After being brutally dumped by Chloe, Ethan slept with me when he was vulnerable and drunk. I essentially forced him to marry me. Seven years later, Chloe returned from abroad. Ethan took our son to welcome her back. Everyone in our social circle was waiting to watch me make a fool of myself. Even my own son sided with them, accusing me of being unreasonable and dramatic. He looked at me with disgust, clearly resenting the fact that a woman like me was his mother. That was the moment I finally let go. A forced marriage only breeds bitter resentment. When my editor-in-chief offered me the opportunity to become a war correspondent for Doctors Without Borders, I filled out the application without a second thought. 1 The cake sitting on the dining table began to melt, the frosting drooping sadly down the sides. It looked pathetic and laughable. Ethan had promised me he would pick up our son after work and they would come straight home to celebrate my birthday. I had been sitting at this table for three solid hours. The messages I sent had disappeared into the void. No replies. Or rather, he was too busy to reply. People who usually restricted me from seeing their social media posts were suddenly updating their feeds relentlessly. In the background of one of the photos, a massive pile of luxury gift boxes was visible. In the center was an extravagant, eight-tier custom cake with intricate sugar flowers. Written in elegant icing was: Welcome Home, Chloe. And right below it, in smaller letters: From Ethan. And there they were—two figures I recognized instantly. Ethan, my husband, had his hands gently resting over Chloe’s as they cut the cake together. Leo, my son, was standing beside them, clapping and cheering. Chloe was back. Everyone had rushed to throw her a welcome-home party. No one bothered to invite me. Of course not. Why would anyone invite the woman who shamelessly stole her sister's boyfriend? That lively, vibrant social media post seemed specifically designed to tell me: Mia, the things you stole using underhanded tactics seven years ago are finally returning to their rightful owner. 2 Seven years ago, Chloe moved abroad for grad school. Ethan was subjected to a brutal, sudden breakup. And I took advantage of his devastation and got into his bed. I forced his hand and made him marry me. I used to have hope. I hoped that, maybe, over the course of these seven years, Ethan would slowly start to fall for me. Or, at the very least, my son would stand by my side. But I failed miserably. I didn't get either of them. They forgot my birthday to go keep someone else company. It felt like a mess I had created entirely by myself. I couldn't blame anyone else. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, heavily signaling the arrival of a new day. I took a knife and smoothed out the drooping frosting on my cake. Forget it. I'm not waiting anymore. With a completely blank expression, I blew out the candles and whispered to the empty room: "Happy Birthday, Mia." It's fine. Because after tonight, this will never happen again. My laptop chimed with a notification. My application to be a war correspondent for Doctors Without Borders had passed the initial review. At that exact moment, the front door unlocked. Ethan and Leo walked in. Ethan was holding a small cake box. He immediately launched into an excuse: "Chloe just got back. She doesn't know her way around anymore, so she needed someone to organize a get-together for her. I'll make time to celebrate your birthday properly next week." "Okay." "Are you still working?" He reached out, intending to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "How did you manage to get frosting in your hair just from eating cake..." Looking at the hand that, just hours ago, had been intimately holding another woman's, I instinctively flinched and pulled away. "I've got a lot of work right now. I need to focus." His hand froze in mid-air. I didn't look at them again. I walked straight into the guest bedroom and shut the door. 3 My editor-in-chief's words echoed in my head. The Eastern Republic is a literal warzone right now. Everyone is desperately trying to flee. Choosing to go there now is not a rational decision. My editor is an older woman, a seasoned journalist who has seen the absolute worst of humanity, yet remains incredibly sharp and resilient. She was worried I was making a reckless, impulsive decision driven by emotional distress. She didn't approve the transfer immediately. She gave me a few days to seriously consider it. "Your son is only six years old. Are you really willing to leave him behind?" She knew I had a six-year-old son. Leo. But I had already stepped back for his sake once before. It happened at our wedding reception seven years ago. News broke that a shooting had occurred near Chloe's university in London. Ethan immediately booked the next flight out. I tried desperately to stop him: "By the time you get there, it will be over! The police already announced the shooter was apprehended..." "Mia, how can you be so incredibly selfish?" "She is your biological sister." His eyes were freezing cold. I stood there, stunned, and slowly let go of his sleeve. He abandoned me at our own wedding reception, leaving me to endure the brutal gossip and mocking stares of every single guest. Back then, I seriously considered just calling the whole thing off. But shortly after, I unexpectedly discovered I was pregnant with Leo. So, I chose to forgive him. "I don't need to consider it anymore, Chief. I'm going." 