laughed and planted a hickey on his neck. “Just leaving my mark. To warn off any stray cats.” He laughed awkwardly, his tone trying for gentle exasperation. “You’re impossible.”

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Three days ago, my son was kidnapped. The kidnapper took the ransom money, then, right in front of me, pushed my 4-year-old boy off a high-rise building. Everyone says it was just bad luck, running into a desperate psycho like that. Nothing to do but accept it. I don’t believe it. Because the figure I saw ducking into the stairwell that day… it looked way too familiar. The people who killed my son? I’ll send them straight to hell myself. 1. Danny is dead. His small body hit the ground, shattering. Flesh and blood sprayed, blinding me. I collapsed, clutching his broken body, sobbing until I blacked out. … “Danny!” When I came to again, the sharp smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I opened my eyes. Mark was sitting by the bed. Mark, my husband. Well, ex-husband for the past six months. Eight years of marriage ended with him cheating and secretly moving assets. I never even got the chance to confront the other woman before he kicked me out. After the divorce, I fought for custody of Danny. We were starting over, just the two of us. And just when we were about to embrace a new life, fate played this cruel joke. My Danny was so little. He never got a chance to really experience the world before some heartless kidnapper brutally murdered him. A sharp pain shot through my heart. I doubled over, gasping for breath. “Sarah.” Mark must have seen me move. He stood up. “Professor Miller? Sarah’s awake. Should I get the doctor?” A familiar voice, timid but with a hint of panic. Only then did I notice another woman sitting beside Mark. It was one of Mark’s students – Jenna. A final-year grad student. Honestly, I didn’t remember many of Mark’s students. But her… the fierce vibe from her sharp features and trendy clothes clashed so strangely with her soft voice. That made her memorable. Plus, she was the only student who ever offered to help out at my art studio during the summer break. I wasn’t surprised she’d come to see me. What bothered me was Mark’s attitude. When Danny was kidnapped, I called him over and over. He never picked up, knowing full well what was happening. As Danny’s own father, he seemed completely indifferent. “No doctor. Mark, I need to ask you something.” Even though the room was spinning and my head was foggy, I instinctively struggled to sit up, grabbing the front of his shirt. My voice was a raw whisper. I forced him to look me in the eye. “Yesterday, when it happened to Danny… where were you?!” 2: The Alibi Mark froze for a second. “At the police station. Jenna was there too.” My hand clutching his shirt trembled, then fell away. That wasn’t the answer I expected. Mark pulled a piece of paper from his bag and handed it to me. I looked down. It was a police report confirmation slip. The date and time matched when Danny was killed. Mark’s eyes reddened. “After Danny was taken, I told you we should call the police first, but you wouldn’t listen. So Jenna and I went to file a report ourselves. The cops had just taken the details when I got the call… that Danny was… gone.” “Danny was my son too, Sarah. I’m just as heartbroken as you are.” “It’s my fault. If I’d just been firmer, forced you to come with me to the station, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.” “If the police had been there… they wouldn’t have dared throw Danny off the building…” As Mark spoke, Jenna started dabbing her eyes beside him. “Professor Miller, Sarah was just frantic. Don’t blame her.” I dropped my head, tears welling up. So it was all my fault. I killed my own child. But I didn’t call the cops because the kidnapper on the phone knew everything about us, mine and Danny’s details. He threatened to kill Danny immediately if I involved the police. I just couldn’t risk my son’s life, I… Noticing I was getting agitated, Jenna leaned in to comfort me. “Sarah, the doctor said you’re still weak, you can’t get too upset. Professor Miller will get to the bottom of Danny’s case. Just try to calm down. I’ll go get the nurse.” As she spoke, leaning close, I caught a whiff of familiar perfume from near her ear. The exact same kind I bought for Mark before our divorce. Them… how long had this been going on? 3: The Kidnapping The nurse came in, setting up a new IV bag. A quick sting, then the cold fluid flowed down my arm, through my body. The pain in my heart eased slightly, and my mind started to clear. For years, I’d juggled work and raising Danny. To make things easier, I often took him to my studio downtown. Danny was a quiet kid, and I’d always told him to be careful. He never ran off, and he definitely wouldn’t go with strangers. I forced myself to focus, trying to recall the details of the day he was taken. It happened on a Sunday. Our divorce agreement stated Danny spent Sundays with Mark. That morning, I dropped him off at Mark’s place. When we got there, Danny found out Mark was taking him to the amusement park. He threw his arms around Mark, ecstatic. Seeing father and son so happy together, I figured everything was fine and left. I never imagined that would be the last time I saw Danny. The next day, around noon, Mark called. His voice was urgent. He told me something had happened to Danny. I assumed it was just a bump or scrape; I wasn’t too alarmed at first. Until Mark added, his voice tight. “Sarah, try not to panic, but Danny… he might have been kidnapped.” Kidnapped! My mind went blank. Horrifying images from news reports flooded my head. How could I not panic? My marriage failed. Danny was the only light in my life, and now someone had snatched him away. His life hung in the balance! Like a madwoman, I drove straight to Mark’s place. I screamed at him. “Who took Danny? Why was he kidnapped? Why weren’t you watching him?!” Mark held me down, trying to force me to calm down, while spitting out the chilling number. “For money, Sarah. The kidnapper called. They want $500,000.” 4: The Ransom Demand $500,000. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor. Where could I possibly get that much money on such short notice? We had to call the police. Yes, the police. I struggled back up, my hands trembling as I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. Just then, Mark’s phone exploded with a ringtone. An unknown number. The kidnapper calling again. Mark reached for it, but I shoved him aside, grabbed the phone first, and hit answer. “Please, don’t hurt my son…” “Let me hear his voice, let me know he’s okay, please.” I choked back sobs, begging. Silence for a few seconds. Then a man’s voice, clearly disguised by an electronic voice changer. “Get the $500,000 ready. Tonight, before 8 PM. Drop it in the green dumpster at the west entrance of the Oakridge Apartments. Remember, no cops, or you’ll never see your son again.” As he finished speaking, Danny’s heartbreaking cries came through the phone. “Mommy! Mommy, save me!” Hearing my son’s screams felt like my heart was being ripped apart. Tears streamed down my face again. “Danny, don’t be scared. Mommy will save you “Hello…? Hello?” Before I could finish, the kidnapper hung up.

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I was knocking on death’s door, but my husband was out painting the town red. My sister begged me to divorce him. I just raised an eyebrow. Divorce? That’s letting him off easy. I wanted him to pay with his life. 1 When I woke up, the surgical lights were blinding. My mom and my sister, Ashley, were gripping my hand, sobbing their eyes out. I tried to move my cracked lips, wanted to speak, but not a sound came out of my throat. Seeing this, Mom immediately called the doctor. The doctor took one look at me, disbelief written all over his face. “Mrs. Evans, this is incredible! For your daughter to pull through… it’s nothing short of a miracle!” Ha! I scoffed inwardly. You call this pulling through? Honestly, I didn’t know. The only thing I knew for sure was this: I was back in the world of the living to get revenge for a girl named Summer Evans. That was our deal. That was my duty now that I was awake. In a daze, Summer’s life flashed through my mind. Summer Evans. She’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, heir to a fortune. But she fell head over heels for a total scumbag, a real piece of work named Mark Riley, who’d clawed his way up from nothing. Before the wedding, Mark was Prince Charming. After, his true colors bled through – a cheat, a liar. Sometimes, he even brought his flings back to their house. Summer had put up with years of his crap, even had an abortion because of him. Through it all, she still saw Mark as her soulmate. It wasn’t until she was on her deathbed that the scales finally fell from her eyes. Today was the day Summer died. And, of course, the day she met me in whatever lies beyond. She told me she’d give up her chance at another life if I would just get revenge for her. After thinking long and hard, I agreed. My thoughts snapped back to the present. The fresh scar on my wrist throbbed, making me wince. I pulled my sleeve down, hiding the angry red line. Then, to everyone’s utter astonishment, I got up and walked out of the hospital room. 2 Leaving the hospital, I grabbed a cab home. I hadn’t even stepped inside yet when, just as I expected, I heard Mark’s loud, unrestrained laughter echoing from within. A smirk touched my lips as I gently pushed the door open. The noisy living room fell instantly silent the moment I appeared. Mark was sprawled lazily on the couch. Seeing me, a flash of shock crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual arrogance. “Summer? What are you doing back here?” “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, dying?” I gave a cold smile, saying nothing. I just grabbed the bottle of red wine off the table and hurled it straight at him. First, a solid thud, then a crash. The bottle hit Mark square on the forehead before shattering on the floor. He clutched his head, yelling furiously, “Summer, how dare you—” I cut him off. “What wouldn’t I dare?” “Have you forgotten whose house this is?” “You think I can’t have you thrown out on your ass with nothing but the clothes on your back with just one word?” Before, Summer’s dad had always distrusted Mark, constantly urging Summer to divorce him. But Summer was blinded by love, and it drove a huge wedge between her and her father. Summer might have tolerated Mark’s behavior, but I wouldn’t. I pulled out my phone and made a call. Moments later, several large, well-built security guys filed in through the door. These guys were hired specifically to keep Mark in line. It’s just that, in all these years, Summer had never once used them. I gave the guards a subtle nod. They understood immediately. One kicked Mark hard in the ribs, yanking him right off the couch and onto the floor. Then they hauled him up like a stray dog and dumped him at my feet. I looked down, disgusted, and nudged Mark’s chin up with the toe of my shoe. “Mark, you’re nothing but a dog I keep on a leash. Seems like you’ve forgotten your place these past few years!” Mark stared straight at me, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. He probably never imagined that the usually sweet, gentle Summer could suddenly change so drastically. Looking at his face, drained of all color, I leaned down close to him, a slight curl to my lip. “What, did I say something wrong?” Just then, a gasp came from the edge of the crowd. A woman clutching a wedding dress rushed forward frantically. She froze when she saw me, then her eyes darted to Mark lying on the floor. Suddenly, she collapsed onto the ground, looking at me pleadingly. “Ms. Evans, please don’t be angry! This was all my idea, it has nothing to do with Mark.” 3 I gotta hand it to her, Jenna played the victim card like a pro. That seamless performance, paired with her tearful, damsel-in-distress look, was almost convincing. But I saw right through her little act. I remembered from Summer’s memories: Jenna came from a broke family, born after her father died. When Mark begged Summer to take her in, she was penniless and drowning in debt. Hard to believe that in just a few short years, this starving beggar was about to replace Summer as Mark’s bride. That’s right. Today was supposed to be the day Mark proposed to Jenna. They’d counted on Summer being dead today. Too bad for them, I came back. I glanced at the wedding dress Jenna was holding, my lips curling slightly. “Got the dress already, huh?” “Looks like you two just couldn’t wait?” Before Jenna could answer, Mark crawled over, clutching his stomach. “This was my doing. Don’t hurt Jenna!” I let out a short, harsh laugh. “Hah! You two lowlifes. Suddenly playing Romeo and Juliet now!” “I thought Jenna was working at the company to pay off her debts?” “What, did she get the day off?” As soon as I said that, both Jenna and Mark’s faces turned deathly pale. After a long silence, Mark said firmly, “Summer, stop making trouble! I already paid off Jenna’s debt.” I laughed, furious. “You paid it off?” “You live off my money. What exactly did you use to pay her debts?” Mark was speechless. I looked around the room, my gaze landing on Mark’s freeloading buddies. I asked coldly, “Who handled the paperwork for Jenna’s debt?” “Where’s the receipt?” “If anyone dares to hide anything from me, don’t blame me for what happens next!” Before I even finished, those spineless idiots were already on their knees. “Ms. Evans, please, let us explain! Mark made us do it!” “He said Jenna’s a woman, working on the factory floor was too hard for her, and that he’d cleared it with you!” “It’s really not our fault! If you want to blame someone, blame Mark! That two-faced bastard! He wanted to screw up, and drag us down with him!” As soon as the words were out, one of them even rushed forward and kicked Mark. 4 Veins popped on Mark’s forehead; he was furious. He probably never expected that, when push came to shove, his so-called best friends would be the first to sell him out. I motioned for the security guys to hold him down firmly. Then I had his “brothers” brought right in front of him. Talk about awkward reunions. You could practically see the daggers in Mark’s eyes; they were nearly bulging out of his head. I had a guard bring me a chair from the side, and I sat down. “Alright, whoever paid off Jenna’s debt, it doesn’t matter now. Consider it void.” “You thought working on the factory floor was too hard for Jenna? Fine. Starting tomorrow, transfer her to janitorial services. She can be in charge of cleaning all the company restrooms!” The guys who took my orders were about to scatter, but then an idea struck me. “Wait a second. Isn’t today Mr. Mark Riley and Ms. Jenna Whatever-her-name-is’s wedding day?” “Since it’s a wedding, wouldn’t it be wrong not to have a little fun with the happy couple?” I pointed at Mark’s buddies. “You guys, pick up the bride and groom. Take them out to the street, let them soak up some good luck!” Then, lowering my voice, I added, “And remember, I want them stripped bare. Not a stitch on.” Hearing this, those losers suddenly perked up. Before I could even finish, they were already pawing at Jenna. In an instant, the room dissolved into chaos. Jenna’s screams echoed through the space. It wasn’t until half an hour later that the whole messy affair finally wound down. By the end, Mark and Jenna were unrecognizable messes. They were tied, stark naked, to a utility pole out on the street. Afterward, I stood in the room, coolly admiring my handiwork. A sharp sting flared from the scar on the back of my hand. I covered it with my sleeve. This was just the beginning.

