I was always freakishly good at singing, a natural from day one. But the moment I actually got famous, my own family turned on me, accused me of lip-syncing. The whole internet ripped me to shreds. I fell apart, tried to end it all. And my sister? She just stepped right into my spotlight. Now, somehow, I’m back. Reborn. And I find myself signed up for the same reality singing show, The Voice Factor, right alongside my sister. The international contestants are killing it. My sister, the one everyone was pinning their hopes on, gets busted for lip-syncing again. And my family? They pressure me to cover for her. So I posted online. “Yeah, it’s true. My sister lip-syncs.” The internet exploded. All those people who dragged my name through the mud? Now they’re blowing up my feed, begging me to come back. 1 I was a prodigy, basically. Hit it big at 16, fame practically overnight. Awards, recognition, the whole deal showering down on me. But Mom and Dad? They weren’t exactly thrilled. See, they’d poured everything into my sister, Chloe. She was supposed to be the star, not me. My success crushed Chloe. I was naive, thought if I just gave them all my earnings, they’d stop seeing me as the inconvenient one. My eighteenth birthday. I was so hopeful, made a wish for my family’s happiness and health. But Mom, Dad, and Chloe never showed up. Turns out, they were at a press conference. Mom, crying her eyes out: “I’m so sorry to take up public attention like this, but my daughter, Maya… she’s been lip-syncing this whole time. The real voice behind the songs… it’s actually her sister, Chloe.” Dad backed her up: “We tried so many times to get Maya to stop, to not steal the credit that belonged to her sister, but she wouldn’t listen. To stop her from digging a deeper hole, we had no choice but to expose the truth, as painful as it is.” Chloe, dabbing her eyes, her voice all sweet and shaky: “Everything you saw on stage… Maya was just mouthing the words. I was the one actually singing. I’m so sorry we deceived everyone. Please don’t blame my sister. Blame me.” I had no defense. The online hate crashed down like a tidal wave. It hit me then – I didn’t have a single person to talk to. Suddenly, I remembered Matt, my childhood friend. I texted him: “Things are really bad right now. Can I call you?” His reply: “Don’t bother me again. Your sister told me everything about you. You make me sick.” I slit my wrists. After I died, Mom and Dad didn’t even bother coming to my funeral. Instead, they held this big, public memorial service, crying fake tears for the cameras. Chloe, putting on her best heartbroken act: “My sister was just so confused. Nobody was really blaming her. She was just too fragile. Honestly, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have burst her bubble.” Her performance was convincing. People flooded her with sympathy. My body? Left to rot in my rented apartment. Nobody cared. 2 I open my eyes again. I’m back. It’s my eighteenth birthday again. I check my phone. Mom, Dad, and Chloe are right there on the screen, accusing me of lip-syncing. In less than two hours, the internet will be a firestorm of hate. But this time? I won’t go down so easily. I immediately call my agent. “That live singing competition show you mentioned before, The Voice Factor? Sign me up. Don’t try to talk me out of it.” My agent sounds frantic. “Maya, your family just told the world you lip-sync! Are you crazy? Going on a live show?” Even my agent doubted me now. I gave a small, humorless laugh. “Just sign me up.” Then, I opened up Twitter and typed out a message: “Excited to announce I’m competing on The Voice Factor – live! Can’t wait to share the stage with my sister, Chloe. 😊” They wanted to see me cry? I’d give them a smile instead. The internet went nuts instantly: “Didn’t she JUST get exposed for lip-syncing? Now she’s doing a LIVE show?” “What kind of stunt is this? Trying way too hard to prove something.” “Okay, but this is kinda juicy. Her sister claims to be the real talent, but Maya got all the fame. Now they’re competing head-to-head. Let’s see who’s actually better.” “Maya’s such a snake. Chloe is too pure for this.” Chloe immediately texted me: “Maya, why don’t you just disappear? What does your competing have to do with me? I never said I was doing the show.” I replied calmly: “Well, it involves you now. If you don’t show up, everyone will think you’re scared. Weren’t you always complaining about being overlooked? Here’s your chance to shine.” Chloe was furious, practically grinding her teeth, but the tweet was already out there, a public challenge. If she backed down now, she’d look like a coward. It would completely undermine her whole “real talent” story. “You think I’m afraid of you? I haven’t wasted all these years practicing. I’m just as good as you, maybe better. Just wait.” I didn’t reply. A surge of adrenaline, of inspiration, hit me. I scrambled, almost manic, looking for paper and a pen, scribbling down the ideas flooding my mind. At the studio taping, the 500-strong audience was chanting Chloe’s name. Chloe beamed, took a bow, then sighed dramatically. “Honestly, I’m so busy, I didn’t think I’d have time for this show. But my sister insisted I come. What could I do? Ugh.” She played the reluctant, humble artist perfectly. Online, the attacks on me started immediately: “Our Chloe’s schedule is packed, and she still has to make time for this because Maya forced her! Maya is so pushy and annoying!” “Maya’s a proven lip-syncer! How dare she show her face on this stage! So embarrassing!” “Why is a fake singer even allowed on the show? Isn’t that humiliating? What will the two international contestants think of us?” The director wasn’t stupid. My tweet tagging Chloe had created massive buzz. He immediately saw the ratings potential: two feuding sisters on the same stage? Endless drama and viewership. I sat in my dressing room, scrolling through the hateful comments: “Looks like a cockroach. Just die already. Gross.” Someone else attacked me about Matt: “Matt clearly likes Chloe, but you keep harassing him, won’t leave him alone.” Wow, they dug up dirt about my childhood friend too. I typed back. “Are you my kid? How do you know so much about my business?” I fired back at everyone. Better to hit back at 100 trolls than let one get away with it. Ten minutes into the live broadcast, a trending hashtag appeared: #TrashyMaya. Someone even made a compilation video of my angry replies. People were trashing me for being vulgar, but also low-key impressed: “Damn, she claps back hard! Wish I could roast people like that!” “She’s literally my spirit animal when dealing with haters!” Chloe’s fans swarmed my comments. I shot back: “Is your idol dead? Why are you crying on my page?” Twenty minutes later, a second negative hashtag trended. I hadn’t even sung a note, and I was already trending for all the wrong reasons twice. My agent was blowing up my phone. “Are you insane?! Stop fighting online! They’re tearing you apart!” I was surprisingly calm. “It’s fine. Build the tension before the release.” I quickly hung up. In stark contrast, Chloe was online interacting sweetly with her fans, all charm and politeness. It made me look even worse, like the evil stepsister, fueling the haters even more. The two international singers performed. Backstage, I just shook my head. “Damn, they’re incredible.” I came here focused on dealing with Chloe, forgetting about the actual competition. Now I was genuinely nervous. 3 My turn. I walked onto the stage, stood center, and tried to calm my nerves. “Maya, you’re facing the wrong way!” Someone shouted from the wings. Panicked, I spun around. The song was one I’d written in that burst of inspiration a few days ago. It was completely different from my usual mellow, sweet style – fast, furious, raw, venting all my frustration. I lost myself in the music. By the time I finished, the entire audience was on their feet, totally hyped. Walking offstage, I nodded, smiling. “I’m really happy with that performance.” My agent had a dark look on her face. “Honey, you sang the entire song with your back to the audience.” My eyes widened. No way. That meant I was facing the right way initially. Then someone yelled at me to turn around… Thinking back, that voice… it sounded like Chloe’s manager. Okay, so they wanted to play dirty? Fine by me. I wasn’t scared. I stormed straight to Chloe’s dressing room. The second she saw me, a flicker of guilt crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it, rushing over to hug me. “Sis, you were amazing out there! I was totally rocking out watching you!” My smile didn’t reach my eyes. “Funny thing, your manager told me I was facing the wrong way, made me turn around. So I ended up performing with my back to everyone.” She feigned innocence. “What are you talking about, sis? My manager’s been with me the whole time, hasn’t gone anywhere.” I scoffed. They’d clearly planned this, had their alibi ready. Arguing now wouldn’t get me anywhere. “You’re up next. Don’t be nervous. This stage doesn’t tolerate any lip-syncing, you know.” With that parting shot, I turned and left. I felt a little defeated. “Singing with my back to the crowd… that performance is probably ruined.” But my agent was grinning like crazy. “No way! Look at the online reaction!” The live chat was exploding: “Her stage presence is insane, even facing the wrong way! And people accused her of lip-syncing?” “Never seen this dark, edgy side of Maya before. It’s awesome!” “Okay, okay! Singing was great, but did anyone else notice she sang the WHOLE song facing backward? Hilarious!” “My girl survives in this industry purely on talent, zero sense of direction. Bless her heart.” Of course, plenty of haters chimed in too. “Big deal. Wait till Chloe performs. She’ll blow Maya out of the water.” “Chloe! Show her how it’s done!” I settled in to watch Chloe’s performance. Honestly, her actual talent was mediocre at best. She had no clue about her own limitations. Showing up on this live show, thinking she could wing it? She was setting herself up for failure. The forced confidence she’d shown earlier was clearly gone. They practically had to help her onto the stage. Anyone could see she was terrified, her legs practically buckling under her.

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I became a vegetable after a car crash. Except I couldn’t wake up, couldn’t move. Everything else worked fine. Hearing the doctor confirm my vegetative state at the hospital, I fell apart inside. But thankfully, I had a family that loved me very much. They carefully asked the doctor about all the things needed to take care of me. Like turning me every two hours, managing my bodily functions regularly, talking to me a lot. Honestly, I wished they’d just let me go. But I couldn’t bear to leave my family. And my family didn’t give up on me. They brought me home and took meticulous care of me. One day, I drifted out of sleep. From outside the room, I heard my mother-in-law let out a bloodcurdling scream. Then a child’s cry – must have been my daughter. My husband’s voice yelled, “What are you doing?!” But then, silence. All I could hear was the endless, rhythmic sound of chopping. Like a butcher working nonstop. Who was here? What happened to my family? The chopping went on and on. Gradually, a heavy smell of blood filled the air. Mixed with the chopping was a woman’s laughter. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Why was she killing my family? Who was she? If I weren’t like this, trapped in my own body. I’d be shaking with rage, bursting out of this room to fight her. But I could only lie here. Helpless. Listening as this person murdered the people I loved most. I don’t know how much time passed before I heard footsteps outside my door. It was her! The killer! She turned the doorknob. My heart leaped into my throat. I forced myself to keep my heartbeat steady. 2. To my surprise, the woman didn’t do anything to me. She seemed exhausted. She lay down beside me on the bed. Soon, I heard the slow, even sound of her breathing as she slept. When she woke up, she didn’t leave. She actually started living in my house. I remained motionless in bed. Every time I remembered the happy times with my family. Hatred surged through me. I hated being useless like this, unable to move. Hated that I couldn’t avenge them myself. Maybe someone up there heard my wish. My fingers started to twitch. Joy sparked in me – a good sign. I prayed I’d wake up soon. I didn’t know why this woman hadn’t killed me. But if I woke up, she wouldn’t get away with this. Ever since she killed my family, the woman stayed in my house. And every day, she slept next to me. After waking up, she’d leave for a long time. When she came back, I’d hear her in the kitchen, cooking. Then, the sound of her watching TV in the living room. Acting like she owned the place. Every night before sleeping, she’d sit in my room and talk. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or just herself. What she said was always the same. Cursing my family. She’d use my in-laws’, my husband’s, and my child’s names, then launch into long tirades. She called my father-in-law a hypocrite, dirty, disgusting. Lies! My father-in-law was refined, honorable, always straightforward. She said my mother-in-law was lazy, greedy, sharp-tongued, and cruel. I screamed back in my head – my mother-in-law was gentle, kind, understanding. She said my child was ungrateful, a little viper we’d raised. But my child was sweet and well-behaved. She said my husband was treacherous, a womanizer. My husband was the most honest, reliable man, completely devoted to me. She cursed everyone. Except me. Who was this woman? Why did she have such twisted ideas about my family? 3. I could feel movement returning to my hands and feet. Whenever the woman was out, I secretly tried to move, doing my own physical therapy. I had a feeling I’d wake up soon. Lying there, I planned what I’d do when I woke up. And I survived by reliving precious memories of my family. I grew up an orphan, so I always craved love. I dreamed someone would cherish me completely. Then, just like I wished, he appeared. My future husband, Alex. I met him in college. It was cliché, really. I’d been studying in the library all morning. When I came out, it was pouring rain. And I didn’t have an umbrella. Starving, I just stood by the door, waiting for it to stop. “Hey, need to share my umbrella?” A gentle, magnetic voice spoke. I turned and saw a guy in a white shirt, holding an umbrella, tilting his head as he looked at me. His eyes were dark, clear, and incredibly kind. He rendered me speechless. Suddenly, my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl. As I flushed with embarrassment, the guy beside me chuckled softly. “I’m starving too. Let’s hit the cafeteria together.” From that day on, we slowly became friends, then more than friends. Alex was wonderful to me. He brought me breakfast every morning, surprised me with gifts, took me out, listened to all my worries and trivial complaints, studied with me. He gave me complete security and companionship. When he found out I was an orphan, he took me to meet his family. They liked me immediately. His parents treated me like their own daughter. My father-in-law gave me advice on my studies and career path. My mother-in-law took me shopping for clothes; we could talk about anything. In my junior year, I got pregnant and had to take a year off. I didn’t want to terminate the pregnancy; this baby was a symbol of Alex’s and my love. But taking a year off school was a big deal. My body changed, and being stuck at home all day, I developed prenatal depression. I refused to see anyone, just cried at home constantly. Alex and his family were worried. I moved into their house. My in-laws took such good care of me. Alex’s family lived in the same city as the university. So, he switched to commuting and came home every day to be with me. With their support, I slowly got better. After I gave birth to a daughter, Alex and his family were overjoyed. Once I recovered, Alex formally proposed. Under a sky full of stars, he looked deep into my eyes and promised: “Let me give you a warm home.” I said yes, tears streaming down my face. Offering me a home, to someone who’d never had one, was impossible to refuse. We officially started our life together, a happy family of five. After the baby, everyone supported me going back to finish my degree. My in-laws helped watch the baby. I focused completely on my studies. Finally, I graduated with my diploma and degree. After graduation, I even got a job at a major company. Career, love, and family – I had it all by age 23. After getting married, Alex and I worked during the day, and his parents watched our daughter. In the evenings, Alex and I would take her out. On weekends, Alex and I would have date nights. My daughter was sweet and sensible, the kind of angel baby everyone talks about. She did well in school, never gave us any trouble. My sweet girl would even make me birthday presents. She told me I was the most beautiful mom in the world. But now, all of it was destroyed. Lying in bed, I suddenly felt a tickle on my cheek. Tears were rolling down my face. What did our family ever do to that woman? Why would she be so brutal? 