4 In her office, my editor sighed heavily and handed me the final approval forms. She told me to go say my final goodbyes to my family. Given the nature of the assignment, there was no guarantee when—or if—I would ever return. Looking at the familiar number saved in my phone. After agonizing over it, I finally pressed call. I might never come back. I just wanted to see my mother one last time. The call connected quickly. "Hello? Who is this?" Her voice hadn't changed much over the years. "Mom, it's me." "Oh! Mia! What's going on?" "I miss you." The woman on the other end instantly picked up on the strange tone in my voice. She asked cautiously: "Do you... want to come stay with Mom for a few days? I miss you too." I choked back a sob and managed a quiet "Mm." 5 I stopped at the supermarket downstairs to buy some groceries before heading up to the apartment. I blew warm air into my freezing hands. My heart was fluttering with a million different hopeful scenarios. "Mom! It's been so long! Did you miss me?!" "Mom, I missed you so much—" I imagined countless ways to casually, happily greet her. But they all died in my throat the second she opened the door. "You actually came?" My mother looked genuinely shocked, as if she thought I was just joking on the phone. I felt incredibly awkward, but forced a smile: "What? Do I need to schedule an appointment to visit my own mother?" My smile felt stiff and frozen, barely clinging to my face. Finally, my mother stepped aside to let me in. "Well, come on in." It was a cozy, two-bedroom apartment. Very warm and inviting. My mother had a new family now, and a new child. 6 "Mia, how have you and your dad been doing these past few years?" "Dad is dead." The woman looked extremely uncomfortable, but didn't ask any follow-up questions. If she had, she would know that my father passed away the summer after I graduated high school. He didn't leave me a single cent. His will was crystal clear: every asset he owned went to Chloe. So, Chloe used that money to study abroad. Because I didn't technically meet the poverty criteria, I couldn't even qualify for financial aid. I spent my entire college career working multiple part-time jobs just to cover my basic living expenses. She never had to do that. "Mom! The drumstick is mine!" At the dinner table, Lily, my half-sister, immediately pouted and threw a fit when she saw our mother place a chicken drumstick in my bowl. There was literally an entire plate of drumsticks still on the table. But my mother instantly smiled, picked up the drumstick from my bowl, and placed it in Lily's. "Okay, okay, this one is for Lily—" The next second, the little girl picked up the drumstick and threw it back onto the table: "Your chopsticks touched it! It has your spit on it! That's gross! I don't want it! Eat it yourself!" "Lily! Behave!" My mother finally got angry. The child slammed her chopsticks down and stormed off to her room. Leaving me sitting there alone, holding my chopsticks, completely unsure of what to do. 7 That night, lying in bed, I couldn't sleep. I stared blankly at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. "Mom, why is that person still in our house? Didn't you say she got married and left?" "Keep your voice down! Don't let your sister hear you, or she'll start overthinking again!" "She's not my sister! Chloe is my only sister." The walls in the apartment were paper-thin. I heard every single word perfectly clearly. The next day, my mother asked me to go pick Lily up from school. She said it would be a good way to ease the tension between us. "I already told Lily you were coming, so she knows to look for you." I left thirty minutes early. When I arrived, school hadn't even let out yet. This was my old elementary school, so I took a look around. I suddenly realized how much time had passed; the place had changed drastically. There were new academic buildings, and the cafeteria had been completely renovated. I waited in the designated parent pickup area for a very long time. It wasn't until every single fourth-grader had left the campus that panic finally set in. Lily was gone. 8 I immediately contacted the school security guards. We checked the cameras. She had walked out the front gates a long time ago. Remembering the recent news reports about child abductions, I panicked and sprinted back to my mother's apartment to tell her. "You didn't pick up Lily?!" My mother's brow furrowed tightly. "Didn't I specifically tell you to go early?!" "I did go ear—" Before I could finish explaining, a vicious slap sent my head snapping to the side. "Even when you were little, I knew you were vindictive. I can't believe you're married now and you still haven't changed!" "Just because Lily didn't let you eat a chicken drumstick yesterday, you had to retaliate like this?!" "She's just a child!" Her finger was practically jabbing into my eye. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out her phone, ready to call the police. The front door opened. It was my mother's second husband. "Mom! I'm home!" The little girl skipped happily into my mother's arms. "You picked Lily up?" "Yeah, I finished my shift early, so I went and picked her up. We went out for hotpot," the man said, dropping a pink princess backpack onto the sofa. "Didn't I text you?" My mother finally checked her phone and realized she had accidentally put it on 'Do Not Disturb'. "Mia... does it still hurt? Mom was just so panicked," she stammered, looking incredibly awkward. She tried to grab my hand to explain. "Mom didn't mean what she said. Please don't take it to heart, okay?" "If you're angry, you can hit Mom back." She took my hand and weakly tapped it against her own arm. I pulled my hand back, fighting the lump in my throat. "I'm just glad she's safe."
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