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I dated Ethan for three years, and we were secretly married for four. But then I saw him in his car with his old flame, Olivia, kissing like the world was ending. He told me, “Sarah, I’m sorry. You look so much like her, but you’re not her.” But after I left, his lips trembled as he begged me, “I’ll divorce her. Please come back?” 1 Ethan and I had been married for four years, but almost no one around us knew we were husband and wife. He always said marriage was just between two people, nobody else’s business. Our fourth wedding anniversary came around, just a regular Tuesday in August, but he promised me a surprise. I’d planned something too – made his favorite dinner, bought a gift, and was just waiting eagerly for him to get home. I just never expected this kind of surprise. It was almost eleven PM, and Ethan still wasn’t back. I started to worry. I called his phone several times, but it went straight to voicemail. Grabbing my phone, I went down to the garage, thinking I’d drive over to his office to check on him. The garage was dead quiet, except for the faint echo of my own footsteps. As I got closer to our parking spot, I saw Ethan’s black Maybach already parked a few spots away. Had he come back already? For some reason, a strange knot formed in my stomach. I slowed down, creeping towards the front side of the car. Inside, two figures were wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in a passionate kiss. In the dead quiet of the night, in that small, confined space, they clung to each other, kissing fiercely. I froze, rooted to the spot, watching the man consumed by lust, the woman lost in the moment. A wave of pain crashed over me, followed by another, and another, endlessly. The woman saw me first. She must have been startled because she stopped kissing him. Ethan followed her gaze and saw me standing there, stunned, in front of the car. They were still holding each other. Ethan gently pressed the woman down slightly, as if soothing her, or maybe trying to stop her from getting out. But she had already regained her composure. She pushed his hand away, pulled out of his embrace, and opened the car door. A slender, pale leg in a beige high-heel stepped onto the concrete. She walked right up to me, bold as anything, looking me straight in the eye. So self-righteous, like I was the other woman she’d caught. “Sarah, right? I’ve seen your picture on Ethan’s phone. I’m Olivia,” she said coolly, with the air of someone who knew she held the upper hand. “You saw what just happened. I’m sorry about that, but I figured you needed to know sooner or later. This is as good a time as any for Ethan and me to be honest with you.” I was floored that someone could say something so shameless so calmly. I ignored her, looking past her at Ethan inside the car, his face pale and panicked. Ethan scrubbed his face with both hands, looking agitated. He pressed his lips together as if steeling himself, then got out of the car. He stood next to Olivia. In that instant, I knew. I’d lost. He chose to make me face them both, alone. He said, “Sarah, I’m sorry. I can’t forget how I feel about Liv. We have over ten years of history. I don’t want to lie to myself, and I don’t want to lie to you. You look so much like her, but you’re not her.” My throat felt raw. “Ethan, we’ve been married for four years. What does that make me?” The woman stepped forward. “Sarah, Ethan just made it perfectly clear. You were just a stand-in. Letting go is better for all three of us. In love, the one who isn’t loved is the third wheel.” Ethan gently pulled her back. “Liv,” he said softly, “let me handle this.” Looking at these two, who could only be described as shameless, I thought I’d scream or break down, but I didn’t. I held out my slightly trembling right hand towards the woman. “Nice to meet you, even if it’s under these disgusting circumstances.” The woman froze for a second, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face. She didn’t take my hand. Ethan stepped forward, coldly slapped my outstretched hand away, put his arm around the woman, guided her into the passenger seat, got into the driver’s seat himself, and roared away. Maybe the engine was too loud. Long after the car was gone, my head was still ringing. Numbly, silently, I turned around and went back inside. 2 My fingerprint unlocked the door. The blast of cold air from the AC hit me, and I started shaking uncontrollably. Shaking so hard my phone slipped from my hand and hit my foot. I curled up in the corner of the sofa, trying desperately to calm myself down. On the dining table, the dinner I’d spent all day preparing was still laid out. Next to it, a beautifully wrapped box held the limited-edition telescope I’d pulled strings with a friend to buy six months ago. Ethan loved looking at the sky late at night. He said it was full of endless brilliance. That’s why I spent so long choosing this telescope; it was the best gift I could afford. Except my gift never got delivered. Instead, I got his big “surprise.” Thinking back now, when he stared at the night sky, he must have been thinking about that woman, far away. So that woman was Olivia. The sickening suspicion that had been hanging over me finally hit the ground with a thud. Dating Ethan wasn’t exactly passionate; it was often bland, like water. We rarely went on dates, barely took pictures. He was always cool, reserved, impossible to read. But whenever I remembered what he said that day on the campus quad, my heart still filled with sweetness. When did I first suspect something? Getting our marriage license only took a morning. Ethan went back to the office that afternoon. He realized some files on his home computer hadn’t fully synced and asked me to send them. That’s when I accidentally opened a folder named “Her.” Inside were thousands of photos documenting a girl’s life from middle school through college. There was a subfolder named “My Olivia,” mostly filled with pictures of the two of them together. The girl looked like me, especially around the eyes, but she was brighter, more vibrant, more outgoing. I froze. Ethan had never mentioned an ex-girlfriend. Of course, he didn’t have to, but seeing so many pictures made my chest tighten. So, that night, I asked him, “Who’s Olivia?” He brushed it off. “Just a girl from the neighborhood growing up.” No other explanation. The next day, when I tried to use his computer again, it was password protected. The question I had back then finally had an answer today, even though the answer was brutal. A sharp pain flared in my chest and quickly spread through my entire body. 3 My phone pinged with a new message notification. I automatically picked it up off the floor and opened it. It wasn’t from Ethan. It was from one of his friends. It was a picture of Ethan and Olivia hugging in a bar, along with a message: “The placeholder got kicked out now that the real one’s back. Guess what happens to the placeholder? ” He even added a laughing emoji covering its mouth. I checked when we became contacts – 2019. Four years, and this was the first message he ever sent me. For this. I laughed bitterly. Ethan’s friends had always been cold to me. I wasn’t part of their circle. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fit into their social class. So eventually, I just politely declined all their invitations to gatherings. Ethan asked me to come along once or twice at the beginning, but when he saw I kept refusing, he stopped asking. I stared at the text for a long time without replying. A moment later, another message came through. “Some people will really sleep their way up just for money!” Maybe the words were too vulgar. My head started buzzing, my breath caught, and the phone screen swam before my eyes. My hand holding the phone trembled uncontrollably. So, his friends knew all along. It wasn’t that I couldn’t fit into their circle; it was their blatant mockery and contempt. Even when I deliberately tried to stay away, they still chased me down to throw this ugliness in my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. With trembling hands, I found the picture of our marriage certificate in my photo album and sent it to him. I replied: “Did you teach yourself English? Do you even know what ‘placeholder’ means? Calling you clueless would be an insult to clueless people. If the ‘placeholder’ managed to snag the spot, why would she give a damn about the ‘real one’? Are you trying to be funny?” Then I blocked him. I opened my social media feed. The third post was another short video of Ethan, captioned: “My boy’s childhood sweetheart is finally back home! Congrats, man! ” In the video, the man’s eyes held a depth of emotion I’d never seen directed at me. He was smiling, happy and doting, carefully fastening a ruby necklace around a woman’s neck. That necklace was an heirloom, passed down from his grandmother to his mother, and then to him. Yesterday, when I was tidying up his study, I saw that necklace box on his desk. I actually thought he was planning to give it to me for our anniversary. How stupidly sentimental of me. It was always meant for her. He looked at Olivia like she was a precious treasure. After fastening it, he gently tucked her hair behind her ear. He said, “Welcome back!” Olivia smiled softly and hugged him. Cheers erupted around them. Olivia, nestled in his arms, lowered her head shyly. My fingers tightened around my phone. So, that’s what being loved looks like. 4 Restless, I got up and went downstairs, letting the night swallow me whole. The city’s neon lights flickered, the streets noisy and bustling, just like they were seven years ago when I first arrived here. Back then, I had just started college. Money was tight at home, so I applied for a work-study job as a stocker at the campus convenience store. My family lived in a small town, way out in the sticks. My dad died from carbon monoxide poisoning when I was in third grade. My mom raised me alone. After I finished my college entrance exams, it was like she suddenly let go of all her burdens, and her health just collapsed. Relatives helped scrape together my first year’s tuition. I had to rely on work-study to cover living expenses and my mom’s basic medical bills. That’s where I met Ethan, working part-time at the store. That day, I was wearing a white dress. It was one my cousin gave me because it was too small for her – one of the few decent things I owned. I was wiping dust off some slow-moving items on a shelf. When I stepped back, I accidentally stepped on some guy’s shoe. I quickly looked down and apologized. He muttered “It’s fine,” but when he turned and saw me, there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. The moment I looked up and saw him, I froze too. I knew him. Probably everyone at our university knew Ethan from the business school. He gave a speech as the student representative at the freshman orientation, and all the girls were swooning. His family was loaded, he got great grades, and he was handsome – the total package, a campus heartthrob. Yet, this amazing guy started pursuing me after meeting me just once. Unsurprisingly, I fell hard. I remember when Ethan started chasing me; it was summer then too. He stopped me while I was walking on the track field and asked, “Can I ask you out?” I looked into his deep, dark eyes, and in that one glance, I was lost. I still clearly remember the joy and shock of that moment. His words were like brilliant fireworks, illuminating my somewhat gray existence, making my heart pound. I told him, “You don’t have to.” His star-like eyes dimmed slightly, and he started to turn away. I quickly added, “I mean, you don’t have to chase me. I’m already willing!” I greedily wanted to hold onto that light, throwing myself headfirst into being by his side. But back then, I didn’t know that fireworks, no matter how beautiful, are fleeting. They eventually turn into choking white smoke, burning embers, and a mess on the ground. After we started dating, he wasn’t very affectionate. When he looked at me, it always felt like he was looking through me, towards some unknown distance. He loved seeing me in beige, so almost every piece of clothing he ever gave me was that color. He also loved it when I smiled. Whenever I did, his eyes would sparkle like stars. I used to think that was love. Only after seeing Olivia today did I realize these past seven years were just my one-sided affection. A valley where my calls echoed unanswered, yet I’d blindly leaped into it for seven years. I tilted my head back, covering my eyes and face with my hands. Pressing my cold palms against my eyes to stop the tears.