4. After who knows how long, I suddenly felt I could control my body again. My eyes flew open, my heart pounding wildly. Just as joy flooded me – the chance to avenge my family – a voice echoed in my mind: Forget the truth. It sounded like an old man. What truth? I was confused. But I didn’t dwell on it. I needed to get out. The woman had just left; now was the perfect time to escape. I stood up, only to immediately fall. Sharp pain shot through me. My body had been rigid for too long; it wasn’t fully recovered. I sat on the floor for a while, catching my breath. Dragging and crawling, I made my way out of the room. The house looked the same, just as it was before the accident. I scrambled to the TV stand, found the landline, and dialed 911. When the operator answered, I explained the situation. But strangely, they said they couldn’t hear me, told me not to tie up emergency lines. I thought maybe the phone was broken, but I couldn’t find my cell anywhere. I needed to get out, report this at the police station. But the front door was locked. We lived on the eighteenth floor; jumping wasn’t an option. Too much time had passed since I woke up. I was scared the woman would be back soon. Hurriedly, I crawled back to my room and resumed my vegetative act. I decided I couldn’t let her know I was awake. I was afraid she’d kill me, and I’d lose my chance for revenge. Besides, my body wasn’t strong enough yet; I wouldn’t win a fight. Suddenly, I heard the woman returning. I quickly lay back down, mimicking the posture I’d held for so long. The woman went through her usual routine: cooking, watching TV, then coming into my room to talk to herself. But this time was different. As she spoke, she suddenly burst into tears. She sobbed heartbrokenly, murmuring, “My poor daughter… ruined by you people…” Daughter? What did she mean? What happened to this woman’s daughter? Did she kill my family because something happened to her child? Still, I trusted my family. They wouldn’t do anything illegal or immoral. I lay perfectly still, afraid to even breathe too loudly. It was agonizing, trying to keep my breathing slow and rhythmic. Don’t let her notice anything. Luckily, she was too caught up in her grief to pay attention to me. After crying, she got into bed beside me. My palms were sweating, I was so tense. After what felt like an eternity, the woman fell asleep. I slightly turned my head, wanting to open my eyes just a crack to see who this person with the familiar voice was. The moment I saw her face clearly. My blood ran cold. I was looking at a face identical to my own! How could someone look exactly like me? My whole body started trembling uncontrollably. No wonder the voice was familiar – her voice was identical to mine too. Suddenly, the woman shifted in her sleep. I slammed my eyes shut, pretending to be unresponsive. My mind reeled with disbelief. I lay awake all night, considering endless possibilities. Could she be a twin sister I never knew? Being an orphan, I had no way of knowing if I had siblings. But if she were my sister, why wouldn’t she reveal herself? And why murder my family so brutally? I couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. Even if she was my sister, I wouldn’t acknowledge her. Not after she killed the people I loved. There was another possibility. She deliberately had plastic surgery to look like me. Then, using my face, she killed my family, moved into my house, and planned to frame me for everything. The second possibility felt more logical, more acceptable. I remembered my mother-in-law kept a spare key in her room. I continued playing the part of a vegetable, planning to grab the key and escape the next day when the woman left. 5. The next day, the woman went out. My body wasn’t as stiff as yesterday, though my steps were still unsteady. I slowly walked to my mother-in-law’s room and found the key in a drawer. For some reason, the room felt… eerie. Suddenly, my hand slipped, and the key clattered to the floor. I bent down to pick it up. And noticed something under the bed. I looked closer, my eyes meeting the wide-open, staring eyes of a corpse beneath the bed. I screamed. But quickly regained composure, tears streaming silently down my face. Under the bed lay the bodies of my father-in-law and mother-in-law. No! Not bodies… pieces. That cruel, vicious woman had dismembered them, stacking the pieces under the bed. Their heads were placed there too. I fought to suppress my sobs. Then, I searched the entire house for my husband and daughter. I finally found my husband’s body in the freezer. But I couldn’t find my daughter. Instead, I found the body of a little boy. The child’s cry I’d heard that first day must have been his. Children’s voices can sound similar; I must have mistaken it. Could my daughter still be alive? A flicker of hope ignited within me. I quickly used the key to unlock the front door and ran downstairs as fast as I could. Running was difficult. I grabbed a passerby, trying to borrow their phone to call the police. But the person ignored me. I tried stopping person after person on the street; they all ignored me. I had no money. All I could do was force my unsteady legs to carry me towards the nearest police station. My bare feet burned against the pavement. When I reached the station, I grabbed an officer, trying to report the crime. But even stranger, no one at the station paid any attention to me. Okay, strangers ignoring me might be plausible. But why were the police ignoring me too? I glanced at a reflective surface nearby and saw… nothing. No reflection. I froze, then looked down and noticed something even weirder. My feet were bare. Logically, they should be scraped and bleeding from running on the pavement. But instead of cuts, I felt a searing, burning pain. Am I a ghost? Can no one see me because I’m already dead? Was I never really a vegetable? Was I dead all along? I collapsed onto the ground, feeling utterly lost. Thinking back, my time as a “vegetable” did feel a lot like being dead. Wait! Then how could that woman touch me? When I was lying in bed, that woman could see me. The first day she came into my room, she touched my hand and face, even tucked me in. At the time, I’d mentally cursed her hypocrisy. 6. I sat on the ground, thinking for a long time. I decided to go back. If no one else could help me, I’d have to get revenge myself. I couldn’t find my daughter, but since her body wasn’t in the house, maybe she was safe for now. I had to kill that woman quickly. She had cursed my child; clearly, she had a vendetta against my whole family. I don’t know why she spared me, but once she’s dead, my daughter will be safe, and my family will be avenged. I went back home, grabbed a kitchen knife from the drawer, and hid it under the covers. Since no one else could see me, I figured I’d just confront her directly. I lay back down on the bed, waiting for the woman to return. Click. She was back. Same routine: cook, watch TV. Then she opened the door to my room. She started her daily cursing ritual. I silently retorted in my head: You murderer, tomorrow you won’t have the chance to curse anyone. Finally, the woman got ready for bed. Hearing her slow, even breathing, I carefully reached under the covers for the knife. Just as I opened my eyes, ready to strike, I saw her lying beside me, eyes wide open, calmly watching me. My heart jumped, but I didn’t hesitate. I swung the knife. She rolled sideways, dodging the blow, then kicked me hard, snatching the knife from my hand. I failed. All that time lying helpless in bed had ruined my reflexes. Defeated, I slumped to the floor, bracing for death. But surprisingly, the woman didn’t kill me. She found a rope and tied me up. I couldn’t break free. I resigned myself to my fate. “Who are you?” I asked her. “I am you. You are me. But… not entirely me.” I didn’t understand. This woman was crazy. “Why did you kill my family?” I demanded. “Because they deserved to die.” Rage choked me, leaving me speechless. The woman fell silent too, just staring blankly in my direction. Being watched by someone who looked exactly like me was deeply unsettling. But I couldn’t help studying her. I noticed that although she looked like me, she seemed older, exhausted. There were fine lines around her eyes, her skin was sallow, and even her hair seemed dull, almost grayish. I could never let myself look like that. Before the accident, I loved skincare and dressing up. When I was out with my daughter, people often thought I was her older sister. How dare this woman say she was me

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Fifteen days postpartum. My husband stood there, waving a DNA report in my face, accusing me of cheating and demanding a divorce. He wanted me to walk away with nothing, penniless, so he could be with the woman he always wanted… his old flame. But me? I just wanted them to get what they deserved. 1 My health wasn’t great to begin with, and I’d hemorrhaged badly during labor. So, I ended up stuck in the hospital for over two weeks. Today was finally discharge day. I was half-sitting up in bed, nursing my bundled-up son. Looking at his tiny, pink face, all the pain and soreness from childbirth seemed to just melt away. Compared to the agony of labor, this felt like pure bliss. I had parents who adored me, and a husband who was gentle, humble, and treated me like his whole world. These past two weeks in the hospital, Ethan had been incredibly attentive, even hiring professionals to help look after me. They say marriage is a woman’s second chance at life. I felt so lucky I hadn’t married the wrong guy. Just now, we were running low on those giant postpartum pads. Before I could even mention it, Ethan had already gone out to buy more. “Honey, where are the pads you bought?” I asked, maybe a little playfully pouty, when he came back holding only a single document. “You’re worried about pads right now? Take a good look at this!” His face was all wrong, fury radiating off him. He slammed the papers down hard, right onto my face. My baby, startled in my arms, burst into loud wails. The pages scattered across the bed. Bold letters jumped out at me: Ethan Carter and Leo Carter – Paternity Exclusion. 2 Ethan Carter is my husband. Leo Carter is my newborn son. My mind reeled. A thousand questions, zero answers. I knew, absolutely knew, Leo had to be Ethan’s son. I’d never, ever cheated on him. The baby had to be his. What could possibly have gone wrong? “There has to be a mistake, Ethan, you have to believe me. Maybe the lab messed up the results…” My words seemed to ignite him. Smack! “How long are you going to keep lying to me?” He actually hit me, right across the face. He roared, “You cheating bitch! After everything I’ve done for you! How can there be a mistake when the report is right here?” “You could do a hundred DNA tests, and they’d all say the same thing!” Ethan was practically hysterical. “Divorce! Get ready to leave with absolutely nothing!” He threw out a parting shot – “Don’t even think about coming back to our house” – and stormed out. Suddenly, the doorway to my room was crowded with onlookers. People who knew nothing started whispering. “So shameless, looks like she cheated on her husband.” “Wow, he got played. What is wrong with people?” “So many women have no self-respect these days, no idea how to be a wife.” Hearing the gossip outside, I buried my head in the blankets, tears of humiliation streaming down my face. 3 Not long after, my parents arrived to take me home. I knew Ethan must have called them. Dad looked furious. The first thing he said when he walked in was, “You’re a disgrace.” Mom just sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand. My father is a well-respected author, a man known for his integrity, caring more about literary pursuits than money. My mother built a successful business empire through years of shrewd investments. They were prominent people, and now their daughter had brought shame upon them. Seeing the discomfort and disappointment on their faces felt like a stone lodged in my chest. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I choked out, “Mom, Dad, I didn’t do it.” Back at my parents’ house, Dad, despite his anger, spared no expense hiring the best postpartum nurse for me. I also asked him to send samples of Ethan’s and Leo’s hair to several different labs for paternity testing. But it was pointless. Every single result came back identical: Ethan Carter and Leo Carter – Paternity Exclusion. I felt like I was choking on bitterness, completely unable to explain the truth. Then, one day, something the nurse said clicked everything into place. 4 “Life is so much better now, isn’t it? Babies have everything they need, food, clothes… not like the old days. Back then, you were lucky just to get enough to eat.” The nurse was changing the baby’s diaper. “It was tough back then, hospitals could be chaotic. You even heard stories about people desperate for a boy swapping babies…” Swapping babies… Swapping… I froze, the baby bottle I’d just prepared slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. How had I not thought of that? A few days later, I was sobbing uncontrollably, staring at another DNA report. Ava Miller and Leo Carter – Maternity Exclusion. The baby in my arms, the one I carried for ten months, the one I nearly died bringing into the world through a traumatic hemorrhage… wasn’t biologically mine. Looking at this infant, not even a month old, his features resembled neither mine nor Ethan’s. But where was my baby? Who was behind this nightmare? 5 I bit my finger until it bled, forcing myself to calm down. Think. Cui bono? Who benefits? My eyes fell on the divorce papers Ethan had someone deliver. The answer was blindingly obvious. I called my childhood friend, Mike. He’s a tech genius. I begged him for a favor. Before the baby was born, I’d installed security cameras all over our house. Ethan knew about them; the idea was so he could see me and the baby while he was at work. But ever since our fight, he’d changed the password. I couldn’t access the feed on my phone anymore. Mike comes from money, never really applied himself in school, but he’s a natural-born hacker. He worked his magic. Soon, my phone was connected to the home cameras again, but cleverly hidden, leaving no trace of my device accessing the system. A moment later, the feed from our house appeared on my screen. Our newlywed home… “Why do you still have cameras up everywhere? It’s kind of weird,” said a woman lounging in Ethan’s arms. It was Chloe, Ethan’s old college flame. “Don’t worry about it. Only my phone is connected. Besides, we can watch the replays of us later… pretty hot, right?” “Stop it…” Chloe playfully tapped his chest with her fist. Ethan pushed her down onto the living room sofa and… I slammed my phone shut, reeling from the shock. I couldn’t believe Ethan, always so proper in public, even reserved with me, had this disgusting, sleazy side. And Chloe, his supposed “one that got away”… how did they even get back together? Where was my poor baby? All these questions swirled in my head, threatening to overload my brain, causing a splitting headache. “Shoulda known you’d break my heart…” My ringtone jolted me back to reality. “Hello, Ava. I suggest you sign the divorce papers quickly. Let’s just end this amicably,” Ethan’s voice came through the phone. “The baby was just born. I have the right to refuse the divorce.” Until I figured everything out, I couldn’t just hand over the assets we’d built together. Not like this. “Refuse? Then I’ll sue! Don’t make this ugly for everyone!” Ethan, dropping the gentle act he always used with me, yelled into the phone. So, all that politeness was just a performance. Hanging up, I glanced back at the monitor, seeing them tangled together. A wave of nausea washed over me. “You were amazing, baby,” Chloe purred, tracing circles on Ethan’s chest with her finger. “But we can’t let her mess up our plans.” “Don’t worry,” Ethan smirked. “I’ve been planning this for over a year. The goal is to kick her out with nothing. The kid isn’t mine, no blood relation. Even if it goes to court, I’ll win this, 100%!” “Maybe we should go another round…” Ethan’s lewd chuckle came through the speaker. 