My mom, terminal with cancer, sat in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank, having endured a grueling twenty-hour Greyhound bus ride just to be at my wedding to Ethan. But when it was his time to walk down the aisle, I called his name until I was hoarse, but he was nowhere in sight. Turns out, his childhood sweetheart, Sophia, was having a depressive episode, threatening suicide again: “Ethan, I can’t live without you.” My usually stoic fiancé was holding Sophia tightly, desperately begging me to stop the wedding, to let them leave. Relatives and friends tried to stifle their laughter, watching the absolute train wreck unfold. Right at that moment, as she crossed the hotel threshold, my mom took her last breath. My wedding became her funeral. Seeing my mom dead, Ethan’s eyes reddened slightly as he looked at me, a hint of guilt surfacing. “I promise, as soon as I get her checked into the ER, I’ll rush right back to marry you. I promise we’ll fulfill Mom’s last wish.” But he forgot, this was the 96th time he’d hurt me. And I wasn’t going to marry him anymore. Calmly, I texted him, breaking things off. Ethan, however, just brought his childhood sweetheart back to our home. 1. “The groom ran off with another woman, right at the altar! Any normal person would lose it, but she actually let him go?” “Tsk tsk, mother and daughter both have bad luck with men, can’t even hold onto one. So embarrassing!” Below the stage, guests pointed and whispered about me. My mom, overwhelmed by Ethan’s cruelty, collapsed, unconscious. “Mom!” I screamed, catching her, starting chest compressions, trying desperately to perform CPR. Everyone was startled, but no one stepped forward to help. Panicked, I begged Ethan, “Ethan! Please, can we get my mom to the hospital first?” Ethan, still holding Sophia, saw everything. He shot a cold glance at my mom, his voice dripping with impatience. “You say your mom’s dying every other day. How long are you going to keep up this act?” “Sophia’s depression is life-threatening. Having another person in the car could trigger her even more. Are you trying to kill her?” His entire world revolved around Sophia. He didn’t even care that my mom had collapsed. He’d completely forgotten that his entire successful business was built on the life savings my mom scraped together for him to start it. How could someone be so cold-blooded? I kept doing compressions, but Mom didn’t wake up. Seeing this, the crowd finally panicked, chaos erupted, and someone finally called 911. Amidst the commotion, Ethan tried to leave, but Sophia, fidgeting, stopped him. After Ethan coaxed her gently several times, Sophia spoke, her voice sickeningly sweet and manipulative: “Ethan, I feel really awful. Since Auntie isn’t using her wheelchair right now, could I maybe use it?” Instantly, complex gazes fell upon me. And I just stared, hard, at Ethan. The wedding was ruined. My mother and I were already beyond humiliated. Now he wanted to push it even further, take my dying mother’s wheelchair for Sophia? Feeling the woman in his arms tremble, Ethan’s eyes filled with guilt as he looked at me: “Chloe, your mom isn’t using the wheelchair right now anyway. Letting Sophia use it for a bit… you wouldn’t refuse, right?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I almost forgot. Sophia was his childhood sweetheart. The one who made Ethan ditch my birthdays, ignore me when I was sick, even when my mom was critically ill. The reason he’d sabotaged our wedding eight times before this. How could I possibly win against that? But I didn’t want to agree. Probably sensing my answer, Ethan spoke again after a moment: “Years ago, you promised you’d grant me ninety-nine requests, unconditionally. Let this be one of those requests, okay?” “You still have dozens left, right?” Hearing Ethan say this, my eyes instantly welled up. Back when my mom first got seriously ill, it was Ethan who knelt by her bedside, begging her to let him marry me. He sold everything he owned to scrape together money for her treatment. Mom was deeply grateful and agreed to the marriage. I asked him then how I could ever repay such kindness. He scratched his head, casually saying: “Your mom already agreed to let us get married.” But I insisted: “My mom is my mom. I am me.” Sensing my sincerity, he said: “Then… just unconditionally grant me 99 requests, or let me hurt you 99 times, and we’d call it even.” In the four years after we got engaged, Ethan never made a single request. Until Sophia reappeared a year ago. Since then, he’d used up 96. But this time, he was wrong. First, there weren’t “dozens” left. Second, this involved my mother’s life. I could never agree. What I didn’t expect was that before I could even answer, Ethan grabbed the wheelchair and put Sophia in it. “Remember, you owe me one less now.” Seeing him act like this, and not wanting to waste time arguing, I had no choice but to lift my mother onto my back myself. But as I passed Sophia, I caught a fleeting, malicious smirk on her face. The next second, she stuck her foot out, tripping me. I crashed hard onto the floor, my chin hitting the tile. Pain shot through my entire body. Mom was thrown from my back. Gasps erupted from the crowd. I scrambled to protect my mom. Beside me, Sophia spat out venomously: “Sister, even if you’re trying to fake a fall to get Ethan’s sympathy, you can’t be heartless enough to use your own mom, can you? Auntie’s still just pretending to be unconscious.” Someone in the crowd chimed in: “Ungrateful daughter! Your mom’s collapsed, and you’re still here fighting over a man? Shameless!” Unable to watch my humiliation, Ethan started to reach out to help me, but hearing the accusation, his hand dropped. “Chloe, get your mom up! Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” Sophia tugged at Ethan’s sleeve. “Okay, Ethan, don’t be mad about this little thing. Quick, let’s go to the hospital pharmacy.” Seeing that I didn’t argue, just staggered to my feet and struggled to lift Mom onto my back again, limping. Ethan started pushing the wheelchair, following me, a hint of concern in his voice: “Maybe find someone to help you carry her?” Beside him, Sophia chuckled lightly: “Sister, you’re the woman who can carry a fridge up six flights of stairs. Why suddenly can’t you carry a person today?” “You’re not… deliberately blocking my way, are you?” Hearing this, Ethan instantly distanced himself from me, disgust flashing in his eyes: “Chloe, why have you become so petty? You know Sophia’s having an episode, yet you’re deliberately walking so slow. If you can’t walk, get out of the way! Don’t block the path!” Me, petty? He used to praise me for being understanding, saying he appreciated that I never questioned his need to care for Sophia, and he treated me well because of it. But later, after he ditched me countless times for Sophia, the moment I asked even a mild question, he called me small-minded, accusing me of picking on a sick person. And now, because of Sophia, we had become unrecognizable versions of ourselves. His heart had completely tilted away from me. After a long wait, the ambulance finally arrived. I placed Mom on the stretcher. Just as I was about to get in, Sophia grabbed my arm again: “Sister, I’m a patient too, I need to go to the hospital. Give me your spot.” I clenched my teeth so hard they ground together, looking at Ethan. Ethan looked awkward, and for once, he actually stopped her: “They don’t need to take you. I’ll drive you to the hospital. Be good.” Only then did the ambulance doors close. An hour later, I sat outside the emergency room, tears streaming down my face. Mom didn’t make it. She died in the ER. The doctor said the ambulance arrived too late. If it had been just ten minutes earlier, the outcome might have been different. As I stood numbly outside the ER, Ethan finally showed up. The thought that Mom would still be alive if not for him and Sophia consumed me. Overcome with grief, I wanted to slap him across the face. But unexpectedly, the moment I raised my hand, he caught it excitedly. His face lit up with happiness: “Chloe, thank god you were understanding enough to stop the wedding and let us go! Sophia’s episode was really serious. You were so considerate, you saved her life again.” He glanced at the extinguished light above the ER door and said casually: “Looks like Mom’s okay too. Great. You take care of Mom first, I’ll come visit her when I have time.” “Next time, I promise the wedding will go smoothly. Mom will definitely get to see us get married, my beautiful bride…” He finished speaking and ran off. He had no idea. Once the debt was repaid, I was leaving. And my mom would never see me get married. 