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My husband had zero sex drive. Married five years, and I could count the times we’d done it on two hands. Maybe. Then my best friend hooked me up with a personal trainer. Clutching the “performance enhancers” I’d bought for my husband, I walked into the VIP locker room. Just as I was regretting this whole messed-up situation… The trainer’s smooth voice purred in my ear: “Don’t worry, everything here is strictly confidential.” 01. So, picture this: I was out shopping with my best friend, Sarah, and we walked past this sketchy-looking health supplement store. The ad on the glass door was blunt. You knew exactly what they were selling – stuff for guys who can’t get it up. While Sarah was trying on clothes in the boutique next door, I made a mad dash into the supplement shop. “That ad on the door, the stuff it mentions – give me two boxes!” I mumbled it, staring at my shoes, totally embarrassed, afraid to see the knowing look in the clerk’s eyes. As soon as I got the boxes, I practically sprinted back to the boutique. Sarah saw me clutching my chest, gasping for air. She put down the dress she was holding and came over. “Where’d you go? You look like you just ran a marathon.” I waved her off, lying through my teeth, “Just hit the restroom. Didn’t want you to worry if you couldn’t find me, so I kinda jogged back.” Sarah bought it. She stepped back, showing off the dress. “What do you think?” “Gorgeous. Total knockout,” I nodded, trying to sound convincing. “Good. I’m wearing this tonight to seduce my husband. Get ready for round three!” Sarah hugged herself, beaming. God, I was so jealous. Forget round three; I’d settle for once a month with my husband, Mark. I’d met Sarah’s husband before. Kinda plain-looking, but seemed like a decent, solid guy. Sarah mentioned he was a personal trainer. No wonder he was built like that – pecs, abs, the whole package. Imagine being pinned down by a guy like that… Nope, nope, nope. I shook my head hard, trying to squash that thought. After saying goodbye to Sarah, I felt the two boxes in my purse and practically flew home. Before Mark got back, I read the instructions inside and out, like three times, making sure there were no crazy side effects. He already had low libido; the last thing I needed was to make things worse. That would totally backfire. I dug out a sheer babydoll nightie I hadn’t worn in ages from the back of the closet. The hem barely covered my butt. Then I found a pair of black stockings, still in the package. Finally, I grabbed an unopened box from the nightstand drawer – probably bought it during some Black Friday sale last year. Everything was ready. All I needed was him. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Why wasn’t he home yet? “Hey, Mark, where are you? You’re late,” I called him. “Hey honey, got tied up with work stuff tonight. Go ahead and sleep, don’t wait up for me!” Are you kidding me… I hung up and threw my phone onto the bed in frustration. What a waste. All that effort for nothing. I looked at the pills on the nightstand. Didn’t want anyone finding them, so I emptied them into an old Tylenol bottle. Just then, Sarah called. She wanted me to come hang out at her husband’s gym. “Plus, tons of hotties,” she added. “Six-packs, built like refrigerators, you name it.” Okay… who could resist that? “Wait for me, I’m on my way.” 2: Two I changed quickly, put on some light makeup – enough to look presentable but still classy. As I was leaving, I grabbed the pill bottle. Not because I planned on using them, but I was worried Mark might find it and move it, and then I’d never find it again. I took a cab to the gym. It was brightly lit, buzzing with young professionals starting their evening routines. Definitely not my scene. I’m more of a ‘kick back and do nothing’ kind of person. If it weren’t for Sarah, I wouldn’t be caught dead here. But she was right. Wall-to-wall beefcakes. Everywhere I looked: bulging muscles, broad shoulders, thick arms. Oh my god. I was seriously losing it. The testosterone levels in here were off the charts. All I could think about was… well, never mind. Right then, my only thought was: “Okay, I might be getting older, but I’m still curious. Doesn’t mean I’m actually gonna do anything stupid!” Sarah introduced me to a personal trainer named Leo. Then she totally put me on the spot, telling him, “My friend here is loaded. If she doesn’t sign up for a membership today, don’t let her leave.” Whatever anyone else thought, I kinda liked hearing that. I was basically that rich housewife with nothing better to spend money on. Or, more accurately, my husband was loaded. He couldn’t satisfy me in the bedroom, but hey, at least he provided a very comfortable lifestyle. “Honey, I’ve got plenty of money, just spend whatever you want!” That’s what Mark always said. So, to prove his point, I slapped down my card and bought a $10,000 membership on the spot. The second the transaction went through, my phone rang. It was Mark. “Honey, what did you just buy? That’s a lot of money.” He sounded a little drunk. I pouted, annoyed. “What’s the big deal? You never asked when I spent ten times this much before. Now you’re worried about a measly ten grand?” Mark was quiet for a second. “Honey, it’s not about the money. I just mean, even if we have it, we shouldn’t waste it. Gotta spend wisely, you know?” Leo was standing right there, flexing, clearly getting impatient with Mark’s call. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. The day you go broke, I’ll learn how to spend wisely. Anything else? ‘Cause I gotta go.” Before he could say anything else, I hung up, ready to turn my attention back to Leo. 3: Three After a bunch of “hands-on” training demonstrations, I shook out my sore arms, feeling kind of… bored. It was a shame, all those muscles, and just getting little accidental touches through clothes. It was just enough to be a major tease. Leo must have read my mind. He gave me a knowing smile and nodded towards the locker room behind him. The VIP locker room. Separate access, only for members who spent $5,000 or more. Hey, that was me! The $10,000 sucker! I followed Leo into the VIP room. The first thing I saw was a display of all sorts of… toys. Whoa! Things could get really interesting in here! Suddenly, I remembered the way Sarah hesitated when she left, that little smirk she had. It clicked. This gym offered… other services. It was practically tailor-made for someone like me, wasn’t it? Hold on. A little voice in my head started arguing with my less noble thoughts. “Ashley, how could you even think about this! Mark loves you, he takes care of you! So what if he’s… not great in bed? Is that really an excuse to cheat?” Then another little voice piped up. “Isn’t that the biggest problem? I’m still young, only 29! Why should I have to pay the price because he can’t perform?” The two voices were giving me a headache. I stood frozen in the doorway, frowning, hesitant to go any further. Leo saw me hesitating and came back, gently pulling me inside. Well, you can’t blame me now, right? I was practically dragged in! Inside the locker room, there was another, smaller room with just a comfy-looking loveseat. Leo walked in and immediately pulled off his shirt, revealing impressive pecs. He even flexed them at me. Too much. Way too much! I swallowed hard, trying to be subtle about it, my hands nervously smoothing the seams of my pants. “Ashley,” he said, using my first name now, “Sarah mentioned you know the deal. Pick whatever you like. I’ll make sure you have a good time tonight.” The deal? Sarah hadn’t mentioned any specific deal. But I got the picture. After a fierce internal battle, I made a promise to myself: “Just this once. Never again!” “You guys… you keep client information confidential, right?” I asked, needing reassurance. Leo nodded easily. “Absolutely, Ashley. Rule number one in this business is discretion. Lips are sealed.” Okay, that made me feel a bit better. Just as he started walking towards me, shirtless, I held up a hand to stop him. Then, I pulled the Tylenol bottle out of my purse. “I don’t have a cold,” Leo said, looking confused. I shook my head. “A little something extra… to make sure you perform well tonight.” He knew exactly what I meant…

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When I was eighteen, I was in a horrible car crash on my way to take my college entrance exams. They saved my life, but I couldn’t hear a thing afterward. Three years after the official diagnosis of deafness, my hearing suddenly came back. I was just about to share the incredible news with my family. My stepmom, Susan, came home and gave me a hug like always. She smiled and signed “I love you,” But then she turned away, and I heard her clear as day, whispering to my stepbrother, “Why isn’t this deaf girl dead yet?” 1. “Dinner’s ready!” Susan, her housedress a bit messy, hurried past me carrying plates of food. The TV was blaring some loud daytime talk show nearby. Kevin, my stepbrother, sprawled at the dining table and immediately pulled the steaming plate of buffalo wings right in front of himself. He licked his fork, poked through the pile a few times, and finally picked out the biggest ones for his plate with satisfaction. “Mom, you forgot again. She’s deaf, she can’t hear you,” he said. Then, sharp, mocking laughter from both of them filled my ears. I quietly walked over and sat down, forcing the same harmless smile I always wore for them, but I couldn’t stop trembling slightly. Susan turned to me, beaming. She put a piece of still-warm beef in my bowl and signed for me to eat it while it was hot. Kevin poked at his rice, pouting. “Mom, how come you gave her such a big piece of meat? You didn’t even give me any yet.” “That piece fell on the floor earlier,” Susan said loudly, not caring that I was sitting right there. “Waste not, want not, might as well feed it to the deaf girl. Mom will find you a better piece.” I managed a bitter smile. Right, why would she care? I was just a deaf girl who couldn’t hear anything. If my hearing hadn’t come back, I would have actually believed she loved me, just like I’d always imagined. After the accident, I was stuck in a hospital room for two solid months. My dad isn’t some CEO, but he’s high up in his company and always busy, traveling constantly. It was Susan who stayed by my side 24/7, taking care of everything. That’s why I recovered so quickly. In my heart, I’d started thinking of her as my real mom. I never imagined such an ugly personality hiding behind that kind, friendly face. It was all a lie. Staring at the greasy piece of beef in my bowl, which looked like it might still have floor dust on it, made me feel sick. My appetite vanished. I put down my fork and went back to my room to lie down. A little while later, Kevin barged straight into my room without knocking. He yelled back towards the door while completely ransacking my closet, “Mom, did you accidentally put my black t-shirt in the deaf girl’s closet again?” My personal clothes were just tossed onto the floor, some even got stepped on by Kevin. Maybe the old me, the quiet me, could have tolerated it. But now, having heard what they said at the dinner table, a fire ignited inside me. I rushed over and shoved him hard, making him stumble back. He seemed shocked that quiet little me would actually get angry. He stared for a moment before snapping, “What the hell is wrong with you?” I glared at him fiercely and signed, asking why he came in without knocking. He reacted like I’d told the world’s funniest joke, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “Yeah, right, like knocking would make a difference for you? It’s not like a deaf girl can hear. You putting on airs now or something?” He went right back to rummaging through my closet. He was right. I almost forgot I was deaf before. Knocking meant nothing to me then. But I was still furious. I lunged at him, and we started grappling. Predictably, given the difference in strength, I was quickly losing. He even managed to slap me across the face a couple of times. Susan rushed in from outside, her heeled slippers clicking. One of those heels landed right on my hand. I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain, but she acted like she hadn’t felt a thing, just helping Kevin up without even glancing at me. The back of my hand throbbed, almost numb, and a little blood seeped out. Just as anger made my scalp tingle, Kevin scrambled up from the floor. He grabbed a wad of clothing to wipe his greasy hands – he hadn’t washed up after dinner. When he unfolded it, he realized it was my underwear. With disgust, he threw it right in my face. Susan pushed Kevin out of my room. “Go wash your hands, son. Touching the deaf girl’s stuff is bad luck.” 2 After shutting the door, I curled up on my bed. Pale moonlight streamed in through the window. My memories of my real mother stopped around when I was five. I remember she had long, shiny black hair. Whenever I fell, she’d pull a piece of candy from her pocket and pop it into my mouth with a smile. She died from an illness later. Less than six months after that, Dad brought Susan and a very young Kevin home. He told me, “From now on, this is your mom and your brother.” I remember Susan kneeling down, stroking my