6 Ethan. My husband of three years. We met in college, both art majors, different classes though. He was talented, incredibly gifted with oil painting. But talented people are often arrogant. Chloe was from his hometown, same small town that they both escaped. Neither of their families had much money. Halfway through senior year, Ethan finally worked up the nerve to tell Chloe how he felt, pursued her for a long time. But Chloe knew Ethan couldn’t give her the life she wanted. She refused to be bogged down by everyday struggles. The day before graduation, she showed up at the final party on the arm of her boyfriend, an art dealer. The man was twenty years older than her, and frankly, unattractive. But she didn’t care. He had money, connections – enough to make Chloe’s dreams come true. After graduation, Ethan and I ended up at the same advertising design firm. Over time, feelings developed. After he met my parents, he learned about my family’s background. He wanted me to back him in starting his own business, an art gallery. I lamented seeing his talent wasted in a corporate design job. Blinded by love, I begged my parents for ages. Of course, they refused. I threw tantrums, broke things. Threatened a hunger strike, blackmailing them with my own well-being, the way kids always know how to manipulate their parents. Finally. Mom gave in, secretly funding us with half a million dollars to start the gallery with Ethan. Those early days were brutal. We were so busy we barely slept three hours a night. No time for proper meals, we bought instant ramen by the case, grabbing bites whenever we felt hunger pangs. But the hard work paid off. The gallery thrived. Well-known artists were clamoring to exhibit with us, willing to pay top dollar. Because works shown in our gallery sold for high prices. Ethan finally had more time to focus on creating his own series of oil paintings. Eventually, we got married, surrounded by friends and family. The gallery we built together essentially made us financially independent. But life is never smooth sailing forever. At an art exhibition, about two years before I had the baby, Chloe reappeared. Word was, things hadn’t worked out well for her. She never achieved her dream of being a painter and was currently working arranging displays at some small gallery. Just seeing her stand there, his old flame, was enough to eclipse any place I held in my husband’s heart. Looking back, I think that chance encounter probably reignited something deep inside Ethan. 5 [Note: Section number retained from original] At a coffee shop, Mike had called me urgently this morning. “Ava, look at this.” As soon as I sat down, Mike eagerly pulled out his phone and played a video for me. The timestamp showed September 10th. The day my baby was born. While I was asleep, Ethan was out in the hallway holding the baby, chatting with the man from the next bed. They casually swapped babies, supposedly to compare their weights. To any outsider, it would look completely normal. But they never swapped back before returning to their rooms. Watching the video, I looked at Mike, lost in thought. Because of COVID restrictions, only one family member was allowed for support during labor and delivery. Also, fewer women were giving birth during those couple of years. I had originally booked a private room, but just before I was admitted, there was a sudden change. Ethan told me the hospital said they were short on rooms, and we’d have to share a double. I was annoyed at first; childbirth involves a lot of private moments, and sharing felt inconvenient. Luckily, the couple in the next bed seemed nice enough, quiet and unassuming. Except the man, Roy, walked with a noticeable limp, and the woman, Tammy, barely spoke a word to me. I couldn’t understand why Roy would agree to switch his own biological child. “Ava, you’re wondering too, right? Why don’t we just go check it out?” Mike interrupted my thoughts, pulling up the couple’s information. He had their home address. It was in a small town in the next state over, about a hundred miles away. This only made me more curious. Why travel so far to give birth in the City? And why check out just three days after delivery? 6 [Note: Section number retained from original] Mike drove me for over an hour, finally reaching the couple’s house. Weeds grew haphazardly by the door. The dirt yard was a mess of mud from recent rain; there was barely a place to step without sinking. I knocked on the weathered wooden door, green moss clinging to its base. A woman’s voice, sounding very young, answered, “Who is it? Come on in.” Pushing the door open, I stepped into a dim interior. It was hard to make out the expression on the young woman’s face. I cleared my throat and handed her the DNA report I was carrying. “Tammy? Do you remember me? We were in the hospital room next to each other when we had our babies.” She took the papers, clearly confused about why we were there. “I think… I think our babies might have been switched.” Looking at the small, dark-skinned baby in her arms, barely a month old, tears welled up in my eyes. I almost broke down crying right there. On the table nearby, there wasn’t even a decent can of formula… “You… that’s impossible!” she snapped, defensive. Just then, her husband, Roy, came home. He was carrying a frail-looking toddler, maybe three years old. Seeing me, Roy’s face fell unnaturally. He grabbed a nearby shovel and started trying to herd Mike and me out the door. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I sank to my knees in the mud, sobbing, “Please, just give me my baby back!” Thankfully, Mike is six-foot-two and easily restrained the man. Finally, the four of us sat down to talk calmly. The man was Roy, his wife Tammy. They’d had their first son, Joey, when they were young and reckless. When Joey was one and a half, he was diagnosed with a serious blood disorder. Without treatment, he could die. The staggering medical bills wiped out their already meager savings. Roy had also injured his leg badly in a construction accident. When Ethan found them, Tammy was already a month pregnant with their second child and was planning to get an abortion. At that time, I was two months pregnant. Ethan promised them $150,000 if they went along with his plan, swearing he would take good care of their biological child. The young couple hesitated but finally agreed. They needed the money to save their older son. On the day I went into labor, Tammy wasn’t even due yet. Ethan bribed someone at the hospital to induce her labor with Pitocin. But afterwards, Ethan only gave them $15,000. He claimed the plan wasn’t complete yet and he’d pay the rest after he divorced me. Faced with Ethan’s excuses, Roy felt powerless. Hearing this, my heart bled. Ethan was a monster. Willing to trade away his own son just for money. And Tammy’s baby, forced into the world prematurely… “Tammy,” I said softly, “we’re both mothers. I understand you love your son desperately. What Ethan did is beyond wrong, it’s unnatural. I’ll transfer $120,000 to you right now to help Joey. And I need you to do me a favor. When this is over, I’ll give you another $150,000.” I knew if Ethan could buy them with money, so could I. Especially now, when they desperately needed the funds. The young couple looked at each other, then nodded in agreement. That evening, I transferred the $120,000 to their account and moved Tammy and the baby to another apartment I owned, setting them up comfortably. Back in my own place, holding my real son, the son I’d finally gotten back, a plan for revenge started taking root in my mind…

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While I was deep in studying for the GREs, I rented a room in a shared house to have a quiet place to focus. The day after I moved in, one of my new roommates dropped a bombshell in our group chat. “Hey everyone, big announcement! I’ve decided to apply to grad school too. To make sure I get in, I’ve put together some ‘House Rules’.” Then she unleashed this ridiculously long list of demands. “No pets, no cooking at home, no ordering takeout after 9 PM, no showering after 9 PM, no playing music out loud…” 1. “One: Studying is exhausting, so I need total quiet. That means zero noise in the house, anytime.” “Two: I’m really sensitive to cooking smells – they give me headaches. So, no cooking allowed. Period.” “Three: I don’t like animals. No pets in the house. And if you touch an animal outside, make sure you don’t smell like it when you come back.” “Four: The sound of the shower is too loud and disrupts my studying and sleep. No showering after 9 PM.” … “Eight: No eating in your rooms. The sound of chewing distracts me.” “Nine: No using anything scented, like perfume. I hate strong smells.” “Ten: To avoid disrupting my studies, you must adjust your schedules to match mine.” It was my first time sharing a place, and I couldn’t believe I’d landed a roommate this nuts. I was speechless. There were three of us in the house, all supposedly prepping for grad school. How could she possibly think these demands were reasonable? Nobody replied in the chat, so she doubled down, declaring, “Starting today, I’m in charge here. You all need to follow these rules.” That did it. My temper flared, and I fired back. “Who do you think you are? You’re applying, fine, but so are we! What gives you the right to boss us around? Get over yourself!” Silence in the chat for a couple of seconds. Then, a flood of angry voice messages from her. “How dare you talk to me like that? You just moved in, and you’re already defying me?” “Let me tell you, getting into grad school is my top priority. Anyone who messes with that will regret it!” “I’m warning you, back off, or you’ll be sorry!” Wow, tough talk. Almost scary. Except I’d dealt with plenty of entitled blowhards like her back in college. “Doesn’t matter who I am. Your grad school plans are your business, not mine. You have no right to control what we do!” She lost it, sending a stream of voice messages basically cursing me and my entire family out. I ignored her and went back to studying. Before heading home, I saw a friend request from the other roommate, Megan. I accepted, and she immediately texted me. “Sarah, seriously, be careful with Jessica. You just got here, so you don’t know. This is her second time applying, and she’s got a chip on her shoulder about everything. She already drove another roommate out. If you want peace, don’t piss her off.” So that’s why Megan kept quiet while Jessica was laying down the law. She was scared of her. Well, I wasn’t. I’d been living in dorms since middle school. I’d seen every kind of weirdo roommate imaginable. I knew exactly how to handle someone like Jessica. 2. When I got home, Jessica wasn’t around. I took a shower and went to my room, making sure to lock the door behind me. She didn’t get back until after 9 PM, and the moment she walked in, she started screaming at me from the living room. It was the usual stream of insults and curses. I was practically immune by then. I wasn’t going to waste my energy arguing. I put on my headphones – world blocked out. I was exhausted and just wanted peace. The next morning, I packed up my essentials and locked my door securely before leaving. Who knew what she might pull while I was gone? When I came home that evening, I was hit by an overpowering, acrid stench of stale urine the second I opened the front door. It was strongest right outside my bedroom door. It was the peak of summer, boiling hot, and Jessica refused to open the living room windows. No ventilation at all. The air hung thick with the sour, foul smell. It was enough to make you gag. This kind of disgusting, petty move had Jessica written all over it. I went straight to her door and knocked hard. Jessica stumbled out, hair messy, eyes bleary, looking like she’d just woken up and extremely annoyed. “What do you want?” I pointed to the still-damp stain outside my door. “Did you do this?” Jessica’s eyes darted around. She didn’t admit it. “You got proof? You’re blaming me based on that? I don’t smell anything.” “Watch it, don’t go accusing people! You need evidence!” The nerve of her, acting all indignant! Anyone else might have had a heart attack from the sheer rage. Luckily, my heart’s pretty resilient. I could handle her “deny everything” attitude. Then, she immediately turned it back on me. “And speaking of you, what time do you call this? Didn’t I tell you no noise after nine? If your brain’s not working right, maybe eat some pig brains or something.” (Okay, maybe she didn’t say pig brains, but that was the vibe). Her bossy tone was infuriating. There was no reasoning with someone like this. I didn’t waste any more breath on her. I mopped the floor multiple times and sprayed a ton of air freshener – the strong floral kind I knew she hated – just to cover up the disgusting smell. She hated perfume? Fine, I’d spray it! Let’s see how she liked that. Jessica pinched her nose and yelled, “Are you crazy? Who said you could spray that stuff?” I grabbed the air freshener, aimed it vaguely in her direction (not at her, just near her), and gave it a good spritz. “Your attitude stinks. Thought I’d help clear the air.” She lunged at me, furious. But I just easily twisted her wrist, and she yelped in pain. All bark and no bite. How dare she challenge me? After that little lesson, Jessica actually quieted down for a couple of days. When I ate some microwaved leftover fish in the living room (which, okay, does smell pretty strong), she just glared at me from the sidelines. I thought maybe she’d finally learned her lesson. But nope. A couple of days later, I found my towel – the one I’d carelessly left hanging outside to dry – had this yellowish, crusted stuff on it. I sniffed it. The stench was horrific. Oh my god. Did she actually wipe her ass with my towel? I usually kept my towel in my room specifically to prevent this kind of crap. But I’d been in a rush that morning and just hung it on the balcony railing. And wouldn’t you know it, she didn’t disappoint. She really stooped that low. This time, I didn’t confront her. There’s no point arguing with someone completely unreasonable. Fine. If she wanted to play dirty, let’s see who could be dirtier. That night, I ordered a bulk pack of stink bombs online. Those things are no joke. I’d used them for pranks before. They smell absolutely vile. 3. Right before she went to take a shower, I snuck a few into the bathroom. They take a few minutes to activate. She’d be mid-shower when the stench hit. Perfect. Soon enough, I heard Jessica’s bloodcurdling shrieks of fury coming from the bathroom. I could barely contain my laughter out in the living room. My stomach hurt from trying not to crack up. Jessica burst out of the bathroom, face red with rage, and pointed at me. “Did you do