2 While I arranged for Mom’s cremation, he was still with Sophia. I brought her ashes home, packed up her belongings. The housekeeper watched my strange behavior, looking confused. Just then, Ethan sent a gift via the bridal shop staff: two more wedding dresses. He specifically included a message: one was an apology for the interrupted wedding, the other compensation for taking Mom’s wheelchair. As the dresses were fully displayed, the young employee gushed, practically seeing pink bubbles around me: “Mrs. Jiang— Oh, I mean, soon-to-be Mrs. Evans— your fiancé bought out our entire new collection for you! You are so lucky.” My face was blank. Inside, I just wanted to break down and sob. They didn’t know. This was just Ethan’s routine compensation after hurting me. My eyes were empty as I watched them hang the dresses on hangers number 96 and 97. An entire room filled with wedding dresses, with only the last two hangers in the corner remaining empty. I looked away. I knew I’d be leaving soon. I placed the urn and Mom’s belongings on the table in the sunroom. I quickly packed a suitcase. Just as I put the suitcase by the wall, Ethan returned with Sophia. He was carrying lots of supplements he’d bought for Mom. He was always so thoughtful, so considerate. For a hazy moment, it almost felt like the man who had coldly watched my mother die wasn’t him at all. But the next second, conflict erupted. Sophia’s sharp eyes spotted the urn. She let out a sudden, piercing scream as if terrified. Her “depressive episode” flared up. She reached out and swatted the urn off the table. The ceramic box shattered, scattering ashes all over the floor. My vision turned red. I lunged forward, shoving Sophia away, screaming uncontrollably: “Get away! Don’t touch my mom!” Sophia shrank back into Ethan’s arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry, sister, my depression acted up again… But do you hate me that much? Did you deliberately buy a fake dead person prop and put it here just to scare me?” Ethan, instantly furious and protective of Sophia, unleashed a torrent of accusations at me: “Chloe, you know Sophia has depression! Did you buy this disgusting prop to scare her to death? You’re truly malicious! Apologize right now!” “If you know what’s good for you, I might still agree to reschedule the wedding. Otherwise, forget about your mom ever seeing you get married!” Scrambling on the floor, trying to gather the ashes back into the broken container, I screamed back at him, my voice raw with anguish: “Ethan, these are my mother’s ashes!” Ethan grew up in a single-parent household; he never had a mother. Ever since we got together, my mom treated him like her own son. He used to help out at her little dumpling stand every day. When she was bedridden for long periods, he patiently cared for her. He treated my mom like his own mother. Hearing this, surely he’d react somehow, right? But after a brief pause, a mocking smile twisted his lips: “Sophia said your mom isn’t dead. What are you pretending for? Besides, she’s your mom, not mine. Even if she did die, what’s it got to do with me?” Sophia suddenly clutched her head and started crying dramatically, her words utterly vile: “Sister, why are you lying to frame me? Auntie just called me last night, calling me a bitch and a whore, telling me to stay away from Ethan.” “It’s true, I’m sick, I’m shameless, I’m pathetic for clinging to Ethan. I should just listen to Auntie and go die…” My mom died two days ago. She was blatantly lying, slandering my dead mother! Yet, Ethan believed this outrageous lie. “You’re lying—” I shot back, but my fury was cut short as Ethan kicked me, sending me sprawling. “Chloe, how can you and your mother be so disgusting? If you don’t apologize to Sophia today, don’t even think about getting up!” My head hit the wall. Blood trickled down. I stared at him, my gaze filled with deathly stillness. Seeing the blood, he faltered for a second, then changed his tone slightly: “Forget it. Look at you, bleeding all over. Don’t be an eyesore here, you’ll just upset Sophia.” Sophia, Sophia, his mind was filled with Sophia. Fine. Let him spend the rest of his life with Sophia! Gritting my teeth, I gathered the broken urn and ashes, went upstairs, and back to my room. Behind me, a soft voice drifted up: “Ethan, will sister be upset now that she’s been exposed?” “She brought it on herself. What right does she have to be upset!” I slammed the door shut, finally blocking out the mockery from outside. My dad died young. Mom raised me alone, working tirelessly at her street stall. And I couldn’t even protect her ashes. They were thrown on the ground by someone else. Maybe this was Mom’s way of telling me from heaven that it was time to let go of all this entanglement, that I couldn’t stay here any longer. After crying silently for a long time, I picked up the calendar from the desk. I circled today’s date and marked it with the number 98. The door opened quietly sometime later. Ethan tiptoed over to my side. Before I could close the calendar, he snatched it away. Ethan frowned, looking at the red circle that had nearly torn through the paper. Annoyance flickered in his eyes. “What’s this circle around 98 supposed to mean?” 3 I quickly grabbed the calendar back and closed it. “Nothing, just spacing out.” He seemed surprised by my calmness, then suddenly remembered something: “You should really try to break that spacing-out habit. Last time, you almost got hit by a car.” He was talking about that time in college. I was agonizing over a clothing design, lost in thought, and wandered off the sidewalk into traffic. In that terrifying moment, he was the one who pulled me back. I treated him to dinner to thank him, and one thing led to another, sparking our relationship. Knowing he’d misinterpreted my current state, I didn’t explain, just gave a noncommittal nod. Lost in the memory of our college romance, a rare smile appeared on Ethan’s usually stern face: “Alright, don’t sulk alone. Come see this, I know you’ll love it.” He led me downstairs and snapped his fingers. Several housekeepers wheeled out an exquisite, luxurious wedding dress. “Chloe, you will be my most beautiful bride.” “About what happened with Sophia earlier… I’m sorry I lost my temper with you. This dress is my apology. I promise I’ll give you the grandest wedding ever.” Ethan declared this publicly, professing his feelings in front of everyone. The housekeepers beside us practically swooned with envy. My expression remained flat. “Put it in the closet.” Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, his face darkened slightly: “You don’t have to keep picking fights with Sophia. You were partly wrong in this too.” “Mom obviously isn’t dead. You lied to us, saying that urn was hers. If Mom heard you, she’d definitely scold you too.” I almost laughed out loud in bitterness. He still didn’t believe my mom was dead? If he had even an ounce of trust in my words, a simple call to the hospital would confirm it. But he treated Sophia’s words like gospel. I was truly talking to a brick wall. I scoffed coldly, “I did nothing wrong.” Ethan’s face contorted, finding me utterly unreasonable: “So you think Sophia and I are deliberately trying to make trouble for you?” “What else?” I replied flatly. “You’re unbelievable!” Ethan slammed the door with a deafening crack and stormed out, furious. I knew where he was going. Back to Sophia. Sure enough, Sophia immediately started bombarding me with photos and videos, flaunting their time together. I simply blocked her number and went to sleep. The next day, having few relatives or friends left, I arranged a simple funeral service for Mom. I notified Ethan, wanting some closure, a final conversation before cutting ties completely. His reply was simple: “Okay.” But the service was almost over, and he never showed up. Instead, Sophia arrived, followed by a group of rough-looking thugs. Sophia saw the surprise in my eyes and smirked. “What, surprised to see me?” Seeing their aggressive stance, I sensed trouble. “Why did you bring these people here?” “To trash the place, of course! Go on, smash it all!” At her command, the thugs stormed into