On one of those Reddit threads asking, “How hard is it to get over your first love?” my fiancé’s answer popped up: “Can’t let go, can’t forget. I married her niece, so I could always be near her, even just as family.” The post quickly got buried, and Ethan switched to anonymous, but I’d already seen it. Because I’m the poor sucker niece in that answer. Except, I’m not heartbroken. After all, my own anonymous answer to that same question, posted three years ago, already has tens of thousands of upvotes and comments. 1. When I opened the door, my husband, Ethan, stood there, eyes bloodshot, reeking of alcohol, his shirt a wrinkled mess. I took the jacket he offered, stepping back slightly to avoid the wave of booze fumes. He proposed last week. I said yes. This morning, we went down to City Hall and made it official. Ethan tugged at his collar, trying to hide his low spirits. I was happy for the quiet, pretending not to notice as I offered some wifely concern. “Did a friend drop you off? Drink lots of water, take care of yourself.” “That doesn’t matter.” Ethan grabbed my arm impatiently, pulling me into a hug. “They’re just jealous I have such a great wife. We’re finally family.” Ethan holds his liquor okay. He crashed on the sofa and was out cold pretty quickly. I noticed his phone was unlocked. Even though I’d stumbled across his Reddit post half an hour earlier, I still felt a pang of… not pity, maybe just disappointment at his carelessness. The thread: “How hard is it to get over your first love?” His answer: “Forgetting is impossible. Dating her niece… well, the vineyard owner wasn’t really after the grapes, if you know what I mean. It was just so I could see her often, even call her ‘Aunt.’ Now, the niece loves me deeply, but I don’t really love her back. My first love is her aunt. No one can replace her. Getting married was just about having a legitimate reason to be close, to protect my first love from afar.” 2. The first time I brought Ethan home, I hadn’t even introduced my Aunt Audrey yet. But he reacted like he knew exactly who she was, didn’t miss a beat, just followed my lead and called her “Aunt Audrey.” Thinking back on Audrey’s expression then—surprise, confusion—it was incredibly subtle. Ethan, meanwhile, couldn’t hide his smug satisfaction. Looking back now, there wasn’t much innocence in that moment. 3. Actually, Audrey isn’t my biological aunt. She’s my grandfather’s daughter from another relationship. My grandfather and her mother passed away when she was young, and my grandmother decided to raise her until she was an adult. When I started high school, she was a junior in college, doing an internship in our city and staying with us. My parents were very understanding and tolerant towards her, but she just became more spoiled and demanding. “Your aunt hasn’t had it easy,” my dad would often say, urging me to be kind. Good people often feel sorry for those who’ve suffered. Despite all the affection she received, Audrey was never satisfied. She competed with me for everything, tried to sabotage my reputation, spread rumors. If we were both home, conflict was inevitable. As we got older, we maintained a surface-level peace, but underneath, the currents were always turbulent. She probably thinks she’s finally won. My husband is the man she discarded, a man still deeply in love with her, his unforgettable first love, his ‘moonlight.’ This morning, I posted pictures of our marriage certificate and sent out wedding invites online. Audrey commented “Congratulations.” I wonder what she was really feeling. Ninety percent of Ethan’s long Reddit post was about how he couldn’t get over Audrey after they broke up, how he “accidentally” found out about her niece (me), and how he pursued me. So that’s how it was. Suddenly, Ethan, asleep on the sofa, grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go… don’t leave me…” I pulled my hand away. What Ethan doesn’t know is that three years ago, I also answered that question. My post now has over thirty thousand upvotes and two thousand comments. After posting it back then, I never dared to look at it again. It represented a dream I couldn’t touch, something that only brought wistful pain whenever I thought of it. Truth is, my dream should have ended long ago. Ethan was never him. But I had a promise I needed to keep. 4. The next morning, we were supposed to check out wedding venues. Ethan glanced at his phone, then bailed on me. I didn’t need to ask who texted him. Two years ago, Audrey got her wish and married into a wealthy family. Her husband wasn’t exactly good to her – partying, womanizing, even a violent streak. But she dragged her feet on divorcing him, unwilling to give up the money and status. Three minutes ago, she posted on her Instagram story. “Hangover headache. Feeling helpless.” No wonder Ethan rushed off. Good thing I didn’t make much breakfast today; just enough for one. 5. At three in the afternoon, Ethan called me downstairs, his tone casual. I opened the car door. Aunt Audrey was in the passenger seat. Ethan said, “Your aunt works in design. I specifically asked her to come help you check things out.” He pursed his lips. There was a small cut on his lip. Audrey’s lips looked a bit swollen too, her lipstick smudged around the edges. Audrey smiled faintly but said nothing. I paused by the door for a moment. Audrey acted as if she just realized. She put on a high-pitched voice, “Oh, I know the city routes better, so I’ll navigate from the front seat. You don’t mind, do you, Lily?” Ethan immediately jumped in. “Why would she mind? Aunt Audrey, you just sit up front. Right, Lily?” Halfway through the drive, Audrey dropped a bombshell nonchalantly. “I’m divorced.” The car screeched to a halt, triggering a chorus of angry honks. I could feel the irritation from other drivers through the windows. Ethan ignored it all, staring only at Audrey, his voice hoarse. “You’re divorced?” Audrey curved her lips into a smile, meeting his gaze boldly. “Yes.” Ethan stared at her for a long moment, single-handedly adding to the already congested traffic. They looked like actors in a soap opera. Afraid they’d derail my important plans, I had to break the spell. “We should get going.” 6. The atmosphere in the car was tense the rest of the way. Once we reached the wedding venue, Audrey immediately slipped into the role of the protagonist, discussing details meticulously with the manager. Ethan hovered nearby, pouring her water, fanning her occasionally. They exchanged intimate smiles, completely ignoring me. The manager chuckled admiringly. “You two make such a beautiful couple. Truly enviable.” A sudden silence fell over the venue. I watched Ethan steadily. The words, “She’s actually my bride,” never came out. I let out a short, sharp laugh. Not surprised. Just then, faster than you could say “drama,” Audrey’s ex-husband, Mark, burst in. I don’t know how a body ravaged by booze and excess could muster the speed of a sprinter, but maybe rage fueled him. Mark glared at Audrey. “So this is why you suddenly divorced me! You had some pretty boy waiting on the side! Have you no shame?” Audrey immediately hid behind Ethan. “Leave me alone! We’re divorced!” Before anyone knew it, Ethan and Mark were throwing punches. Audrey wrung her hands nearby, pretending to break it up, but somehow I, in my heels, got caught in the crossfire. I lost my balance, tumbled to the ground, and felt a sharp crack in my ankle. The manager finally snapped into action, and security guards dragged Mark out. Ethan rushed straight to Audrey. “Aunt Audrey, are you okay?” I tried to move my ankle and cried out in pain. Before he could even turn towards me, Audrey fainted. He didn’t hesitate for a second, turning back mid-stride, scooping her up. “Lily, I’ll come back for you later.” In that moment, I felt no sadness. Watching Ethan dart back and forth just now, he reminded me of that donkey in Aesop’s fables, wanting both the hay and the water bucket, finally collapsing from indecision. 7. “Okay,” I said. “Just make sure you come back.” My ankle hurt, but after a minute, I could hobble. Predictably, Ethan never returned to the venue that night. He called later, told me to go home and rest. Said Audrey was very weak, needed to be hospitalized, and he was staying there to take care of her. Good thing I didn’t wait for him until midnight. 8. Late that night, lying in bed, I opened my old keepsake box, not a Bible, but close enough, and took out a photograph. Noah, did you see? Today, I finally made it to the wedding of my dreams. But the silent night offered no reply, only endless loneliness. The next day, I went to the cemetery on the outskirts of town. In front of Noah’s headstone, there was a bouquet of chrysanthemums. And a mother and daughter. The little girl looked at me and asked, “Are you related to Noah?” I was speechless for a moment, thinking of the wedding that never happened, the celebration I could never reach. Silence and grief washed over me. “Yes,” I managed, my voice choked. “I’m his… family.” “Noah saved me,” the little girl said earnestly. “He donated his corneas to me. He gave me sight.” My heart jolted. I looked down at the little girl’s innocent eyes, emotions overwhelming me again. Tears welled up, threatening to fall. “Little one,” I asked, my voice trembling, “is your name… Chloe?” The little girl nodded. “Yes, miss. I’m Chloe.” (Original: Chu Qian, changed to Chloe for clarity) So, it was wrong from the very beginning. I had the wrong person all along. The one with Noah’s eyes was never the Ethan I knew. I forced a smile and gently patted the girl’s head. “Chloe, you need to live facing the sun. Grow up strong and happy.” 9. The little girl nodded again, then looked up at me. “Miss, what kind of person was the big brother?” “Him? He was a very strong, very gentle person. He always showed me warmth and hope.” “He was a light in my life.” The little girl handed me a paper crane she was holding. “Miss, don’t be sad. This is the thousandth paper crane I’ve folded. Big brother Noah is definitely watching over you from heaven.” I stroked her head. “Thank you.” After they left, I slowly sank down, tracing the inscription on the headstone, murmuring, “Noah, will you be angry that I got the wrong person?” The Ethan I found wasn’t the Chloe I was looking for. He was just… irrelevant. I never liked him. But every time I looked into his eyes, it felt like Noah was speaking to me. How could I refuse those eyes? So I said yes to Ethan’s confession. I said yes to Ethan’s proposal. He was, after all, the closest thing to Noah left in this world. But when he closed his eyes, the illusion shattered, yet I refused to wake up. That so-called obsession… vanished in an instant. My phone rang. It was Ethan. I turned it off without a second thought. The man on the headstone photo was expressionless, but his eyes were warm and kind. I took that picture. But when I took it, I never imagined it would become black and white. I whispered to him, “Noah, let’s get married.” “Do you think this could all be a dream? Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up, and you’ll be alive again?” “If you can hear me, make the clouds break, okay?” 10. Just then, sunlight pierced through the clouds, scattering down from the sky, finally settling on the earth. The biting chill finally faded. The sky… it really cleared. A distant breeze lifted my hair, dried the tears on my cheeks, and soothed the heavy sadness in my heart. Strands of hair brushed my face, just like that summer when I was seventeen. I really thought he would be by my side forever. That day, I’d fought with Audrey. She’d given away some of my things without asking. We got into a physical fight; no one could pull us apart. When my dad came home, he slapped me right across the face. “You disappoint me so much.” I slammed the door and ran out, consumed by pain and frustration. But around the corner, I found myself drawn back to Noah’s flower shop. It was graduation season, filled with clouds of baby’s breath. Amidst the flowers, I saw the busy owner. Maybe it was the gentle way his brownish hair caught the light, maybe it was the bright summer sun, but surrounded by the scent of flowers, I walked into the shop. Inside his shop, I kept my head down. But he stopped what he was doing, came over, looked gently into my eyes, and ruffled my hair. “Eyes are so red. What’s making my little friend so sad and gloomy?” “Nothing, just tripped and fell.” He brought over the first-aid kit anyway. With those same long fingers that tied beautiful bouquets, he gently dabbed antiseptic on my scraped knee. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time,” he said softly. “I’m here.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. I threw myself into his arms and sobbed. His beige shirt got soaked with my tears. He smelled like clean laundry and warm sunshine. He usually kept a respectful distance, but that time, he didn’t push me away. He just gently patted my back. It was the safest I’d felt in anyone’s arms since my mom passed away. I knew, right then, I was hopelessly falling for him. He didn’t say much, but he was kinder than anyone I knew. 11. Audrey posted on social media again. The smugness in her words made me suspect she’d set the privacy to “Ethan only.” The picture showed a bowl of soup on a hospital bed tray. The caption: “Having you here is my greatest happiness.” One of Ethan’s hands was prominently featured in the shot. He stayed at the hospital with her for two days. I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I quietly went back to our apartment and started packing my things. Just as I was almost done, Ethan came back. Usually, when our eyes met—his eyes—I’d break into a happy smile. But now, I didn’t even bother looking up. Treated him like air. Suddenly, Ethan grabbed my hand. When I finally looked up at him, he fell silent. He seemed hesitant, but I had no more time to waste. “Let’s get a divorce.” My directness seemed to throw him off, leaving him looking lost. “I’m sorry. I messed up. You… take care of yourself… find happiness…” Before he could finish, I went into the bedroom, dragged out my packed suitcase, ready to leave. He frowned, looking at my luggage. “When did you pack?” “Right around the time I realized first loves are truly unforgettable.”