head, and saying, “Your mommy doesn’t want you anymore. Let me be your mommy now.” Then she took my hand and swore to Dad she’d treat me just like her own child. Susan, is this how you treat me like your own? Even though my hearing was back, I figured after years of not speaking, it would take time to talk fluently like a normal person. I had wanted to share the joy of my recovery with them, but now I realized it probably wouldn’t be good news for them. So, I decided to keep it a secret for now. Late that night, I got thirsty and wanted to get a glass of water from the kitchen. As I reached for my door, I saw through the crack that Susan and Kevin were sitting in the living room, talking. Even the dim light couldn’t hide the nastiness on Susan’s face. “That useless burden,” she spat. “All she does is lie around the house costing money. Her mother died young, and she’s a deaf girl. It’s a real shame that car crash didn’t kill her.” “Why don’t we just marry her off?” Kevin suggested. “That guy Danny from down the street seems like a good fit. They can look after each other.” “My brilliant boy, always full of ideas! A dummy and a deaf girl, a match made in heaven, right?” They both burst out laughing, practically spitting with glee. The Danny Kevin mentioned was the neighborhood character, known for being… slow. Apparently, he’d had a high fever as a kid that left him impaired. He spent his days shuffling around, picking through trash cans downstairs. You could smell him from ten feet away. I just didn’t expect Susan to move so fast. The very next day, she invited Danny over to our house. Facing Danny, who had drool staining the front of his shirt, I couldn’t understand how Susan managed such a fake, kind smile. She kept piling food onto his plate, telling him to eat up. Then she turned to me, signing that Danny was actually quite handsome, just a bit immature, but clearly the type who would take good care of someone. My dear stepmother, where exactly do you see caring potential? In his matted hair that hadn’t seen shampoo in days, or the grimy collar of his shirt crusted with who-knows-what? I pretended not to understand her implication, forced a smile, nodded, and kept my head down, shoveling rice into my mouth. 3 Just sitting through one meal with Danny made my skin crawl, like invisible bugs were crawling all over me. I quickly grabbed clean clothes and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Wouldn’t you know it, just then, the power went out – a breaker tripped. I poked my head out, wrapped in a towel, about to ask Susan what was going on. She immediately pulled me out of the bathroom – me, without my clothes properly on – spun around, went into the bathroom herself, and locked the door from the inside. Suddenly, in the dark, silent house, a pair of clammy hands touched my back. I jumped, spinning around to see Danny grinning, showing his yellow teeth, staring at me. “S-so white,” he stammered. Terrified, I stumbled backward and fell to the floor. He pulled a tiny flashlight from his pocket – probably salvaged from some trash can – and shone it all over my naked body. He reached out, trying to touch my chest. In a panic, I kicked him hard right between the legs. He doubled over, howling, and collapsed onto the floor, making such a racket it sounded like he was about to die. Hearing the commotion, Susan finally decided to emerge from the bathroom. She signed an explanation, saying she suddenly had terrible stomach cramps and absolutely had to use the toilet, and she never expected something like this to happen. But I clearly saw the smirk playing on her lips. Dad was often away on business trips all over the country. When he finally came home for a break, before he could even sit down properly, I ran to him crying, signing frantically about everything Susan had done to me lately. But before I could finish explaining, Susan’s eyes welled up. She clutched Dad’s sleeve and sat beside him, sobbing. “Chloe, how could you accuse me like this? I know I’m not your birth mother, but I truly think of you as my daughter!” Seeing her tear-streaked face, Dad melted. He asked her what was really going on. Looking utterly wronged, she lifted her teary eyes. “Honey, when Chloe was in the hospital, I took care of her every need. She is my child. How could I possibly mistreat her?” She continued, “Ever since the accident, Chloe’s mental state seems to have gotten worse. I read online that these might be symptoms of persecutory delusions. Maybe we should take her to a hospital for a proper check-up?” She was banking on me being unable to speak or hear her blatant lies to Dad, wasn’t she? I lunged at her, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling. Dad saw me acting “crazy” and quickly pulled me back. It was true, Susan had been incredibly devoted when I was in the hospital. Not just outsiders, even I had been completely fooled. Looking back now, it was probably all an act, a performance put on specifically for my dad. “Chloe, you need to rest properly lately,” Dad signed, his face weary. “Your stepmom works hard managing the house. Don’t be disrespectful, and don’t cause trouble.” He finished signing and then led Susan into their bedroom. My dad had always been protective. But this time, I realized, the person he was protecting wasn’t me anymore. I ran back to my room and slammed the door, shutting out all the chaos behind me. Persecutory delusions? Susan might as well have just called me clinically insane. Fine. Since you’re so eager to push me and Danny together, maybe I should arrange for you to end up in Danny’s bed. Let’s see how you like the experience firsthand.

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My dad hid my acceptance letter. He kept it hidden for seventeen years. Growing up, I tried so hard to be the good daughter. Even though I figured out pretty early on that he favored my brother, just because he was a boy. But when I finally saw that acceptance letter to the good high school, the one I earned, I just couldn’t hold it together anymore. “Dad,” I cried, “I’m your daughter. Don’t I deserve even a tiny piece of a dream?” 1. My mom died when I was one year old. She bled out giving birth to my little brother, Mike. After Mom was gone, Dad raised me and Mike by himself. We lived out in the country, didn’t have much money. The weird thing was, in our house, Mike and I were treated completely differently. From the time we were little, if there was anything good to eat or drink, Mike always got it first. I used to be jealous of him, but back then, I didn’t understand about sexism, about him thinking boys were just better. When it was time for school, I went like normal, but after school, I never got a break. I had to do all the chores around the house, and during planting or harvest season, I had to find ways to help the neighbors, try to earn a little cash on the side. Any money I made, Dad took it right away. Said it was for school fees. But every single time I handed him money, Mike suddenly had cash for candy. He’d eat it right in front of me, just to rub it in. One time he let it slip – Dad was giving all the money I earned to Mike for pocket money. School didn’t even charge extra fees back then; we even got subsidized lunches, didn’t cost a dime. I asked Dad why he gave my money to Mike. He just said, “You’re a girl. Isn’t the money you earn supposed to go to your brother?” “Besides,” he’d add, “I raised you all this time. Don’t you owe me?” “Girls need to be obedient. Stop thinking about all this nonsense, or what’ll happen when you get married and go live with your husband’s family?” His words always shut down any complaints I had. Made me feel like maybe I was wrong for thinking about it. After that, Dad took every single cent I ever got my hands on. It went on like that until I finished middle school. When I graduated 8th grade, I wanted to keep studying, so I went into town to work over the summer. My grades had always been good; I was sure I could get into a decent high school. Near the end of the summer, I took the money I’d worked so hard for and went to find Dad. That’s when he told me I hadn’t gotten into high school at all. He said we didn’t have the money to send both me and Mike to school anyway. “Better to use that money for your brother,” he said. “Mike’s starting high school soon, he needs it.” Just like that, all the money I’d busted my butt for was gone, handed over. Back then, I was naive. I actually believed we were just that poor. Reality was about to slap me hard in the face. 2 Since I couldn’t go to high school, I had to go find work. But with just an 8th-grade education, finding a decent job was impossible. I ended up washing dishes in town, making only a thousand bucks a month. Every payday, Dad would use the excuse that we were poor and Mike needed money for school, and he’d take most of my wages. Pretty soon, Mike finished middle school too. He was never a good student, and he completely bombed his final exams. Forget high school, he didn’t even qualify for trade school. I remember thinking back then, if I couldn’t go to high school, maybe I could go to trade school. But Dad shut that down immediately, saying it cost too much. When it came to Mike, though? Dad spent twenty thousand dollars a semester to buy him a spot in a private high school in the city. When I heard that, it broke my heart. I went to Dad and asked him why it was so unfair. He told me the money came from Grandma and Grandpa – left specifically for Mike. He also said, “What’s the point of a girl getting so much education? Better you start working early.” I knew Dad favored Mike, always had. But… I never thought he could dislike me that much. I was furious about how unfair he was, but I felt powerless to change anything. All I could think back then was how unlucky I was not to be born a boy. For a while, I was really mad at Dad. When I got paid, for the first time, I thought about not giving him the money. Big mistake. Dad absolutely blew up at me. He called me ungrateful, a snake in the grass. Said he raised us kids all by himself, practically breaking his back, and now that I was older and earning money, I wasn’t even thinking about helping the family. I felt so wronged. I was making a thousand a month and giving him eight hundred! But still, because I didn’t get into high school, it was “girls don’t need that much schooling.” Mike, who was a terrible student, got thousands spent on him for a private school spot. I asked Dad again, why the unfairness? He said, “Your brother’s the one who’s going to take care of me when I’m old. Shouldn’t I treat him better? Who else am I going to count on, you?” “Besides,” he went on, “look around this town. Isn’t it the same in every family? Daughters help out at home until they get married, right?” “You need to understand, if your brother does well, your life will be better too. When he makes it big someday, he won’t forget his big sister!” I didn’t realize it then, but he was totally manipulating me, gaslighting me. Later, Mrs. Henderson from next door came over to talk to me. She’d always been pretty nice to me; when I was little and didn’t have enough food, she’d often give me something to eat. Maybe because I grew up without a mom, I always remembered her kindness. So, when she told me not to fight with my dad, I actually listened. She helped smooth things over. I stopped arguing with Dad, but I did start giving him less money. Because I couldn’t stand being around Dad and Mike, I moved away, out of state, to find work. Back then, I had no idea that my own father was the one who had actively ruined my future. I always thought, you know, even a wolf doesn’t eat its own cubs. I couldn’t imagine him being that cruel. But reality is harsh. 