Mom’s memorial setup, smashing everything in sight. Countless flowers were scattered, wreaths trampled, even Mom’s portrait was shattered. Chaos reigned. “Stop! Don’t touch anything! One more move and I’m calling the cops!” I shielded the urn with my body, shoving them away furiously, screaming until my voice was raw. Their fists and makeshift clubs rained down on me. My head bleeding, pain overwhelming me, I collapsed. Sophia grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to look at her. “That old bitch mother of yours. If she didn’t die, was she just going to keep leeching off Ethan?” “Ethan says you’re just a boring housewife. He’s tired of you, can’t get rid of you, so I had to help him out.” A housewife? Is that how Ethan described me to her? Before we were engaged, I was a well-known fashion designer. It was only after his business took off that he begged me to quit my demanding job, saying he didn’t want me running back and forth, exhausted, that he would take care of me. But now, my mother and I were just burdens in his eyes. Fine. I really was leaving. But I wasn’t going to let her get away with this. Seeing me dazed, Sophia sneered dismissively, then turned to the thugs: “Throw her in the coffin, nail it shut with her mom—” Before she could finish, I grabbed a sharp piece of broken wood from the floor and stabbed it hard into her shoulder. Then, I lunged, wrapping my hands fiercely around her neck. A desperate counterattack! Sophia let out a bloodcurdling scream, cut short as my grip tightened. The thugs froze, startled, about to move. I snarled viciously, “Get lost! All of you! Or I snap her neck right now, and you won’t get paid a dime!” Sophia shook her head frantically, pleading with them for help, but the thugs scattered and ran. Relief washed over me. I released my grip, shoving Sophia to the ground. Before I could react, a stinging slap landed hard across my face. My head snapped sideways, ears ringing, as I heard Ethan’s furious roar: “Chloe, how dare you provoke Sophia again? Did you think my warnings were just hot air?” My eyes, blazing red, fixed on Ethan. “She was going to bury me alive!” Ethan seemed momentarily flustered by my shout, turning to look at Sophia. Sophia clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing pitifully: “Ethan, I was just joking! But sister took it seriously, she tried to kill me!” He pulled Sophia protectively into his arms, then turned on me, his voice harsh, as if I’d committed some heinous crime. “She’s sick, Chloe! She was just joking with you! How could you take it seriously and attack her?” This same transparent act had played out countless times. And yet, Ethan still blindly believed Sophia every single time. Tired of his lectures, I stated numbly, “Ethan. This is the last time.” Seeing the utter coldness in my expression, Ethan felt a jolt of fear, a sense that he was losing something vital. Noticing the injuries covering my head, he loosened his hold on Sophia. “Forget it. Let me take you to the hospital first.” He reached for me, but Sophia suddenly clutched her back, crying out: “It hurts, it hurts so bad! Ethan, my shoulder! Sister stabbed me right through! I’m going to die from the pain!” Seeing the blood soaking through Sophia’s clothes, Ethan panicked. Any concern for me instantly evaporated. He scooped Sophia up and ran towards the door, tossing back one sentence: “I’m taking her to the hospital first. Call yourself an ambulance. Text me when you get there, I’ll come meet you.” I watched his figure disappear through the main entrance. Then I called 911 myself and was eventually loaded onto the ambulance. Just as the ambulance pulled up to the hospital entrance. My phone buzzed with an anonymous text: “I won’t let him come get you.” Immediately after, Ethan’s call came through: “Sophia’s injury is too serious, she needs someone with her. I can’t pick you up right now. Later, I’ll definitely find time to check on you later, I promise!” I could hear Sophia’s coquettish voice in the background before Ethan abruptly hung up. He never asked about me again. So I was alone. Surgery, paying bills, recovering, staring blankly. During that time, Ethan never visited me once. But I’d occasionally catch glimpses of the two of them, acting lovey-dovey, in various corners of the hospital. What a perfect couple. I contacted a real estate agent and put the house up for sale. This was the house Ethan bought with the first big profit he made after starting his business with Mom’s money. That was when Ethan loved me the most. The deed was solely in my name. I thought we would build a happy home there. I never imagined I’d be the one selling it off in the end. I signed the contracts quickly, finalizing the transfer. The agent assured me they would handle the moving arrangements completely. Only then did I leave. Back home, the housekeeper presented me with the 99th wedding dress Ethan had sent. I hung it on the last empty hanger in the closet. After paying the staff their final wages and letting them go, I circled the date on the calendar, marking the final number: 99. In the blank space on the calendar page, I wrote my farewell letter to Ethan. “Family gone, debt repaid. Ethan, we’re done.” I placed Mom’s death certificate and the calendar page together on the coffee table. Then, I picked up my suitcase, went to the airport, chose a random flight, checked in, and boarded. As the plane soared into the sky, an exhausted Ethan finally returned home. The villa was eerily silent. Confused, he tried calling me. His eyes fell on the note on the coffee table. Just as he reached for it, the cold, robotic voice came through his phone: “Sorry, the number you have dialed is not reachable…” And the next second, he saw my mother’s death certificate. As if realizing something, his hand trembled as he snatched up the calendar page. When he saw the large, stark words written there… Ethan’s pupils constricted instantly.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392289”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I came to, I was floating near the ceiling, and there was a woman in my house. She looked so innocent. Wearing a perfectly fitted white cashmere cardigan, she stood by the window. On the stove, water bubbled noisily in a pot. The woman skillfully dropped in some pasta, drained it when it was perfectly al dente, and poured a simple sauce over it. Just like that, dinner was ready. Her name was Emily, my husband’s star student. What was she doing in my house? Emily had a gentle smile, a picture of quiet grace. As I tried to process, she moved without pause, setting the table with a familiarity that suggested she’d done this a thousand times. Then, she looked up, a blush rising on her cheeks, and called out shyly in my general direction, “Come and get it.” Before the words fully left her mouth, a tall figure walked towards her. The man strode quickly, almost eagerly. He pulled Emily into a tight hug, holding her with a carefulness that made it seem like he was embracing the most precious thing in the world. Held like that, Emily looked like… well, like she belonged there. She tilted her head back shyly, stood on her tiptoes, and brushed a soft kiss against the man’s cheek. He bent down, capturing her lips with his own. A moment later, they pulled apart, both slightly breathless. “Okay, stop fooling around, the pasta’s getting cold,” Emily scolded playfully, though her voice brimmed with happiness. The man stroked Emily’s hair, his touch full of affection. I couldn’t move my feet. The man’s back looked so familiar. As he turned, my heart hammered against my ribs. A horrifying suspicion took root, making my fingertips tremble. The instant I saw his face, my eyes flew wide open. My whole body shook. The man looking down at Emily with such tenderness in his eyes was my husband, Ethan. I almost collapsed, a sharp, choked sob escaping me. I doubled over, the veins on my forehead throbbing. My trembling hand reached out towards my husband. But it passed right through his face. Oh god. I was dead. All I could do was watch them, loving and intimate, right in front of me. Before… before this, my husband had called me, asking what I wanted for our third anniversary. I’d thought of so many possibilities. Never this. Ethan, is this your third-anniversary gift to me? How fucking special. But… when did this even start? When did they get together? 