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I have killer pollen allergies, but I absolutely love flowers. My husband, Leo, always picked out the most realistic silk flowers to cheer me up. I wasn’t crazy about him at first, honestly. But he bent over backwards for me, treated me like gold. After my parents died unexpectedly, nobody had been that good to me, so… yeah, I married him. This was supposed to be our honeymoon. Leo brought me down to Cancun. My best friend, Ashley, had called me countless times, warning me not to trust Leo so completely. Back then, I was so naive. I told her, “Ash, he promised he’d stop gambling. He really cares about me, and that’s what matters.” I never, ever imagined that his “caring” was actually him carefully plotting my death. It hit me when I was in the bathroom. I started choking, struggling to breathe, and collapsed. That’s when I saw them – the fake flowers decorating the vanity had been swapped out for real ones. Loads of them. My EpiPen was gone too. Sobbing, my voice ragged, I called out for Leo. Silence. I started banging on the wall, trying to make enough noise for him to hear me. Then, through the crack under the door, I saw his shadow pacing just outside. That’s when the last shred of hope drained out of me. He was waiting for me to die. That was my last thought before everything went black. I thought that was it. I was going to die right there, painfully, on that cold tile floor. But then… I felt strangely light. My soul, or whatever it was, felt like smoke drifting out of my body. Suddenly, I was watching everything like an outsider: Leo waited by the bathroom door until he was sure I was nearly gone, then burst in with the hotel manager, putting on a big show. His screams, his tears… everyone in the hotel bought it. Leo, the devoted husband, devastated by his wife’s tragic accident. Then, right in front of everyone, he “found” the EpiPen in the cabinet by the sink – the one he’d hidden there earlier. Proof, he told everyone, that the life-saving medicine was right there. His vigilance was flawless, see? I watched him take me to the hospital. Watched him pretend not to understand the doctors – stalling, refusing to sign the consent forms for treatment. I watched him coordinate with some shady local contacts to secretly move my barely-alive body out of the hospital. Then, bold as brass, he turned around and threatened to sue the hospital, claiming they’d lost his wife, possibly to traffickers. I watched him play the grieving husband online, milking the tragedy for all it was worth. He used the handle “GrievingForMyLove,” raking in donations and sympathy online. Behind the scenes, though? I heard him telling those ruthless local guys that he didn’t care what happened to me – if they trafficked me, harvested my organs, whatever – as long as I never made it back to the States alive. At that moment, in my vision, I felt violated, like I’d been assaulted by those disgusting men he’d handed me over to, stripped bare and tied up. I watched Leo – the man who supposedly pulled me out of the darkness after my parents died – push me personally into this living hell. All so he could inherit my family’s fortune, looking heartbroken but “resigned” to the world. The last time I saw him in that vision, I was bound, gagged, screaming silently in my head for him to just look at me. One last look. But when he turned and walked away, it was so final. No hesitation. Clean break. I’d been struggling, whimpering, desperate for him to notice me, to save me. But in that instant, a chill colder than death washed over me, and I went completely still. Ashley’s words finally slammed into me: Leo doesn’t love you. He loves your money. All this time, he’d been playing me. All this time, I’d been lying to myself. Suddenly, a powerful force yanked me back, back into my body lying on the bathroom floor. The suffocating feeling of pollen vanished. In fact, for a split second, I could actually smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers. My allergy… it was gone! Two Hurt, longing, terror, and the sheer, heart-pounding relief of being alive washed over me. Lying there, I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing the sobs that threatened to erupt. I pushed myself up, wiped the tears in front of the mirror, picked up the towel from the floor, wrapped it around myself again, and splashed my face with water. Knock, knock, knock. “Chloe? Honey, you okay? You’ve been in there forever!” Leo’s voice cut through the sound of the running water. I couldn’t help but let out a cold, bitter laugh. The second he heard water, he was banging on the door. Confused, wasn’t he? Wondering how the woman who should be unconscious, maybe dead, from a severe allergic reaction was calmly taking a shower? He kept knocking, louder now, his voice rising in fake panic. I knew this routine. It was his way of attracting the hotel staff, the manager. Leaning against the sink, I picked up the EpiPen he’d hidden. My mind raced. How could I make this demon suffer? How could I turn his greedy dream into a nightmare? Soon, I heard voices outside the door, the jingle of keys. Busy noises. Leo, in his terrible Spanish, was telling someone outside, “My wife… she’s not well… I’m very worried about her.” The door was about to open. An idea sparked. The moment the door swung open, Leo rushed in, face etched with fake panic, yelling, “Chloe!” Then he saw me. I dramatically slumped to the floor, scattering the EpiPen pills around me. His expression, his whole body, just froze. It was almost comical. I put on a show of struggling weakly to my feet, then staggered over to the hotel manager and, pulling my arm back, slapped him hard across the face. The manager stared at me, stunned, then furious, utterly bewildered. The security guards nearby immediately pulled out their phones, recording everything. “What the hell is wrong with you people?!” I yelled, playing the outraged victim. “My husband told you! I have a severe pollen allergy! And you fill the room with real flowers?! Are you trying to kill me?” “Ma’am… Señora… I don’t understand…” the manager stammered. “You don’t understand? Leo, tell them! Didn’t you tell them when we checked in – absolutely no real flowers in the room?” I shoved Leo forward, right into the spotlight, right in front of all the recording phones. “Tell them! Didn’t you specifically say I have a pollen allergy?!” Leo stammered, speechless. The manager looked like he’d deny everything to his dying breath. I delivered my ultimatum. “Let me tell you something! I’m suing this hotel for attempted murder! You can expect to hear from my lawyer!” I grabbed my phone, pretending to dial my attorney. Leo grabbed my arm, his brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He’s panicking, I thought, a cold smirk playing on my lips internally. Of course, Leo had never told the hotel about my allergy. He’d arranged for those flowers himself. Last time, in that horrific vision, he got away with it because no one questioned why I’d suddenly collapse in the bathroom. Any online comments asking questions were quickly deleted by his paid trolls. Fine. This time, I’d drag his filthy scheme out into the open myself. Plant the seeds of doubt early. “Chloe, look, maybe we should just let it go,” Leo finally mumbled. “You’re okay, right? No harm done.” He tried again, lowering his voice. “Chloe, maybe it was just an oversight by the staff. Let’s be forgiving, okay?” Forgiving?! Like hell. My face hardened. I yanked my arm away. “Leo, what are you saying? Is my life not important to you?!” The guards didn’t understand English, but they saw us arguing again and pointed their phones right at us. Leo hissed at me to keep my voice down. I pretended not to hear, feigning dawning horror. “Leo! Don’t tell me… you didn’t tell them about my allergy?! What were you thinking? What was your plan?!” Just like that, I laid his intentions bare for everyone to see. One of the hotel staff members, who clearly understood English, saw his chance and jumped in. “Miss… uh… Su? Chloe? We truly received no notification about any allergies. Perhaps Mr. Leo forgot in the rush?” Leo, quick on his feet, grabbed the lifeline. He immediately started apologizing profusely, claiming he’d just forgotten, insisting it wasn’t intentional. The hotel eagerly shifted all the blame onto him. I used the opportunity to make a huge scene, then announced I was moving to a different hotel. I needed space. Space away from Leo. Space to plan. Calling the cops now wouldn’t work. Even though I knew what horrors he planned, right now, it was all just in my head, technically. Besides, just sending him to jail – letting him live comfortably behind bars for a decade or so – felt way too easy. If he went to prison, I wanted it to be for life. And before he got caught, I wanted to put on a little show. Let him think everything was within his grasp. Let him have his pipe dream, just before I smashed it. That’s it! A show! Ignoring the fact that it was the middle of the night, I grabbed my phone and made a call… Three I spent the whole night plotting. The sky was just starting to turn gold over the ocean when I finally drifted off. Sleep didn’t last long. Nightmares plagued me, blurring the lines between my visions and reality. I woke up drenched in cold sweat. A sharp ringtone jolted me fully awake. I answered, and the voice on the other end was the same one I’d heard countless times in my nightmares. “Chloe? Are you still mad? I’m so sorry, I really messed up. Where are you? Let me come find you.” A part of me wanted nothing more to do with him. But knowing what he planned – trying to kill me, steal everything I had – made my blood boil. I wanted Leo to lose everything, suffer consequences he truly deserved. “Leo, stop,” I said, my voice deliberately tired. “I’ve been thinking… I can’t get past it. Your debts, what happened last night… Before things get any worse, maybe we should just…” I choked up, took a few deep breaths. “Let’s just call it quits. I’m going home. It’s better this way.” If, just if, Leo could stop now, turn back from the edge, maybe I’d even help him one last time. I admit it, a sliver of that old softness remained. “Chloe! I don’t understand! Why would you suspect me? How could I ever hurt you?! Stop messing around, I’m coming to find you.” Fine. So be it. No more mercy. Ashley, sitting beside me, heard everything. She squeezed my hand, her warmth grounding me. Yes, Ashley had gotten on the first flight out last night after my call. Real friendship beats fake love a thousand times over. I hung up, packed my bags, and Ashley and I headed for the airport. Right at the security checkpoint, Leo intercepted me. “Chloe! Why are you leaving without even talking to me? Are you really going back home over one little mistake?” He immediately put me on the spot, right there in front of everyone bustling through the airport. He already had a minor online following – good looks, flashy designer clothes (bought with my money, of course). He knew people here might recognize him. Sure enough, phones started coming out again. People stared, curious. “Chloe, I admit it, I was distracted planning… planning our engagement!” he declared loudly. “But are you seriously ditching me and flying home just because I forgot to tell the hotel staff about your preferences?” Preferences?! Nice try twisting that one, Leo. Allergy, not preference. His eyes were filled with shame and fury, but his face wore that same mask of wounded devotion. “Chloe, please, just give me one more chance? Don’t go.” And then, believe it or not, he started crying! Right there! The onlookers, clueless, saw this handsome guy shedding tears, and instantly, the tide turned. “Wow, what a bitch.” “Seriously? So dramatic.” “Look at her clothes, though. Rich girls can get away with anything.” He was trying to trap me, paint me as the bad guy. He wanted to keep me here, in Cancun, where it would be easier to… dispose of me. He was terrified of me going back home where he’d lose control. And he had the nerve to stand there playing the heartbroken lover? Suddenly, the image of him turning his back on me in that hellhole, so cold and final, flashed in my mind. Something inside me snapped. SMACK! Right there, in front of dozens of phones and gawking strangers, I hauled off and slapped him. Hard. My chest heaved. Adrenaline and rage wiped my mind blank. For a second, I completely forgot the plan, the reason I’d lured him here. “Chloe, calm down. Stick to the plan,” Ashley’s voice whispered urgently in my Bluetooth earpiece. Right. Snap out of it. Four Fine, Leo. You want to use the crowd against me? Let’s make this public humiliation even bigger. “Leo!” I screamed, staggering back dramatically and collapsing onto the floor, bursting into loud, theatrical sobs. The crowd, which had been murmuring against me, fell silent. Then, even more phones pointed my way. Oh yeah, they smelled blood in the water. They wanted more drama. “You… you manipulative, gambling lowlife!” I shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at him. His expression shifted rapidly from smug confidence to shock, then shame, and finally, pure rage. “You knew! You knew I had allergies! You put those flowers in the bathroom and hid my EpiPen! Do I really need to spell out what you were trying to do?!” The hotel video might not leak, fine. I’d leak it myself, right here, right now. The airport was full of tourists, expats – news travels fast. Gasps rippled through the onlookers. People started pointing at Leo, whispering. “What are you talking about?!” he roared, completely losing it now that he’d been exposed. He clenched his fists and lunged towards me. My screams, mixed with the commotion, brought airport security running. They grabbed Leo and started dragging him away. Seizing the moment, I yelled after him, loud enough for every phone camera to catch it: “Leo, I’ve done everything for you! What more do you want? Did you want me dead before we were even married so you could pay off your gambling debts?!” “Did you hear that? Gambling debts! Is he trying to kill her?” “Isn’t that guy that minor influencer? The thirsty one?” “Yeah! Heard he landed a rich girlfriend! Guess he wants her money now!” “You guys don’t know? That dude’s a notorious gambler back home! Total trash!” Since I was also at the center of the chaos, I got escorted away too, into one of those little airport security rooms. But it was enough. The seeds were planted in the minds of all those potential online witnesses. Before they took me away, I caught Ashley’s eye. She nodded slightly. Then, pulling out her phone, she pretended to be super excited, saying loudly, “Oh my god, gotta upload this video right now! Thirsty influencer tries to murder rich fiancée over gambling debts? This is gonna blow up!” That comment was like tossing a match into dry tinder. The gossip fire ignited instantly. Everyone scrambled to be the first to post their footage, hoping to go viral. Last time, I was too worried about appearances, about “dignity,” about what people would think. I played the composed heiress, and that gambler controlled me completely. This time? I was learning. Sometimes, acting completely crazy is the best way to save yourself.

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Back in high school, flush with my family’s cash, I kind of “sponsored” this poor genius kid. Ethan Hayes. I remember him back then, fists clenched white, defiant but helpless against the situation. Then my family went bankrupt. To salvage the last shred of my pride, I dumped him flat. Fast forward a few years. I was juggling part-time gigs trying to pay off mountains of debt. He became a tech mogul, worth millions. Someone asked him once if there was anyone he couldn’t forget. He just leaned back, all lazy confidence, and said, “Not really.” But then, when I was about to marry someone else just to clear my debts, he suddenly seemed to have second thoughts. 01 I never expected to see Ethan Hayes again like this. There he was, sharp suit and all, standing right in front of my little food cart. Three years. It felt like a lifetime. Jessica Bell stood beside him, looking perfect in a white sundress. They shared a black umbrella against the sun, looking annoyingly picture-perfect. My hands trembled as I tried to make a breakfast burrito. I pulled the brim of my cap down lower, praying he wouldn’t recognize my face. “Easy on the hot sauce,” Ethan’s voice came from above me. My hand froze mid-scoop. The tongs loosened, and the jalapeños tumbled back into the container. I love spicy food. He doesn’t. Back when we were together, I always used to push him to try it. He never fought me on it, just grimaced and swallowed. Back then, I thought I was melting his defenses, that he was willing to change for me, accommodate me. Later events proved I’d just been fooling myself. Jessica clung to his side, her perfectly made-up face wrinkled in disgust. “Ethan, honey, if you’re craving a burrito, I can have our chef whip one up. You don’t need to buy this… street food.” Ethan didn’t say anything, just watched my hands work. Those few minutes felt like an eternity under a spotlight. Only when I finally slid the wrapped burrito into a paper bag and handed it to him did I dare to look up. “That’ll be twelve bucks for the Supreme Deluxe.” I tried to keep my voice low and gravelly, thanking God for the face mask I was wearing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t place my voice. But Jessica peered at me, then hooked her arm through Ethan’s possessively. “You know, Ethan,” she said sweetly, “the more I look at her, the more she reminds me of Ava Miller. You haven’t forgotten her, have you?” My heart leaped into my throat. Even bundled up like this, she could tell? Ethan didn’t respond to her directly. He took the burrito and tapped his phone to pay. Jessica wouldn’t let it go, her voice dripping with faux concern. “I just worry about you, sweetie. After how she humiliated you, then dumped you… and now you’re so successful. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if she ended up selling food on some street corner?” Her words stung. I was about to tell them I was closing up, tell them to just leave. But then Jessica reached out, aiming for my hat. For a split second, I froze. Her hand came closer, inch by inch. Right in front of my face. Her fingers brushed the brim. One sharp tug, and my face would be exposed. “Hey! Can I get like, five breakfast burritos, loaded?” Saved by a customer. Thank God. The interruption stopped Jessica cold. Ethan gently pressed the back of her hand down. His voice was cool, detached. “Hardly unforgettable.” They left. Jessica slid into the passenger seat of Ethan’s sleek car. It pulled away, heading towards the gleaming office towers across the street. The old me would have thrown a fit. I never let anyone else sit in his passenger seat. But I didn’t have that right anymore. Besides, back then, I was the one calling all the shots, forcing him into things. 02 I first met Ethan Hayes in senior year of high school. My parents, obsessed with my grades, pulled me out of my cushy private prep school and threw me into Northwood High, known for its killer college acceptance rate. Ethan and I ended up in the same class. Most kids prepping for the SATs looked drained and gray, but at least they were fed and clothed. Ethan, though… hot or cold, he always wore the same faded, almost translucent school sweatshirt and jeans. He stuck out. It was a level of hardship I couldn’t comprehend. Me? If a t-shirt collar looked weird after washing, I tossed it. My winter coats barely saw a second season. But when he stood up, tall and lean, his eyes fixed on the blackboard with this intense hope… it got to me. When he recited poetry for English class, his voice was low and captivating. And after helping me finally crack a killer calculus problem, he’d flash this smile, dimples and all. Yeah, I was crushing hard. I heard from other kids that Ethan’s situation was rough. Parents gone, just an elderly grandmother he lived with. I didn’t grasp the reality of poverty back then. Not until Ethan missed a whole week of school. When I finally went to his house, I understood what an incredible feat it was for him to even be in high school. His grandmother, nearly blind, had fallen and broken her leg. The apartment had crumbling plaster walls and a leaky roof. It just screamed hardship, highlighting the kid’s quiet resilience. So, one morning, I cornered him outside his place. In my most commanding, rich-girl voice, I said: “Ethan Hayes, I think you’re a responsible guy, and I kind of like you. Tutor me for the rest of senior year, I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars. The day we graduate, we start dating. Deal?” He just stared at me like I was insane. “I’d help you study even if you didn’t offer money, Ava.” Then he just walked away. But my ‘charitable spirit’ wouldn’t let me quit. I pursued him relentlessly. He only caved when his grandmother’s eyesight completely failed, diagnosed with severe glaucoma. The medical bills were piling up. “Five thousand,” he said, his voice tight. “I just need to borrow five thousand.” I immediately transferred $20,000 into an account I set up for him. “What’s mine is yours,” I told him breezily. Besides the medical costs, there were caregiver fees, and college tuition was looming. I thought this would genuinely help him. His fists were clenched again, like he was steeling himself for something. I knew he dreamed of a bigger world, but he couldn’t abandon his grandmother. So I insisted he apply to the same university as me. No long-distance relationships allowed. I moved his grandmother into a better apartment, hired a full-time caregiver. I genuinely thought I was doing him a favor. Only later did I realize I was just crushing his pride again and again with my money. In college, he worked himself to the bone – tutoring, odd jobs, anything to make cash. Until my birthday that year. He nervously pulled out a debit card. “There’s five thousand in here,” he mumbled. “To start paying you back.” I was furious. I thought we were a team, beyond keeping score. And here he was, drawing lines between ‘mine’ and ‘yours.’ I threw the card back at him and stormed off. After that, the whispers started. People called him a “kept man,” giving him knowing smirks. But it didn’t faze him. He just kept working, kept studying. I chewed out the jerks spreading rumors. Then I confronted him, frustrated. “Why don’t you defend yourself? Tell them you’re my boyfriend!” He just gave me a faint, sad smile. It wasn’t until my own family went bankrupt, until I was drowning in debt myself, that I finally understood. When life beats you down that hard, you don’t have the energy to get worked up over petty gossip. My life had been carefree. I never worried about money. People always flattered me. I couldn’t possibly have understood Ethan’s reality back then. Senior year of college, my world collapsed. All the people who’d fawned over me suddenly turned cold. The whispers and laughter came from every direction. It was my first real taste of how cruel people could be. I had always held my head high in front of Ethan. I couldn’t let him see me like this. It was the last shred of pride I had left. I called him, interrupting his internship, acting deliberately difficult. Then I coldly broke up with him. Ethan just stared at me, his eyes locked on mine. His voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper on the wind. A soft “Okay.” And just like that, four years ended. No fights, no ‘why.’ Just two flat words severing our entire youth. Watching him walk away, silhouetted against the light, I convinced myself he was happy. Relieved, even. Finally free. No debts owed, no ties binding him. We could go our separate ways. I cut off all contact, left town, bounced around the country, never staying anywhere long. It wasn’t until a final piece of family business required me to come back that I returned, reluctantly, to this city. Ethan’s resilience and drive were incredible. Achieving what he had in just three years… he deserved it. And Jessica Bell – she’d left for a prestigious music conservatory overseas sophomore year to chase her dream. Now she was a renowned pianist. Seeing them together… yeah, they looked good. A sour knot formed in my stomach. Too many thoughts, too many regrets. After selling the last burrito to that customer, I started packing up my cart. And just when you think things can’t get worse, the battery on my beat-up electric delivery scooter died. There’s this steep hill on the way back to my place. No juice, no way up. I put my shoulder into it, straining with all my might, pushing the damn thing inch by painful inch. Suddenly, a hand appeared on the other side, pushing alongside me. “No one helping you out?” My heart seized. It was Ethan’s voice. 03 My throat closed up. I just froze, stuck in my pushing stance. Ethan’s lips were pressed into a thin line. He didn’t say anything else, just helped me push. “Why the food cart?” he asked casually, like we were just chatting about the weather. “Just picking up extra work. Make ends meet.” “Seems tough, though. Out in the sun and all that.” “You get used to it,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse. By the time we reached the top of the hill, I was drenched in sweat, face dripping. But I didn’t dare take off my hat or mask. I had no idea if, after three years, he could still recognize me. They were my shields, my pathetic cover. “Right,” he said lightly. “Me, I could never let my girlfriend work this hard. She just has to pout a little, and I’d give her anything.” So, they were that close, huh? My throat felt dry. I just nodded slowly. “So, where’s your boyfriend?” he pressed. “Why isn’t he here helping?” “I can manage on my own.” “Thanks for the help.” I swung onto the scooter seat, ready to make a break for it. Ethan actually let out a short, frustrated laugh. His long arm reached over, plucked the key right out of the ignition. “Where do you think you’re going this time?” “My runaway princess, Ava Miller.” His voice had an edge now, his face darkening. He pulled me back towards him. Like a storm cloud gathering, barely holding back the fury. “Graduated college and vanished. Cut off everyone, even moved out of your family home.” “You really know how to play games, Ava.” He bit off each word, making my scalp tingle. I dropped my gaze, feeling the warmth drain from my body. My voice trembled. “You… you must know. My family went bankrupt. House, cars, everything gone to pay debts. Still owe a fortune.” I forced myself to meet his eyes, trying not to look completely pathetic. “So you just ran? Disappeared for three whole years.” “Ava, did you think I wasn’t good enough to face this with you?” “Or was it your pride? Couldn’t stand showing weakness in front of me?” I shook my head mechanically. “I just…” Before I could finish, a sleek Maybach whispered past us. The window rolled down, revealing Jessica’s perfect face. “Ethan! What are you doing way out here?” “Oh! You found Ava! See, I told you I recognized her.” I stood there awkwardly, feeling completely out of place. The three of us – a stark contrast. Me, sweaty and grubby; them, effortlessly glamorous. “So, where have you been keeping yourself?” Jessica asked, dripping fake sweetness. “Lost touch with all your old classmates.” “Traveling around the country,” I mumbled. “I see,” Jessica said, her eyes sweeping over me, taking in my oil-stained apron. “But what’s going on now? Selling… street food? We all graduated from State U, Ava. Ending up like this… it’s a bit embarrassing, don’t you think?” She giggled, covering her mouth. I looked down at myself. Yeah, the apron was gross. Her question was designed to strip away my last bit of dignity. But three years of scraping by had numbed me. “There’s no shame in earning an honest living,” I said flatly. Jessica nodded, feigning sympathy. “Are you in some kind of trouble? We’re old friends, let me help you out.” She held out a business card. “That’s my number. Text me your bank details, I’ll send you ten thousand dollars.” I didn’t take it. Just stared at her. She added, looking at Ethan with adoration, “Ethan and I are getting married soon. You should come cater our engagement party with your… burritos. For old times’ sake.” I followed her gaze to Ethan. His composed expression cracked, just for a second. “Well, congratulations,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Funny, I have some good news coming up myself.” 04 The burrito cart was just my side hustle. During normal work hours, I had an actual office job. My team lead rushed in, flustered, handing out assignments. “Okay people, listen up! This is a huge potential client. We cannot screw this up.” “The game company they founded? Every release is a blockbuster. This partnership has to happen.” After the lead left, my coworkers started buzzing. “I heard the CEO personally developed their flagship game three years ago. Something about unlocking territories all over the world to finally rescue the person he loves.” “Yeah, the rumor is the whole concept was inspired by his ex-girlfriend. The final level is supposed to be a message he wants to tell her.” “Aww, still hung up on his ex? That’s kind of sweet, actually. I stan a loyal rich guy.” A horrible feeling started creeping up my spine. No way. It couldn’t be that much of a coincidence. “Has anyone actually beaten it? Gotten to the last level?” “Nope. Highest score on the leaderboard is stuck on the second-to-last stage. Nobody’s ever finished it.” “Man, who’s the girl who has this billionaire boss so whipped?” “…” I tried to shake off the unease and went downstairs with my colleagues to greet the ‘big client.’ My boss was practically bowing, walking beside Ethan Hayes, showering him with compliments about our company. Ethan frowned slightly. “Your company’s scale might be a bit… small for our needs. I’ll need to think about it.” My boss’s forehead broke out in sweat. Then Ethan’s eyes scanned the crowd and landed squarely on me. His tone shifted immediately. “Ava Miller?” Every head snapped in my direction. “Ava? You know Mr. Hayes?” my boss asked, surprised. I hesitated, then said cautiously, “We went to the same university.” Ethan let out a cold little laugh. “Oh? Just university mates?” I recognized that expression. He was annoyed. Why? What did I say wrong? Suddenly, he turned back to my boss. “Mr. Davison, perhaps we can discuss this partnership further. But I want her to be the project lead.” My boss, seeing a lifeline, practically tripped over himself agreeing. Didn’t even ask me. Ethan seemed pleased with that reaction. The two of them disappeared into an office for ages. I watched the clock. Almost quitting time. I clocked out and turned to leave. And walked straight into a solid chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” Ethan again. “It’s quitting time.” “Our project discussion isn’t finished.” “Well, I still have to leave on time. I’ve got things to do.” “What’s more important than work?” “The grocery store down the street has a big sale starting at 7 PM. There’s a lot I need to get, and if I’m late, all the good stuff will be gone.” Ethan just stared at me, genuine surprise in his eyes. 05 I used to buy things without ever looking at the price tag. It was all about mood. When Ethan and I went shopping back then, I’d grab anything I liked, swipe my card without a second thought. We’d often stagger home loaded with bags. A single shirt I bought casually probably cost more than his entire wardrobe for the year. And I never thought my ‘generosity’ could be a burden. Until one time I went to find him at his off-campus place. It was this tiny basement room, not even a proper bed. Taped to the wall were flyers listing discount days at nearby grocery stores. On his little table, the bottled water, the fruit – all bought during sales. A bag of rice, a jug of oil – marked with the purchase date and how long they should last. He looked so mortified when I showed up. I couldn’t believe it. “Ethan, stuff on sale like that… it can’t be good quality! You shouldn’t be using this.” He looked incredibly awkward, mumbling defensively, “It’s edible. It works. It’s fine.” Exasperated, I dragged him to the biggest department store. Bought him a small bed frame, mattress, tons of groceries, toiletries. When we were picking out bedding, I told him to lie down, test it out. He just stood there rigidly, clutching the hem of his shirt, brushing off imaginary dust before daring to approach the display bed. I didn’t understand his discomfort then. Now, I got it. That feeling of helpless inadequacy. Today, by the time I got to the grocery store sale, I was already late. I tried to elbow my way through the crowd, but I was no match for the speed and determination of the seasoned bargain hunters – mostly senior citizens. I started to panic. The roof in my rented room leaked when it rained. My mattress was soaked. All I wanted, desperately, was to buy a cheap comforter so I could sleep on the floor tonight. The harder I pushed forward, the more the crowd shoved me back. Someone jostled me hard, and I stumbled, falling to the floor. A heavy foot landed squarely on the back of my hand. Suddenly, Ethan was there, appearing out of nowhere, pulling me up. I quickly hid my swelling hand inside my sleeve, trying to rejoin the fray. He muttered something under his breath, then grabbed my arm firmly. His eyes looked a little red at the corners, his voice rough. “Come on.” “Do you have to buy it here?” I just nodded mutely. … Later, at the checkout, Ethan pulled out a sleek black credit card. The cashier looked utterly baffled. Rich people fighting over discount bedding?

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After years of marriage with no kids, my husband suggested we adopt. Turned out, the kid was a born troublemaker. Not long after the adoption, I got pregnant with my own daughter. When my husband and adopted daughter found out I was pregnant, they gave my belly a creepy look. Later, my daughter and I died in a car accident. When I woke up again, I swore they’d pay! 1. In my past life, my husband, David, and I had been married for years without children. He suggested adopting a child from foster care, and I agreed. The first time I saw Ashley, she was batting those big, watery eyes at me. They seemed so pure and innocent. Looking back, it’s scary how well she could hide herself, especially at such a young age. That day, Ashley pretended to be well-behaved, reaching out her little hand to tug on my sleeve, looking up at me with a pitiful expression. Before I could say anything, David rushed over, blocking my scrutinizing gaze. He smiled and said, “She’s a good kid. Even if we have our own children, she can help take care of her little brother or sister.” Naive me, I believed him. We brought Ashley home that very day. The first night, Ashley “accidentally” broke my perfume bottle. She pouted, looking all sorry for herself. David, drawn by the commotion, rushed upstairs looking worried, checking to see if Ashley was hurt. Then, he looked up, annoyed, and scolded, “It’s just perfume. So it broke. Is perfume more important than our daughter?” I stood there dumbfounded, watching David act out his role as a loving father. In the following days, David changed Ashley’s last name to his. They acted like real father and daughter, and Ashley always seemed to subtly brag about how good David was to her. Then, I got pregnant. Overjoyed, I shared the news with David and Ashley. The smiles on their faces froze. At the time, I didn’t understand why David tensed up, looking grim. We’d been trying for six years for a baby. I expected excitement! Ashley just stopped smiling, giving my belly a strange look. Throughout the pregnancy, I spent most of my time with Ashley. David said he had to travel for work, for about a year. Before leaving, he told me to take care of Ashley. I just thought he wasn’t used to the idea of my daughter yet. Remembering how stupid I was, I wanted to shake my past self awake. Soon, it was time for me to give birth. Ashley “coincidentally” came down with a high fever that day. I, heavily pregnant, kept bending over at her bedside, putting a cool washcloth on her forehead. Ashley was always sickly, getting sick all the time; doctor visits were common. Suddenly, I felt a gush of fluid. I looked down to see that my pants were soaked – my water broke. I carefully moved, trying to get to the phone in the living room to call for help. Ashley then opened her red eyes, with barely concealed hatred in their depths. Seeing my desire to leave, she pinched my arm hard. I gasped. Looking back at her, she gave me a look of feigned helplessness. She whimpered, “Mom, don’t leave me. I’ll be scared if I’m alone.” Saying she was scared, yet wearing a gloating expression on her face. I was in a rush and didn’t notice her expression. I comforted her, then turned and went to call 911. But I didn’t see Ashley lying on the bed, fiercely glaring at my back. David rushed back, bursting through the door in a panic, ignoring my pleas for help, and rushing into Ashley’s room. He scooped her up and rushed her to the hospital. As he left, he glared at me resentfully, not caring that my water had broken and that my baby was in danger if I didn’t get to the hospital soon. 2. Thankfully, the ambulance arrived in time. As I lay in the ambulance, I saw David’s car speed past through the window. My heart turned cold. After my daughter, Lily, was born, I insisted on a divorce. David refused. He and his precious daughter teamed up to trick me. He knelt by the hospital bed, looking all sincere, and said he was sorry, he was just too worried about Ashley and had forgotten about me. I laughed at his shamelessness. I asked him, pointing to my daughter sleeping peacefully beside me, which one was his real daughter? Ashley stepped forward, tearfully saying it was her fault for getting sick, and that Dad was just worried. Seeing that I wasn’t budging, David exploded, cursing me for being petty. My daughter had just been born, and needed her father’s love, he said. I relented again. For my daughter, I put up with it. From then on, David was more restrained, until Ashley deliberately blinded my five-year-old daughter in her right eye. I finally lost it and called the police, but I didn’t expect that they would tamper with my car. I died in a car accident. I can’t imagine what kind of torture my daughter would endure in their hands. Ashley would never allow my daughter to take away David’s love for her. 3. I woke up again before my daughter lost her eye. At the dinner table, I was a little stunned. A tidal wave of hatred swallowed me. I looked up at the familiar house, and at Ashley sitting across from me. I could almost still hear the sound of the car crash, the pain of my organs being crushed. I couldn’t hide my hatred, wanting to stab that little beast to death. She looked at me, pretending to love her “sister,” picking out the fish bones for my daughter, Lily, and putting the fish meat in her bowl. I stopped Lily from taking the fish, putting the fish back. I forced a smile, staring at her. “Lily’s had too much fish today, Ashley, you eat it.” Ashley’s smug expression froze. She blurted out that she didn’t want any. I insisted, picking up the fish and holding it to her mouth. “You were going to give it to Lily anyway, weren’t you?” Seeing that I wouldn’t take no for an answer, Ashley’s face tightened. She forced a smile and said she was full. I wasn’t going to let her get away with it, shoving the fish into her mouth. Smiling sweetly, I looked at her and said, “You’re so silly, I offer you some fish and you refuse. Wasn’t this piece of fish the one you just picked out for Lily?” I emphasized the word “picked out,” watching Ashley’s face turn red as she forced the fish down, a look of pain flashing across her face. She’s a born troublemaker. Unless you poke her, she’ll never feel the pain. Ashley tried to hide the fish bones in the fish meat while pretending to pick fish bones for Lily, knowing she would swallow it and hurt her throat. David came home, carrying his briefcase. Ashley’s eyes lit up. She eagerly ran over to take his briefcase, calling out, “Dad,” in a hoarse voice. David frowned, and instinctively looked at me and blurted out, “Did you force Ashley to eat something again? Didn’t I tell you, Ashley is delicate, she can’t eat unhealthy stuff.” I coldly glanced at him, sat back in my chair, crossed my arms, and said, “Is it wrong for her to eat fish?” David instinctively retorted, “What’s wrong with her voice? If you didn’t make her eat things she shouldn’t, who else would harm her?” Ashley stepped forward, pretending to be concerned, taking David’s arm and standing by his side, speaking up for me. But her voice was even hoarser than before, almost unable to speak. David, frantic, glared at me unhappily. Grabbing Ashley’s hand, he said, “Let’s go to the hospital.” Before leaving, Ashley gave me a meaningful look, following David out. Foiled with harming Lily, she turned it into a sympathy play, making David feel sorry for her and blame me. Such scheming at such a young age. This time, I’d see who had the last laugh. 4. Ashley scratched her throat with a fish bone and bled, and David stubbornly took leave from work to accompany her at the hospital. The next day, I sent Lily to school as usual, and received a call from David on the way. He had the nerve to ask me to bring them food, complaining that the hospital food was too unappetizing. Asking me to deliver it to the hospital in an hour. I laughed out loud. David was still saying it was all my fault for forcing Ashley to eat fish. Saying she was hospitalized, and that I should be there with her instead of him. I said angrily, “You insisted on staying in the hospital, if you’re not there with her, who will be? If you want me to bring you food, you can forget about it, go eat dirt.” With that, I hung up the phone, trembling with anger. How could there be such a shameless person? 5. A week later, Ashley bounced home, with David following behind her. Loaded with bags, unshaven, and with dark circles under his eyes. I curled my lips, eating fresh cherries, one after another, making them swallow their saliva. Ashley, a little greedy, reached out without hesitation to take one. I slapped her hand away, annoyed. “Did I say you could eat them?” Ashley used the same old trick, whining to David. David slumped on the sofa, panting, not even looking at us. Ashley bit her lip, glared at me resentfully, and moved next to David. Grabbing his sleeve, she whined, “Dad, I just got back from the hospital, and Mom won’t even let me eat fruit. Say something!”