3 Those years working far from home, I worked like crazy. Day and night, often only getting five or six hours of sleep. Sometimes I didn’t even have time to eat properly. Eventually, I developed stomach problems. Every time my stomach hurt, I’d just pop some pills. Partly because I was too busy with work, and partly because I didn’t have money for doctors. So, I just toughed it out. Even though I wasn’t making much, I still sent money home to Dad every month. Like Mrs. Henderson had said, Dad was getting older, couldn’t earn much anymore. I didn’t want my money going to Mike, but I felt I still had to support Dad. So, I wired him cash every month. After drifting around for so many years, sometimes I felt incredibly tired. During holidays, I’d think about going back home to see Dad. But he always told me, “You’re already working so hard out there, it’s tiring enough. Traveling back and forth, you won’t rest well, won’t eat well, and it’s not safe. No need to come back.” I believed him. I even started to think maybe Dad’s attitude towards me had changed, that he was starting to care about me. Until I went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor told me I had cancer. Late stage. In that moment, my world collapsed. I didn’t want to die. I was still young. I wanted to live. I called Dad right away, told him I wanted to come home. He agreed immediately. I was actually happy then, convinced that Dad finally felt sorry for me after all these years working away from home. But when I got back, there were no welcoming smiles waiting for me. Just Mike. He rushed over and started digging through my bag. When he couldn’t find any cash after searching, his face just fell. “You didn’t bring any money? What did you come back for?” “Don’t you know I’m getting married soon? We need money for everything!” Dad chimed in too, “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been working out there for years, haven’t you saved anything? If you didn’t save any money, what’s the point of coming back?” “It’s hard enough to find a job these days. You come back empty-handed, expecting me to support you?” Hearing those words felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I was chilled to the bone. “Dad, that’s not it,” I choked out. “I’m sick. I came back this time to rest and recover.” “Recover? What’s there to recover from with a little ache or pain? Just take some medicine, you’ll be fine. But your brother’s wedding, that’s a big deal. Did you put your money in the bank? Hurry up and give the card to your brother.” At that moment, I truly broke down. I sobbed, asking Dad, “Dad, I have cancer. Can you please help me? Can you save me?” “Cancer? How could you suddenly get cancer? Are you sure you got checked properly? Lots of quack doctors out there these days.” “Besides,” he continued, “you see the situation. Your brother’s getting married soon. You’ll have to figure something out yourself.” This time, Dad didn’t keep asking me for money, but I wasn’t happy at all. Because I really didn’t have any money left. I couldn’t believe he didn’t know how hard my life had been. All these years, I’d been trying to please him, doing everything he said, being the obedient daughter. And what was the result? I was riddled with illness, and all I got was “figure something out yourself.” Dragging this sick body around, what could I possibly figure out? I stumbled out of the house, feeling completely lost. Outside, I ran into Mrs. Henderson again. Seeing me, she took me into her house. “Sarah, honey, don’t be upset. You know how your dad is.” “Actually,” she said, lowering her voice, “he does care about you. When you’re not here, he talks about you all the time.” “He’s just got a lot on his mind right now. Mike’s fiancée’s family is playing hardball, demanding ten thousand dollars or they’ll call off the wedding. Your dad’s really stuck.” “You’re capable, working out there. That’s why he was hoping you could help figure something out.” “Mrs. Henderson,” I said, my voice trembling, “if I had money, I could try to help. But… do you know? I have cancer. I’m dying.” “I just wanted to beg him to save me…” “But… he told me to figure it out myself…” Mrs. Henderson froze. “Oh, Sarah, honey, I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was like this.” “Are you sure about the diagnosis? Maybe you should try another hospital? Maybe the doctor made a mistake?” “There are so many greedy clinics these days. You should really get checked out at a couple of major hospitals.” As she spoke, Mrs. Henderson tried to press a few hundred dollars into my hand. “I don’t have much myself, Sarah, but take this. Go get another check-up at a big hospital.” I couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Henderson, who wasn’t even related to me, was showing me more kindness than my own father. But in the end, I didn’t take her money. I decided to go back to the city, find some kind of work first, and then figure out the medical stuff. Before leaving, I went back home one last time to grab a few clothes. As I was rummaging through the closet, an envelope fell out. It was an acceptance letter from County Central High. The

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Finding out I was the switched-at-birth “wrong” daughter in a mega-rich family made me decide to just… check out. At the party officially welcoming the real daughter, she was dazzling everyone. My adoptive mother told me I should learn from her. Me: “If people better than me are still trying so hard, what’s the point of me trying?” My best friend warned me to get a job, worried I’d be married off for connections otherwise. Me: “Work just makes you crazy. No thanks.” My main goal? Just sticking around. 1 Being an heiress with millions to my name meant coasting through life was totally doable. The biggest problem? Turns out, I was an imposter. Super awkward. A week ago, Mom and Dad dropped the bomb: I was swapped at birth. Their biological daughter, Megan, had been found. My birth parents? No clue where they are. Mom and Dad didn’t want me to leave, so I just stayed, living in this weird limbo. Everyone gushed about how Megan was clearly a Sterling, perfect and accomplished despite growing up elsewhere. Unlike me. Even with the Sterlings pouring money into my upbringing, I was basically just… decorative. Mom heard the whispers and told me to be more like Megan. She said, “Your father and I spoiled you, didn’t push you. But you’re grown now, can’t you get your act together?” Not a chance. Effort gives me hives. I just want to chill. Besides, I suspected “getting her act together” was code for “know your place.” Without the Sterling heiress title, and being useless at everything, how could I possibly fit in here anymore? While I was moping, Megan slid into the family seamlessly in just a few days. She had Mom and Dad laughing constantly, even helping Megan sort through gifts for the welcome party. The three of them looked so happy, like a perfect family. Watching them, I wasn’t exactly jealous, but I wasn’t sad either. Truth is, I was never the favorite child here anyway. Having a daughter like me, who achieved nothing, was a constant source of worry for them. And I’m not the type to suck up. So, we coexisted politely, like strangers under the same roof. Megan’s arrival gave them hope. Because of that, Mom urged me to get closer to Megan, maybe ask her for tips on how to be… less useless. I sighed. “It’s not like you can just learn that.” Mom snapped, “Why not? We indulged you before, but now you have a perfect example right here! Can’t you even copy her?” Megan overheard and shot me a smug look, like, You’ll never measure up. Seriously? I’m the fake one. Why would I even compete? Isn’t lying low the better option? And anyway, I’m me. Why would I want to imitate someone else? I replied flatly, “Because Megan’s amazing and hardworking.” Before Mom could crack a smile, I added: “People way better than me are working their butts off. So why should I even bother?” I know my limits. Doing extra? Not my thing. Mom got so mad she actually threw a small vase nearby. “Listen to yourself!” I dodged it and jammed my hands in my pockets, heading upstairs. Behind me, I heard Megan’s soft voice comforting Mom: “Maybe Ashley’s just having a hard time accepting this… that’s why she’s trying to upset you.” “If it helps, I could move out… until she calms down, then I can come back.” Wow. What a masterclass in playing the victim. Nice try, but I wasn’t taking the bait. Mom gasped, “Absolutely not! This is your home!” I glanced back down at Megan. She looked up, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. She put on her most generous face. “I just want you all to be happy. It doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Mom fumed, “Why should you leave? If anyone goes, it should be…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes met mine. I tilted my head, thinking. “So… I should leave?” 2 The couple who raised Megan found her abandoned near a hospital. Which means, after being swapped, she was also ditched. My own origins were a mystery, so staying with the Sterlings was the temporary plan. Megan seemed to think my birth parents were trash, and that I’d unfairly benefited for years. She saw me as a thorn in her side. She clearly wanted me gone at the welcome party, but it didn’t happen. From then on, I knew we couldn’t both exist peacefully in this house. Even if I didn’t fight for anything. I glanced around my old bedroom – now Megan’s. It felt empty. A moment later, Megan appeared, looking suspicious. “What are you doing in my room?” I tapped my head. “Oops, sorry. Wrong room.” The day she arrived, Megan had mentioned liking my bedroom. Given my shaky status, I’d quietly moved out of it. Now, she was using it against me. She smirked knowingly. “You’d better get used to the new arrangement. Quickly.” I got her drift. What was hers, she intended to reclaim. Whether it was an identity or a room. But honestly, I didn’t want to fight over it. “After you!” I quickly retreated to my new, smaller room. Ugh! I mentally groaned like a beached whale. This is exhausting. I have zero interest in family drama. All I want is to chill! Maybe moving out soon is the best plan. I called my best friend, Chloe. “Hey, know any decent places to crash?” “Places? Honey, I’ve got properties. Just pick one, I’ll have it cleaned up for you.” Her casual wealth always took my breath away. Even as the supposed Sterling heiress, I only had one small apartment provided by the family. And now, even that was gone. Chloe added, “Things are awkward for you now. Maybe you should get a job? What’s your plan otherwise?” I rolled over on the bed. “Work drives people nuts. Being a couch potato sounds way better.” Slacking off was my true calling. Chloe was silent for a long moment, then practically ground out, “Fine! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” before hanging up. I clutched my phone, feeling a little lost. Trying hard really is pointless. Megan is clearly out to get me. Whatever I do, I’ll just be used to make her look better. So, might as well do nothing. Saves energy, and stops me from setting her up for success. Because she’s the real deal, and I’m the fake. 3 Mom and Dad think I only found out the truth the day Megan came back. Not true. I knew everything while they were still searching for her. Everyone was hiding it from me, probably scared I’d cause a scene. So, I played along, pretending ignorance. Today’s events just showed me exactly where I stand with them. I appreciate them letting me stay, but they’ve clearly chosen sides. After thinking it over, I decided to leave the Sterling house. Everything I owned technically belonged to them anyway. I’d just take myself. Mom grabbed my arm. “Ashley, are you still upset about what I said earlier?” I shook my head. “I shouldn’t be imposing here anymore.” “I only took my ID and cards. I’ll work to pay back everything you spent on me over the years.” I came downstairs carrying just a small plastic bag with my wallet inside. Even my phone – I left the handset, only taking the SIM card. Megan scoffed, “Such a temper. How will you survive?” I nodded agreeably. “Yep, you’re right. My future looks terrible.” She fumed, about to say more, but Mom stopped her. “Megan, Ashley didn’t do anything wrong.” That flipped Megan’s switch. She yelled, “Nothing wrong? I suffered out there while she lived my life in luxury! How is that fair?” Mom immediately softened, hugging her. “That’s not what I meant. Megan, don’t cry. I’ll make her leave right now.” Just like that, I became “her.” I placed the bag on a table, opened the front door, ready to leave the house I’d lived in for almost twenty years. Chloe was waiting outside. When she heard I was leaving with nothing, she drove straight over. Mom watched me, seeming hesitant. My heart twinged slightly. Before I could say anything comforting, she delivered the final blow. “Ashley, since you’re leaving… maybe you should take care of getting your name off the family records soon.” She held Megan gently. “Megan has been through so much. We can’t let her down anymore.” My mind went blank for a second, but I managed a reply. “Tomorrow.” Mom’s expression instantly relaxed. “Okay. Drive safe, you two.” I watched as Mom closed the heavy Sterling front door without a backward glance. From now on, that place had nothing to do with me. Chloe took me to her huge house, rambling the whole way. “Seriously, Ash, just come work with me.” I looked at her. “Nope.” Chloe: … Her face darkened. “Give me one good reason why you won’t get a job.” I handed her my phone, showing her an app screen. “Is this reason good enough?” Chloe let out a shriek. “Ashley Sterling! You actually…” She practically slid across the floor to grab my leg. “You’re the legendary stock market guru everyone whispers about?!” 