this?” Fighting back a grin, I put on my most innocent face. “What are you talking about?” “Don’t play dumb with me! Who else would make the bathroom smell like a sewer?” “Whoa, hold on, lady. Even if I wanted to, how could I do anything while you’re in the shower? Besides,” I sniffed exaggeratedly, “I don’t smell anything weird.” Jessica jabbed a finger at me, looking like she wanted to tear me apart. She kept yelling, “Then where did the smell come from? Who else could it be?” “Beats me,” I said nonchalantly. “Kind of like how someone used my towel as toilet paper. I suspected you. Was it you?” “You…” Jessica spluttered, pointing at me, too angry to form words. She looked like she wanted to hit me, but she knew she couldn’t win. In the end, she just stood there like a frustrated clown, spewing insults. For every insult she threw, I just covered my ears and childishly chanted, “I’m rubber, you’re glue!” Jessica turned purple with rage but finally just resorted to threats. “You bitch! Just you wait! This isn’t over!” Ugh, resorting to threats when you can’t win an argument. So lame. The next day, Megan and I left for the library while Jessica was still snoring loudly. Before leaving, I strategically placed the rest of the stink bombs right outside her bedroom door. With no ventilation, I figured that should smoke her out nicely. Megan looked worried. “Sarah, Jessica’s seriously vindictive. She might do something crazy. Aren’t you scared of making her even angrier?” My philosophy has always been live and let live. But if someone comes after me, I fight back. An eye for an eye. Nothing to be scared of. Jessica constantly complained about needing to study for the GREs, but I never actually saw her crack a book. Her not studying was her problem. But preventing us from studying? That crossed the line. That night, I was reading when suddenly, the power went out. Strange, I thought, we just paid the electricity bill a few days ago. I went out to check, and sure enough, Jessica was standing by the circuit breaker panel, having flipped the main switch. Seeing me, she smirked arrogantly. “From now on, power goes off at 10 PM sharp. I need to sleep early, and you studying bothers me. Got a problem with that? Then you’ll have to deal with me.” Living with this person was pure torture. Calling building management about her disgusting habits wouldn’t do much. They’d probably just give her a talking-to, which wouldn’t change anything. Like they say, sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. I wasn’t going to let her win. I flipped the breaker back on. She immediately flipped it off again. We went back and forth like this a few times. “Look,” I finally said, pulling out my phone, “if you enjoy playing with the circuit breaker, knock yourself out. But I’ve recorded everything you just did. I’m sending this to the landlord right now. If any appliances get damaged from this, you will be paying for all of it.” Hearing that, Jessica faltered. “What does that have to do with me? It’s your fault for staying up late! I’m just trying to save electricity.” “Already sent it to the landlord,” I lied smoothly. “Keep flipping the switch if you want. Any damage, you pay. Simple as that.” I turned and went back to my room, leaving Jessica fuming in the hallway. She kept muttering threats under her breath, but she didn’t touch the breaker again. 4. The GRE test date was getting closer. Jessica was often out of the house. I spent my days at the library from morning till night, too busy to worry about her dramas. Until one day, Megan called me frantically. Jessica had brought her boyfriend over, and apparently, he’d brought luggage. She told me to get home ASAP. I rushed back to find Jessica and some guy sprawled on the couch, surrounded by bags. “Starting today, my boyfriend is moving in with me,” Jessica announced as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I don’t agree,” I stated flatly. Jessica’s face instantly darkened. “I make the rules here. I bring who I want. Your opinion means jack shit!” “Don’t think I don’t know what this is about,” she sneered. “You’re just jealous I have a boyfriend and you don’t! Can’t find one yourself, so you take it out on me. You’re pathetic!” I almost laughed out loud. Jealous of her? Her boyfriend had terrible acne scars and looked like a scrawny weasel. Only she could find him attractive. “Jealous? Of what? That your boyfriend looks like a weasel, or the bad acne scars?” “If you try to let him move in, I’m calling the landlord and, if necessary, the police. Try me.” “On what grounds! I rented this room first! I decide who stays here! If you don’t like it, you move out!” Jessica stood with her hands on her hips, looking ready for a fight. Her boyfriend just lay on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, occasionally darting shifty glances around the room. He looked incredibly sleazy. For some reason, I felt like I’d seen him somewhere before. Jessica kept ranting and raving. I recorded the whole thing while calling the landlord and building management. When they arrived, Jessica toned it down slightly, but the daggers she shot me with her eyes could have started a fire. “If you don’t get your boyfriend out of here immediately, I’m calling the police,” I said firmly. When I signed the lease, I specifically added a clause stating no roommates could have partners move in or stay long-term without everyone’s consent. Everyone had agreed. My stance was firm. The landlord and manager tried to smooth things over, but I shut that down. They had no choice but to tell Jessica her boyfriend had to leave. Seeing Jessica back down, her boyfriend suddenly got angry and jumped up. “What damn business is it of yours if I sleep with my girlfriend? Mind your own damn business, bitch!” Okay, talk is one thing, but he actually pointed his finger right in my face, practically spitting on me. I grabbed his finger and bent it back sharply. He howled in pain. Skinny as a rail, and he thought he could intimidate me? My Taekwondo black belt wasn’t just for show. I threatened to call the police to sort it out. The landlord and management panicked, calling security, who basically shooed the boyfriend out like an annoying chicken. Finally, peace and quiet. Back in my room, though, something felt off. When I left that morning, my slippers were neatly placed by the door. Now, one was kicked across the room. Not only that, but the blanket on my bed looked like it had been disturbed, rumpled in a way I hadn’t left it. I was certain someone had been in my room. I quickly checked my valuables – nothing seemed missing. But then I looked in my closet. Two pairs of my underwear were gone. I asked Megan. She said when she got home, Jessica and her boyfriend were already in the living room. She wasn’t sure if they’d gone into my room or not. 5. The moment Jessica walked back in (presumably after seeing her boyfriend off), I confronted her directly. “Did you go into my room?” Between a random thief and her, I knew who the prime suspect was. “Don’t you dare accuse me! Why would I go into your room? Do you have any proof?” Jessica yelled, but she couldn’t meet my eyes. Classic sign of guilt – using volume to fake confidence. “If it wasn’t you, then I’m calling the police. Let them figure it out!” When the police arrived, Jessica kept denying everything, stubbornly refusing to admit anything. Until I pulled out the video footage. Clear as day, it showed Jessica and her boyfriend sneaking into my room and… well, doing whatever they did in there. I’d installed a tiny hidden security camera in my room early on, just in case. I never thought I’d actually need it, but thank god I did. Jessica probably never imagined I’d have proof like that. Her face went completely white.

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The day I graduated college, Dad and I had a huge blow-up. Dad yelled that twenty years of expensive education had turned me into a damn fool. Why couldn’t I just come home and take over his multi-million dollar company? I shot back that he was just a stubborn old man, stuck in his ways. Who gave a crap about his stupid money? I went to ag school for a reason! I wanted to get my hands dirty, do real research out in the field, work on crop science! To stop me from “running off to play farmer,” as he put it, Dad locked the gates to our estate. Didn’t matter. That same night, I hopped the fence. Dad lost it and sent his security guys to haul me back from the train station. “Alright, smartass, you think you’re so clever?” he fumed. “Look, Pops,” I told him, “you caught me this time, but you can’t keep me locked up forever. Besides, you’re still young enough. You and Mom could always try for another kid, you know…” “Shut up!” he roared. We finally hammered out a deal. I’d intern at his company for three months. The catch? Nobody could know I was the CEO’s son. If I managed to last the three months without getting fired, he’d finally let me go chase my dream in agricultural research. Turned out, just surviving three months under the radar, especially with a General Manager who seemed determined to make my life hell, was harder than I thought. After being pushed around one too many times, I finally snapped. That’s right, buddy, the rich kid is done pretending. 1 Look, I’ve always been a little different. And no, I don’t just mean being born with a silver spoon—or maybe a whole platinum set—in my mouth. Or that my birthday gifts growing up probably totaled eight figures. Or having house staff trailing after me, calling me “Young Mr. Davis.” I think the weirdest part, the thing that really set me apart, was this: you know how some families do that thing for a baby’s first birthday, laying out objects to see what they grab? Well, forget the toy calculator or the little briefcase. Surrounded by shiny, expensive stuff, I apparently made a beeline for… a stalk of rice someone had randomly put there as a joke. Talk about destiny, right? On my 18th birthday, Dad asked me what I wanted. He was practically beaming. “Son, name it! A condo? A sportscar? Seed money for your own startup? Whatever you want, it’s yours!” I said, “Dad, can you get me some farmland? Like, really good, dark, fertile soil.” Dad just stared, speechless. So yeah, even among the trust-fund crowd, I was the odd one out. While other rich kids were racing Lamborghinis and hitting the clubs, I was out on the plot of land Dad eventually, reluctantly, leased for me, experimenting with different fertilizers, testing heirloom seeds… After my first real harvest, I proudly presented Dad with a basket of my own organically grown rice. He stared at the plump, healthy grains, then looked at me with this complicated expression. “Son,” he said, his voice heavy, “you can’t really get rich doing this…” I gave him a look. “What does everyone say they’ll do if their business goes bust?” He blinked. “Go back to farming, I guess?” “Exactly, Pops,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your son just skipped thirty years of corporate headaches and went straight to the finish line. Isn’t that efficiency something to be proud of?” Mom had to physically restrain him from clocking me with a garden hoe that day. So, I majored in Agricultural Science in college. And after graduation, the fight that had been simmering between Dad and me for years finally boiled over. He called me an idiot blinded by rice paddies. Farming? How much money could that possibly make? I needed to get serious, come into the company, and learn the ropes! I scoffed. Who needed his “dirty money”? I had dreams! Ambition! I was going out to the country! That’s when he locked the gates and I made my escape, only to be dragged back from the train station thanks to my eight-pack abs and decent climbing skills being no match for his security team. “Fine! You’ve made your point!” he’d roared when they brought me back. “Pops, you know I’ll just keep trying,” I’d countered. “Just let me do this internship thing. Three months. If I survive without getting fired, and without anyone knowing who I am, you let me go. Deal?” He finally agreed, probably thinking I wouldn’t last a week. “Deal,” he grumbled. “But don’t come crying to me when they fire your idealistic butt.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. 2 My first day reporting for the internship, I actually wore a proper black suit and polished leather shoes. Dad saw me on my way out and actually grunted, something vaguely approving. “Well, look at you. Finally decided to dress like a functioning member of society.” I shot back, “Dad, everyone says I look just like you. So if I don’t usually look human…” “Shut it, smartass!” he snapped, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. When I got to the office, there was one other intern starting the same day. He was dressed sharp, looked fresh out of college too. The second he laid eyes on me, I could practically feel the competitive waves rolling off him. Instant rivalry. Relax, buddy, I thought. I’m outta here in three months. Not gunning for your spot. But I couldn’t say that, of course. The deal with Dad. The other intern, whose name turned out to be Kevin Miller, was frosty all morning. At lunchtime, though, he finally made conversation. Introduced himself, I told him my name was Alex Davis. “Davis?” Kevin squinted at me suspiciously. “Any relation to the CEO, Mr. Davis?” He’s my dad, genius. Of course we have the same last name. I just gave a noncommittal shrug. But then Kevin’s eyes dropped to my suit. His expression changed fast. “Wait a second… is that an Armani suit? Those things cost like, five grand, right? And those shoes…” He swallowed hard. “Dude, if those are real Gucci loafers, they’re easily two grand…” I frowned slightly. Honestly, these were some of my more ‘casual’ clothes. I mean, I only had one walk-in closet dedicated to suits. Dad’s watch collection alone took up an entire climate-controlled room, not even counting the really valuable stuff he kept in a bank vault. And Mom? Don’t even get me started. Her clothes, bags, and jewelry filled three whole dressing rooms… Kevin looked like his entire perception of reality was short-circuiting. The way he was staring at me was getting uncomfortable. “They’re fakes,” I said quickly, keeping my face perfectly straight. Kevin blinked. “Wh-what?” “Total knock-offs,” I insisted smoothly. “Suit, shoes, everything. Found ’em online.” “Oh… oh, right. Knock-offs…” Kevin visibly relaxed, though a hint of suspicion lingered. He asked, trying to sound casual, “So, what do your folks do?” I plucked an occupation out of thin air. “They’re rice farmers.” Kevin’s whole demeanor instantly shifted again. One second, cautious curiosity; the next, pure, unadulterated condescension. “Oh. Rice farmers… Hey, Alex,” he said, his tone suddenly bossy, “grab me a coffee while you’re up, will ya? Black, no sugar.” His attitude flipped on a dime. But hey, three months. For the dream of wading through muddy fields and developing super-rice? I could suck it up and play fetch. 3 When I got back with Kevin’s coffee, he was hunched over his keyboard, deliberately angling his body to block his screen. Fine by me. I wasn’t interested in his C-grade corporate scheming anyway. I sat back down at my own workstation. A little while later, the General Manager – a guy named Henderson – walked over to our little intern corner. “Alright you two, did you get that proposal draft done that I asked for?” I blinked. Proposal draft? What proposal draft? Beside me, Kevin practically beamed. “Yes sir, Mr. Henderson! All finished! Already sent it to your inbox!” Henderson nodded, then turned his stern gaze on me. “And yours, Davis?” “I…” “Forget it,” Henderson cut me off, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Judging by that blank look, you obviously didn’t do it. Get it to me by lunch tomorrow. This will serve as your first performance evaluation.” After Henderson walked away, Kevin put on this phony look of sympathy. “Oh, shoot, Alex, sorry man. He must have given us that assignment while you were getting my coffee. Guess I totally spaced on telling you…” When I didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead, he rolled his eyes. “Look,” he continued, dropping the act, “the standard internship here is three months, but let’s be real. You should probably start job hunting now. This is a top-tier company, great benefits, the whole package. And I am definitely getting hired. Besides,” he leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve got an ace up my sleeve…” “What’s that?” I asked, feigning mild curiosity. Kevin puffed out his chest, looking smug. “You didn’t know? Mr. Henderson? He’s family. Like, my mom’s cousin’s kid or something.” My fingers paused as I opened a new Word document. Wow, that was… a surprisingly distant connection to be bragging about. “So? Feeling intimidated now?” Kevin sneered. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just pack up and leave!” I just shrugged. Scared? Please. If that flimsy connection was supposed to scare me, Kevin would probably have a full-blown coronary if he found out my dad was the freakin’ CEO. “Doesn’t matter,” I said evenly. “I have to stick out the full three months.” It was the deal I made with Pops. It was my only path to my real dream. Kevin saw I wasn’t budging. He gritted his teeth and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “stupid dirt farmer…” By the end of the day, I’d knocked out about half of the proposal. I stretched, figuring I’d finish the rest at home. Okay, so I didn’t have prior internship experience, but I wasn’t exactly clueless. Dad had been trying to groom me to take over the business since I could walk, practically. Shoving financial reports and contracts in my face from age three. I swear, I probably learned to read from shareholder agreements. They put me right to sleep, too. People complain about math textbooks being boring? Try reading a fifty-page merger document filled with legalese. Instant knockout. “Hey, don’t burn yourself out,” a friendly voice said. A woman from a nearby cubicle smiled at me. “Make sure you stand up and stretch once in a while.” I nodded, realizing I actually hadn’t moved from my chair in hours. Good point. I got up and headed to the restroom. The walls were pretty thin. I could hear voices chattering away in the women’s room next door. “OMG, did you see the two new interns? Both kinda cute!” “Seriously, Tina? They literally just graduated college!” “So? I only graduated two years ago! And hey, that Alex Davis guy? I got a good look. Bet you anything he’s got like, an eight-pack under that suit! The other one, Kevin? Too much of a slick pretty boy for my taste.” “Tsk, tsk. Even if he does, what makes you think he’d look twice at you? Did you see that suit he was wearing? Looked expensive. Like, designer expensive.” “No way! Seriously? You think he’s a rich kid slumming it?” “Who knows? Happens all the time, right? Rich kids doing internships ‘for the experience’?” Me, the actual rich kid slumming it, listening through the wall: “…” Great. My cover was about to be blown wide open on day one. Was female intuition always this scarily accurate? 4 Luckily for my secret identity, Kevin happened to run into the two women right outside the restroom door just then. Kevin, ever the smooth operator and Grade-A opportunist, immediately started chatting them up. I could hear the conversation drift my way, and surprise, surprise, Kevin quickly steered it toward me… “Oh, Alex? The other intern?” Kevin said, his voice carrying clearly. “Yeah, he seems alright, but…” He made a dismissive ‘tsk’ sound. “I asked him earlier. Turns out his parents are just farmers. Like, dirt poor farmers. And those fancy clothes he was wearing? Totally fake! Can you believe the nerve? Wearing knock-offs to try and impress people…” “Really?” one of the women sounded skeptical. “Cross my heart!” Kevin insisted dramatically, practically thumping his chest. “Look at my shoes – okay, maybe they only cost a couple hundred bucks, but at least they’re real. Actually, my cousin got them for me as a ‘first day’ gift. You know my cousin, right? Mr. Henderson, the GM…” And just like that, thanks to Kevin’s diligent “setting the record straight,” my cover was secure again. The office grapevine buzzed with the news: Alex Davis was just some poor farm kid trying too hard. The office snobs immediately started giving me the cold shoulder, cozying up to Kevin instead… When five o’clock rolled around, I packed up my stuff. Kevin, still glued to his workstation, called out snidely, “Wow, an intern leaving right on the dot? Not even pretending to be dedicated? Tsk, tsk. Guess that’s about your speed…” I paused at the door. “Do interns get paid overtime here?” Kevin blinked, momentarily speechless. “I don’t work for free,” I said, and walked out. Behind me, I heard the satisfying thump of something heavy being kicked – probably his metal trash can. Back home at the mansion, Dad was genuinely surprised that nobody had figured out who I was yet. “That’s weird,” he mused, stroking his chin. “I saw you leaving this morning. Figured someone at the office would recognize that suit, those shoes…” I rolled my eyes. So Pops had been trying to set me up for failure! The sneaky old fox. He never could have predicted I’d have an unwitting accomplice like Kevin working so hard to maintain my ‘poor farm boy’ disguise. “Yeah, well, Pops,” I said dryly, “not only did nobody figure it out, but thanks to your brilliant plan, I’m now being actively ostracized by half the office.” “Oh?” Dad’s eyes lit up with poorly concealed amusement. “Getting the cold shoulder, are ya? Need your old man to go down there and straighten things out for you?” “No thanks,” I said quickly. “Don’t interfere. Please.” All I had to do was survive two more months and change. Kevin was annoying as hell, but I could handle him. The next morning, I deliberately wore a different outfit. One I’d ordered on Amazon the night before – same-day delivery. When the delivery driver handed me the small, flimsy package at the massive front gates of our estate, he couldn’t help himself. He looked from the package to the sprawling mansion behind me, then back at me. “You live here,” he asked, bewildered, “and you’re buying a ten-dollar shirt?” I just nodded coolly. If Wish shipped overnight, I probably would have gone for the five-dollar ones. I arrived at the office exactly on time. Kevin, naturally, was already there, looking busy. He saw me walk in and let out a low whistle. “Wow, Davis. Really phoning it in, huh? Not even trying to look eager…” I ignored him, dropped my cheap backpack by my desk, and sat down. Kevin kept rambling, “Doesn’t matter anyway, I guess. You’ll be gone soon enough. Mr. Henderson’s my cousin, remember? All this ‘showing up’ you’re doing? Total waste of time!” Thanks to Kevin’s constant reminders, and my new, deliberately ‘humble’ wardrobe, most of my colleagues kept their distance. Why bother getting friendly with the intern who was clearly just temporary and probably going to get fired anyway?

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“Ethan, what are you trying to say?” “I’m sorry, Chloe. You’re not the one I love. You were just… standing in for her.” “Ethan… look at me. Say that again.” Ethan and I grew up together, practically inseparable. But somewhere along the line, it felt like he’d lived a whole separate life I knew nothing about. Getting together felt natural, almost inevitable. I just couldn’t pinpoint when things started to go wrong. 1. Ethan was always that really cool, aloof guy. I knew that much. Until the day he stood under my dorm window, holding a massive bouquet of roses, shouting that he liked me. I asked him what he liked about me. Ethan listed off a ton of my good qualities, like he was taking an exam, his answers earnest and detailed. Then, flushed with excitement, he pulled a slightly clumsy-looking handmade bracelet from his pocket and asked, nervously, if I’d be his girlfriend. I smiled and said yes. He hugged me, ecstatic, like a little kid. He told me he’d made the bracelet himself, just for me. My friends teased me later, “Wow, Chloe! Look at you, turning the campus heartthrob into a total softie!” I just gave a polite little laugh. Deep down, I knew he was always meant to be bright and open like this. 2. After we started dating, I realized just how many girls were after Ethan. One afternoon, I brought him lunch I’d made myself. When I got there, two freshmen girls were standing on the other side of his table, their eyes practically glued to him. I walked right up, slipped under his arms, and nestled into his chest. Our eyes met, and the air suddenly felt charged, sweet. I pulled out my phone, waving it playfully in front of his face. “Hey handsome, can I get your number?” Ethan leaned down abruptly, his gorgeous face filling my vision. “Sure.” His voice was low, husky, undeniably flirty. My stupid heart started hammering. Seriously? Getting flustered by a guy a year younger than me. That move was enough to send the two freshmen blushing and scurrying away. 3. Before I knew it, graduation was just around the corner. Ethan, being a year younger, was just starting his senior year. After the official graduation photos, my friends started egging us on to take one together, just the two of us. Even the photographer was standing by, grinning, clearly enjoying the show. I didn’t think much of it and happily agreed. But as soon as Ethan and I stood side-by-side, my classmates somehow produced a big piece of red fabric, unfurling it behind us like a makeshift backdrop. Suddenly everyone was cheering and whistling. Only Ethan looked serious, staring right at me. “I want to marry you,” he said. I looked into his intense eyes, but I couldn’t shake the feeling he was looking through me, seeing someone else. Was it just my imagination? But that feeling started popping up more and more often. Sometimes when he watched me leave after a date, sometimes when we were eating across from each other, even sometimes catching his eye during a kiss – I could feel his mind was elsewhere. It was a strange, unsettling feeling that came out of nowhere but hit me hard. 4. I tried not to dwell on it. Ethan was so good to me, it was easy to get lost in how much he seemed to love me. If I mentioned wanting cake, he’d bring it to me, even if it meant running through a downpour. He’d arrive soaked like a drowned rat, racing back, ignoring the rain, the first thing he did was pull a slightly crumpled bag from inside his jacket. I saw something glinting on his forehead – maybe rain, maybe sweat. I asked him why he rushed like that, why he didn’t even grab an umbrella. He just chuckled, a warm sound. “It was fresh out of the oven. Didn’t want it to get cold.” I don’t like the smell of alcohol, but I’d never actually said it out loud. Ethan, I knew, used to enjoy a good drink. But since we got together, I never saw him touch a drop. Once, I asked him why he stopped drinking. “Because you don’t like the smell. So, I stopped.” “How did you know I don’t like the smell?” “Every time we were at a party, you’d push your glass away, make this little disgusted face. Hard not to notice.” “Just because of me?” “Yeah. I was afraid if I drank, you wouldn’t like me anymore.” 5. One day, Ethan finally got the official offer after his internship. “Hey, that new highly-rated Italian place opened downtown. Wanna check it out?” Ethan’s voice came through the phone. He always did that – asked my opinion before making a decision. It was one of the things my roommates and friends always pointed to as proof he was the “perfect boyfriend.” “Yeah, sounds great! Are you finishing up soon? I’ll wait for you at home.” I spent ages digging through my closet, finally settling on a deep green dress I loved. After changing, I bounced into the kitchen and baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies from a recipe I’d just learned a few days ago. I wanted him to try them, something I made just for him. But after we hung up, he never called back. I tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. Midnight rolled around, then 1 AM, then 2 AM. He still wasn’t home. The apartment was dark and silent. The cookies I’d baked had long gone cold and weren’t crispy anymore. The green dress was getting wrinkled from me sitting and waiting. I started texting his close friends, the guys he always hung out with. After asking several people, I finally found out where he was. A bar. He was at a bar. I grabbed a cab and headed straight there. When I saw him, reeking of alcohol, slumped over the table, for a split second, I barely recognized him. This wasn’t the Ethan I knew. The Ethan I was with didn’t touch alcohol. I had no idea what had happened to make him get this wasted. But my gut feeling, that intuition women have, told me it wasn’t good. He was mumbling something, completely out of it. I helped him up, nodded a quick thanks to his friends, and steered him out. “What happened? Why did you drink so much?” I asked, leaning him onto the sofa back home, hands on my hips, catching my breath. “I miss her.” Ethan’s voice, though slurred, was strangely flat. So flat, it didn’t sound like someone who was drunk. I even wondered if he was actually drunk. So I asked, uncertainly. “Miss who?” His next words confirmed it. He was definitely drunk. He said, “The girl I love. But… I can never see her again.” The girl you love? But… aren’t I the girl you love? A bitter taste filled my mouth. So, that feeling I’d had for so long… it was real. But who was she? “Never see her again”… that meant it wasn’t his mom, and it wasn’t me. But growing up, I couldn’t remember any other girl being close to Ethan besides me. My nose started to sting, tears welling up unexpectedly. He suddenly stumbled to his feet and lurched towards the bathroom. He shut the door, locking me out. That was the first time he’d ever shut me out like that. Inside the bathroom, his phone started ringing, over and over. But he never picked up. He just kept crying. It was the first time I’d ever heard him cry. And he was crying for another woman. All I could do was stand outside the door, calling his name over the sound of his ignored phone. “Ethan,” I called out softly. He didn’t answer. 6. Something felt deeply wrong. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was the sting of betrayal, but I needed to know. We grew up together. How could I know nothing about this “her” he was talking about? So, I decided to find out. The thought itself startled me. Since we’d been together, the idea of investigating him, of digging into his past, had never crossed my mind. After all, I’d always assumed I knew everything about him. 7. I started by asking Ethan’s close friends, his buddies. Being his childhood friend and girlfriend meant I knew them pretty well. “Do you guys know anything about Ethan’s ex-girlfriend?” I asked, trying to sound casual. If he loved her like that, they must have dated, right? She’d be an ex. Friend A: “Uh… haha.” Awkward laugh. Friend B: “Look, Chloe, that’s between you two, how would I know?” Total deflection. Friend C: “Nope, no idea.” Clearly lying. It hit me then, really hit me: they were Ethan’s friends, not mine. Not only did they clam up, but they immediately launched into damage control, telling me how devoted Ethan was, that I shouldn’t overthink things. I got absolutely zero useful information about this supposed “ex-girlfriend.” Although I suspected they might tell Ethan I’d been asking questions, I didn’t expect them to relay the message quite so fast. Later that day, Ethan confronted me, his voice tight. “Why were you asking my friends about my past?” “Ethan, the other night was the first time you got drunk since we’ve been together. Now this is the first time you’ve been angry with me.” “Both times, it was because of this ‘her’ you love. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” “This is making me feel really insecure, Ethan.” I tried to keep my voice steady, tried not to let the hurt show too much. But his response cut deep. “She’s not going to take me away from you. Don’t you trust me?” Hearing that, I just turned and walked away. He didn’t follow me.