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My wife Isabella’s old flame, Liam, had end-stage kidney failure. She went live online, begging the internet to find me. A psychic user commented: “That man is already dead. His spirit is hovering right over your shoulder.” She scoffed, then dangled our young son over the edge of a cliff, shouting at me. “Trying to dodge donating a kidney for Liam? Now you’re teaming up with psychics to spin these lies?” “Ethan, if you don’t show yourself right now, I’ll make this little brat pay for your cowardice!” The live chat went wild: “Why’s the gold digger hiding? The proof of him cheating with those models was rock solid! Playing dead now?” “Yeah! Like father, like son. The dad’s trash, what good can the kid be?” “Teach that scum-pair a lesson they won’t forget!” The wind howled around the cliff edge. My six-year-old son, Leo, was crying, screaming “Daddy!” Hearing him only fueled Isabella’s rage. “Shut up! Just go down!” Then she cut the rope, letting our son plummet into the abyss. When my elderly mother came looking for me and Leo, it just made Isabella angrier. “You old hag! Tell me where your son is hiding!” “You dare delay Liam’s transplant? See if I don’t whip you to death!” She had a whip, dipped in saltwater. Each lash tore into my mom’s skin, leaving raw, bleeding wounds. To force me out of hiding, she even locked my mother in a dark basement, cutting her repeatedly, day after day. Not until my skeletal remains were dug up from the woods out back. Only then did she finally break down, clutching my ashes, wanting to join me in death. 1 In the livestream, the chat scrolled furiously, filled with insults. Suddenly, a highlighted comment slowly drifted across the center of the screen: 【The child’s father is truly dead. His spirit… is hovering right over your shoulder.】 Isabella froze, glancing behind her instinctively. Nothing but wild grass swaying in the wind. She sneered, “What kind of charlatan is this? Utter nonsense!” “Ethan just posted a video on his feed – yacht party with models, living it up. How could he be dead?” “Oh, I get it. Maybe he overexerted himself? Died on top of some woman?” The chat exploded again, a flood of comments saying I deserved it if I was dead. Isabella’s fingers tightened on the rope, loosening it further. Leo’s body swayed precariously in the air. She threatened me again, “Ethan, I’m giving you five more minutes!” “If you don’t show up, I’m throwing this little brat down to his death!” The highlighted comment reappeared: 【He was drained of his blood. His resentment is too strong; he hasn’t moved on…】 Isabella laughed mockingly and kicked the user out of her livestream. “We live in a scientific age, and people still believe this supernatural crap? If I said I was the King of the Underworld, would you believe me?” As she spoke, she moved to cut the rope holding Leo. I lunged forward desperately, trying to grab my son, but my hands passed right through his body. “Isabella!” I screamed at her, “Isn’t my death enough? Why are you hurting our son?” But she couldn’t hear me. A year ago, Isabella’s old flame, Liam, suffered from debilitating chest pains, but doctors couldn’t find the cause. Some quack doctor told her that using blood drawn directly from my heart as a catalyst could cure Liam. Without a second thought, she had me tied up, letting that quack puncture my chest, aiming for my heart. The piercing agony made me beg her, “Let me go… please… I’ll die if this continues…” She just frowned impatiently, her tone cold. “It’s just a little blood. Worst case, I’ll have the maid cook you some pork liver to replenish it. You’re a grown man, stop being so dramatic.” As the blood kept draining, I lost the strength to argue. Breathing became harder and harder. After I died, my resentment was so intense I couldn’t move on. I could only linger near Isabella, watching her and Liam live their blissful life together. In the year since my death, she never once thought of me, not even bothering with our son. Now, because Liam had kidney failure, she finally remembered she had a husband. Too bad I couldn’t help her precious Liam anymore. But my poor son… having to suffer like this because of me. “Isabella, I’m begging you, let Leo go. He’s so young, he doesn’t understand anything…” My voice was like a pebble dropped into the ocean, making no ripples. “Ethan! Five minutes are up! You’re really not coming out, are you?” “Fine! Since you don’t care, I’ll just toss this little monster down!” “No…” “Izzy.” As I cried out, Liam’s weak voice sounded. “Don’t hurt Leo for my sake. He’s your son, and I’m just… an outsider.” “If I have to die, I accept it. Maybe this is just my fate. I only want you to be happy…” I turned my head. Liam was in a wheelchair, his face pale, looking extremely ill. Isabella’s eyes filled with pain. She rushed to his side, gripping his hand tightly. “It’s just a minor thing, it’ll be okay. Once I find Ethan, we can cure you.” Saying that, she stood up and cut the rope. “NO—” Leo fell straight down the cliff face. His terrified screams echoed through the valley. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart. I wanted to jump after him but found myself bound to the cliff edge. All I could do was collapse to my knees, the soul-crushing agony threatening to consume me entirely. 2 In the hospital corridor, the private investigator called Isabella. “Ms. Rossi, we’ve conducted a comprehensive search. We haven’t found any trace of your husband.” “How is that possible?” Isabella cut him off, sending him the video. “He just posted this today. Didn’t you find this location?” “We checked that area, ma’am. According to the marina staff, no yachts went out today, and no one saw your husband.” He hesitated, then asked quietly, “When was the last time you actually saw your husband?” The last time Isabella saw me was the day she took my heart’s blood. After that, she never thought of me again. I couldn’t understand why videos of me were still appearing after my death. Isabella seemed to remember something. She gave the investigator another address to check. It was the place where my blood was taken – the quack doctor’s illegal clinic. “Izzy…” Just then, Liam emerged from his hospital room, his voice weak. “Haven’t they found Ethan yet?” He coughed lightly into his fist. “If they can’t, just let it go. If he doesn’t want to help, I understand.” Seeing Liam blaming himself made Isabella’s resentment towards me deepen. “It’s just donating a kidney! It’s not like I’m asking for his life! Men from poor backgrounds are always so dramatic.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a hollow sound only I could hear. This past year, watching them together, I thought my heart had turned to stone. But hearing her words, my spirit still trembled. I really shouldn’t have harbored such foolish dreams. I shouldn’t have dreamed of marrying Isabella Rossi, the heiress, and certainly not of winning even a sliver of her affection through my own efforts. 3 “Daddy, are you okay?” A familiar voice reached my ears. I snapped my eyes open to see Leo standing beside me. He’d just been thrown off the cliff. I thought I’d never see him again, but here he was, with me. I hugged him tightly, tears blurring my vision. “I’m so sorry… Daddy was useless…” But Leo used his small hands to wipe away my tears, smiling at me. “Don’t cry, Daddy. I missed you so much this past year. It’s great that I can finally be with you!” Suddenly, his little face scrunched up. “It’s just… Grandma won’t be able to find me. She must be really sad…” Before he finished speaking, I saw my mom enter the hospital room. The moment Isabella saw my mom, her face darkened. “What are you doing here?” The disdain in her eyes was unmistakable. Ever since we got married, she’d looked down on my mom, thinking her background wasn’t good enough. She’d even kicked her out and sent her back to her hometown while I was away. “I came to see Ethan and Leo,” my mom said timidly. “Ethan hasn’t contacted me once this year. I was worried something happened, so I came to…” Leo whispered urgently, “Oh no, Daddy, I never told Grandma you died. She thinks you’re still alive.” Isabella, that vicious woman, already disliked my mom. Now, convinced I was deliberately hiding from her, she would never let my mom off easily. “Mom, run! Get out of here!” I yelled frantically, but my mom couldn’t hear me. 4 In the next second, Isabella grabbed my mom by the collar, her eyes fierce. “Tell me! Where is that bastard Ethan hiding?” My mom trembled, terrified, not understanding Isabella’s fury, but quickly tried to explain: “I haven’t seen Ethan in a long time. I know you don’t like me, I’ll leave right now.” Isabella sneered, shoving her to the ground. “Looks like you won’t talk unless I teach you a lesson!” She waved for a bodyguard to bring the whip and, without hesitation, lashed out at my mom. “Get Ethan out here right now, or I’ll whip you to death!” My mom curled up on the floor in agony, crying out for mercy: “Ethan really hasn’t contacted me… Did you two have a fight?” “I’ll call him, tell him to come back and apologize…” With trembling hands, she pulled her old phone from her pocket, struggling to dial my number. My heart felt like it was being shredded, the pain almost suffocating me. But all I could do was watch, helpless. Leo clung to my hand, tears streaming down his face. “Daddy, Grandma’s not going to die, is she…?” After my mom managed to dial my number, Isabella snatched the phone away. “Ethan, I’m giving you ten minutes.” “If you don’t come to the hospital, don’t blame me for what happens to your mother!” However, only the cold, automated voice message played from the other end. Isabella frowned, checked the number, and dialed again. Still switched off. Her face instantly turned menacing. The whip in her hand cracked down violently on my mother again. “You’re conspiring with Ethan to trick me, aren’t you?” “Tell me! Where is Ethan!” My mom scrambled backward, stammering: “Please, don’t be hasty, maybe Ethan’s phone just died…” “Died?” Isabella scoffed, her whipping relentless. Soon, my mom was covered in welts, blood staining the floor. But Isabella showed no sign of stopping. “He posted a video today, partying with a bunch of women on a yacht, having the time of his life, and now his phone is dead? Who are you kidding!” “I bet he just doesn’t want to save Liam and deliberately went into hiding!” “You old hag, just die!” I rushed towards my mom, trying to shield her, but the whip passed through me, striking her again. At that moment, my heart felt like it was tearing apart. I turned and knelt before Isabella, pleading with her. “Isabella! I’m right here! Hit me if you want, just hit me! Please, let my mom go…” But she couldn’t see or hear me. Leo spun around frantically beside me, his small face etched with terror and helplessness. He threw himself beside my mom, shaking her gently. “Grandma! Can you hear me? If you can, run! You’ll die if you stay here!” “Isabella is a bad woman! She won’t spare you!” My mom stared blankly into the void, her gaze slowly fading. “Mom—” Trembling, I reached out to hold her, only to pass through her again. My nails dug into my palms. Why… Loving the wrong person, I accepted it! Giving up my life for it, I accepted that too! But what did my son and my mother do wrong? 5 “That’s enough, Izzy,” Liam said softly. “Don’t hurt others for my sake. This is my fate, I accept it.” “No!” Isabella looked at my mom’s lifeless body, the anger still burning inside her. She couldn’t let it go. She whipped my mom a few more times before finally dropping the whip. “Lock this old hag up,” she ordered. “Cut her once every day until Ethan shows himself.” She walked to Liam’s bedside, shedding all her aggression, taking his hand gently. “Don’t think about anything right now. Just rest. Leave everything to me.” Liam could have spoken up while my mom was being beaten, but he stayed silent. Only when she was near death did he put on his phony act of kindness. I’d seen through him long ago. But Isabella trusted him unconditionally. No matter what I said, she wouldn’t listen. Suddenly, Liam’s gaze shifted towards me, his eyes challenging. He… he could see me?! Before I could probe further, he closed his eyes and lay back down.