2 Emily. I’d met her before, quite a while ago. I was there the day she was assigned to Ethan’s team. Back then, Ethan didn’t like her. He even found her annoying. But the department insisted he take on a trainee, and Emily was pushed onto him. She was, well, a bit timid for the job. Couldn’t handle decomposed bodies, wasn’t strong enough to move corpses easily. She created a lot of extra headaches for him. For a long time after that, whenever I visited the medical examiner’s office, I’d hear him complain. “I’m not here to be a teacher. Dealing with the dead is busy enough without them forcing someone on me who just makes more work! She’s not strong enough, what good is she?” I found it almost funny at the time, how much this young intern got under his skin. “Hey, I’m a woman and I became a cop, remember? Got a problem with me too?” I’d retorted. “How can she compare to you? My wife is the star of the precinct!” he’d said proudly. But gradually, I heard Emily’s name less and less. I eventually almost forgot she existed. Until a few major cases hit the city. Ethan started working late constantly, sometimes staying out all night. One day, I made some beef stew and brought it to his office. Emily was there that day, too. They were eating lunch together. “The liver from the cafeteria is actually really good!” Emily was saying cheerfully as she ate. “Know why medical examiners don’t eat organ meat?” Ethan asked, his eyes lowered, his voice deep. “Wh-why?” Emily asked, curious and a little nervous. “Because it tastes a lot like human flesh.” “Whoa!” Emily looked like she was about to cry from fright and turned to me to complain. Ethan just sat there, leaning back casually, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched. At the time, I naively thought it was a sweet moment. But thinking back now, Ethan was never one to joke around much. Especially not with people he didn’t like. A loud “Crash!” pulled me from my memories. Emily stood amidst a pile of shattered glass, looking helpless and pitiful. Ethan rushed out of the bathroom, water droplets still clinging to his hair, dripping down his jawline. “I just wanted to look at it, I didn’t mean to,” Emily stammered. Ethan glanced briefly at the shards on the floor, then turned his concerned gaze entirely on Emily. “It’s okay,” he soothed her. “Are you hurt?” I didn’t have the energy to watch them. I just stared numbly at the broken pieces on the floor. What Emily had shattered was the only thing my dad left me. 3 Before I met Ethan, my dad was the only person in the world who was truly good to me. My mom didn’t like me. She’d dropped out of school early herself to work for my uncle, suffering all kinds of hardships. She couldn’t stand seeing me have it easier; she wanted me to taste the bitterness she had. When I was in middle school, she wanted me to quit and save the money for my brother’s after-school activities. My dad wouldn’t allow it. He thought it was about money, so he worked extra jobs tirelessly. Later, exhausted, he died in the line of duty during a mission. After Dad passed away, Mom finally had her excuse. She blamed his death on me. My life got even harder. One day, I came home and saw her rummaging through Dad’s belongings. Anything valuable had long been sold off, except for a few certificates and his service award trophy. “Marrying you was the worst luck ever! Dead and still broke! And I gave you kids… you just couldn’t wait to check out, leaving me with this mess!” After venting, she spotted the yellow metal base of the trophy and her face lit up with a sudden grin. She thought it was gold. She wanted to sell it. I immediately snatched it away. “No! You can’t touch this!” Seeing me grab it, she flew into a rage and kicked at me. “You brat! Your brother’s starving, and you’re hoarding this piece of junk? You ungrateful little bitch, worthless girl!” Her fists rained down on me like hail. She clawed and scratched, her nails leaving bloody trails on my skin. I hadn’t eaten properly in ages. I couldn’t fight back. All I could do was cry out, hoping someone outside would help. Soon, my cries attracted a crowd. Ethan was among them. Ethan was different from me. He came from a well-educated, respected family of doctors and academics. His parents were loving; he grew up surrounded by affection. He never lacked money. I, on the other hand, was always covered in bruises, constantly hungry. Besides my school uniform, all I owned were ill-fitting, worn-out clothes. But him? Always clean sneakers, always neat, well-fitting clothes. The crowd criticized my mother, but no one paid attention to me. Except Ethan. He gently took my hand. “I have medicine at my place. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” I still remember how carefully he avoided my wounds. His touch was so light, it felt like the cuts didn’t even hurt anymore. Yet, it also felt incredibly strong, heavy enough to effortlessly pull me up from the ground. Seeing me about to leave, Mom started screaming curses. “You worthless thing, put that trophy down! I must have done something terrible in a past life to birth such a heartless creature!” With that, she lunged at me, claws out, trying to grab the trophy. I stumbled back. Ethan stepped in front of me. He spoke coldly, “You want to mess with a hero’s award? What, you want to go to jail? Don’t you know you can’t touch national honors medals?” Just a teenager, but radiating confidence. My mother, hearing him, got scared. She hadn’t had much schooling and didn’t know if he was telling the truth, but she instinctively believed him. Still, her mouth didn’t stop spewing insults at me. “Jenna! Already learned how to hook up with boys and turn against your own mother, huh?! You cheap trash, worse than a streetwalker!” It wasn’t the first time she’d cursed me, but it was the first time it had been that vile. But I didn’t care. I had saved Dad’s medal. Ethan frowned. I felt ashamed, unable to look at him. The next second, he covered my ears with his hands. The world went silent. Only my own heartbeat echoed, loud as a drum. This was my most humiliating memory. Ethan knew it better than anyone. He knew I valued that trophy more than my own life! I watched him step over the shards, carefully lifting Emily’s hand like it was a treasure, inspecting the cut on her finger. In the dim light, I saw him frown, saw the pain in his expression – for her. Even knowing he’d changed, that he didn’t love me anymore, my heart ached fiercely at that moment. Emily sniffled quietly. “What do we do? I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to see…” “It’s okay,” Ethan comforted her. “Is this thing important?” “No, it’s not important.” Emily’s tears turned to smiles, and she nestled happily into Ethan’s arms. To console this woman he’d known for only a few months, he ruthlessly discarded our ten years together. Ultimately, I was just a poor judge of character. This was the only memento my dad left me, and he said it wasn’t important? Not important! I told him once, this was more important than my life. 4 After sweeping the scattered fragments into a dustpan and then into a trash bag, Ethan paused, staring at the bag thoughtfully. Finally, he placed the trash bag containing the pieces in a corner, separate from the rest of the garbage. He sat down on the sofa, his gaze fixed on that corner, lost in thought. When Emily came out after her shower, she noticed the bag by the wall. “Should we take that out when we leave?” she asked Ethan, who was still on the couch. “No need. Leave it; I’ll handle it.” For some reason, Ethan didn’t throw the pieces away immediately. He kept them. But soon enough, the two of them were wrapped tightly in each other’s arms again. I stood beside the trash bag, wanting desperately to tear open the black plastic, to touch the fragments of the trophy, the pieces that held my father’s name. But my hand passed through the bag, through the shards, over and over. Utterly futile. At that moment, a wave of helplessness and despair washed over me. And those two cheating dogs were right there, whispering and cuddling. I wanted to kill them. Any way possible. I lunged towards them in fury, wanting to claw their faces. They remained completely undisturbed. I hated it. I felt sick to my stomach. Looking at their ugly faces, I couldn’t stand being near them for another second. I desperately tried to flee the room. But when I reached the doorway, I hit an invisible barrier and bounced