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My husband Mark and I had been married for five years. We had one daughter, Chloe, and while we weren’t exactly rolling in dough, we owned a house in the city and a car. A big plus? I didn’t have to deal with my mother-in-law breathing down my neck, since she lived back in their hometown. Life was pretty comfortable. My friends often told me how lucky I was, that I’d married a good guy with minimal family drama. Until one day. I was about six months pregnant with our second child. We were visiting Mark’s family back home for the holidays when my mother-in-law suddenly told me I should let Mark’s older brother, David, adopt Chloe. See, when they were kids, David got into a fight defending Mark and ended up with a permanent limp. Because of it, no woman had ever wanted to marry him. My mother-in-law carried a lot of guilt over David’s injury and worried constantly about him growing old alone with no one to care for him. So, she set her sights on my daughter, Chloe. “Sarah,” my mother-in-law started, trying to sound reasonable, “I saw a psychic, and she said this baby you’re carrying is another girl. Since they’re both girls, why not let David raise Chloe for you? It would be a big help, wouldn’t it?” Was she serious?! This was my child – the one I carried for ten months and endured agonizing pain to bring into the world! My blood ran cold. I forced myself to stay calm. “Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “even if this baby is another girl, Chloe is still my daughter.” My direct refusal clearly annoyed her. “Sarah, don’t you understand? If it wasn’t for Mark back then, would David be like this now? Of course, he was the older brother, protecting his little brother was the right thing to do. But now, as Mark’s wife, shouldn’t you help Mark repay that debt to his big brother?” “Mom, that’s not how it works,” I argued. “We both know David saved Mark, and Mark and I are grateful. We’ve helped him out plenty over the years, financially and otherwise. But giving him our daughter? I will not agree to that.” “What’s wrong with letting him adopt her?” she snapped back, glaring at me. “Are you and Mark just swimming in money? Raising all these girls who are just going to get married off and leave anyway.” She continued, “You’ve got two daughters, give one to David. He helps raise her, you repay the debt – it’s a win-win! How can you not see something so simple? Your fancy college degree hasn’t made you any smarter than this old woman!” Listening to her twisted logic made my head pound. I knew arguing was pointless. She was stuck in her old-fashioned ways, valuing sons over daughters, and nothing would change her mind. “Mom, I’m not feeling well, my stomach hurts,” I lied. “I’m going to lie down for a bit. We can talk later tonight.” “Wait, Sarah, your brother-in-law is waiting to hear…” I quickly slipped into the guest room and shut the door, hearing her muttering outside, “…popping out girls who are just a burden… offer someone to help raise one and she acts insulted… what kind of education is that…” Trying not to let her words upset the baby, I took deep breaths to calm down. I decided I’d tell Mark everything when he got back and let him handle his mother. There was no way, absolutely no way, I would let my daughter be raised by a man like David. I remembered a few visits back home… getting up late one night for water and catching David in the den, watching porn on his laptop. When he saw me, he didn’t even flinch, didn’t try to hide it. Just stared right back at me. A man like that could never be a good father. 2 Later that evening, the moment I heard keys jiggling in the lock, I darted out of the room just as Mark walked in. “Honey! You’re back,” I rushed over, taking his coat. “Come on, let’s get you changed in our room.” I practically dragged him down the hall before his mom could emerge from the kitchen. Mark stumbled slightly. “Whoa, Sarah, slow down! Remember you’re pregnant.” I shut the bedroom door behind us and turned to face him, anger bubbling up. “You remember I’m pregnant, so why aren’t you handling your mother?” “My mom? What did she do now?” “Your mom told me this afternoon that we should let David adopt Chloe! Can you believe that? David! He’s a single man, never raised a kid in his life! How could he possibly take care of her? Besides, Chloe’s a little girl, it’s completely inappropriate for her to live alone with him! And your mom actually expects Chloe to take care of him someday? She’s only four! And this whole ‘repaying a debt’ thing? Is she serious? Has she lost her mind?” I unloaded on him, and Mark’s expression grew darker with every word. “Are you done?” he asked sharply. “You’re a mother now, Sarah. Show some respect. That’s my mom you’re talking about. ‘Lost her mind’? What if Chloe hears you talking like that and picks it up?” He had a point there, and I felt a pang of guilt. “Okay, fine, maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that,” I mumbled, “but I was just so angry. And you should hear the things she said… You know I usually respect her.” Mark sighed, took off his jacket, and gently guided me to sit on the bed. “Look,” he explained, “Mom mentioned this to me before. And honestly… I’ve thought about it, and maybe it’s not the worst idea.” My eyes shot wide open. He quickly put his hands on my shoulders. “Just hear me out,” he pleaded. “David got hurt because of me when we were kids. His leg… no girl ever wanted him after that. I owe him, Sarah. Big time. And besides, Mom had that reading… you know, the psychic said this baby is another girl. So, we’d still have our younger daughter even if Chloe went to live with David. It could work out.” Like mother, like son. His reasoning was exactly the same as hers. I stood up, staring at him in disbelief. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you crazy, Mark?! That’s your daughter! You’d just… give her away? What kind of father are you?!” “It’s not ‘giving her away’!” he retorted. “It’s David! My own brother, who’s always been there for me! He would take good care of Chloe. And listen, I was thinking… I could give David a job at my company, get him set up in the city nearby. That way, you could see Chloe whenever you want.” “For me? Or for yourself?” I shot back. “Yes, Mark, your brother helped you. You owe him. We can repay that debt in so many ways! Money, help finding him a job, setting him up on dates – anything! Why does it have to be our daughter?” “Why can’t you understand? It’s not giving her away! He’d be living close by. You could visit all the time.” It was like talking to a brick wall. I was furious. “Well, it’s not happening!” I snapped. “You are being completely unreasonable!” “Me, unreasonable? Fine! If I’m so unreasonable, then go talk to your perfectly reasonable mother and brother!” With that, I furiously grabbed a few changes of clothes, threw them in a bag, and stormed out of the room. My mother-in-law was standing right outside the door, clearly eavesdropping. Before she could say a word, I announced, “I’m not staying for dinner. I’m taking Chloe back home.” “Back home? This is your home,” she started. I ignored her, grabbed Chloe’s hand, and walked out. We caught a cab back to the city that night. In the car, Chloe held my hand tightly, her little face full of worry. “Mommy,” she asked in her tiny voice, “are you okay? Why isn’t Daddy coming with us?” She was only four. Too young to understand that her own father wanted to give her away. Thinking about it, the tears I’d been holding back finally started to fall. 3 The next day, Mark came back from his mom’s place. Seeing him, the anger I’d managed to push down resurfaced. I gave him the silent treatment, pretending he was invisible. He pulled out the charm offensive he used when we were dating, apologizing profusely. “Sarah, I messed up. I really did. Please, forgive me just this once?” “Oh yeah? Tell me exactly what you did wrong.” “I was wrong… wrong to upset you,” he stammered, watching my face. “I should have considered your feelings. I shouldn’t have been so focused on my own ideas.” Seeing my expression soften slightly, he continued, “You know how things have been lately, with the economy up and down, business has been slow… I’ve been stressed out. Mom kept going on and on about it, and seeing David like that… I just feel so bad for him. I wasn’t thinking straight when I argued with you.” Seeing him look so genuinely sorry, most of my anger melted away. I found myself comforting him. “Honey, I know how hard you work. Don’t worry too much. Business might be slow now, but things will turn around. You’re smart and hardworking, you’ll figure it out.” For the next couple of months, I used the excuse of my growing belly and nearing due date to avoid going back to his hometown. My mother-in-law called occasionally, but she didn’t bring up the adoption thing again. I started to think maybe the whole issue had blown over. Then, one evening, Mark came home from work, and trailing behind him were his mother and David. “Mom. David.” I managed a tight smile, shooting Mark a questioning look. My mother-in-law glanced at me and gave a little sniff. David looked around our living room before his eyes landed on me. We made eye contact, and he smiled. It was a smile that sent a chill down my spine. I instinctively grabbed Mark’s arm, my eyes silently asking, Why are they here? Mark quickly explained, “Sarah, Mom and David are going to stay with us for a while. Could you get the guest room ready?” He gently pulled me toward our bedroom, turning back to say, “Mom, David, make yourselves comfortable. I ordered some takeout, it’ll be here soon.” I was fuming. He hadn’t mentioned a word about them coming. As soon as Mark closed our bedroom door, I demanded, “What is going on? Why are they here? Did you deliberately not tell me because you knew I’d be upset?” “No, Sarah, you’ve got it wrong this time!” Mark insisted, looking genuinely surprised. “They called me when they were already at the bus station! What was I supposed to do, tell them to turn around and go back? Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “I asked them on the way here. David’s just here to see a specialist about his leg. They won’t be staying long.” Hearing that eased my mind slightly. “You’re not lying? Just for his leg?” “I promise,” Mark assured me. “How long are they planning to stay…?” I started to ask, then saw Mark’s expression shift. This was his family, and despite the adoption issue making me wary of them, it was his house too – the one he worked hard to pay the mortgage on. I quickly changed my tone. “Well, if David needs medical help, we should definitely support him.” Mark immediately smiled and pulled me into a hug. He leaned in for a kiss, then looked down at my belly and teased, “If this little girl doesn’t come out soon, I’m going to go crazy.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Oh, you!” During David’s stay for his treatment, he acted perfectly normal. Sometimes, if I couldn’t sleep, I’d wander into the living room late at night, but I never heard anything unusual coming from his room. Still, remembering that incident from before… catching him watching those videos… I couldn’t bring myself to let Chloe spend much time alone with him. My mother-in-law still made snide remarks under her breath whenever she thought Mark wasn’t listening – things like “ungrateful,” “what’s the big deal,” “some people forget who helped them.” But Mark usually stepped in and defended me. Slowly, the atmosphere in the house became less tense. I started to relax my guard, even feeling a little guilty for being so suspicious of David. Not long after, I gave birth to our second child – another beautiful daughter. We named her Annie, and I was overjoyed.