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My coworker Ashley loved playing the “crazy outspoken” card. But the weird thing was, every time she had one of her meltdowns, I was the one who got hurt. She’d go off on the boss about working late, calling him a corporate slave driver, just so she could duck out early. But somehow, I was the one who ended up getting fired. I became the office pariah everyone hated, while she somehow got praised for being “real.” People started avoiding me, muttering about me being unstable, maybe even dangerous. My own parents were disgusted with me. My boyfriend, Mike, told me I should just disappear. After taking the fall for her again and again, I started thinking something was seriously wrong. I decided to dig deeper. Big mistake. Ashley and Mike cornered me, locked me in an industrial freezer, and left me to die. Only then did I finally learn Ashley’s secret. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to my first day on the job, the same day Ashley started. This time? Oh, this time things were going to be different. 1 “I’m here to work, not be your goddamn slave.” “It’s quitting time! You can’t just keep us here! You pay us peanuts, you expect us to sell our souls for this dump?” “You greedy corporate vampires! Even medieval lords weren’t this messed up!” The shouting jolted me fully awake. I realized, I’m back. I really got a second chance. Across the office, Ashley was ripping into our supervisor, Mr. Henderson. She was the new girl, started today, same as me. After just one day, I’d pegged her as brutally honest, someone who stood up against unfairness. If something bugged her, she let you know. Immediately. Just like last time. The clock hit five, and she was instantly on her feet, grabbing her bag, making a scene. “You gotta stand up to these tyrants,” she announced loudly to the open office. “Otherwise, they’ll walk all over you your whole life.” Mr. Henderson tried to reason with her, stepping in her path. Ashley just slung her trendy tote over her shoulder, ready to bolt. He started getting mad, puffing up. “Your work isn’t finished. Leaving without permission is abandoning your post. I can terminate you for this…” He didn’t even finish the sentence. Ashley shoved him – not hard, but definitely a push – right in the chest. “Look at this pathetic power trip!” she yelled. “Threatening me now?” Last time, I’d been worried she’d lose her job on the first day. I tried to calm her down, told her to just bite her tongue for now. Her response? She’d sneered at me. “People like you, total doormats? You’ll never amount to anything.” So, I shut up. Figured she needed to learn the hard way. Seeing Mr. Henderson’s face turn purple, I braced for Ashley to get chewed out, maybe even fired on the spot. But then, the impossible happened. Again. He stormed past her, rage practically steaming off him, and stopped right at my desk, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Chloe! Pack your stuff and get out! You’re fired!” I was stunned. Speechless. “Wait… what? Ashley was the one yelling at you! Why are you firing me?” I stammered, trying to make sense of it. Suddenly, other coworkers chimed in, backing her up. “I saw the whole thing, Chloe. You were screaming at him. Now you’re trying to blame Ashley?” said Sarah from accounting. “Yeah, we all saw it! How can you lie like that?” added Kevin from marketing. I wanted to scream, to argue, but their next words just confused me even more. “Ashley just complained a little,” someone else muttered, loud enough for me to hear. “But Chloe actually pushed him! She totally snapped! No wonder she got fired.” “Yeah, getting physical changes everything. She’s way too aggressive.” And then Ashley, putting on a show of fake concern, rushed over. “Oh, Chloe was just trying to… stand up for herself, maybe? I’ll go talk to Mr. Henderson, see if I can smooth things over.” She hurried off towards his office, playing the hero. My coworkers murmured about how kind and brave Ashley was. But it wasn’t me. None of it was me. Why did everyone think it was? Filled with confusion and desperation, I followed Ashley and managed to apologize profusely to Mr. Henderson, somehow talking my way back into keeping the job, at least for now. 2 After that incident, Ashley’s “keeping it real” act got even bolder. She managed to piss off practically everyone in the company. And without fail, every single person she offended came looking for me. “Chloe, how could you be so vicious?” They dumped all their anger onto me. Ashley knocked over someone’s fancy latte? The victim would “accidentally” spill scalding water on my arm later. Ashley overwatered and killed someone’s prized desk plant? The owner would passive-aggressively jab me with a cactus clipping. When Ashley deleted a huge project file someone had worked on for weeks, the coworker went ballistic, complaining straight to management. And every time, Ashley would swoop in, pretending to plead my case. “Chloe, jobs are hard to find right now. Just hang in there, it’ll blow over,” she’d tell me with fake sympathy. But I hadn’t done any of it! Why should I have to “hang in there” while people abused me for things she did? Could she… could she be setting me up somehow? That night, I went home and told my boyfriend, Mike, everything. Instead of support, he attacked me. “What’s wrong with you, Chloe? You’re getting so paranoid. Ashley’s been nothing but nice, helping you out, and you’re backstabbing her?” “Ashley’s a sweetheart! She wouldn’t hurt a fly!” I froze. Mike and Ashley… didn’t know each other. Or so I thought. “How do you know Ashley? I’ve never even mentioned her name to you before.” Mike’s face shifted, his tone suddenly harsh. “Isn’t she like, some kind of influencer? I saw her stuff online, maybe a live stream. She seems totally genuine, really kind. Not like you, flying off the handle all the time. What are you, completely unhinged?” His reaction felt so wrong. My gut screamed that something was going on between them. I started trying to discreetly find out what was happening. But I wasn’t careful enough. They caught on. That evening, I walked into my apartment, and everything went black. Someone hit me from behind. When I came to, I was crammed inside… a freezer. My mouth was taped shut. And standing there, laughing cruelly, was Mike, with his arm wrapped around Ashley. “If you’d just played along, Chloe, it wouldn’t have come to this. Always so suspicious,” Mike sneered. “You probably never figured it out, huh? Ashley’s my childhood friend. Like a sister.” “And you? You were just useful. A tool.” With that, they slammed the freezer door shut. I heard the metallic rattle and clank of a heavy chain being wrapped around it, locking me in. I thrashed wildly, screaming against the tape, banging on the insulated walls, but it was useless. The cold seeped into me, deeper and deeper, until everything faded. I froze to death. 3 This time, I wasn’t going to be Ashley’s puppet. Just before she made the move to push Mr. Henderson, I faked a sudden dizzy spell, crumpling to the floor. All eyes immediately turned to me, completely derailing Ashley’s planned outburst. Lying in a hospital bed later (they’d called an ambulance as a precaution), I racked my brain. Why? Why did everyone see me doing the things she did? How could they all be so convinced? Was it possible Ashley had somehow gotten the entire office in on some massive, elaborate prank to mess with me? It seemed insane, but what else could it be? To avoid the nightmare I knew was coming, I typed up my resignation that night and emailed it in. Screw that job. As for Mike? A quick “We’re done” text, then block and delete. Good riddance to both of them. Let the trash take itself out. I thought maybe, just maybe, this time I could escape them, live a quiet life. But things went sideways again, fast. My mom came up from her town to visit. We went shopping. I stepped out of the mall restroom, and suddenly, right there in the crowded corridor, my mom slapped me. Hard. Across the face. In front of everyone. My head spun. I stared at her, utterly bewildered. “You… you ungrateful monster!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face. “I raised you, loved you, and you hit me? How could I have raised such a violent child?” “From now on, you’re dead to me! I don’t have a daughter!” A crowd gathered instantly, whispering, pointing. “Oh my god, did you see that? She hit her own mother!” “Shhh, keep your voice down, she looks crazy. What if she comes after us?” I tried desperately to explain. “Mom, what are you talking about? I just went to the bathroom, I told you where I was going!” “I wasn’t even near you! How could I have hit you?” The whispers around me grew louder. “Sick! I saw her do it with my own eyes! And now she’s denying it? What a psycho.” My mom just gave me one last look, full of utter disappointment and disgust, then turned and walked away, leaving me there alone amidst the judging stares. Could this… could this be Ashley again? How? Frantically, I pulled out my phone and checked Ashley’s social media. And there it was. A video, posted just minutes ago. It showed the entrance to the restrooms. Ashley bumps into my mom, seemingly by accident. Then, facing the camera (clearly, someone was filming for her), Ashley starts laying into my mom. “Excuse me, lady! Watch where you’re going! You bumped me, you need to apologize!” My mom, indignant, fires back. “You bumped into me, young lady! And you should apologize! Are you blind?” The next second in the video… I walk out of the restroom. And I slap my mom. Hard. “You bumped her! I saw it! Apologize!” the video-me snarls. My mom looks utterly shocked, horrified. Then, the video-me grabs my mom by the hair and starts hitting her again and again. “I said apologize! Apologize!” Ashley rushes in, pretending to break it up. “Chloe! Stop! I didn’t know that was your mom! It was just an accident, please don’t hurt her!” The comments section below the video was exploding. All praising Ashley, condemning me. “Ashley is so brave, calling out bad behavior like that!” “But wow, Chloe is terrifying. Even if her mom was wrong, you don’t just attack her like that!” “Look at the rage in her eyes! She wanted to kill her own mother! People like that are dangerous.” I felt like I was going to throw up. Watching that video… watching myself act like a monster… my whole body started shaking uncontrollably. That was my mom. How could I? How could I hit her like that? So brutally? If the office stuff could maybe, possibly, have been some kind of mass delusion or conspiracy… this was different. My own mother wouldn’t lie about this. And the video… that was me. It looked exactly like me. In that moment, hopelessness washed over me. Crushing, absolute despair. It felt like no matter where I went, what I did, I couldn’t escape this twisted fate. 4 The weight of it all was suffocating. Was this it? Was my entire life destined to be lived in Ashley’s shadow? She gets the fame, the adoration, the perfect life built on lies, while I become the monster everyone spits on? The feeling was unbearable. It pushed me, step by step, up onto the rooftop of my apartment building. The wind whipped around me. The street below looked so far away. Just as I leaned forward, ready to let go, a hand clamped firmly onto my arm. I jerked back, startled. Standing there was an older woman. Maybe late sixties, with sharp, intelligent eyes and an unnervingly calm expression. She looked… different. Not homeless, but perhaps living outside the mainstream. Her clothes were simple, maybe a bit eccentric. “You’ve died once already,” she said, her voice quiet but resonant. “Are you really going to choose the same path again? Do you truly want to give up?” Give up? No. I didn’t want to give up. I was furious. I was heartbroken. But I wasn’t ready to let them win. Not really. But what could I do? The woman pulled me back from the edge. She studied me intently for a long moment, her gaze piercing. “Someone’s put a curse on you, child,” she stated finally, matter-of-factly. “Something that controls you.” My breath hitched. It felt like grabbing onto a lifeline in a raging storm. I stumbled forward, grabbing her arm desperately. I sank to my knees on the rough rooftop gravel. “Please,” I choked out, tears finally breaking free. “Please, can you help me? I’ll do anything!” She watched me for another long moment, then sighed softly. “Alright. Seeing as you’re in such a state… perhaps I can help. Just this once.” She looked me up and down again, then her lips moved silently for a moment. She gave a subtle flick of her wrist, almost like brushing something away, but aimed towards my own wrist. “That bracelet on your wrist,” she asked sharply. “Where did you get it?” I looked down. The delicate silver chain bracelet Mike had given me. I tried to unclasp it, show it to her, but the clasp wouldn’t budge. It felt fused together. “My… my boyfriend gave it to me.” A sharp pang went through my chest. Mike. He’d told me over and over again, this was a special charm he’d gotten blessed for me. A protection amulet. Wear it always, Chloe. Never take it off. And I hadn’t. Ever. All this time… the source of my nightmare… was this bracelet. “There’s a binding hex woven into the cord of that bracelet,” the woman explained. “It holds a sympathetic link. That other girl, the one causing the trouble… she holds the master link, the trigger. When she commits an act of violence or aggression, the hex redirects the action, making it manifest through you, through the link in the bracelet.” I stared at her, hope surging through me. “Can you… can you break it? Remove the hex?” Her expression turned grim. “It’s been too long. The link has… rooted itself too deeply into your energy, almost into your very being. It can’t be simply undone. Not quickly, anyway.” The fragile hope shattered, leaving me aching and empty again. I slumped onto the ground, the fight draining out of me. What was the point? “But,” she continued, pulling something from a worn leather pouch at her side, “that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to be done. Here.” She pressed a small, antique-looking brass mirror into my hand. It felt cool and surprisingly heavy. “Take this. It can shield you. Keep it with you always.” 5 Back in my apartment, away from the rooftop and the strange old woman (who hadn’t even given me her name, just told me to call her Ms. Evelyn if I needed her again), I grabbed a pair of heavy-duty wire cutters. I had to get this cursed bracelet off. But no matter how hard I squeezed, the cutters couldn’t even scratch the silver chain. It was unnaturally strong. Worse, every attempt sent a wave of searing pain through my body. It felt like fire licking at my insides, trying to burn me up from within. Gasping, I fumbled for the brass mirror Ms. Evelyn had given me. The moment my fingers closed around its cool metal surface, the pain vanished. Instantly. Completely. From that moment on, I never let the mirror leave my side. Kept it in my pocket, my purse, under my pillow at night. And soon, things started to change. Ashley, apparently unaware that her curse wasn’t working on me anymore, pulled another one of her stunts. This time, she got into a shouting match with a mother in a park and ended up slapping the woman’s three-year-old kid. Hard. The kid’s father saw it. He went absolutely ballistic. He didn’t hold back, laying into Ashley, leaving her bruised and sobbing on the ground. Someone filmed the whole thing, and that video went viral. This time, the video showed Ashley, clear as day, hitting the child, screaming, “Shut up, you little brat!” The comments section flipped. Gone was the praise, replaced with pure outrage. “Ashley! Wtf? How could you hit a little kid like that??” “So the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing was just an act? She’s actually a monster!” Ashley must have realized her usual trick hadn’t worked – the blame hadn’t magically transferred to me. Furious and confused, she stormed over to my apartment and pounded on the door. “Chloe! What did you do? What tricks did you pull?” she shrieked the moment I opened it. Her eyes landed on the brass mirror I instinctively held tight in my hand. She snatched it away from me, then immediately turned her phone towards me, hitting ‘record’ for a live stream. “Chloe, how could you?” she started, instantly switching to her victim persona, tears welling up. “Don’t you guys see? This mirror… it’s evil! It’s an artifact she’s using to control people!” “I knew something was wrong! I haven’t been myself lately! She’s been using this thing to manipulate me, making me do things!” “I thought she was my friend,” she sobbed dramatically, “and she was hexing me the whole time!” 6 Instantly, the tide of online opinion, which had just turned against Ashley, swung violently back towards her. Her followers, easily swayed, bought her new story hook, line, and sinker. “See! I knew Ashley was too good to be true! Chloe must have forced her!” “Only a psycho like Chloe would stoop to using dark magic!” “Hitting a kid? That sounds exactly like something evil Chloe would do!” “Remember she hit her own mom? She’s clearly possessed or something!” “This is terrifying! Is there any way to stop her?” The same people who were calling Ashley a monster moments ago were now back to defending her, aiming all their venom at me. I became the villain again. Curses and threats flooded the chat, raining down on me. Ashley, basking in the renewed support, stood tall, holding the mirror like some kind of trophy. “Okay everyone, I need to be honest with you,” she announced gravely to her live audience. “I’m… sensitive to these things. Energies. The moment I met Chloe, I felt something dark around her. This mirror…” she held it up dramatically, “…it’s a tool of control. She used it on me, and who knows who else she planned to target?” “Imagine! She could commit any crime, do anything horrible, and just use this thing to blame it on innocent people! It’s terrifying!” Her words whipped her followers into a frenzy. “What a twisted, evil bitch! Trying to control people to get away with her crimes!” “If she can do that, nobody’s safe! Society would collapse!” “Someone call the cops! Get her locked up before she hurts someone else!” I lunged for the mirror, trying to grab it back while Ashley was distracted by her phone. “It’s not evil! It’s just a mirror an old woman gave me for protection!” I yelled desperately. “Ashley’s the one who put a curse on me! This mirror just blocks it! Don’t believe her lies!” But Ashley easily sidestepped me, tightening her grip on the mirror. “Still denying it?” she sneered, playing to the camera. “If this mirror isn’t evil, why are you so desperate to get it back?” “And that ‘old woman’? Probably her accomplice! Making cursed objects to help her!” “I’ve already been corrupted by her evil! Are you going to let her harm others?” Before I could react, Ashley raised the mirror high above her head and slammed it down hard onto the floor. CRACK! The sound echoed, but I felt it inside my head, like something shattering within my own skull. An unbearable pressure exploded behind my eyes. My legs buckled. I collapsed, hitting the floor hard. My body started convulsing uncontrollably, thrashing on the carpet. White foam flecked my lips. It felt like I was burning alive from the inside out. I tried to scream for help, but only garbled sounds came out. Through the haze of agony, I saw Ashley, standing over me, pointing her phone camera down. Her expression was one of mock pity and horror. “Oh my god, look!” she gasped to her audience. “The evil energy… it consumed her when the object broke! She’s lost control!” “I… I hope destroying the mirror helped her somehow. Maybe it released her?” “But honestly,” she added, a little harder, “she brought this on herself. If she hadn’t had such evil intentions in the first place, none of this would have happened.” The chat scrolled wildly with messages: “Ashley you’re so brave!” “Poor Ashley, having to deal with this!” “Chloe got what she deserved!” Ashley kept filming, occasionally nudging a shard of the broken mirror with her foot. Each time she touched a piece, a fresh wave of agony ripped through me. The pain was overwhelming, a black tide pulling me under. I coughed, a spray of blood hitting the carpet, and then everything went dark. The next thing I knew, I was staring up at the concerned face of Ms. Evelyn.