back. Frustrated, I tried again and again, only to end up like a dead fish, sprawled on the floor. I understood then. I couldn’t get too far away from Ethan. I was trapped near him. How ironic. Watching the couple on the sofa behind me, utterly powerless. The man who once swore eternal love to me was now holding another woman. It was laughable. Jenna, oh Jenna, you were so blind. I watched Ethan’s hand on Emily’s waist, watched him kiss the small cut on her fingertip, his eyes full of devotion. “Does it still hurt?” His voice was low, magnetic – the voice I knew so well. Whenever I got hurt, he would comfort me softly just like that. Except my injuries were knife wounds, sprains, torn muscles… Emily’s was just a tiny scratch. The scene unfolding before me made my stomach churn. I felt like throwing up again. “Ethan…” Emily began, her eyes misty, but Ethan silenced her unfinished words with his mouth. “Didn’t we talk about this? Call me by my name when no one else is around. I don’t want to be just your mentor, Emily. Not only your mentor.” Responding to him, Emily tilted her neck back, returning his kiss passionately. A shrill ringing suddenly pierced the air. Startled, as if caught doing something illicit, both looked annoyed. Ethan moved to answer the phone, but Emily clung to him, protesting. The ringing, however, showed no sign of stopping. Reluctantly, Ethan stood up and checked the caller ID. “It’s the office. Probably a new case.” He put the call on speaker, so I could hear too. “This one’s bad, Ethan. Get back here, quick!” The voice on the other end sounded urgent. 5 I was forced to follow Ethan to the medical examiner’s office. Emily trailed close behind him. The office was chaotic, everyone rushing around. No one seemed to notice anything unusual between Ethan and Emily. An emergency meeting was called to handle the body parts forensics had sent over, to assign the autopsy. The remains were partial limbs, recently pulled from the lake. As the most brilliant forensic pathologist of his generation, Ethan was unsurprisingly assigned the autopsy. Emily would assist, documenting the findings. The moment I followed Ethan into the autopsy room, my heart clenched violently. Staring at the limb on the stainless steel table, I had a sickening feeling I knew who it belonged to. Ethan changed into blue scrubs and approached the table, beginning the examination methodically. The partial limb on the table was just a forearm, bloated and bleached white from the lake water. The skin tissue was severely damaged. Due to the recent heatwave, decay had already set in around the cut edge. The room reeked of decomposition. Emily took one look, turned pale, and averted her gaze, waving a hand in front of her face. “So gross.” It was just the two of them in the room. Seeing Emily tremble, Ethan dropped all pretense of professionalism. He pulled her into a hug. “It’s just a limb, don’t be scared. Aren’t I right here with you?” He gently patted her back, his tone indulgent. “You’re so easily spooked. How can I trust you to handle cases on your own someday?” “Then just keep me with you always, okay?” Emily’s eyes were full of dependence. Ethan frowned slightly but nodded anyway. Unexpectedly, as the scalpel made its first incision on the arm, a sharp pain shot through my own forearm. It made my scalp tingle, an agony I couldn’t suppress or lessen. Ethan’s deep voice boomed like thunder in my ears. “Right ulna length 24 centimeters. Based on ulna-to-height calculation, estimated height of deceased is around 5’5″. Significant outward curvature of the arm… deceased is female, bone age approximately 25 to 28 years old.” It felt like being plunged into ice-cold water. I snapped to awareness, yet felt frozen to the bone, my blood turned to ice, my mind blank. Of course. This was my body. Even though I had suspected, seeing the mutilated limb on the table still sent a wave of profound shock through me. I never imagined I would die like this, so brutally. 6 Even the brightest lights cast shadows. Aside from the faint sounds from the autopsy table, the room was silent. The examination was nearing its end. Ethan was patiently reviewing the autopsy report details with Emily, explaining everything meticulously, point by point. I stumbled towards the unrecognizable limb. An old scar on it, reopened and uglier than ever due to the prolonged immersion in water, gaped open. That scar… I got it a year ago, slashed by a criminal while on duty. I remember sweating from the pain, bleeding heavily. It took ten stitches to close. I hadn’t made a sound then, just gritted my teeth, my sweat-soaked hair plastered to my face. Ethan had burst into the emergency room then. He was frantic, hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes, beads of sweat on his nose as he ran in. The moment he saw me, his face went whiter than mine. The moment I saw him, the throbbing pain in my arm seemed to lessen. But his eyes reddened. He looked at my arm, wanting to touch it but afraid to. After a long moment, he managed to choke out two words. “Does it hurt?” I hadn’t felt sorry for myself, hadn’t really felt the pain until then. But his careful, quiet question unleashed a flood of tears. Suddenly, it hurt terribly. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here,” he’d stammered, clumsily wiping my tears, holding me close, whispering comfort. In that moment, I felt like I had the whole world. My eyes saw only him. Later, the wound healed, but it left an ugly scar on my forearm forever. Even though I have a tough personality, dealing with criminals all day, and don’t usually fuss over my appearance, I’m still a woman. Looking at that hideous scar, I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Ethan noticed my discomfort. He took my arm, cradled it gently in his palm, kissed the scar softly, then looked me straight in the eyes and said, word by word: “This is a badge of honor, Jenna. Like your father’s medal. It’s the most beautiful mark in the world to me.” His words were so beautiful then, like young love, passionate and pure. But things change. No matter how beautiful the memory, it couldn’t withstand the brutal reality. Right now, I truly wished Ethan could recognize my body. We were once the closest people in the world, holding each other through countless nights, leaning on each other through disappointment and sadness. Nobody knew my body better than him. This scar, you kissed it once. Ethan, don’t you remember? I closed my eyes, letting go of that last shred of futile hope. Nearby, the two of them had somehow ended up in another embrace. Ethan, usually so meticulous about his work, was now tangled up with Emily right next to the autopsy table. He didn’t recognize me. They expertly cleaned the autopsy table, pushed aside the instruments that were in the way, and became intimate, oblivious to their surroundings. And my body was right there beside them. That’s my body. I wanted to get away. I felt nauseated. The initial despair slowly morphed into a venomous thought. He will recognize me eventually. Sooner or later, that day will come. He will realize he was fooling around with another woman right next to the body of his murdered wife. I looked forward to that day. I don’t know how much time passed. Emily was sitting again, Ethan hugging her tightly from behind, guiding her through her questions with that same protective, doting manner. Such a familiar scene, so much like how we used to be. Emily pointed to the scar tissue. “Here, the wound on the arm… how did you determine the time frame?” she asked, puzzled. “You can tell from the color of the granulation tissue. It indicates about a year ago…” Ethan ruffled her hair, looking satisfied. As he said this, a flicker of confusion crossed his eyes, disappearing as quickly as it came. A year ago, same spot, same wound. He had called it… the most beautiful mark. After a moment, pulled back from his distraction by Emily’s soft call, he resumed explaining as if nothing happened. Suddenly, the door to the autopsy room banged open. Ethan opened it. It was my old mentor, Captain Miller. He was bringing in more remains. It was my torso. 7 Unlike the arm, the torso hadn’t been thrown into the lake. Aside from the crushed skull and several patches of livor mortis, the body was relatively intact. Because of this, the crescent-shaped birthmark near my ribs was starkly visible. Ethan approached the autopsy table, then froze abruptly. His eyes locked onto my torso.