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Because of the pandemic, our apartment building suddenly went into lockdown. I glanced at the small fortune I’d spent stockpiling food. I wasn’t worried. What I didn’t expect was that my soon-to-be ex-husband, Ethan, who’d come back to pack his things, and his soon-to-be fiancée, would also get locked down… in my apartment. Oh god, what kind of fresh hell was this? 1 “Urgent notice: Due to the ongoing health crisis, the building is temporarily locked down. All residents must cooperate…” Locked down. Again. I was used to it by now. Looking down at the two huge grocery bags in my hands – easily four figures worth of panic-buying – I wasn’t panicking. When I got to my apartment door, I was fumbling in my purse for my keys when I realized the door was already slightly ajar. Ethan’s voice drifted out, “I told you, I can pack up my stuff myself.” I pushed the door open and came face-to-face with Ethan and a stunning woman standing beside him. The beautiful woman looked a little flustered. She glanced at Ethan, then lowered her gaze, a charming hint of softness in her eyes. Okay, I got it. This must be Ethan’s long-lost ex-girlfriend, the one he was crazy about, who just got back from overseas. “Hi, I’m Lily – Ethan’s soon-to-be ex-wife,” I chirped, maybe a little too brightly. “Oh… hi, Lily. I’m Sarah…” Ethan’s ex was clearly taken aback by my enthusiasm. After a surprised pause, she offered a gentle smile back. We even made a move like we were going to shake hands, friendly as could be. Except my hands were full. Ethan frowned at me, then walked over and took the heavy bags. “What’d you buy all this for? Celebrating our divorce?” His tone was clipped, annoyed. Remembering why I’d bought it all, I blurted out, “The building’s on lockdown!” “Lockdown?” Ethan’s frown deepened. He glanced over at the suitcase standing near the door, a serious look clouding his dark eyes. Sarah looked worried now too. She turned to Ethan, her voice soft, “Ethan, what do we do? We still have…” “We’ll have to stay put for now. Wait until the lockdown lifts,” he cut her off. It finally hit me. With the sudden lockdown, Ethan and his old flame were going to be stuck here… with me. Great. Making the beautiful Sarah stay in what was technically still Ethan’s and my “marital home.” I almost felt bad for her. 02 Ethan and I didn’t get married for love. It was purely a marriage of convenience. Back then, my family was relentlessly pressuring me to get married, and he happened to need a wife for appearances. We “met” on some upscale matchmaking site and got married practically overnight. About a month ago, I found out his ex, Sarah, was back in the picture. So, I did the decent thing and offered him an out – asked for a divorce. We were just waiting for him to get back from a business trip to file the papers. Never thought we’d get hit with a lockdown before we could make it official. Since this apartment was Ethan’s before we got married, and he was being pretty decent about it – agreeing to sign it over to me in the divorce settlement – I did the polite thing. I cleared out the master bedroom, which I’d kept spotless, and generously offered it to him and his future wife. I moved my stuff into the smaller spare room next door. And just like that, the three of us began our extended quarantine life together. After a few days, I could see why Ethan was hung up on Sarah for so long. Sarah was efficient with housework and an amazing cook – a total domestic goddess. “Sarah, you’re incredible! Ethan would be the luckiest guy in the world if he married you!” I laid it on thick, smiling sincerely. Hey, when someone’s cooking gourmet meals for you, you gotta lay down some compliments, right? Sarah blushed, clearly flattered. Her eyes, full of affection, drifted towards Ethan. But he just kept eating slowly, methodically, barely acknowledging her. What was Ethan’s deal?! Not exactly Mr. Warmth. Or… was I, the soon-to-be ex-wife, making things awkward? Thinking maybe I should stop being the third wheel, I decided to head downstairs for the mandatory COVID testing. As I got up, Sarah headed towards the kitchen, probably feeling hurt by Ethan’s coolness. I nudged Ethan’s arm discreetly. “Sarah’s amazing,” I whispered. “You gotta treat her better, you know? Don’t be so cold, like you always were with me!” Ethan paused mid-bite, shooting me an icy glance. “Doesn’t all that food you inhale ever shut you up?” “…” Ouch. Sharp tongue. I was used to it, though. I rolled my eyes at him. As Sarah came back from the kitchen, I said, “Sarah, your future husband here has been looking gloomy these past few days. Am I cramping your style? Interrupting your quality time?” Sarah blushed crimson. Ethan’s face darkened. See? Called it! “Lily.” Ethan’s voice was suddenly low and sharp, calling my name… 03 I jumped, startled. He hadn’t used that tone with me since we got married. What was his problem? I quickly grabbed my mask and face shield by the door. “Just going down for my COVID test!” And with that, I bolted. Seriously, if they wanted alone time, they didn’t have to treat me like the enemy! As I pulled out my phone to find my ID, a notification popped up – a message from Ethan. I tapped it, but it vanished. “Message retracted.” Ugh, I hated when people did that! Given our super awkward situation, and with his old flame right there, I couldn’t exactly text back asking what he’d said. So, I took my curiosity down to the testing line. The person administering the tests – clad head-to-toe in PPE, but I recognized her voice as my neighbor, Deb – expertly swabbed my throat, twisting it just long enough to make me gag. Seeing no one else waiting, she leaned in conspiratorially. “Someone’s been eating well during lockdown, huh? Looking a little… healthier.” I chuckled nervously, about to mention the unexpected “domestic goddess” in our apartment, aka Ethan’s girlfriend. But Deb beat me to it. “Speaking of, where’s your husband and his… cousin? Haven’t seen them down here.” Cousin? It clicked. Deb must have thought Sarah was Ethan’s cousin. When Ethan and I first got married – partly because my parents were breathing down my neck, partly because I saw flashes of kindness beneath his reserved exterior – we somehow managed to make our convenient arrangement look real to outsiders. So, I figured Ethan must have told people Sarah was his cousin to avoid gossip, to protect her reputation. Smart. I just laughed vaguely and mumbled something noncommittal to Deb before heading back upstairs. Since we were still under lockdown, the building staff told everyone to head straight back to their apartments after testing. Walking back, I couldn’t help but hope I’d walk in on some classic rom-com scene – maybe a steamy make-out session against the wall, or some intense flirting. Anything to justify how hard I was trying not to get in their way…

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I never should have agreed to go camping with my ex-boyfriend! Lying here in this hospital bed, remembering what happened that day makes my eyes well up, and I still tremble with fear. If I hadn’t brought Buddy with me, he wouldn’t have died. I regret it so much! I don’t know what got into him that day, but Alex Thorne, usually the most boring guy on earth, suddenly suggested taking me camping. I thought, is hell freezing over? Since when did he get spontaneous? I happily agreed, not really thinking about why he was acting so out of character. Once we drove deep into the mountains, the cell signal died. I was left stroking my husky Buddy’s head to pass the time. As we neared the summit, Alex looked preoccupied, driving faster and faster. A knot of worry formed in my stomach. He wasn’t usually this reckless. What was he rushing for? “Alex, slow down a little.” Instead of slowing down, he sped up. “There’s a spot up ahead with an amazing view. We’ll miss it if we’re late.” Oh, was that it? I relaxed a bit, teasing him, “Wow, you even scouted it out? That doesn’t sound like you, Alex.” It was just an offhand comment, but Alex flinched, instinctively flooring the gas before slamming on the brakes. If it weren’t for our seatbelts, Buddy and I would’ve smashed into the windshield. “Alex, what the hell are you doing!” “Sorry… guess I stayed up too late gaming last night.” His eyes darted away as he kept driving towards the summit. Five minutes later, Alex pulled over to the side of the road, killed the engine, and said, “Let’s get out and take some pictures.” “Here?” The spot overlooked distant mountains and the harbor below. The view was definitely decent. I looked around. Besides the view, there wasn’t much else here. I shook my head. “I don’t really feel like taking pictures.” “Mia, come on, you’ll see. See that viewpoint marker over there? The ocean and sky behind it… the photos will look incredible!” Following his finger, I saw a narrow, half-overhanging rock ledge next to the marker, maybe only a couple of feet wide. It definitely had that risky, adventurous photo-op vibe, but just walking over there looked terrifying. I was still hesitant. “It looks so high up.” Getting amazing photos was tempting, but not enough to make me risk my neck. While I was hesitating, Alex grabbed my wrist. “Come on, I’m right here. What are you afraid of? Besides, this is probably part of the park, it’s gotta be safe, right?” Even if it was an official spot, I thought, it looked like it hadn’t been maintained in years. Alex, the total homebody, clearly didn’t get out much. But I didn’t want to spoil the mood, so I got out of the car with Buddy. “Okay, fine. Just one picture to remember it.” But who could have guessed? The second I opened my door, before I could even grab Buddy’s leash, he bolted straight for the wildflowers near that rock ledge! Huskies are like that – see something interesting, gotta pounce. “Buddy, no! Stay!” I scrambled after him, but in that split second, Buddy had already leaped onto the rock ledge. Suddenly, everything went wrong. The ledge lurched violently, and there was a loud cracking sound! “Buddy, get off there! Now!” My face drained of color as I rushed forward. But I was too late. With a sickening crash, Buddy and a large chunk of the crumbling ledge plummeted down! A heartbreaking yelp echoed through the mountains, then silence. “Buddy! BUDDY—” In an instant, my blood rushed to my head. I threw myself towards the cliff edge, leaning way over, tears streaming down my face. But I never heard Buddy again. Instead, I saw a sickening smear of red on the cliffside below. 2: Disfigured “Al… Alex! Quick, we have to drive down the mountain!” Panicked, I looked behind me, expecting Alex to reach out and help me up. Instead, he kicked me square in the chest, sending me flying backward! What was he doing?! I didn’t even have time to react before I was airborne. My eyes wide open, I couldn’t make out the expression on his face as I fell like a rag doll, straight down from the mountain… My mind went blank. Agony and darkness swallowed me whole. I don’t know how long I was out. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. Tubes snaked in and out of my body. My face was covered in bandages. Just moving my lips sent searing pain through me. I tried to lift my hand but couldn’t move. A woman I didn’t know, maybe a nurse or an aide, saw I was awake. She gasped excitedly and ran out, calling, “Sir, sir, she’s awake!” Soon, a man appeared beside my bed. His voice was gentle. “How are you feeling now?” He was handsome, with a kind, easygoing vibe. Definitely the gentle type, but I was sure I didn’t know him. I couldn’t speak, so I just blinked at him. He understood, smiling with relief. He politely explained, “My name is Liam Walker. I was driving near the base of the mountain that day and saw you lying unconscious. I brought you to the hospital. You’ve been in a coma for a month.” A month ago… The image of Alex standing on the cliff edge, kicking me down, flashed before my eyes. The wave of pain washed over me again. I pressed my fingers lightly to my temple. After a moment, my thoughts cleared with terrifying clarity. I should have known – when something seems too good or too weird to be true, it usually is! Alex and I had been dating for six months. Besides work, he barely left our neighborhood. But that day, he suddenly wanted to take me camping, specifically to that mountain, to that spot for pictures. Thinking back to how jumpy he was driving, how he slammed on the brakes… all the little details clicked into place. It all felt deliberate! That rock ledge couldn’t have just crumbled on its own. He must have messed with it somehow, then deliberately lured me over there to take pictures. Except, my playful dog accidentally took my place. Seeing no one around and me leaning over the edge, Alex must have decided to finish the job and kicked me off. But why? Why would he want to kill me? I couldn’t figure it out. My head throbbed, and my eyes burned red. The man beside my bed noticed my distress. He quickly took my hand, calming me. “Don’t move too much, and try not to think too hard. The doctor said you need complete rest if you woke up. No stress.” Just as he finished speaking, the aide returned with a doctor. I put my thoughts on hold. The doctor performed a series of checks, gave me an injection, and then said, “Ms. Evans, aside from a few fractures, all your vital organs are functioning well. You should be fine with another month of recovery here. However, the injuries to your face… those will take time to heal. We can discuss options with our hospital’s plastic surgeons later. They’re excellent, Ms. Evans, you can rest assured.” “Okay, thank you,” Liam answered for me. But my attention snagged on the words “plastic surgeons.” My face went pale— Plastic surgery… why would I need plastic surgery? Realization dawned. Frantically, I grabbed the aide’s phone from the bedside table and opened the camera app. I saw it – the face hidden beneath layers of gauze, with a jagged scar running from my eyebrow across the bridge of my nose. That was just the part I could see. What about the rest? In an instant, I understood – I was disfigured. 3: A Woman Who Looks Just Like Me Liam gently took the phone from me, his large hand resting reassuringly on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re alive, that’s what matters. Your face can be fixed. It’ll be okay.” The doctor, catching on, quickly added, “Ms. Evans, please don’t worry. Plastic surgery techniques are very advanced these days. We can definitely restore your appearance. Falling from that height… waking up this quickly is already a miracle. It shows you have incredible willpower. Try not to be burdened by this. Besides, your husband has been so worried about you, barely leaving your side this past month. You wouldn’t want him to keep worrying, right?” Husband? The doctor must have misunderstood, but right then, I had zero desire to correct him. Tears dripped onto the white sheets I was clutching tightly. All I could picture was Alex’s foot connecting with my chest that day. I couldn’t forget the feeling of tumbling down the mountain, the tearing pain, the utter despair. But what had Alex been doing this past month? My parents were gone, and I had no other relatives. If I had actually died, what would Alex gain? Probably my hefty company shares and my downtown condo. The answer settled grimly in my mind. A fierce hatred bloomed inside me. My lips trembled as I forced the words out, my voice raspy. “Don’t worry. I won’t give up.” In that moment, an unprecedented will to live surged through me. Only by getting better could I stand before Alex again, demand answers, or… get justice for myself. Seeing my determination, Liam nodded, relieved. He then clarified our relationship to the doctor. After the doctor left, the aide went to handle some paperwork. Liam sat beside me, picked up a fruit knife, and started peeling an apple. He had broad shoulders and was undeniably handsome. From my angle, I could see the sharp line of his jaw, his clear, kind eyes. He was infinitely better looking than Alex. I never thought I’d meet someone like him, especially not after my face was ruined. But why did he save me? And take care of me so diligently for so long? Are some people just naturally saints? Or was he after something? My looks? But I was disfigured now, so what could he possibly gain… I couldn’t figure it out, so I decided to just think of him as an angel for now. Liam carefully cut the apple into small slices, placed them within my reach, poured me a glass of water with a straw, and then said, “It’s great that you’re feeling stronger. I was worried about how you’d handle… everything.” I took a few sips of water, my voice finally returning. I had to ask. “You just found me by the road, why did you take care of me for a whole month? You really didn’t have to do all that.” His fingers tightened slightly around the knife. He smiled, “Just wanted to see it through, I guess. Call it paying it forward.” I nodded. So, people like that really did exist. “What do you do, Mr. Walker?” “I work at Apex Holdings.” “That’s a coincidence. My parents used to work with Apex Holdings too.” My expression darkened. “But they passed away a year ago.” The smile on Liam’s lips froze. His eyes flickered with a complex emotion, but it vanished so quickly I thought I’d imagined it. “Everything will get better,” he said softly. “Just focus on healing. I’ll be here to help.” “Thank you.” Liam felt like the only lifeline I had in this abyss. I trusted him and didn’t want to let him down. I cooperated fully with the doctors, kept my spirits up, and my recovery was surprisingly fast. A month later, I was discharged. After leaving the hospital, I sent Liam a text, planning to go home first to sort things out before contacting him again. But I never expected what I saw before I even reached my building— Walking down the street, arm in arm, were two people: Alex, and a woman who looked exactly like me!