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The day my ex-wife, Chloe, rolled back into our dusty little hometown like conquering royalty, she had five years clean on her face and a five-year-old boy clutching her hand. Behind her, not one, but three armored trucks, supposedly stuffed with cash, idled on the main drag. Practically the whole town turned out, gawking. Everyone except anyone from my folks’ place. Which, these days, was nobody. Chloe waved a dismissive hand, all designer sunglasses and sharp angles. Her assistant, some slick city type, started barking orders to guards who began handing out thick envelopes. “Listen up!” Chloe announced, her voice carrying over the murmur, loud enough for even the ghosts to hear. “Ten thousand dollars for every family! Except the Millers, of course.” The assistant smirked, leaning in conspiratorially loud. “Bet somebody’s kicking themselves right now, huh, Ms. Davis? Five years ago, you suddenly went blind, complications with the birth… and that animal took the money meant for your treatment and ran back here to marry someone else!” He gestured at the boy. “Now look. Little Liam’s healthy as can be, and you inherited a fortune! What right does he even have to breathe the same air?” Yeah, that’s the story they all knew. That I, Jake Miller, ditched Chloe when she needed me most, cleaned out our savings, and came home to shack up with someone new. Now she was back, loaded and powerful, ready to rub my nose in it. Chloe scoffed, a cold, ugly sound. “That money-grubbing trash? If he crawls back here on his hands and knees, maybe I’ll toss him a scrap.” Folks shuffled their feet, looking anywhere but at her. Finally, old Mrs. Henderson mumbled, “But, Chloe dear… Jake’s gone. He died years ago. Coyotes got the… well, what was left.” 1 Chloe’s head snapped towards the voice. Her eyes, the ones I… the ones she could see with now, narrowed behind the expensive shades. A harsh laugh escaped her lips. “Dead? He picked a convenient time, didn’t he?” She scanned the crowd. “What, afraid I’d skin him alive? So you cook up this pathetic lie?” She flashed the massive diamond on her ring finger, twisting it. “My husband would be disgusted if he knew I was even talking about such lowlifes!” Watching her, that ten-ton weight I’d carried in my chest for five years finally started to crumble. The little boy, Liam, tugged at her sleeve, his face scrunched up. “Mommy, I don’t like hearing that bad man’s name.” “Shh, baby, it’s okay.” Chloe’s voice instantly softened for him, stroking his hair. But when she looked back at the crowd, her eyes were ice. “Dig him up! Find that worthless piece of trash! I want to see this ‘dead’ act for myself! Anyone tries to cover for him, they lose their payout!” Alex Turner, who grew up down the road from me, stepped forward, looking uneasy. “Chloe, it’s true. If you don’t believe us… just watch.” He held out his phone, then looked away himself, like he couldn’t bear to see it again. “I thought he was just… I don’t know, trying to piss you off back then. I never thought…” The video flickered to life, grainy and dark. It was five years ago, in the humid stink of some underground fight club. That was me on the makeshift canvas, curled up, taking a beating. My face was hamburger meat. The guys ringside had bet big on the other fighter. My job wasn’t to win; it was just to not die too quickly while making it look good. So I protected my head and gut and just absorbed it. Felt like an hour, maybe more. Finally, the other guy won. His handlers swarmed him, cheering. They left me there like a sack of garbage, gasping for air. Everything hurt. Ribs cracked, probably bleeding inside. But a weak grin spread across my bloody lips. Pain meant I was still breathing. That was something. That’s when Alex, the past Alex, swaggered onto the platform. Pure malice on his face. He planted a boot on my chest, grinding down. “Well, well, lookie here. If it ain’t our town’s famous deadbeat dad. Slumming it, Miller?” He sneered. “Trying to earn some scratch for the new wifey? Ten grand don’t buy much these days, especially not someone as good and pretty as Chloe was.” Pain kept me silent, just groans under his boot. He grabbed my shirtfront, spat near my face. “Never met scum like you, Miller! Chloe must’ve been blind long before she went blind to fall for a piece of crap like you!” He shoved me. “Remember digging through dumpsters? She didn’t care! But when she’s pregnant, scared, blind, you steal the goddamn money and run?” His voice rose. “You worthless bastard! You deserve worse than this! I oughta finish you right here for her!” He stomped on my hand, a sickening crunch echoed. Bone grating. Still couldn’t speak. Just took it. The promoter, some greasy guy chewing a cigar, wandered over. He didn’t look surprised, just amused. “Hey, payout time.” He eyed my battered form. “The bosses weren’t impressed. Said you looked like you were faking half of it. Gonna have to dock your pay. Half.” “No! We agreed…” I tried to push myself up, desperate. He kicked me back down, hard. “Don’t think I dunno your situation, pal,” he growled. “Wife, kid, ICU, bills piling up. You ain’t nobody. You’re a punching bag. Be grateful I’m paying you at all. Open your mouth again, and maybe I make a call, make sure nobody in your family gets decent care. Savvy?” He threw a thin wad of bills onto my bloody face and strutted off. Just like that, half the money – the money Chloe and the baby needed – gone. What could I do? How could I save them now? Tears, hot and stinging, finally broke free. I hadn’t cried through the beating, but this… this broke me. As I crawled, trying to gather the scattered, blood-stained dollars, Alex grabbed my hair and slammed my head against a metal support post. “Thieving scumbag! Taking her lifeline! Chloe shoulda cut your balls off and fed ’em to the dogs!” My vision swam. Just before I blacked out, a faint ringing. My phone. Shoving Alex off with the last of my strength, I fumbled in my beat-up gym bag nearby and pulled out a cheap burner phone. The screen glowed: County General Hospital. 2 “Mr. Miller? This is accounting. The ten thousand dollar deposit for Mrs. Davis’s care is nearly depleted. You’ll need to arrange further payment within 24 hours to continue services.” The nurse’s voice was flat, routine. It froze me to the core. I clutched the pathetic five grand in my fist, knuckles white. “Damn it!” I slammed my hand against the damp concrete wall. Months of getting my brains beat in, and it still wasn’t enough. Not even close. A stale half-bagel tumbled out of my bag – tomorrow’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I snatched it up, brushed off the grime. Time to go. But Alex caught up to me as I limped towards the exit. “Hold up. What was that call? About Chloe’s bill?” His voice was different now, confused. “You didn’t… run off with the money? You’ve been paying for her?” I didn’t want to explain. What difference did it make? Telling people wouldn’t change anything. But Alex wouldn’t let it go. He grabbed my arm, spun me around, pinned me against the railing. “Tell me what the hell is going on, Jake!” Pushed too far, something snapped. I threw his hand off, roaring, “It’s exactly what you think! She’s my wife! That’s my kid she was carrying! She’s sick! You think I’d just leave her?” “Then why…?” Alex trailed off, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how much she hates you right now? How hurt she is?” “You don’t understand!” I turned away, rain mixing with the blood dripping down my neck. “The doctors said… Chloe’s eyes… only my corneas were a match…” Alex’s hand dropped from my arm. He stumbled back. “So… this whole act… running off, the new wife story… you did it all… so she’d hate you?” I didn’t answer. Just walked out into the downpour. I figured I’d never see Alex again. But the next night, when they dragged me off the canvas, barely conscious, he was there. Pushed through the jeering crowd, lifted me like I weighed nothing, and took me back to his place. Cleaned me up, best he could. Shoved a wad of cash in my hand before I left. “Jake,” he’d said gruffly, eyes red-rimmed, “we grew up together, man. You, me, Chloe. You’re in trouble, I ain’t gonna stand by.” He tried to sound tough, but his voice trembled. “Take it. And don’t you dare fucking die on me.” For three months, Alex showed up. Watched me get pulverized. Bandaged me up afterwards. The worst time, I got thrown from a five-foot platform, landed wrong. Coughed up blood, ended up in the ER. Woke up to Alex pacing like a caged tiger. “You’re insane, Jake! You keep this up, you’re gonna kill yourself!” I managed a weak smile. “It’s okay. No more fights.” Chloe’s due date was almost here. The day she went into labor, I was there, leaning on a crutch Alex had “borrowed” for me, pacing outside the delivery room. When that first tiny cry cut through the silence, I broke down, sobbing like a baby myself. Alex clapped me on the shoulder, grinning. “Alright! Go see ’em, man! Go see your family!” I shook my head. Pointed to another form I held – a surgical consent form. He read it. His face went slack, then white. “You’re… giving Chloe… your eyes?” 3 “Not my eyes,” I corrected softly. “Just the corneas.” My voice was raspy. “She wasn’t born blind. The doctors said transplants could work. Healthy corneas, she sees again.” I took a shaky breath. “Couldn’t do the surgery while she was pregnant. Had to wait till the baby was safe.” I looked at Alex, trying to make him understand. “Black market corneas cost a fortune, maybe twenty grand each. I didn’t have that kind of cash. Waiting for a legal donation… could take years. Maybe never.” My gaze drifted towards the delivery room door. “I want her to see our kid grow up. So… I signed the donation papers. Voluntarily.” “And that’s why you never went to see her? All this time?” Alex finally got it. He ran a hand through his hair. “Jake, you’re certifiably nuts!” “She’s my wife, Alex,” I whispered. “Besides me… who else in this world would love her this much? Enough to do this?” I managed a weak clap on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. She didn’t ditch me when I was dumpster diving for scraps back in the day. Being blind… it’s just a thing. We’ll figure it out. Even if we end up begging on street corners, long as we’re together, the three of us… we’ll be happy.” … Coming out of surgery, the world went black. Permanently. Alex stuck by me, a lifeline in the darkness. He’d visit, tell me how Chloe and the baby were doing. Said she could see perfectly, that the baby was small but strong. Then, about a month later, he showed up, quiet. Too quiet. My gut clenched. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is it Chloe? The baby?” “Chloe’s getting married, Jake.” Alex wouldn’t meet my non-existent gaze. “Some rich guy, Tom Vance, just showed up out of nowhere. Proposed. She said yes. Just like that.” He sounded choked with anger. Silence stretched. Then, finally, I found my voice. Calm. Too calm. “Someone willing to take care of them… That’s good.” My throat felt thick. “I’m useless like this. Can’t drag them down.” “Jake, snap out of it! Nobody’s gonna love her like you do!” I shook my head, cutting him off. “Take me to see them, Alex. Just once. From a distance. Please.” Outside her hospital room door, we heard him. Tom Vance. Voice smooth, concerned. “Don’t you worry, Chloe. Liam’s heart condition… we’ll handle it after the wedding. Top specialists. We just need to find a suitable heart donor match…” My legs gave out. I slid down the wall, the world spinning, a roaring in my ears. Heart condition? My son? How? Alex hauled me up, pulling me away before they heard. Back in my own bleak room, the shock wouldn’t fade. Alex did some digging. Found the baby’s chart. Congenital heart defect. Severe. “It’s fate, Jake. Just damn rotten luck,” Alex muttered, helpless. But I knew what I had to do. A terrible certainty settled in my chest. Two weeks later, they were prepping me for another surgery. As they wheeled me towards the OR, Alex grabbed my arm, his face grim. “You sure about this, man? No regrets?” “He’s my son, Alex,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Of course.” “If Chloe ever finds out…” “She won’t.” I gripped his hand, pleading. “Promise me. Make sure she never knows. Let her hate me. It’s better.” A final thought surfaced. “One last thing… Can I hear her voice? Just one more time? Call her… please?” My life, twenty-six short years. Lost so much, gained so little. All I wanted now was the sound of her voice. “Yeah, okay, Jake. Okay.” Alex fumbled with his phone, dialed. It connected. Then Chloe’s voice, cold as steel. “Alex? Are you calling to plead Jake’s case again?” The bitterness dripped from every word. “Let me tell you something. A man who abandons his blind wife and sick child deserves whatever hell finds him. I will never forgive him.” “Wait, Chloe, you don’t understand, he—” Alex started, desperate. “Unless he’s dead, Alex,” she cut him off sharply, “don’t ever mention his name to me again!” Click. The line went dead. Alex cursed, furious. “Damn it! This is all wrong! I’m calling her back, explaining everything—” “No.” I squeezed his hand. Forced a smile I couldn’t see. “It’s okay. Really. This way… it’s better.” I let go. The nurses pushed the gurney forward. If I couldn’t protect her anymore, maybe her hating me was the next best thing. 4 And just like that, the truth was out. Spilled across the dusty ground of our hometown cemetery five years later. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the wind whistling through the pines. Then, Chloe started to laugh. A wild, broken sound. “Ridiculous! How could that possibly be true?”