4 Growing up, I had zero interest in piano, ballet, or French lessons. No matter how many tutors Mom and Dad hired, they all eventually gave up on me, frustrated. When I got a bit older and understood what the family business was, I actually got interested in commerce. Sometimes, Dad would have video conferences in his study, and I’d just hang out and listen. He didn’t seem to mind. Until one time, I noticed a flaw in the data for a bid they were preparing. I pointed it out directly to Dad. After that, he changed. He wouldn’t let me in the study anymore. He’d kick me out during meetings. I was hurt, thinking I’d messed up and made him angry. So, I asked everyone in the house what Dad liked, planning to buy him something nice to get back in his good graces. Instead, I overheard him arguing with Mom. Mom said, “If Ashley has a knack for business, why not let her learn from you?” Dad sounded annoyed. “We can’t let a girl get too ambitious. She needs to marry well. Are we going to hand the company over to some outsider husband?” Mom argued back, “Ashley’s our daughter! She’d definitely…” Dad’s voice was cold. “There are no ‘definitelies’. You need to focus on getting healthy. If you can’t give me a son, I’ll find someone who can!” I didn’t hear Mom argue anymore. I knew she’d given in. From that day on, I was the useless daughter, groomed solely to be a pawn in a strategic marriage. When Chloe heard this part of my “trophy daughter” origin story, she was so mad she started throwing pillows around her living room. “I always wondered! You were so smart in middle school, then suddenly tanked your grades near graduation! It was your parents!” I shrugged. “Well, someone else has taken over my role and duties now. I’m free.” Megan was undoubtedly the perfect candidate for a marriage alliance. Prettier than me, more accomplished, and desperate for Mom and Dad’s approval. I bet the three of them would be very happy together. As for me? I’ll just curl up quietly in a corner and count my money. “And here I was worried sick about you! You didn’t tell me anything!” Chloe sounded both angry and impressed by my low-key baller status. Someone like me, who just wants a chill life, isn’t exactly going to broadcast that she’s a secret stock trader, right? “Fine, don’t get a job. It’s not like you’ll starve.” 5 I prioritized getting my name legally changed and severing official ties with the Sterlings. I handled it as quickly as possible. Not only that, I chose a new name for myself. Making a clean break from the Sterling family, completely. Dad pointed his finger at me, yelling, “I always knew you were too ambitious! Good riddance with the name change, you’re not a Sterling anymore!” Mom was teary. “Ashley, why are you being so stubborn? We raised you for so many years.” I was genuinely confused. “Weren’t you the ones who asked me to sort out the legal stuff?” I did exactly what they wanted, even changed my name as a bonus, and they’re still not happy? Is rich people logic different from normal people logic? Megan slammed a bill down in front of me. “Since you’re so capable, pay back the money you owe.” I glanced at the itemized list. “Which account should I transfer it to?” Megan smugly produced a bank card. “Dad said this all should have been mine. Consider it compensation. Transfer it here.” The final amount was roughly what I’d calculated myself. I transferred the money immediately. The three of them stared, stunned. Megan looked blankly at Dad. “Did she steal money from the house? Or did you secretly give her money again?” I frowned. “Ms. Sterling, I earned this money through my own skills. Please don’t insult my intelligence.” The allowance account the Sterlings set up for me? I hadn’t touched a dime. The seed money for my trading came from part-time jobs I worked. I was always careful, scared Mom and Dad would check my bank statements and find out I was trading stocks. They would have clamped down even harder. Even though I told myself I didn’t care, deep down, I didn’t want them to be wary of me. Things reaching this point was unexpected for everyone. Mom reached out. “Ashley…” I stepped back. “Mom, this is probably the last time I’ll call you that. Take care of yourself. And… my name is Ava Hayes now.” The name I chose for my new life. With that, I turned and left. Behind me, I heard Mom’s heartbroken cry: “Ashley!” I didn’t look back. They’ll never know that money was supposed to be a surprise birthday gift for them. I had planned to proudly tell them I didn’t want the Sterling fortune, that I was starting my own business. My purpose wasn’t to be dressed up like a doll for show, or to be paraded around as a marriage prospect. I was just me. 6 The immediate transfer of funds clearly rattled the Sterlings. That same day, they made sure everyone knew I’d been kicked out of the family. Suddenly, the story was everywhere: I was the imposter who’d usurped the real heiress’s place. Megan, being the darling of the moment and a popular lifestyle blogger, easily gained massive online support. Trolls found my old, barely used social media accounts and launched a campaign of cyberbullying, venting their outrage on Megan’s behalf. 【Lived the high life meant for Megan for so long, finally got what you deserved!】 【Heard you’re totally useless, can’t do anything right lol】 【Blood will tell. No amount of fancy upbringing can make you compare to even Megan’s little finger!】 【You spent so much of the Sterlings’ money! Got the nerve to change your name but not pay it back?】 【Yeah, PAY IT BACK! It all belongs to Megan!】 【All that money spent on you and you’re still a failure. Poor Megan, having her place taken by that for years.】 I posted a screenshot of the final bill, marked paid, stating I had settled my expenses with the Sterling family. While some users were surprised I paid it back so quickly, they saw it was the Sterlings’ own calculation, and no one accused me of stealing from them directly. My straightforward attitude seemed to calm things down a bit, and the focus shifted away from me for a moment. Just when I thought it was over, Megan started posting vague things online. She subtly implied the money I repaid was actually given to me by the Sterlings, adding that I was ungrateful – money could be repaid, but the debt of raising me couldn’t. 【See? Knew a freeloader like her couldn’t earn that kind of cash.】 【Probably just spare change for the Sterlings, enough for her to live comfortably forever.】 【How dare she claim she ‘paid it back’? Shameless.】 【Feel so bad for Megan, coming home to all this drama. Maybe she was better off before.】 【This adopted girl is seriously ungrateful. Thinks paying back money settles everything?】 【The Sterlings raised her like their own for over a decade! How can she be so cold?】 【Looks like Megan is fitting in well. Her parents probably prefer her anyway.】 【Good, glad to hear it. Megan deserves better than constantly being reminded of this mess.】 The Sterlings chimed in at the right moment, officially stating Megan was their exceptional daughter, and the Chairman and his wife were incredibly proud of her. Online sleuths dug up my old school records. Comparing them to Megan’s achievements made my expulsion from the family seem like a cause for public celebration. Chloe was furious. She wanted to hire hackers to go after Megan, but I stopped her. “Doing that will just give them more ammunition.” No matter what, the fact remained: the Sterlings raised me, and Megan did suffer. In the public eye, I was expected to just take Megan’s digs and anger. Unless she did something truly outrageous, reacting would make me look bad. “Besides,” I added, “the Sterlings aren’t the only ones who can produce bank statements.” Because I’d overheard that argument between my adoptive parents years ago, I’d always kept a separate bank account. My own money, earned from those part-time jobs and early trades, went into that account. The Sterling allowance card was separate. I used my own card for things I liked, secretly stashing purchases at Chloe’s place, never daring to let my family know. My apparent “frugality” even earned me praise from Mom a few times. Back then, I felt guilty. Now, I felt incredibly lucky. I addressed the money issue again online. I stated clearly that I never forgot the debt of gratitude for being raised by the Sterlings, and if they ever truly needed help, I would provide assistance. People mocked me mercilessly. The Sterlings were a wealthy dynasty. What kind of help could I possibly offer?

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Eight years ago, my mom was dying of late-stage cancer. My dad, Mark Collins, wouldn’t spend a dime, just let her waste away, waiting to die. Eight years later, we ran into each other at the hospital. His face twisted with disgust: “If you’re going to die, do it somewhere else. Don’t drag the Collins name into anything!” Pretty soon, he’d be on his knees, begging me to help his company. I shoved him away: “Mark Collins, the day you started keeping a mistress on the side, you stopped being my father!” 1 I had just walked out of the OB/GYN clinic, report and prescription in hand, when a soft female voice called out: “Maya, is that you?” I didn’t turn around. Just hearing that voice made disgust churn in my stomach. I quickened my pace. “Maya! Brenda’s talking to you. Where are your manners?” It was my biological father, Mark Collins. I took a deep breath and turned. Mark had one arm linked with Brenda’s, the other holding her expensive-looking designer handbag. Dressed impeccably, looking utterly devoted. A world away from the cold-blooded man who offered nothing when my mother was gravely ill, letting her wither away alone in a hospital bed. He was like a completely different person. I forced a smile. “My name is Maya Stern. And since I had a mom but no dad to raise me, isn’t it normal to have bad manners?” “You!” Mark glared, taking a step forward like he was about to teach me a lesson. “Mark, honey, let it go. It’s so nice to run into Maya, don’t ruin the day.” Brenda pulled Mark back, her voice syrupy sweet. Then she turned to me, smiling. “Maya, dear, what are you doing here? This place… isn’t your boyfriend with you?” Ostensibly making peace, secretly fanning the flames. After all these years, Brenda hadn’t changed a bit. Mark caught the implication in her tone, his gaze sharpening as he looked at me. I held up the report, opened my mouth, and nonchalantly dropped a bomb: “Accidentally pregnant. The dad doesn’t want it. Came to arrange the termination.” Mark raised his hand, ready to slap me. “You tramp! You’ve dragged the Collins family name through the mud!” I shot back: “Ha! Look who’s talking!” “When you were cheating on Mom with her,” I gestured towards Brenda, “were you worried about the family name then?” “What’s this, an old married couple visiting the OB/GYN? Trying for another kid?” Brenda put on her usual wounded expression, still playing the frail victim as she intervened: “Oh, Mark, kids grow up, they have their own lives…” “Your blood pressure, remember? You need to think about Lindsey and Alex!” Mark finally snorted, dropped his hand, and glared at me, spitting out harsh words: “Maya, I’m washing my hands of you! If you’re going to crash and burn, do it far away from the Collins family!” I was about to retort when a warm hand gently rested on my shoulder. A calm voice, gentle yet firm, flowed like cool water into the undignified chaos: “Just a little argument, why would you say I don’t want this child?” 2 I looked up and saw the impeccably handsome, distinguished face of my boss, Julian Thorne. If Mark’s rage and Brenda’s fake concern made me want to laugh out loud, the uncharacteristic tenderness in Julian’s eyes sent a chill down my spine. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Julian glanced at Mark and Brenda and asked, “And these two are?” Julian was tall, impeccably dressed, with an undeniable air of authority. Everything about him screamed that he was not an ordinary person. Brenda, ever the opportunist, tugged at Mark’s sleeve and offered Julian a practiced smile. “We’re Maya’s parents. You must be… her boyfriend?” Julian gave a slight nod and stepped forward, extending his hand to Mark. “Julian Thorne.” Mark Collins had carved out a decent niche for himself in the city’s business circles. Hearing Julian Thorne’s name, his cautious scrutiny instantly turned into delighted surprise. He eagerly shook Julian’s hand. “The name certainly rings a bell! A pleasure, a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thorne! I’m Mark Collins, of Collins Industries.” Julian retracted his hand and asked with concern, “What were you saying to Maya just now?” Mark chuckled awkwardly. “Just tough love, you know how it is with daughters. A misunderstanding. Heat of the moment!” Julian nodded, then put an arm around my shoulders, preparing to lead me away. “We have some things to attend to. We’ll see you around.” Mark hurried after us, his thick fingers gripping my wrist. His eyes practically overflowed with fatherly affection. “Maya, don’t be mad at Dad. No hard feelings between father and daughter, right?” “Dad’s birthday party is this weekend. Bring your boyfriend and come early, okay?” Julian remained noncommittal, looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for my decision. Although I had no idea what had gotten into the big boss today, my fear was mixed with a surge of confidence. Clothes make the man, as they say. And today, facing my deadbeat dad, I might as well lean on the imposing presence of Julian Thorne. I pretended to consider it, then said hesitantly, “I’m not sure yet… depends on Julian’s schedule.” Mark nodded understandingly, urging us gently, “Come if you can, come if you can.” The pressure on my wrist clearly signaled that I had to bring this important connection to the party. I nodded, took Julian’s arm, and turned to leave. Once we reached the parking garage, Julian abruptly dropped my hand. “Ms. Stern, your family drama is quite something.” “Eh, it’s nothing special. Thanks to Mr. Thorne for stepping in and playing the part!” I bowed slightly, opened the car door for him like a chauffeur, then hurried around to the passenger seat. Mike, the driver, handed me a bottle of water as he started the car. “Took you a while in there, Ms. Stern,” he asked kindly. “Everything okay? You should take your medicine.” If he hadn’t mentioned it, I’d almost forgotten why I was at the hospital in the first place. The adrenaline rush from the confrontation had made the cramps that tormented me all afternoon vanish. Now that he reminded me, sharp pain began radiating from my lower abdomen again. I tipped my head back, swallowed the pills, and leaned back in the seat, trying the sleep-it-off method. When the driver woke me, the car was parked outside my apartment building. Streetlights were just beginning to glow outside. Dazed, I unbuckled my seatbelt and patted Mike’s shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Mike. Thanks for waiting. Must’ve been here a while.” Mike subtly gestured towards the back seat. Only then did I realize Julian was still in the car. Julian was wearing wire-rimmed glasses, reading a document. As I looked back, he raised his head, meeting my gaze. Elegance and refinement hit me all at once, seeming to heal the hurts I’d endured earlier. For the first time, I felt that good looks weren’t just appealing; they could actually ease pain. It all felt too good to be true. I almost suspected my usually harsh boss, the one who frequently chewed me out, had been replaced by an imposter. Thinking about all his kind gestures today, I felt genuinely grateful. “Mr. Thorne, thank you for today.” Julian casually looked away. “Don’t mention it.” Then, in the same flat tone he used for reading reports, he recited: “Accidental pregnancy, termination, ‘our Julian’.” Mike’s eyes, fixed straight ahead, seemed to burn with the heat of someone eagerly listening to gossip. I stammered, trying to explain, but a faint smile touched Julian’s lips. “Maya, the reputational damage you’ve caused will be deducted from this month’s salary.” “Mike, let’s go.” I stood there in the cold wind, watching the understated Rolls-Royce drive away from my modest neighborhood, crying invisible tears. His kindness was all an act. Damn capitalists. 