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It was the weekend, and the whole family drove out to this remote lake up in the hills to take pictures of my nephew for some competition. Suddenly, Kevin shrieked. He had several leeches clamped onto his ankle. I quickly grabbed a small utility knife to scrape them off. The bites were bleeding quite a bit. But Kevin started yelling that I’d cut him on purpose. He snatched the knife and slashed wildly at my face, several times. My brother, my sister-in-law, Mom, Dad – they all just watched Kevin ruin my face, even saying I deserved it. Later, on the way down the mountain path, Kevin deliberately shoved me. My whole family just stared blankly as I dangled from the cliff edge. Not one person reached out to help me. Then, I blinked. And Kevin was pointing at his ankle, yelling, “What is this bug? It’s huge!” I looked over, my voice flat. “It’s nothing. Just flick it off.” “Sarah, move back! You’re blocking the shot!” Through the fog in my head, I heard my sister-in-law, Linda’s, impatient voice. My brother, Mike, yanked my arm hard. “Didn’t you hear her talking to you? Just standing there like a damn statue.” It hit me then. I was reborn. I was back at the edge of that remote lake on the hilltop. Kevin was striking poses by the water’s edge. He wore a crisp white shirt and black overalls, his pale little face looking cherubic, almost pinchable. Who could believe this sunny, adorable little boy was the monster who’d disfigured me and sent me falling to my death? “Kevin, honey, step back a bit more, closer to the water. Yes, right there!” Linda’s camera clicked away, capturing every ‘precious’ moment. The whole reason we’d trekked up this godforsaken hill today was to get the perfect set of photos for Kevin. Mike and Linda planned to submit them to a big casting call held by a media company. The winner got a contract as a child model. Neither of them had a real job. They were pinning all their hopes on Kevin becoming famous and making them rich. This casting call? They were dead set on winning. “Kevin, just a little further back, stand in the water a bit. The light’s better there. Mom, go help Kevin fix his clothes and hat.” Mom scurried over, fussing over Kevin. But before Linda could even snap another picture, Kevin screamed. “There’s a bug in the water!” Linda waved it off. “Of course, there are bugs. It’s nature. Just ignore it and look at the camera!” Kevin was uneasy, looking down again. “It’s crawling on me!” He started stomping his foot frantically, trying to shake it off, but it wouldn’t budge. I leaned in for a look. Clinging tightly to his ankle was a fat, bloodsucking leech. Last time, when I saw the leech, I immediately found my knife to help him get it off. The bites bled non-stop because leech saliva contains an anticoagulant. But Kevin had insisted I cut him on purpose with the knife. He’d grabbed the knife from me and slashed my face like a maniac. I screamed, clutching my face and running, but Kevin just laughed loudly behind me. “You cut my ankle, so I messed up your face!” When I found a mirror, I almost collapsed. My face was covered in jagged cuts, blood everywhere. Kevin had permanently disfigured me. “Dad, please, take me to the hospital!” I’d begged. “What hospital? Just wipe it with a tissue,” he’d said dismissively. I couldn’t believe it. “I’m bleeding this badly, and you want me to use a tissue?” Linda chimed in, dripping sarcasm. “Well, you shouldn’t have cut my son’s ankle. Serves you right.” Mike backed her up. “Yeah, besides, kids don’t know their own strength. You’re his aunt, don’t make a big deal out of it.” Mom pulled me aside, dabbing at my face with a tissue. “Sarah, Kevin still has lots of pictures left to take. Don’t waste everyone’s time.” My heart felt like it had turned to ice. I could only grit my teeth and swallow the humiliation. We finally packed up when the sun started to set. “Mom,” I tried again, “can we please stop by the hospital on the way home?” “We have antiseptic at home. Just clean it up there.” “Mom, if I don’t go to the hospital, my face will scar!” Mike snapped impatiently. “So what if it scars? It’s not like you’re pretty anyway!” Kevin piped up, “Aunt Sarah’s ugly! Scars or no scars, it’s all the same!” Tears I couldn’t stop slid down my cheeks. I bit my lip, silent. Then, suddenly, Kevin pushed me hard from behind. I lost my footing, tumbled down the slope, and went over the edge of the cliff. My hands scrabbled, catching onto a protruding rock just in time. “Mom! Dad! Help me! Mike! Linda! Grab my hand!” I screamed for help, but they just stood there, watching me with cold indifference. Not a single hand reached out. Eventually, my strength gave out. I fell into the abyss, shattering on the rocks below. This time? I wasn’t getting involved. Kevin was freaking out about the bug. “What is this thing? It’s huge!” Mike and Linda rushed over. Even they flinched seeing the leech, fat and swollen with blood. I watched coolly from the side. “It’s nothing. Just flick it off.” Linda ordered Mike, “Get that disgusting thing off Kevin right now!” Mike looked scared too but shuffled forward hesitantly. He grabbed the leech and yanked. It didn’t come off. The leech’s mouthparts were latched deep into Kevin’s ankle, like they were burrowed into his flesh. The harder Mike pulled, the tighter it clung. Kevin started crying. “Daddy, get it off! Get it off!” Mike got rough, gave one massive pull, and finally ripped the leech free. He threw it onto the bank and stomped on it hard. There was a sickening squish, and blood sprayed everywhere. Mike looked shaken. When he turned back to Kevin, he saw the ankle bleeding uncontrollably. He quickly carried Kevin ashore, grabbing tissues to press against the wound, but they soaked through almost instantly. Mike didn’t know that ripping a leech off like that often leaves the mouthparts embedded in the skin, leading to infection and complications. Linda was beside herself. “What kind of bug is this? How could it bite my son so badly!” she whined at Mom. “Mom, what kind of dump did you bring us to? It’s full of giant bugs!” “What’s wrong with this place?” Mom defended herself. “It’s beautiful! Green hills, clear water. The best part is, the scenery’s great, nobody’s here, and it’s free! If we went to some other park, it’d be packed, not to mention the expensive entrance fees. For all of us? Think how much that would cost!” Linda shut up. She might feel bad for her son, but she loved money more. Mom peered closer at the wound. “Looks like a small bite. Just keep pressure on it, it’ll be fine.” After Mike held pressure for a long time, the bleeding finally slowed. Seeing things calm down, Mom immediately pushed them to continue the photoshoot. But Kevin refused to go back in the water. “Grandma, there are big bugs in the water! I’m scared!” “Then just stand near the edge,” Mom suggested. Linda looked around, still convinced the light was better in the water. “Kevin, honey, Daddy already killed the big bug. Don’t be scared, there are no more big bugs in the water now.” Kevin still refused. Linda kept coaxing. “How about this? Daddy will go with you. If there are any more bugs, Daddy will catch them.” After a lot of cajoling, Kevin finally nodded. Mike carried Kevin back into the water, gave him a pep talk, then stepped aside. I watched the lake water, barely covering Mike’s ankles, and a small smile touched my lips. They kept at it until the sun finally went down, and Linda capped the camera lens. “Okay, I think that’s enough for today.” I piped up, “The scenery here is nice. Let’s take a family photo!” Linda immediately shoved the camera at me. “Fine. You take it for us.” Wow. So much for a family photo that actually included me. I took the camera. “Okay, everyone stand next to Kevin. Move a little further in, yeah, right there, the light’s good.” Mom, Dad, Mike, and Linda all waded into the water. They lined up, waiting for me. I deliberately fumbled. “Uh, how does this thing work?” “Ugh, you’re useless.” Linda came over impatiently to show me. “Got it now?” “Yeah, yeah, got it. Go get back in place.” I raised the camera. “Okay, squeeze together a bit. Perfect. Stay like that, I’ll take a few.” I clicked the shutter repeatedly, taking several shots. Linda snatched the camera back to review them. She seemed satisfied enough. We all headed down the mountain together. This