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I was working three jobs, busting my ass day and night, all to pay down the mountain of debt—millions, supposedly—that my wife, Jessica, had racked up before we were married, back when her family business went bankrupt. Or so she told me. Then one afternoon, during my shift moonlighting at a high-end car dealership – the kind that sells Lamborghinis and stuff I could only dream of touching – I saw them. A man and a woman pulling up to test drive a cherry-red Ferrari, easily worth half a million bucks. They were in that car for a long time. Long enough for several empty condom wrappers to get tossed out the window, landing right there on the pristine showroom floor. My manager, red-faced and furious, stormed over to chew them out for messing up such an expensive vehicle. The guy just smirked, totally unfazed. “Gotta test drive all the features, right? How else will my lady and I know if we like it? Besides,” he bragged, gesturing towards the woman still inside, “my lady can afford any car she wants.” And then, I heard her voice. Jessica’s voice. The passenger door opened, and she stepped out, cool as you please, holding out a sleek black credit card. “It’s only half a million,” she said, boredom lacing her tone. “Pocket change, really. We’ll take it.” My blood ran cold. Just last night, our daughter, Lily, was burning up with a fever, delirious. But Jessica? She’d refused to even spend twenty bucks on decent fever medicine, let alone the hundred bucks for an urgent care visit. Said we couldn’t afford it. Just let her burn, told her to tough it out until she passed out. And later… later, Lily died. And then, Jessica finally regretted it. … Standing there in the dealership, hidden behind a pillar, I watched the whole scene unfold. A chill went through me that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. My wife – the woman who pinched every penny with me, who insisted we buy the dented cans at the grocery store, who cut coupons like it was an Olympic sport – was throwing around half a million dollars like it was nothing. The guy, the one she was buying the Ferrari for, grinned ear to ear. “Spoiling me like this… aren’t you afraid your husband will get jealous?” A few seconds passed before Jessica replied, her voice dripping with casual indifference. She smoothed down her dress as she walked around the car. “Afraid of what? He doesn’t know anything. He’s used to roughing it with me. Wouldn’t know what to do with nice things anyway. Giving expensive gifts… it’s only worth it when it’s for you, Rick.” The manager, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen the wrappers or heard the conversation, just wanted to take the card and disappear. But Jessica wasn’t done. She pulled out a thick wad of cash – looked like thousands – and shoved it at him. “Here’s a little extra for you. Keep your mouth shut about today. Don’t want any gossip hurting Rick’s reputation.” The way she looked at Rick, that possessive, adoring look… it was like a knife twisting in my gut. It threw me right back to last night. Lily, burning up, 104-degree fever, completely out of it. And Jessica, three times I begged her to let me take Lily to the ER or at least urgent care, and three times she refused, citing the co-pay, the cost of potential prescriptions. She looked at me like I was the one being unreasonable. “Mike, come on,” she’d sighed, like she was explaining something obvious to a child. “You know our financial situation. We barely scrape by. Where are we supposed to find money for expensive doctors and medicines?” “Kids bounce back,” she’d added, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s just a fever. She’ll sweat it out. We save this money, maybe we can finally get you that new coat for Christmas. You’ve been complaining about yours being worn out for years, right?” Lily cried half the night, her head pounding. Jessica couldn’t stand the noise. She grabbed her pillow and went to sleep on the couch in the living room, just to get some peace and quiet. I’d felt sick with worry all day at my other jobs. When I finally got home that evening, I found Lily curled up in a ball on her little bed, whimpering. Her voice was raspy. “Daddy, I feel really bad. When is Mommy going to take me to the doctor?” What could I say? My heart broke just looking at her small, flushed face. I stroked her hair. “Daddy’s going to talk to Mommy again, sweetie. And if she still won’t listen… then Daddy’s going to take you, and we’re leaving.” The words were barely out of my mouth when the bedroom door creaked open. Jessica stood there, her face a mask of anger. “What did you just say about leaving?” I quickly backtracked. “Nothing, honey. You misheard. I was just asking Lily how she’s feeling.” Jessica stared hard at me for a long moment, searching my face. Apparently satisfied I wasn’t planning anything drastic, she seemed to relax slightly. She scooped Lily up from the bed, her voice suddenly full of fake concern, murmuring about how sick her poor baby was as she carried her to the living room couch. Then she opened a small paper bag she’d brought in. Inside? Cheap, over-the-counter pain reliever and fever reducer. The generic stuff that barely worked. She mixed it with warm water and patiently spoon-fed it to Lily. “There, there, sweetie,” she cooed. “Drink this all up, and you’ll feel better soon.” But Lily was way past the point where cheap Tylenol could help. I watched them, my jaw tight. “Jessica,” I said, my voice low but firm. “She’s this sick, and you’re still pretending it’s nothing? Give me my debit card. The paycheck just hit. I’m taking her to the hospital. Now.” 2 Jessica’s hand paused mid-spoonful. “We can’t touch that money, Mike. It’s already allocated for debt payments. Just wait a little longer.” “She can’t wait! She’s burning up, it’s turning serious! If we don’t get her real treatment soon, she could die! Are you really going to let her miss the window just to save a few bucks?” Years of frustration, worry, and seeing her dismiss Lily’s needs boiled over. I was shouting, I couldn’t help it. But Jessica just watched me lose it, her expression eerily calm. When I finally ran out of steam, she spoke quietly. “Stop acting like a child. The debts aren’t going anywhere. As soon as the paycheck hits, it goes straight to the creditors. We’re barely making ends meet as it is, pinching every penny. Where am I supposed to magically find hundreds, maybe thousands, for hospital bills right now?” Her voice hardened. “What do you want me to do, Mike? Rob a bank?” I stared at her face, so rational it was chillingly detached. A wave of utter helplessness washed over me. I covered my face with my hands and let out a choked, bitter laugh. Seeing my despair, a flicker of something – maybe guilt? – crossed her face. She came over, gently took my hand. “Mike, honey, I’m doing this for her too! Remember our plan? Save every dime so Lily can go to a good college, escape this grind, never know the misery of being poor like us.” Her voice softened, trying to pull me back in. “Besides, I took her to the clinic last week when this started. Remember? The doctor said it was just a bad cold, maybe the flu. Said to let it run its course, lots of fluids. No need for anything special.” Right. Last week. When it was just a bad cold. The doctor had offered a prescription for antibiotics, just in case it developed into something worse. Maybe fifty bucks. Jessica refused. Said it was our grocery money for the week. And Lily, bless her heart, had already been brainwashed by Jessica into being the “sensible, money-saving” child. She wouldn’t dare complain or say how bad she really felt. Just gritted her teeth and tried to tough it out. And now… now it had gotten so much worse. Now she was barely conscious. I started to tell Jessica I was getting the doctor’s note from last week, the one mentioning the declined prescription, but her phone suddenly rang. She jumped like she’d been waiting for the call, turned her back on me instantly, and hurried out onto the tiny balcony to answer it. A minute later, she grabbed her purse and walked out the front door without another word. Gritting my teeth, I rummaged through Jessica’s dresser drawer until I found it – my debit card, the one my direct deposit went into. I scooped up Lily, who was limp in my arms, ran downstairs, strapped her precariously onto the back of our rusty old bicycle, and pedaled like mad towards the nearest bank branch with an ATM. My heart pounded with desperate hope as I slid the card into the machine. Denied. Insufficient funds. What? How? My paycheck had just been deposited yesterday! Frantic, I went inside to the teller. She took the card, typed something into her computer, and shook her head. “Sorry, sir. Zero balance.” She handed the card back. It felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. “That… that’s impossible,” I stammered. As I stood there, numb, trying to process it, the teller’s eyes lit up with recognition, looking at the card again. “Oh, wait, I remember this account! Doesn’t a very pretty lady usually handle this card?” I nodded mutely. Jessica. “Yeah,” the teller continued, smiling warmly. “She comes in every month like clockwork after the deposit hits. Transfers the whole amount out. Said it’s her kid’s allowance, lucky little guy. She puts it all into his savings, sometimes adding even more. We all joke about it, wish our kids had it that good! Financial freedom at such a young age, you know?” I saw the envy in the teller’s eyes. She thought Jessica was diligently saving my paycheck for our daughter, Lily. A suffocating tightness clamped down on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Stumbling outside, I desperately dialed Jessica’s number. Voicemail. Again. And again. It was like she’d vanished. Where did she go? Why would she take every cent, knowing Lily was so sick? Why give it all to some other kid who clearly didn’t need it, while her own daughter…? Just then, my phone buzzed. A notification. Someone tagged me on Facebook. It was Rick. The guy from the dealership. I vaguely remembered adding him ages ago after some brief work interaction, never thought anything of it. He’d posted a picture. A screenshot of a bank account balance with so many zeroes I couldn’t even count them quickly. And next to it, another photo: Jessica, tears streaming down her face, tenderly holding a little boy – Rick’s son, I guessed – who was lying in a hospital bed, looking mildly bored. The caption read: “Just a little cold, but you rushed over to make sure he got checked out anyway. Nine years you’ve been watching over him, Jessica. You’re already the best wife I could ask for, and the mother my son adores.” Numbly, I scrolled through Rick’s public profile. Post after post, stretching back nine years. Lavish vacations, expensive toys, fancy dinners… and there, in the background, sometimes subtly, sometimes openly posing, was Jessica. In almost every shot. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Jessica wasn’t broke. She wasn’t struggling. She had money – tons of it. But it wasn’t for us. It was for them. She wasn’t incapable of caring; her care was just reserved for Rick and his son. Lily stirred in my arms, her eyes fluttering open. She weakly pointed a finger at the phone screen, at a picture on Rick’s feed showing his son surrounded by expensive-looking toy cars. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “That car looks really fancy. Did Mommy buy it for that little boy? Why wouldn’t she buy me the five-dollar Barbie I wanted? Does… does Mommy not like me?” “No, sweetie, no,” I choked out, trying to sound convincing. “Mommy loves you very much.” But the words felt hollow, useless. Seeing the expensive toys, hearing my weak denial, seemed to crush Lily’s remaining spirit. Her eyes rolled back, and she went completely limp, slumping against me. Panic seized me. “Lily! Lily!” I scooped her up and ran. Ran towards the nearest hospital, ignoring the stares, ignoring everything but the dead weight in my arms. The ER doctor took one look at her and his face became grim. “Her condition is critical,” he told me gravely after a quick examination. “Looks like severe pneumonia, possibly sepsis. We need to intervene immediately. Has she… has she always been this underweight? Some signs of malnutrition here too. Sir, I have to be honest, without aggressive treatment right away… she might not make it through the night.” Then came the part about the cost. Intensive care, medications, specialists… the numbers he threw out made my head spin. Tens of thousands, maybe more. Money I absolutely did not have. I stumbled out of the ER waiting area, my mind racing. How? How could I get that kind of money in hours? I called everyone I knew – relatives, friends, old co-workers. Borrowed a few hundred here and there, but it was nowhere near enough. Desperate, I mentioned my situation to an acquaintance from one of my shadier side gigs. He said he knew someone who needed help at a private party that night, “quick cash, good pay, no questions asked.” I didn’t even think twice. “I’ll do it.” He gave me an address in a wealthy part of town. When I arrived, my stomach plummeted. It wasn’t just some random gig. It was a lavish birthday party. And the guests of honor? Rick, his son… and my wife, Jessica. She stood in the center of the opulent living room, holding the boy’s hand, radiant in a stunning designer gown, looking every bit the elegant, wealthy socialite. I froze for a second, then took a deep breath and walked straight towards her, keeping my face neutral. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” I said, my voice steady. “Are you the one who requested the extra help for the party?” Her eyes landed on me. For a split second, her mask of composure slipped. Raw panic flashed across her features. She opened her mouth, about to say something – deny knowing me, probably – but the little boy beat her to it. He pointed a chubby finger right at me, sneering. “Mommy Jessica! Who’s this shabby-looking man? Why is he talking to you? Do you know him?” Instinctively, I glanced down at myself. Faded, washed-out jeans I’d owned for years. A white button-down shirt, clean but worn thin, almost yellowed from countless washes, with a small tear near the cuff that Jessica herself had meticulously patched up months ago, telling me it was “still perfectly good.” Every time I’d suggested buying even a cheap new shirt, she’d insisted we couldn’t spare the money. The boy’s voice was loud. Heads turned. All eyes were on me, the clear outsider in this sea of expensive clothes and jewelry. Jessica stared at me, her face unreadable for a few tense seconds. Then, she turned back to the boy, her voice cold and dismissive. “No, sweetie. I don’t know him.” She waved a hand irritably in my direction. “Security! Get this stranger out of here. We don’t want random people crashing the party.”

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We were arguing in the car when the crash happened. My wife, Olivia, died instantly. By the time I woke up in the hospital, she’d already been cremated. Guilt ate me alive; I felt it was all my fault. I took care of her parents faithfully until they both passed away. But at their funeral, I saw someone who looked exactly like her. After some digging, I discovered the truth: the car crash was faked. She staged her death to ditch me and run off with her college dreamboat. When she found out I was investigating, she lured me to a mountain lookout and, when I wasn’t looking, shoved me off the edge. I blinked, and suddenly I was back in the car, back on that day, right before the argument. This time? If she wanted to play dead, I’d make sure she stayed that way. For good. 1 “Honey, I was thinking maybe we could go on a trip tomorrow? Like camping?” Olivia, my wife, suddenly draped herself over my arm, a complete flip from her usual icy demeanor. I stared at her, thrown by this unexpected warmth. In the four years we’d been married, Olivia had always kept me at arm’s length. If I suggested a vacation, she’d claim she was a homebody, only to turn around and hit the beach with her old college buddy, Mark. If I tried staying home to keep her company, she’d complain about needing “personal space” and tell me to leave her alone. Even intimacy was rare; she always seemed resistant. That’s why we still didn’t have kids. I’d always chalked it up to her personality, figuring enough care and affection would eventually thaw her out. So, when Olivia excitedly suggested this trip, I agreed without a second thought. I even called my best friend, Chris, practically bragging that I’d finally melted her frozen heart. But seeing me lost in thought, she instantly pulled her arm away, her face hardening. “What? You don’t want to go?” The flash of disgust in her eyes hit me like a ton of bricks. I finally got it. She was completely fed up with me. “I’d love to go,” I said carefully, “but your parents just got here. We can’t just leave them.” Her parents had arrived a few days earlier, supposedly to see how their daughter was doing. “Oh, don’t worry about us!” my mother-in-law chimed in, bustling in from the other room. “If Liv wants to go, you two should go. We’ll still be here when you get back.” Her eagerness felt… suspicious. Like she knew about the fake death plan all along. I nodded slowly. “Alright then. I’ll run to the grocery store, grab some things for you guys. Sorry to leave you hanging for a couple of days, but we’ll treat you to a nice dinner when we get back.” Relief washed over both their faces as I agreed. Downstairs, I didn’t head straight for the grocery store. First, I swung by an electronics shop and bought a tiny body camera, clipping it discreetly onto my hiking backpack. Then, I called Chris. He’s a big-shot investigative reporter. “Be near Eagle Crest Pass tomorrow morning,” I told him. “Trust me, there’s a huge story breaking.” He sounded skeptical but agreed to be there. Next stop: the pharmacy. I picked up some prescribed stomach medicine and some strong sleeping pills. When I got back from the grocery run, I found them all laughing and chatting cozily. The moment they saw me, the smiles vanished. I ignored it. “Mom, Dad, got all the groceries. I’ll prep some meals for you now, so you’ll have food ready for tomorrow and the day after.” My father-in-law, who’d made a bit of money in some small business years ago, always spoke with an air of superiority. “Now, Leo,” he started, “remember, no MSG when you cook. Plenty of vinegar, though. And make sure those greens are cooked until they’re mush…” His wife elbowed him lightly. “I don’t really care for your cooking, Leo,” she added, trying to sound polite. “Always seems a bit… off. But I suppose we’ll manage while you’re gone.” I swallowed my irritation and cooked anyway, making sure to label everything carefully. “Mom,” I said, pointing, “this is for tomorrow, this is for the day after. Don’t mix them up.” “Some of this stuff spoils quickly,” I added pointedly. “Could give you an upset stomach if you eat it on the wrong day.” At the mention of stomach trouble, my father-in-law grumbled some more, but thankfully, he seemed to register which food was for which day. 2 We hit the road early the next morning. I’d deliberately oversalted the breakfast I made. Olivia, driving, started complaining almost immediately. “Can’t you do anything right, Leo? Even making breakfast… way too much salt. No wonder Dad says your cooking sucks.” I calmly handed her an open bottle of water. “Sorry about that, honey. Here, drink some water.” She gulped down half the bottle and handed it back. “Hey, the mountain road up ahead gets tricky,” I offered. “Want me to take over driving?” She stiffened instantly, suddenly defensive. “No, I’m fine. I feel like driving today.” I just nodded. Any lingering shred of hope I had for her, for us, finally dissolved. We pulled into a rest stop halfway up. She told me to go dump the trash while she stayed in the car, making a call. I walked a good distance away, then switched on the listening device I’d planted earlier. “Okay, listen,” her voice came through, sharp and businesslike. “Be ready at Eagle Crest Pass. Splash plenty of fake blood around – make it look convincing. Got it?” Pause. “And put that fake rock prop right in the middle of the road. I’ll drive straight into it. Make sure you get good photos.” Another pause. “Don’t worry, you’ll get paid well once this is done.” Silence, then another call. “Mark? Hey! It’s happening soon. We’ll finally be together. Did you remind your uncle to get that death certificate ready? Just hand it directly to the guy who comes with me… Leo.” Pause. “Yeah, the cremation place is all set. Someone’s waiting to handle things on that end.” Another pause, her voice turning syrupy sweet. “Mark, baby, we’re almost there. God, if it wasn’t for that settlement money that idiot got, I would never have wasted my time on him.” In the previous timeline, right after her “death,” Mark had shown up with a bogus IOU for ten million dollars he claimed she owed him. Drowning in guilt and egged on by her parents, I’d sold my house and handed over every penny I had. God, I was such a fool back then. I waited until she hung up, then walked back to the car. She held out an already opened carton of milk. “Here,” she said, trying to sound considerate. “Drink this. You barely touched your breakfast; don’t want you getting hungry on the road.” I took the milk and, under her watchful, expectant gaze, drank the whole thing. Joke’s on her. I was the one who packed the car. I’d swapped her doctored milk with a perfectly normal one hours ago. 3 I sent a quick text to Chris: Eagle Crest Pass. Get ready. If you see anyone suspicious setting something up, film them discreetly, then call the cops. With everything in motion, a strange calm settled over me. Still, looking at the woman I’d loved, or thought I loved, for so many years, knowing how this would end… a flicker of regret, maybe pity, sparked inside me. I just watched her quietly for a moment. She noticed my gaze and recoiled. “God, stop looking at me like that,” she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. “It’s disgusting. Like you’ve never seen a woman before.” “Honestly, Leo, you’re just… pathetic. No ambition. I genuinely can’t stand you.” After I got that settlement money, all I wanted was to relax, enjoy life, spend time with family. But in her eyes, that translated to pathetic. My gaze turned cold. “Then why did you marry me, Olivia? If you didn’t love me, why stay with me?” “Because you wouldn’t leave me alone!” she spat back. “Clinging like some pathetic lost puppy! I only stuck around because I felt sorry for you!” Felt sorry for me. Right. Sure, I pursued her. Hard. Dropped a fortune doing it – expensive bags, designer clothes, fancy dinners at places I couldn’t really afford. She never said no, never even hinted she wasn’t interested. Now I was the pathetic one? I let out a long sigh, picking up the water bottle I’d given her earlier. It was nearly empty. “Okay, okay, my bad,” I said, handing it to her. “Here, finish this. Calm down.” She shot me a sideways glare but took the bottle and drained the rest. I watched her closely. Her eyelids started to droop. She looked like she was fighting sleep. Time was running out. “Honey,” I said gently, “maybe I should drive now? You look tired. Eagle Crest Pass is just up ahead.” We were heading to a campsite high in the mountains. All the turns and passes looked similar up here; it was easy to get confused if you weren’t paying close attention. The mention of “Eagle Crest Pass” jolted her awake. “I’m perfectly fine driving!” she snapped, suddenly alert. “Why are you so insistent on taking over? Don’t you trust my driving?” She was picking a fight, trying to replicate the scenario from the last time, trying to get me out of the car so she could stage the accident. “That’s not it,” I said, feigning helplessness. “I’m just worried you’re tired.” “Oh, I think you don’t trust me! God, you’re such a worrier, always nagging. I’m not made of glass, Leo!” “And remember that hospital project investment I told you about? Mark’s project? You hesitated! So useless!” Mark’s hospital venture. I knew it was shady, probably skirting the law, but Olivia had pushed, so I’d sunk over a million into it. Lost every cent. Afterward, Olivia blamed me, claiming I didn’t invest enough. I glanced at the clock. Past noon. Her parents would have likely eaten their lunch by now. The lunch I’d prepared. “Just get out! I don’t want to look at you!” she yelled. We were on a winding mountain road, miles from anywhere. No chance of catching a cab. But she didn’t care. I looked at her one last time. Her eyes were slits, struggling to stay open. “I… alright,” I stammered, playing my part. “Just… be careful driving, okay? Eagle Crest Pass is right around the bend.” “Get out!” she screamed. The car screeched to a halt. I opened the door and stepped out. The mountain road was deserted. Just me, the wind, and the tiny red light blinking almost imperceptibly on my backpack strap. She didn’t know. Eagle Crest Pass wasn’t this turnoff. It was the next one. 4 I tossed the empty water bottle she’d drunk from into a roadside trash bin, then quickly called Chris. The second I hung up, a deafening BOOM echoed from up ahead. Thick black smoke billowed into the clear mountain air. I sprinted forward. The car… or what was left of it… was completely engulfed in flames, already burning down to a skeletal frame. I dropped to my knees on the asphalt, forcing out gut-wrenching sobs. Soon, sirens wailed in the distance. Someone must have called 911. An ambulance arrived, police cars right behind them, quickly sealing off the mountain road. They loaded Olivia’s… remains… and me into the same ambulance. At the hospital, the official verdict came quickly: severe burns, deceased upon arrival. An autopsy would be required. Tears streaming (or so it seemed), I nodded my consent. Then, I immediately sought out her dear friend, Mark. “Mark,” I choked out, playing the distraught husband. “I don’t know anyone here… the doctors… they said they need to do an autopsy on Olivia… I…” Mark looked genuinely startled to see me conscious and walking around. According to their plan, I should have been passed out cold somewhere. He fumbled for his phone, dialed a number. It rang and rang, unanswered. He looked flustered. “Call her parents,” he instructed me curtly. I made a show of dialing their number several times. No answer. Mark looked increasingly uneasy, but he stuck to the script. He produced a folded document. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. “Death certificate. Signed.” This meant no autopsy. He couldn’t risk them finding the sleeping pills still in her system. If they found that, I’d be implicated too. 5 After arranging things with the crematorium staff – specifically, the contact he mentioned – Mark turned back to me. “Okay, the funeral home is expecting you. Just take her straight there.” He seemed hesitant, reaching as if to pull back the white sheet covering Olivia. I quickly stepped in. “Just… straight to cremation?” I asked, feigning confusion and grief. “Don’t they need to examine the body or anything? Maybe I should check back with that coroner…” Mark’s hand froze. He clearly didn’t want anyone looking too closely. “Just go!” he snapped, impatient. “Do what I told you. Take her to Henderson at the crematorium. Give him this.” He thrust the death certificate into my hand. Heart pounding, but keeping my hand trembling, I took the certificate and headed for the crematorium. Just as instructed, I found the guy named Henderson and handed him the paperwork. He scanned the death certificate, then glanced grimly at the body bag on the gurney. His brow furrowed deeply. He reached for the phone on his desk.