3 Standing under the shower spray, I looked at the crisscrossed scars on my palms, long since healed, and thought about Mark Collins’ invitation. Normally, I wouldn’t go. But this time… I turned the handle, and warm water cascaded down like heavy rain. My mom got sick right after she found out Mark was cheating on her. She forced smiles every day, but her body truthfully sounded the alarm. After she was diagnosed with breast cancer, Mark didn’t care at all. He never came home once. Let alone visit her in the hospital. Less than three months after Mom died, Mark brazenly brought Brenda and her daughter home. Along with the seven-month fetus Brenda was carrying. Back then, A picture of our family of three still sat on my desk – Mom and Dad holding me, smiling warmly. But Mark ordered me to call Brenda “Mom.” Brenda, even then, played the gentle, understanding role, stepping between Mark and me. “The child can’t accept it right away, Mark. It’s too soon to say these things.” Then she looked at me, softly stroking my face. “Maya, just call me Aunt Brenda for now.” I was already a junior in high school by then. I wasn’t stupid. The moment I saw Lindsey standing behind Brenda, I understood everything. Since freshman year, everyone in our grade buzzed about it: there were two ‘belles’ in our year. One was Maya Collins in the science track, the other was Lindsey in the arts program. Even stranger, the two girls looked remarkably similar. The only differences were that Maya was taller, had cooler-toned pale skin, a higher nose bridge, and a more reserved air. Lindsey, on the other hand, looked like a girl raised on sugar and spice. Her wide, doe-like eyes seemed innocent above her petite nose. Her clothes, her mannerisms – everything about her radiated a sweet, apple-cheeked charm. If it hadn’t been for Lindsey and her friends constantly targeting me for no apparent reason, I would have just found it amusing. Seeing her stand behind Brenda that day, a triumphant smirk on her face, it all clicked. All the similarities weren’t some coincidence. It was because Mark Collins, that animal, had secretly maintained another “family” throughout his entire marriage to my mother. I finally understood why Mark was always “away on business trips” every few weeks. Finally understood why Mark never showed up for my parent-teacher conferences. Finally understood why, when Mom was dying of late-stage breast cancer, Mark not only didn’t visit but claimed he had no money. He clearly owned a factory, lived in a mansion, drove a luxury car. But he said he had no time, no money. Mark Collins, the boy from a poor background, chosen by my mother for his sharp mind and charming wit, had never forgotten his life goals: Be a rich man, find a gentle wife, have a son. The last two desires couldn’t be fulfilled with my mother, who came from a family of respected professionals. But he could leverage my grandparents’ connections to climb the ladder in the business world. From the beginning, my mother hadn’t found a good match, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And I wasn’t some product of love; I was just a mongrel carrying half of Mark Collins’ filthy blood. I flipped the table. Dishes, cups, everything crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces around our feet. Mark slapped me with all his might, then immediately turned to check if Brenda and Lindsey were hurt. The impact knocked me to the ground. My hands landed on the shards, pain shooting through me. My left ear was ringing. I heard my sixteen-year-old self hiss through gritted teeth, “Mark Collins, you bastard, you’ll rot in hell!”… Julian Thorne’s face floated into my mind. A risky plan began to form. I wiped my face, my eyes snapping open. Mark Collins, this time, I will make you pay. 4 After the morning meeting, I deliberately slowed down, packing my things, waiting for everyone else to leave so I could talk to Julian. Normally, I would never be this bold. But this was a golden opportunity, practically heaven-sent. If Julian agreed, I’d willingly work for him for free for 10 years. As I was dawdling, Ms. Evans, his executive assistant, walked over to me, smiling pleasantly. “Ms. Stern, Mr. Thorne would like to see you.” Slightly confused, I followed her, mentally reviewing my work from the past few days, wondering if I’d messed something up. Or had Julian, that sly fox, already guessed my audacious thoughts? I stood somewhat nervously in the vast office suite. Julian gestured for Ms. Evans to leave. Then he stood up, sipping his coffee, and handed me a thick file. “Information on Collins Industries. You should probably be familiar with it.” I flipped through the pages. It contained detailed information about Mark Collins’ company: business scope, scale, recent projects, history, even clear summaries of its finances and debts. I had indeed kept tabs on these things privately, but nowhere near this level of detail. Julian walked to the window, looking down at the glass-and-steel cityscape. “Apex Tech has recently approached Collins Industries about a new partnership. What are your thoughts?” I answered formally, “Although Apex isn’t huge, they have strong momentum and are potential competitors for our new project. If Collins and Apex team up…” Julian turned around, nodding in approval. “Of course, that’s from a business perspective.” “Privately,” Julian gave a faint smile, opened a drawer, and took out an exquisite velvet box. “Since Ms. Stern has already announced we have a… child?” I quickly stood up, waving my hands. “Mr. Thorne, you can’t pin that entirely on me! You were the one who stepped up and claimed it!” Julian chuckled softly, his voice smooth like aged wine. “As it happens, I have a small inconvenience of my own. Perhaps Ms. Stern could help me out?” With that, Julian opened the deep blue velvet box and placed it in my hand. It was the first time in my life I’d seen one of those ridiculously large diamond rings from magazines in person. Under the sunlight, it glittered blindingly before me. “Mr. Thorne, this…?” Julian returned to his chair, sitting formally, put his glasses back on, and resumed his commanding tone: “You’re coming with me after work.” “Things happened quickly, so use this for now.” “If you lose it, it comes out of your salary.” 5 And so, at six o’clock that evening, still dressed in my work clothes, I found myself accompanying Julian to an upscale resort nestled by a lake in the hills outside the city. Rich people really are different; even their matchmaking venues are this fancy. I habitually followed a step behind Julian. After a short walk, he stopped and frowned at me. I immediately understood. “Mr. Thorne, any instructions?” Julian took my oversized shoulder bag from me, told me to loop my arm through his, and muttered, “What on earth do you carry in here? It weighs a ton.” I listed the contents matter-of-factly: “Laptop, files, water bottle…” Julian cut me off, looking exasperated. “Alright. Is the ring on?” I quickly flashed my right hand. Julian nodded, satisfied. A waiter led us towards a pavilion by the water. A slender, ethereal woman, looking like a fairy, was leaning back in her chair, gazing at the scenery. Facing us was another woman, slightly rounder and shorter. Seeing us approach, she gently tapped the fairy-like woman’s arm. The fairy turned with the grace of a swan extending its elegant neck. The moment she saw me, the sophisticated smile on her face froze, like it was still loading. “You must be Miss Song?” Julian politely extended his hand. Though clearly displeased, Olivia Song managed a brief, handshake. Olivia Song sized me up. The woman beside her spoke first, “Mr. Thorne, do you always bring your secretary on blind dates?” Julian pulled out a chair for me, gallantly helped me sit down, then took his own seat, smiling and shaking his head. “Not my secretary.” He then took my hand, gently stroking it, revealing the blindingly large diamond ring. “Her name is Maya Stern. She’s a department manager at my company. Hardworking, smart, beautiful inside and out. I knew I wanted her the day she joined the company.” Even though I knew Julian was just putting on an act, hearing him praise me like that for the first time still made me secretly pleased. Olivia Song’s face turned thunderous. She grabbed her coat, shot up from her chair, and delivered her first and last words of the evening: “Julian Thorne, your family is unbelievable! You’re already involved with your subordinate, and you still show up for a setup like this?!” Then she stalked off on her long legs, leaving us with her furious back. The other woman, equally indignant, threw out a “This is outrageous!” and hurried after her. That went smoothly, I thought admiringly. Leave it to the ruthless capitalist, no messing around. Seeing the mission accomplished, I asked Julian, “Mr. Thorne, they’re gone now. Should we perhaps…?” Julian, however, took the menu from the waiter and began studying it seriously. “We’re already here. Might as well eat before we leave.” 6 It’s Saturday afternoon, 5 PM. I’m in Julian Thorne’s massive downtown penthouse apartment, being fussed over head-to-toe by a styling team. This all started because of a comment he made during that dinner: “Maya, watching you eat is surprisingly relaxing.” “I think I’d like to do it again.” “I’ll go with you to the Collins Industries party on Saturday.” Lord have mercy. While I, navigating the corporate world alone, don’t have many airs and graces, being told my eating habits are “relaxing” by a man who seems to float above the mortal realm made the lobster I was eating a little hard to swallow. But regardless, Julian had offered this opportunity before I even had to ask. I secretly marveled that sometimes, fate actually treated me like a favorite grandchild. Once the primping was done, looking at the elegant beauty in the mirror, I felt a little more grounded. Dressed to the nines, as they say. Today, Maya Stern was ready to shine. Holding my skirt carefully, I got into the waiting Rolls-Royce. Mike, the driver, saw me, and his eyes lit up: “Ms. Stern, you look incredible today! Really… uh… glamorous!” The smile that had just bloomed on my face froze slightly. Master and servant, both blessed with such silver tongues. The car glided towards the Grand Lexington Hotel. Mike explained, “Mr. Thorne had a few things to wrap up. He asked me to bring you here first.” I nodded in understanding. I looked down at the massive diamond ring on my hand. I had taken it off that night, carefully wrapped it, and tried to return it to Julian. He’d waved it off dismissively. “It’s just sitting around anyway. You might as well wear it for now. Good for keeping up appearances.” I asked worriedly, “Mr. Thorne, what if…” Julian’s expression turned serious. “Then you pay for it, market value.” I touched the ring, shifted slightly in the back seat to ease my posture, and mentally reviewed the information on Collins Industries. Julian wanting to intervene in the Collins and Apex deal was a certainty. But he had also given me detailed files on Collins Industries’ debts and questionable projects. Julian never did anything without a reason. If I wasn’t mistaken, Julian meant exactly what I thought he meant. I closed my eyes for a moment. Mark Collins, this time, I absolutely will not let you get away with it.