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It took everything I had, but I finally married her. She could be sweet as pie one minute and fierce as a mama bear the next, but I loved every bit of her. Then one night, I found my wife, eyes glowing red, gulping down a bowl of… goat blood? 1 “I don’t care! You don’t cough up sixteen grand for the bride price today, you can forget about marrying my daughter!” Watching my future mother-in-law practically spit nails, I felt cornered. My relatives who came with me to pop the question were all shifting uncomfortably. Ashley just kept her head down, silent. She couldn’t help me here; she’d warned me it wouldn’t be pretty today. We’d secretly agreed on $8,800 before. I never expected her mom to double it today and basically block the door. “She’s my only daughter! And you won’t even move in with us, so why shouldn’t I ask for more money?” I’m the only son in my family; moving in with her family was out of the question. Things were getting messy. I tried to smooth things over with her mom. “Ma’am, look, all our relatives are here. Let’s just stick to what we agreed on. I promise I’ll take good care of you and your husband, and I’ll always treat Ashley right. You don’t have to worry.” I’m just a regular working guy. I couldn’t pull that kind of cash out of thin air, especially after already putting a down payment on a house. “I don’t care! Money talks!” The old woman wouldn’t budge. That’s when Ashley, usually so gentle and shy, suddenly dropped to her knees. “Mom, I’m pregnant. We have to get married. Or else.” Ashley pulled out a pair of scissors and, looking dead serious, aimed them at her own arm. I lunged forward, grabbed her, wrestled the scissors away. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Her mom’s face barely flickered. Then, cold as ice, she said— “Buy one, get one free. All the more reason you should pay up, Kevin! Fine. Twelve thousand. Not a penny less. Otherwise, you don’t get either of them!” “Deal!” I was set on building a life with Ashley. Her mom only cared about money; we could just keep our distance later. “And one more thing,” her mom added. “You two are paying for the wedding reception yourselves. I don’t have any money for that.” Looking at Ashley beside me, I gritted my teeth and agreed. Half an hour later, a buddy brought the cash over from the bank. Seeing the greenbacks, my mother-in-law beamed and welcomed us in. Everything went smoothly after that. The wedding was set for a month later. Even though it was more of a country wedding, my family made sure it was respectable. We each invited our own friends and family, plus booked thirty tables at a hotel in the city. That day, Ashley walked towards me in a pure white gown, her eyes shimmering with tears. I was a bundle of nerves myself. But for a split second, the woman walking down the aisle looked uncannily familiar. Like someone else. Someone who should have been at the wedding, but wasn’t. An old friend I’d lost touch with. Married life was mostly peaceful. My parents weren’t thrilled that Ashley didn’t have much book smarts, but they didn’t give her a hard time. While she wasn’t educated in the traditional sense, she was sharp when it came to managing money and making deals. “Kevin,” Ashley said one day, “we bought the house in town, but Mom and Dad are still out here. Why don’t we build them a new house here so they can retire comfortably?” I was surprised. I hadn’t even thought of that. My folks would definitely stay in the countryside, and our place would be too small when we eventually had kids and came back to visit. Soon, we started construction. I bought a used pickup truck for two grand to haul materials. We hired a crew for the main construction; we just handled the supply runs and support stuff. But before the first floor was even finished, weird problems started popping up. First, a main water pipe joint cracked. Then, workers started calling in sick one after another. The project ground to a halt. We were scratching our heads, wondering what was going on, when the culprits basically showed up on our doorstep. 2 The cement delivery guy called, saying the road was blocked. He couldn’t get through. My whole family rushed out to check. There they were: the Miller family, lounging by the side of the road like they owned the place. They’d hammered seven or eight wooden stakes into the ground, blocking the driver’s path. My family and the Millers had bad blood going way back. I couldn’t believe they’d stoop this low. They must’ve been behind the busted pipe and the workers skipping out, too. The Millers had a bit of money and some connections in town hall. “Mike Miller! This isn’t your road! What gives you the right to block us?” I yelled. As soon as the words left my mouth, his whole family burst out laughing. “Kevin, this used to be our land right here. Sure, other folks can pass, but you definitely can’t!” “You pull this crap, you think I won’t make a bigger stink?” It had to come to this eventually. We needed to settle things with them before the house was finished. I moved to pull out the stakes, but Mike and his brothers immediately rushed me, shoving hard. They were built like linebackers and knocked me flat. Forget keeping cool; I started swinging back, and we were all rolling in the dirt. Suddenly, I heard the piercing honk of a car horn. I looked up – Ashley was flooring it in my beat-up pickup, heading straight for us! I scrambled out of the way. The Millers, terrified, jumped back, screaming. CRUNCH! The truck slammed into the stakes, shattering them all. My jaw dropped. Ashley had never driven before, only watched me from the passenger seat. Silence fell over the crowd. Everyone was stunned by my wife’s insane, bold move. Ashley opened the truck door, got out, and flung a gleaming butcher knife. It landed point-down in the dirt right in front of the Millers. “Wanna see who’s crazier? You keep messing with us, and Ashley Carter doesn’t mind doing some jail time!” Everyone froze, shocked by Ashley. The Millers just stared at each other, speechless. I scrambled to my feet and stood beside Ashley, pulling the hunting knife I kept clipped to my belt and flashing the blade. “Mike, the Hayes family isn’t some pushover you can just bully! If you’re gonna act like this when you know you’re wrong, I’ll fight you to the end!” Might as well fight fire with fire. God knows how they hassled my parents when I wasn’t around. It was time I stood up like a man. Before I could react, Ashley snatched the knife from my hand, rushed forward, and quick as lightning, held the blade to Mike Miller’s throat. “You gonna try anything else?” I held my breath. The Millers were in chaos. “Crazy bitch! Crazy bitch! Let’s go!” The Millers scrambled away, looking pathetic. We got back to work. After that incident, the Millers didn’t dare bother us again. Sometimes, you learn the hard way: nice guys finish last, and you have to get tough with bullies. Ashley became notorious in the village. Most people whispered about the fiery temper of this outsider wife, someone you didn’t want to cross. My parents, though? They actually liked Ashley more after this. Only I felt this strange, unsettling feeling whenever I looked at Ashley. When I first met her working out of state, she was shy, quiet, hardly spoke. But she was gentle, always spoke softly, rarely got emotional. We fell in love, and I adored her calm, soothing nature. After we got married, she seemed different. I couldn’t pinpoint it. Her temper flared hot and cold. And sometimes, I’d catch this look in her eyes… it wasn’t the same Ashley I knew. 3 Six months later, the house back home was finally finished. Mom and Dad moved in. Ashley and I went back to our place in town. She kept her job as a front desk clerk at a hotel, and I used the wedding gift money to start a small business. One night, I woke up needing to pee. There was a faint light coming from the kitchen. I tiptoed over, peeked around the corner. There was Ashley, gulping down… something. In an instant, bright red liquid trickled down her neck. She looked like she was savoring it. Suddenly, she whipped her head around to look at me. Her eyes glowed red, blood smeared around her mouth. Like a vampire. “What are you doing?” She had just chugged a bowl of goat blood. Just like that, Ashley seemed to snap back to herself, dropping the bowl in panic. “I was thirsty, just getting some water. Go back to sleep, honey.” I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next day, Saturday, I followed Ashley on her grocery run, all the way to the farmer’s market. She chatted and laughed with the vendors along the way, totally normal. Until she reached the butcher stall selling live poultry. What I saw next, I couldn’t believe. Ashley grabbed the butcher’s cleaver, and with a swift chop, killed a chicken. Then she immediately held a large bowl under it, collecting the gushing blood, and drank it down in one go. Then a second chicken, a third. Bowl after bowl of chicken blood, she drank like she couldn’t get enough. People in the market stared, mouths open, speechless. They slowly backed away, whispering among themselves. Soon, Ashley had the butcher pack up some more blood to go, and walked away calmly, ignoring the stares. Back home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Honey, have you been feeling sick lately?” “Nope! Healthy as a horse! Eating great!” Ashley looked so innocent, didn’t seem like she was lying. “Do you have… maybe a weird craving? Like, for drinking blood?” I watched her closely, but couldn’t find anything off. She was acting completely natural. “Oh, that? Yeah, just been feeling really thirsty lately. Goat blood and stuff seems to quench it better.” The conversation died there. I went to see a therapist myself. The doctor said I was probably just overworked and stressed, letting my imagination run wild. He prescribed some meds to help me relax. Less than two weeks later, Ashley started acting jumpy, looking worried all the time. I asked her again and again what was wrong, but she wouldn’t say. And then there was the fridge – it was filling up with containers of different kinds of animal blood. Her need for blood was growing, like a bottomless red pit. I even got a call from a guy at a pig farm, saying my wife had made an appointment to buy a pig… for slaughter. I secretly followed her there once. Again, Ashley wielded the knife herself, collecting basin after basin of pig blood. She drank her fill, then packed the rest to take home. The guys at the pig farm were seriously freaked out. They refused to sell her any more pigs. But what about all the times I didn’t see her? How much animal blood had she really drunk? Or maybe… maybe it wasn’t just animal blood? The thought terrified me, sent shivers down my spine. To test my horrifying suspicion, one afternoon when Ashley came home from work, I poured her a glass of watermelon juice. She took it happily, but the moment it touched her lips, she spat it out violently, then ran to the bathroom and threw up. She poured the rest of the juice down the drain. Mixed into that juice was blood from a small cut I’d made on my own wrist. Thank God. She didn’t drink human blood. But what was happening to her? What would she become? I felt like I was losing my mind

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