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My stepsister, Ashley, hit the jackpot landing Ethan Miller, the sole heir to the Miller Industries fortune. Invitations to their engagement party went out to every relative imaginable—except me. But on the big day, the party hit a snag. Things couldn’t get started because, apparently, the legendary Mrs. Miller, Ethan’s stepmother and the boss’s wife, hadn’t shown up yet. Suddenly, my phone was blowing up. Ashley was practically begging, pleading for me to grace them with my presence. Me? The person she deliberately left off the list? 1 It was the weekend, so I drove back to my dad’s place. Mom and Dad split when I was in high school. Two years later, Dad remarried. My stepmom, Linda, came with a daughter, Ashley, five years younger than me. Tonight, during dinner, Ashley dropped the bomb: she was getting engaged. And not just to anyone—to Ethan Miller, the Miller Industries heir. The engagement party was just a week away, at the most expensive six-star hotel downtown. Dad had actually mentioned it briefly when I called him a while back. He said Ashley—oh right, she changed her last name to match Dad’s not long after he married Linda—was dating this guy, a few years older than her. Rich family, powerful connections. Apparently, he treated Ashley like gold, chauffeured her everywhere, catered to her every whim. Just sickeningly sweet, according to Dad. “Seriously? I hear that hotel is insanely expensive. An engagement party there must cost tens of thousands!” Linda exclaimed. “Mom, Ethan’s the only heir to Miller Industries. A little money like that means nothing to him,” Ashley said, preening. “He just doesn’t want me to feel slighted. He wants it to be a huge, grand event.” “Oh, well, that’s very thoughtful of him. So, what do we need to do to help?” Linda asked. “Nothing, Mom. Ethan’s handling everything. I’ve already sent out invitations to all our relatives. You guys just need to show up.” “Well, isn’t that nice!” “Oh, and Mom,” Ashley added, “there will be a lot of guests. Ethan said to make sure everyone brings their invitation – it’s one per person – to keep out any party crashers. Remind Uncle Joe and everyone, okay?” Ashley and Linda were buzzing, chattering excitedly back and forth. Dad, quiet as usual, just sat there watching them, looking pleased. I thought back to what Ashley just said. All relatives got an invitation? Because I definitely didn’t get one. “Ashley,” I piped up, “what about mine? I didn’t get an invitation. Am I not family?” 2 Okay, truth is, Ashley and I never really got along behind the scenes, but we always put on a fake-nice act for Dad. She clearly wasn’t expecting me to call her out right then and there. Her eyes instantly welled up, getting red and teary. Total guilt trip mode activated. “Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice thick with fake remorse. “The guest list was just so long… I must have accidentally missed you. And now everything’s finalized, we can’t add anyone…” She bit her lip, looking all pitiful. “How about… how about Ethan and I take you out for a special dinner tomorrow? As an apology? Please don’t be mad. Or… or I could call Ethan right now and see if he can rearrange things?” She made a show of pulling out her phone, pretending she was about to call him. Linda jumped in immediately, grabbing Ashley’s arm. “No, no! We haven’t helped with anything for this engagement party. We can’t bother Ethan with little things like this now! He’ll get annoyed, and what if that makes things difficult for Ashley after they’re married?” Turning to me, Linda added, “It’s just the engagement party, not the wedding. A separate dinner sounds lovely.” Dad thought for a moment, then nodded. “Linda’s right, Sarah. It’s just the engagement. How about this? You can have my invitation. Linda and I can share one.” Ashley looked panicked at Dad’s suggestion. She quickly rubbed her eyes, putting on her best wounded-dove expression. It was clear she really didn’t want me there. I gave Ashley a long look, then turned to Dad. “It’s okay, Dad. You guys go ahead.” I forced a smile. “Like you said, it’s just the engagement. I can always go to the wedding.” “Exactly! See? Sarah understands,” Linda chimed in quickly, piling food onto my plate. Across the table, Ashley shot me a smug, triumphant glance. 3 After dinner, Ashley insisted on walking me downstairs. The second we were out of the apartment and a few steps away, she yanked her hand from my arm like I was contaminated and brushed off her sleeve. “Sarah,” she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain, “there was no mistake with the list. I deliberately didn’t invite you.” “Yeah, I figured,” I said calmly. Her little schemes were always painfully obvious, written all over her face. Only Dad, bless his trusting heart, couldn’t see through her and Linda’s act. My lack of reaction seemed to infuriate her. “Stop pretending, Sarah! God, I’ve always hated how you act so high and mighty, like you’re better than everyone. It’s disgusting.” She sneered. “So you got good grades and make a decent salary. Big deal. Who knows how you really make your money anyway.” I didn’t even bother looking at her. Arguing with her was a complete waste of emotional energy. I turned to leave, but she darted in front of me, blocking my path. “What, did I hit a nerve? Feeling guilty?” “I knew it,” she crowed. “I saw you got a new car recently. There’s no way you could afford something that nice on your salary so quickly. Who’s your sugar daddy?” I rolled my eyes. Unbelievable. The car was a gift—a wedding present from my husband. He’d wanted to get me a Rolls Royce, but I vetoed it—way too flashy. I picked out a modest Honda instead; it was just for commuting, the brand didn’t matter. But seriously? She thought I couldn’t afford a fifteen-thousand-dollar car on my own? Who did she think she was talking to? Dealing with idiots seriously tanks my mood. “Think whatever you want, Ashley,” I sighed. As I started to walk away again, something occurred to me. I stopped and turned back. “Hey, just double-checking… you’re absolutely sure you don’t need me at the engagement party?” She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Positive. Absolutely, one hundred percent positive!” “Okay then,” I shrugged. 4 After graduating college and landing a job, I moved out of Dad’s place. A few years later, I’d saved enough to buy my own small condo. I rarely stayed over at Dad’s—partly because I couldn’t stand being around Linda and Ashley, and partly because I didn’t want to make things awkward for Dad. Dad had told me once that Ashley had a rough childhood. Her biological father was a gambling addict. When he lost, he’d drink and take it out on Linda, hitting and yelling. He’d always be incredibly apologetic the next day, and Linda, being soft-hearted, could never bring herself to leave him. That might have gone on forever, but one night, he came home drunk after losing big. Ashley was just coming out of the bathroom, and he slapped her, hard, right out of the blue. She started screaming. Linda heard the commotion, saw Ashley crying, and was overwhelmed with guilt and pain. That was the final straw. She finally filed for divorce. After Linda married Dad, he learned about Ashley’s past and treated her really well, just like he treated me, his own daughter. Ashley seemed to adore Dad’s calm, gentle nature, always calling him ‘Dad’ affectionately. If it hadn’t been for that one incident, maybe we could have actually been a happy, blended family. But hey, at least Ashley and Linda were decent to Dad, even if Ashley and I didn’t get along. So, I mostly kept my mouth shut. 5 As Ashley’s engagement party approached, I found myself back at Dad’s more often. Ashley, clearly thinking she’d finally one-upped me by snagging a rich fiancé, needed an audience for her bragging. She’d get Dad to call me, saying she wanted to spend more time with her ‘big sister’ before getting married. Dad, naturally, fell for it and urged me to come over. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I usually agreed. After dinner tonight, Ashley launched into another monologue about her oh-so-grand engagement party. “The hotel usually needs to be booked months in advance, but luckily, the Millers just made one call and sorted it out.” “My dress is custom-made by this exclusive designer Ethan found. Apparently, she only creates gowns for high society women.” “I told Ethan we didn’t need an engagement ring, but he insisted! It’s eight carats. He wanted to get something bigger, but eight is my lucky number, so we went with that for good luck.” “Oh, and here are some gifts we brought back from our trip abroad. For everyone!” Ignoring my obvious lack of interest, Ashley shoved a gift box into my hands, winking dramatically. “Go on, Sarah, open it! I picked this out especially for you.” I opened it. A set of skincare products. Judging by the minimalist, chic packaging, it looked like it came from one of those ultra-exclusive, bespoke skincare boutiques in LA or New York—the kind that analyzes your skin and creates custom formulas. I’d actually visited one with my husband during our honeymoon. Seeing me stare at the box, Ashley assumed I didn’t recognize the brand and adopted a slightly mocking tone. “Don’t worry, Sarah, it’s not some cheap drugstore stuff. It’s from a private custom skincare place overseas. I had it made just for you. It’s very expensive. There’s usually a long waiting list.” Linda winced visibly at the mention of ‘expensive.’ I quietly put the box aside and checked my watch, planning my escape in about ten minutes. “So, Sarah,” Ashley started, a sly glint in her eye, “you’re not getting any younger. When are you planning on getting married?” 6 Ugh, bad timing. Should have left right after getting the gift. Ten more minutes of this? Torture. Ashley waited expectantly for my answer, clearly ready to pounce. “I am married,” I stated simply. “You’re married?!” Dad practically jumped out of his chair, his eyes wide. “When did you get married? Why didn’t I know?” After getting settled in my career, I had legally separated my household registration from Dad’s (basically, handled my own affairs independently). I’d planned on telling Dad about the wedding soon, just hadn’t expected this ambush. I awkwardly explained things to Dad for a while. He knows I’m independent and wouldn’t rush into marriage lightly, so he eventually, reluctantly, accepted it. However, he insisted I bring my husband over to meet him within the week. Thinking they’d meet at Ashley’s engagement party anyway, I readily agreed. Dad seemed satisfied. Ashley, however, was not. I could practically see her gears turning. Her original plan was probably to flaunt Ethan’s connections and condescendingly offer to set me up with someone. My being married ruined her chance to show off her fiancé’s ‘generosity.’ Plan A foiled, she moved to Plan B. She actually asked me to be the one to ‘send her off’ from the house on the morning of the engagement party, claiming it was a tradition in ‘their family’ for the older sister to do it. Seriously? It was an engagement, not a wedding. What tradition? I refused. Predictably, Ashley started crying, wailing about how I didn’t consider her and Linda ‘real family.’ She was quite the actress, tears streaming down her face. It was her go-to tactic—weaponized vulnerability. And Dad, bless his soft heart, fell for it hook, line, and sinker. He agreed on my behalf. Unbelievable. Not invited to the party, but now I was expected to be part of the unpaid help! Ugh… whatever… 7 They called it an engagement, but the scale of it felt more like a full-blown wedding. I had to take a personal day off work for this – poof went my perfect attendance bonus. Thanks, Ashley. In the morning, I helped her try on her gown and sat through hours of makeup application. In the afternoon, I had to help her rehearse the engagement party schedule. She kept saying how many important people would be there and how everything had to be perfect. She wanted me to read the entire timeline to her, over and over. If I suggested she read it herself, the waterworks would start instantly, forcing the makeup artist to do frantic touch-ups. Me: … Are you kidding me… Fine. I read the damn schedule. After an exhausting day of catering to her every whim, it was finally time to ‘send her off.’ A fleet of luxury cars—Porsches, Rolls Royces, Maseratis—lined the street outside Dad’s apartment building. Nosey neighbors crowded around the main car, practically falling over themselves to compliment Ashley, gushing about how capable she was. Linda beamed, unable to contain her grin. To show off, Ashley handed out cash—like $50 or $100 bills—to every neighbor who came out. Even though it wasn’t huge amounts per person, with so many people, it added up quickly. And so, like a conquering queen, Ashley basked in the neighbors’ blessings and climbed into the fancy car, ready for her grand entrance. As the motorcade pulled away, the noisy apartment suddenly fell silent. It was just me. Finally. Peace and quiet. Bliss. I went back to my old room to relax. My phone buzzed with a text message. “Son’s engagement today. Why aren’t you here yet?” I typed back: “Nobody invited me.”

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