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I’m the valedictorian my mother raised with a thin cane. When I was five, if I got a problem wrong, Mom would whip me with it. Even when my little brother died accidentally, she was yelling at me: “What are you crying for? Get back to your work!” After getting my SAT scores, a perfect score that got me into Harvard, news outlets swarmed to interview me. I took the microphone, and under my mother’s expectant gaze, I gave a cold smile: “My mother destroyed my life, and now I’m going to destroy hers.” 1 My mother is a well-respected university professor. From the time I was tiny, she was incredibly strict with me. In kindergarten, I’d already learned everything through elementary school. Mom taped a grueling schedule to my desk, like something out of boot camp: 5:30 AM wake-up, study straight through until midnight. School during the day meant pulling all-nighters to finish the assignments Mom gave me on top of that. My pillow was a stack of thick textbooks and workbooks. Mom said, “This way, you can start studying the second you open your eyes.” In kindergarten, while my brother and the other kids played, I sat quietly at my desk, working on practice tests. When my teacher saw my perfect score on a sixth-grade level test, her eyes lit up. She told my mother with admiration, “Your daughter is a genius. She’s brilliant, just like you.” Then her tone shifted as she looked towards my brother, who was causing trouble nearby. “But, her little brother needs to work hard to catch up to his sister.” Mom shot my brother a disgusted look. She pressed her hand heavily on my shoulder, leaned down, and stared at me: “Sarah, you must get into Harvard. Otherwise, you’ll be letting down all my hard work.” To make sure I succeeded, Mom moved us closer to the school. Right after we moved into the new apartment, the kid upstairs cried constantly, making a racket. Hearing the crying, my pace on my practice problems immediately slowed down. Mom, standing over me, supervising, frowned and stormed upstairs. “He’s just a toddler crying, what can I do?” The neighbor defended herself. “Besides, maybe your daughter just can’t focus? Otherwise, how could it bother her?” Ten minutes later, Mom came back downstairs, her face dark. The next day, the kid from upstairs was playing in the courtyard outside. Mom took my hand and walked towards him, her voice suddenly sweet. “Honey, Auntie Linda wants to buy you a Coke.” The little boy happily took it, chugged it down, and threw the can in the trash. That night, bloodcurdling screams echoed from the apartment upstairs. The kid’s voice was completely raw, almost gone. Mom didn’t seem to care. She picked up her cane. “Alright, no more distractions now. If you’re slow with your work again, Mommy will have to punish you.” I looked at the red welts crisscrossing the palm of my hand and shivered. When I studied, Mom was always right there, watching me. Getting an answer wrong meant getting hit. Being too slow meant getting hit. Sometimes a slap, sometimes the cane. After hitting me, she’d say gravely, “Mommy is doing this for your own good. This is how I was raised, too. I owe my success today to your grandma.” “You’ll thank me for this someday.” 2 My brother Kevin was a year younger than me. His grades were terrible, he hated studying, and all he wanted to do was play. Mom was deeply disappointed in him, seeing him as a lost cause. She’d whisper in my ear, “Your brother is a bad influence. Stay away from him.” But I didn’t think Kevin was bad. He was just a little mischievous, but he had a good heart. Sometimes, when Mom wasn’t looking, Kevin would sneak into my room and beg me to play with him. But Mom found out. Her face turned stony. She grabbed Kevin’s ear, yanked him up, and threw him hard onto the floor. His head hit with a loud thud. “Kevin Miller! If you won’t try harder yourself, don’t you dare drag your sister down with you!” I was terrified. I grabbed Mom’s hand, crying, pleading, “Mom, Kevin wasn’t bothering me…” Mom shoved my hand away. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?” she snapped. “What are you standing there gawking for? Get back to your room and study!” Kevin picked himself up off the floor, glared angrily at Mom, and ran off. After that day, he never came to my room again. Once we started elementary school, Kevin’s grades got even worse. Mom pointed at a video playing on her phone, interrogating Kevin furiously, “Kevin Miller, are you trying to get yourself killed? Sneaking onto the computer again!” Kevin’s eyes went wide, his face drained of color. I looked at the video, and a chill ran down my spine. I felt cold from head to toe. A wave of immense fear washed over me. Mom had installed hidden cameras in our rooms. Mom completely gave up on Kevin then. Later, I got another perfect score on a test. Mom looked through my paper, nodding with satisfaction. Just then, Kevin cautiously handed Mom his test paper, saying with a bit of pride, “Mom, I improved a lot this time. My teacher even praised me.” I looked at Kevin and smiled, feeling happy for him. Mom took the paper, Kevin watching her with hopeful eyes. The next second, her face blank, she ripped it to shreds. “You barely got a C-minus, and you expect me to praise you?” “You useless child!” Mom grabbed my hand and pulled me into my room to study. I glanced back. Kevin was still standing there, head hanging low in disappointment. “Sarah, your brother is a failure,” Mom said flatly. “You have to make me proud.” 3 When I was eight, I won first place in the National Math Olympiad. I was the youngest winner ever. The news shocked our small city. Reporters and media outlets flocked to our house for interviews. “Mrs. Miller, is it because you’re a teacher yourself that your daughter is so exceptional?” “Could you tell us how you usually educate your children?” Mom beamed at the microphone, glowing with pride, eagerly sharing her parenting tips: “Parents must be deeply involved in their child’s studies. Children naturally lack self-control, so you have to manage every aspect of their lives constantly, eliminate all distractions. That’s the only way they can focus entirely on learning.” “My daughter is going to be a top scorer, get into Harvard, so I have to be extremely strict with her from a young age.” “I keep a thin cane in the house. If she gets one problem wrong, I give her ten taps on the palm. Another wrong answer, twenty taps. That way, she’s afraid to make mistakes, and the next time she sees that type of problem, she’ll remember it.” “Discipline is essential in raising children. When they feel the pain, they learn their lesson. Talking to them nicely hundreds of times isn’t as effective as one good spanking.” The next day, Mom’s interview spread like wildfire online. Headlines screamed— “Mother Uses Cane to Mold Future Harvard Student.” Suddenly, the cane became the must-have parenting tool, selling like crazy online. Parents everywhere started imitating Mom’s methods. Seeing my achievements, most netizens agreed with her, though a few dissenting voices popped up. “Isn’t that child abuse? You don’t need to treat kids like that, do you?” But they were quickly shouted down by other parents: “What do you know? Her mother is an outstanding teacher.” “That’s why your kid is a loser who can’t get into a good school.” “I started disciplining my kid, and he actually sits down and does his homework now.” 4 After winning the award, I was hailed as a prodigy. In contrast, Mom despised Kevin even more. Things came to a head when a parent showed up at our door with their son, who was bruised and swollen. “Look what your son did to my boy!” Kevin’s classmate’s face was puffed up like a balloon, and he was crying uncontrollably. His father pointed a finger at my mother, yelling furiously on our doorstep: “Your son is nothing but a thug, a little punk! His grades stink, and he’s always causing trouble at school!” Mom looked mortified, bowing slightly and apologizing over and over. Neighbors heard the commotion and gathered around, whispering and pointing at Mom. Kevin froze, trying desperately to explain: “H-he hit me first.” Nobody listened. Everyone looked at him with disgust. I tried to defend him: “Kevin’s grades aren’t great, but he would never bully anyone, he…” Before I could finish, Mom shot me a look that silenced me instantly. I shrank back, terrified, the old welts on my palms seeming to throb again. “And you call yourself the mother of a genius, a respected teacher? Your own son acts like this.” “Guess your parenting skills aren’t so great after all.” “Talking a big game about your methods, boasting about how your kid will be a top scorer.” The other parent sneered relentlessly. Mom clenched her fists, her face growing darker and darker. In the end, Mom paid the other family a large sum for medical expenses to make it go away. Kevin was terrified Mom would beat him, his legs shaking uncontrollably. But Mom just said one thing before going to her room. Her face was eerily calm, frighteningly so. “Kevin Miller, you are such an embarrassment to me!” 5 That weekend, Mom did something unusual: she took Kevin and me to the beach. Kevin was happily playing with a toy car. Curious, I asked him, “Who gave you that?” He grinned. “Mommy got it for me!” I smiled. Maybe Mom didn’t hate Kevin so much anymore. On the sand, Kevin was busy building a sandcastle. I pointed to an ice cream cart nearby and said to Mom, who seemed distracted, “Mom, I want some ice cream from over there.” Mom managed a small smile and took my hand. “Okay, let’s go get some.” Then she looked at Kevin, her voice gentle. “Kevin, Mommy’s taking Sarah to get ice cream. Don’t wander off, okay?” Kevin was looking down, searching for something. “Mom, my toy car is gone.” I was eager for ice cream. “Kevin, I’ll help you look after we get back.” I picked out a chocolate ice cream for Kevin too. Mom didn’t look pleased about that. Suddenly, someone on the beach started yelling frantically, “Help! A kid fell into the water!” I froze. The ice cream slipped from my hand and fell onto the sand. When they pulled Kevin out of the water, he wasn’t breathing. At the police station, Mom covered her face, sobbing heartbrokenly. “I’m so sorry. It seems your son drowned trying to retrieve this toy car.” “He was clutching it tightly in his hand when we found him.” A police officer, looking apologetic, handed the toy car to Mom. I stopped crying, my head snapping towards Mom. Her face was etched with grief, but was that… a tiny smirk playing on her lips? Suddenly, I remembered seeing Mom throw something towards the ocean earlier. It was the toy car. 6 Back home, Mom’s sorrow vanished, replaced by a blank expression. I tearfully grabbed her hand. “Mom, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked for ice cream.” Mom slapped me hard across the face. “Do you realize how much time you’ve wasted today?” she said coldly. “You still have time to cry? Get back to your room and study!” “You can’t waste your energy on meaningless things like this. Focus!” To Mom, Kevin’s death… Was meaningless? My chest tightened. I felt suffocated, like I couldn’t breathe. I stumbled back to my room, the pen trembling in my hand. My mind felt blocked; I couldn’t solve a single problem. From outside my door came the sound of a furious argument. My dad, Frank, who hadn’t been home in ages, was back. Dad was a struggling painter, a gentle soul who spent most of his time hidden away in his studio. Mom scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look who decided to come home. Tired of hiding in your studio with your pathetic paintings?” Dad frowned, demanding, “Linda! Where’s Kevin?” He had heard the news and rushed home. “Dead.” “How could you let this happen?! How weren’t you watching him?!” Mom’s voice rose, sharp and accusatory. “Frank Miller, you have the nerve to say that? I gave up my PhD for you! You promised you’d make something of yourself, and look at you now!” “You don’t work a real job, just chasing your ridiculous dream! I’m the one supporting this family, and now you blame me for not watching the kids properly?” “Your son was just like you – a useless failure!” I buried my face in my arms on the desk, sobbing uncontrollably. In the end, Dad just… fled. He left again. 7 After Kevin died, Mom pushed me even harder. My wake-up time shifted to 5 AM, and bedtime was pushed back an hour. She struck my palm fiercely with the cane. “You’re my only child now, Sarah. You absolutely cannot disappoint me!” I was always first in my grade, perfect scores in every subject. And so, I started middle school. Nobody wanted to be near me; nobody wanted to be my friend. All I knew was studying. I couldn’t relate to their conversations. I didn’t talk much, always kept to myself – eating alone, walking to school alone, never having a partner for group projects… Kevin was gone, Dad rarely came home, I had no friends. It was just Mom and me in the house. I felt incredibly lonely. I mustered the courage to talk to Mom about it. She just scoffed, her expression dismissive. “They’ll only hold you back, distract you from your studies. Don’t waste your time and energy on them.” “If you have time for pointless thoughts like that, you’d be better off doing a few more practice sets.” “Have you mastered all the high school material yet?” One day after school, it started pouring rain. I didn’t have an umbrella and didn’t want Mom to pick me up. I walked slowly along the side of the road, head down. I wanted to delay going home. Delay returning to that suffocating house. Suddenly, a large umbrella appeared over my head, shielding me from the drizzle. A girl with a neat, short haircut, her school uniform skirt hemmed a bit shorter than regulation, had a lollipop sticking out of her mouth. She looked a bit rebellious. She held the umbrella over both of us, grinned widely, showing a row of white teeth, and said cheerfully, “Hey, why are you walking alone in the rain?” Seeing my blank stare, she pretended to be hurt. “No way, you don’t recognize me? I’m Chloe Evans! I sit behind you.” Chloe wasn’t a great student, but she was outgoing and had lots of friends. She casually slung an arm around my shoulders. I flinched back instinctively, not used to it. No one had ever been that close to me before. Chloe saw my shyness and burst out laughing. “Hahaha, you’re actually really cute! I thought you were super cold.” “I always see you alone, not talking to anyone. You seem lonely.” “I’ve wanted to be friends with you for a while.” I paused, a small smile touching my lips. It felt like ripples spreading across calm water inside me. She pulled another lollipop from her pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. “Have some candy.” The lollipop was sweet, just like the feeling blossoming inside me. Mom never let me eat much sugar; she thought junk food like that would lower my IQ. That day, I got home ten minutes later than usual. Mom hit my palm twenty times with the cane. But despite the punishment, my mood was still exceptionally bright. 8 After that day, Chloe and I became friends. She’d eat lunch with me, walk home with me, partner with me for group assignments… In art class, the assignment was to draw “Your Most Unforgettable Moment.” “Wow, Sarah, is that the time we snuck out and picked apples from the tree behind the school?” Chloe leaned close, pointing at my drawing board. “This looks amazing! Sarah, you’re going to be an artist someday!” I froze, then gave a self-deprecating smile. Absolutely not. Mom hated painters. When I was four, Dad used to hold me in the yard and teach me how to draw. His eyes would sparkle. “Painting is wonderful, Sarah. It can capture all the beautiful, romantic things around us.” Dad said I had a real talent for it. Because of him, my secret dream had always been to paint. Later, Mom found out Dad was secretly teaching me. She built a fire and burned all of Dad’s cherished paintings. Every single one. Dad was devastated. That incident was why he preferred hiding in his studio to coming home. To punish me, Mom hit my palm over a hundred times with the cane. Her face was dark with fury as she struck me, ranting, “Your goal is to be the top scorer, get into Harvard, then get your PhD, and end up like me, a university professor!” “Do you want to end up like your father? Worthless, weak, a pathetic ‘artist’ with nothing to his name?” “I’m warning you, if you ever touch a paintbrush again, you might as well just die!” She gripped my hand, hitting it again and again. My hand was raw, bleeding, flesh torn. I sobbed uncontrollably, crying out, “Mom, I’m sorry, I won’t ever paint again…” Just then, Chloe’s envious voice pulled me back to the present. “I’m so jealous of you. Your mom’s a professor, your dad’s an artist, you guys are rich… not like my family…” She lowered her head, looking dejected.

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