time, I learned my lesson and walked behind the little monster. As soon as we got in the car, Kevin started complaining that his ankle hurt. Linda pulled up his pant leg. The spot where the leech had bitten was red and swollen, with a distinct triangular mark. She shrugged it off. “It’s fine. We’ll put some cream on it when we get home.” But Kevin didn’t look fine. His face seemed paler than before. “Mommy, I’m cold.” Linda found a jacket and draped it over him, but he still seemed restless. “Mommy, I don’t feel good.” “Where don’t you feel good?” “Everywhere.” Linda assumed he was just being difficult. “If you don’t feel good, then go to sleep!” When we got home, Linda shook Kevin awake. “We’re home. Come on, get out.” Kevin was unsteady on his feet, but nobody seemed to notice or care. For dinner, Mom made simple noodles. Kevin frowned at his bowl. “I’m not hungry.” Mom tried to coax him, thinking he was just being picky. “Kev, Grandma’s noodles are delicious. Just try some.” Kevin picked up a single strand with his fork, put it in his mouth, but didn’t swallow. “Kevin, just eat this tonight, okay? Tomorrow Grandma will take you out for a big treat.” Mike slurped down his own bowl in two bites. “Mom, don’t worry about him. If he doesn’t eat, he’s not hungry. Kevin, listen up, if you don’t eat now, there’s nothing else later. You can just go hungry!” Kevin put down his fork, looking pitifully at his dad. Mike got annoyed. “Just let him starve then.” After dinner, Linda started reviewing the day’s photos, picking through them, but couldn’t find any she was truly happy with. “We’ll have to go back again tomorrow. These shots aren’t quite perfect.” “Ow!” Mike suddenly yelled, startling Linda. “What’s wrong with you!” Linda looked down and her skin crawled. Mike had four or five angry leech bites on both his lower legs. She grabbed the antiseptic. “Quick, disinfect these.” Mike grumbled, “Too many damn bugs in that lake!” “One last trip tomorrow, then we’re never going back there again,” Linda declared. The next morning, Linda went to wake Kevin. He dragged his feet, refusing to get up. Linda finally ripped the covers off him. “Stop lazing around! Get up, we have to go take more pictures.” Kevin sounded weak. “Mommy, I think I have a fever.” Linda felt his forehead. It was definitely hot. “It’s okay. You’ll feel better after some medicine.” She assumed he’d just caught a chill and mixed up some children’s fever reducer. She had no idea his symptoms were from the leech’s mouthparts still embedded in his skin, causing a nasty infection. If they’d gone to the hospital right then, Kevin probably wouldn’t have gotten so serious. But the whole family dismissed it, bundled him up, and drove him right back to that lake in the hills. Kevin stood in the water again, striking poses as Linda directed. Suddenly,he wobbled, lost his balance, and pitched face-first into the water.

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My wife’s family was worth millions, and I married into it. Her adoptive brother claimed I caused the accident that left her dad in a vegetative state, that I only married her for the money. Just based on his suspicion, I was sent to prison. She broke the hand I used to paint. She damaged the eye I used for photography, leaving a four-inch scar across my face. My mom knelt before her, begging for my release. After getting out, I avoided her like the plague. But she haunted me, relentless as a ghost. My mom spent her life savings to bail me out, but my wife demanded she kneel and apologize right there before agreeing. On the way home, the stress triggered a heart attack. Mom collapsed, and then a passing car hit her. Now she’s the one in a vegetative state. Only when I suffered the same fate as her father did the Vances finally back off. The first thing I did after getting out was sign the divorce papers. I wanted nothing to do with the Vances ever again. To pay for Mom’s medical bills, I scraped together two high-paying—or what counted as high-paying for me now—jobs. I thought I’d paid a steep enough price. But seeing Sarah Vance at the nightclub proved how naive I was. Surrounded by her friends, her gaze landed on me, full of condescending arrogance. “Well, if it isn’t the great artist, Liam? What’s someone like you doing in a low-class joint like this?” “I seem to recall you looking down your nose at places like this.” She pulled a wad of cash from her purse and threw it in my face. “Take good care of my friends, and there’s more where that came from.” I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw trembled. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I just serve drinks. I’m not an escort.” Laughter erupted around me. Sarah’s face tightened for a second before she pulled out several thousand dollars and tossed it on the floor in front of me. “You can be!” They casually rattled off names of expensive liquors, shattering what little pride I had left. That booze, worth more than my life felt like right now… if I sold it, Mom’s medical bills for the next month would be covered. I slowly lowered my head and went to get the drinks. My hand, the one she’d broken in prison that never healed right, trembled violently as I held the tray. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I held the tray out. Nobody moved to take anything. The sweat soaked through my shirt. After a long moment, Sarah finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “How are you going to sell drinks if you don’t drink? Don’t you know the rules here?” My grip tightened on the tray. We were together for five years. She knew perfectly well I was allergic to alcohol. If it weren’t for the scar on my face and the damage to my wrist, I wouldn’t have been desperate enough to take this job. I grabbed a bottle, ready to drink it anyway, but she snatched it from me. She poured it onto the floor, letting it soak into the carpet under the sofa. She tilted her chin, gesturing for me to get on my knees. “Oops, how clumsy of me. That’s expensive stuff. What a waste… unless… you just lap it up from the carpet.” My eyes fixed on the stained carpet. A wave of humiliation washed over me, worse than anything I’d felt before. God knows how many shoes had trampled this club carpet, and I doubted it had ever been cleaned. The manager saw what was happening and strode over. He kicked the back of my knee. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the floor. Stay calm, Liam, I told myself, over and over. This is the best job you could find. You need this. When I didn’t move, Sarah threw another ten thousand dollars, the bills scattering over my head and shoulders. Stiffly, I bent forward, my face getting closer and closer to the filthy carpet, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. The next second, Sarah’s stiletto heel pressed down on the back of my head. My head twisted, forcing my cheek flat against the carpet. The club lights hit the grotesque scar near my eye. That happened in prison. She’d used a pen… the tip had grazed my eyeball as I flinched away in pain, tearing the skin. Emergency surgery saved the eye itself, but not the vision. I lost sight in my left eye. People around gasped as if they’d just noticed. “Ugh, what is that on his face? So creepy! They’ll hire anyone here!” They knew damn well how I got the scar, every single one of them. But they pretended ignorance, twisting the knife. Sarah chuckled softly, the point of her heel tracing the edge of my scar. “Is this really our great artist? I barely recognize you.” Then, she shifted her weight, grinding her heel into the wrist of my bad hand, the one pinned beneath me. The tendons were already ruined, never healed properly, but the pressure sent white-hot pain shooting up my arm. “Liam,” she said slowly, each word deliberate, the pressure increasing, “is this the hand you used to tamper with my father’s car?” She picked up some of the scattered bills and started slapping them against my face. “Still not drinking? Are you waiting for a formal invitation?” The manager, who had frozen nearby, snapped back to attention. He kicked me sharply in the backside. “Drink it, now! These are VIPs! Screw this up, and you’re fired!” He grabbed my head, forcing it down until my lips were pressed against the alcohol-soaked carpet. My skin already burned, reacting to the cheap booze. With my bad hand pinned and the other useless, I couldn’t fight his strength. Sarah leaned close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear, “This is payback for what you did to my dad!” I tried to shake my head, but the manager clamped his hands on either side, holding me still. I’d explained it countless times in prison. The car accident had nothing to do with me. If it weren’t for Mr. Vance, I never could have afforded art school, let alone had someone sponsor my gallery show. Why would I hurt him for money? But no one listened. Because of one accusation from her adoptive brother, Jason, I was suddenly the villain, guilty as charged. I clamped my jaw shut, my lips grinding against the rough carpet fibers. I forced the words out through gritted teeth. “Sarah… I told you… it wasn’t me…” Hearing the old nickname made her eyes flash red. “If not you, then who? My brother? Dad adopted Jason when he was five, raised him like a son, groomed him to take over the company! Are you saying he hurt Dad? The brother who’s always been there for me? And now he’s blaming you?!” “The Vance fortune was practically his already. Why would he need to?” Thinking of her father, her only remaining family, Sarah grew more agitated. She spat through clenched teeth, “Still talking? Guess you haven’t had enough to drink!” As soon as she said it, one of her friends chimed in. “Wow, this carpet really soaks it up! Let me try…” She grabbed another bottle and poured, the liquid pooling and spreading beyond the carpet now. A bitter laugh welled up inside me. When I got the call about Mr. Vance’s accident, I rushed over immediately. He only had minor injuries then. But after Jason arrived, put him in his car, and took him to the hospital… he ended up vegetative. Bitter irony. Maybe Jason didn’t do it for the money. But what if he did it for you, Sarah? I had to open my mouth to breathe, and ended up gulping down the disgusting, booze-soaked liquid. Alcohol flooded my throat, and a fierce itch started deep inside me, my allergy kicking in. The manager, startled by my reaction, muttered an excuse about me needing to clean up in the restroom, finally giving me a momentary escape. In the bathroom, I choked down the allergy pills I always carried, then shoved my face under the faucet, turning the cold water on full blast. Tears or sweat, I couldn’t tell, but my face was soaked. Just as I felt like I was about to suffocate, a hesitant female voice sounded nearby. “Excuse me, are you Liam?” I lifted my dripping face from the sink and met a pair of clear, kind eyes. The young woman was dressed head-to-toe in designer clothes – clearly from a different world than mine now. I figured she had the wrong person. I gave a slight nod and turned to leave. I still had to go back out there and earn that money. But she stopped me, her eyes lighting up with excitement, though she hesitated when her gaze fell on my scar. “I thought I was mistaken! I saw your gallery show. I loved your work, but then… I couldn’t find any news about you.” She flashed a charming smile and held out her hand. “Hi, I guess I’m one of your earliest fans. My name is Grace Norton.” Hearing her name, a vague memory surfaced. That one and only gallery show, sponsored by Mr. Vance… only one person had contacted me afterward, wanting to buy a piece. I’d been ecstatic then, thinking it was the start of my career. Turns out, it was the only time. And the last. The past felt like another lifetime. I avoided her gaze and mumbled, “You’re mistaken. I just serve drinks here.” Then I practically fled. What was once my armor—my art—was now the sharpest knife twisting in my gut. Swallowing the bitterness, I forced myself back to Sarah’s table. A few good-looking guys had joined them now, charming her friends into giggles. One of the women saw me and exclaimed, “Sarah, you were right! He actually came back! Ugh, I lost the bet! So annoying!” I took a deep breath, trying to muster a smile. Sarah was leaning against one of the guys now. She scoffed, “He kissed my ass for five years. I know exactly what he’s thinking. You only lost, what, fifty grand? Just take it out on him.” I bit down hard to keep quiet. My pride was being trampled by these people, and all I felt was a burning, helpless resentment. The woman who lost the bet brightened at Sarah’s suggestion. The next second, she slipped off her high heel, picked up one of the bottles I’d just brought, and poured the expensive liquor into her shoe. Then she covered her mouth in mock horror. “Oh my god, I’m so clumsy! This stuff is so expensive, what a waste…” Her eyes met mine, a playful smirk on her lips. “What should we do? That’s probably, like, two months’ salary for you, right? Can’t let it go to waste. How about this: you drink it, I’ll pay for the bottle. Deal?” “Besides,” she added, “isn’t it an honor for this booze to be consumed by such a great artist?” Laughter rippled through the group. Their eyes were on me, expectant, burning holes in my already shredded dignity. I turned my head, looking straight at Sarah. The woman I’d loved for five years. Honestly, deep down, a part of me still couldn’t believe she could be this cruel. Five years together. We were each other’s first love. After prison, I’d specifically checked at the hospital – Mr. Vance’s condition was stable. There was a chance he could wake up. If he did, he could clear my name. But she ignored my stare, turning back to flirt with the guy next to her. The woman with the shoe gestured towards it with her bare foot, tilting her chin expectantly. I bent down, lowering my head to hide my shame. My whole body trembled as I reached for the shoe. Just before my fingers could touch it, a hand grabbed my arm. “Liam? Fancy meeting you here. Are you looking for inspiration? Could I possibly talk to you about that painting of yours?” Seeing this, Sarah finally pulled away from the guy she was leaning on. She looked at Grace, her expression wary and cold. “I’m dealing with my own man here. What’s it to you?” I cut in, my voice flat. “Sarah, we’re divorced.” She flushed, momentarily speechless. Seeing her caught off guard, one of her friends jumped in, scowling at Grace. “You must have the wrong guy. He’s no artist now. What painting are you talking about? Something Sarah paid for back when they were together?” “I think you’re confused,” another added venomously. “That artist basically died in prison. The person in front of you now is just a crippled bartender. Possibly even an attempted murderer…” She emphasized the word “crippled,” and the blood drained from my face. Not wanting my only fan to witness this humiliation, I just nodded numbly. “Yeah, you must be mistaken. I just serve drinks.” Hearing me admit defeat seemed to satisfy Sarah. Her expression softened slightly as she tossed another thick stack of cash—maybe twenty grand—onto the table. In this age of digital payments, I couldn’t help but think she used cash specifically to humiliate me. Tapping a phone screen just didn’t have the same degrading impact as forcing me to grovel for bills on the floor. Grace watched this exchange, her earlier smile gone, replaced by a serious expression. She said firmly, “Fine. Then I want to buy his services. That should be okay, right?” Sarah’s friend immediately scowled. “Do you know who we are? Are you looking for trouble? Didn’t you hear us?” Grace blinked innocently. “I want to hire him too. I like his face. Since you’ve already bought the drinks, what’s wrong with me taking him?” In the dim light, Sarah coldly pulled out her phone and dialed a number. “Manager? Someone here is causing trouble for me. Do you want to stay in business or not? Have you forgotten who your best customers are?” Hearing her make the call, my heart jumped into my throat. I saw someone slip away, probably to get security. The other women glared at Grace. “Where did this broke bitch come from? Trying to take someone from us?” I didn’t want Grace getting dragged into this because of me. I whispered quickly, “You should go. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” I knew how much clout the Vance family had locally. Anyone hanging out with Sarah wasn’t likely to be ordinary either. But Grace just set her jaw, reached into her designer bag, and pulled out a black card. She tossed it casually onto the table. “Tonight, I’m taking him with me. Period.”

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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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