1 Five years. When the mental asylum doors finally swung open before me, I thought I’d be greeted by freedom and the warm embrace of my husband, Ryan Dudek. Instead, I was met by countless cameras, their lenses glinting with cold light, and a declaration that plunged me into an icy abyss: “Ms. Lynch, congratulations! This five-year mental asylum reality show has come to a perfect end!” A reality show? I hadn’t even processed the shock when Ryan, who should have been embracing me, appeared. His voice was calm, utterly devoid of emotion. “Noelle, all of this was Julianne’s idea. She orchestrated this program, and you, you were just the experimental subject I found for her, tasked with completing the recording.” So, this absurd charade had been streamed live, with three hundred million people participating in the voting. Julianne Lynch had, in turn, become a scorching hot, in-demand director. And me? For five years, I’d been subjected to electric shocks until my body convulsed, drooling uncontrollably, my mind often a fog. Ryan himself walked over and unlocked the handcuffs that had confined me for five years, saying with a detached tone, “The show’s over. Now, you can go home.” … The iron chains that had shackled me for five years were finally gone, but my legs felt like they were cast in lead. In my palm, I still clutched the last handwritten letter he’d given me, where he promised he could finally take me home. Now, that letter burned my skin. Ryan shook his head, a look of weary resignation on his face. “Those letters were also part of the experiment. It was Julianne’s idea, a way to test if you could survive on love alone.” “Looks like it worked pretty well.” Countless electric shocks. Now, there wasn’t a single patch of unmarred skin on my body. In the dark, windowless ward, I’d swallowed thousands of antidepressants. And the baby, a fully formed life, became deformed during a medical experiment, stillborn. The only thing that kept me going were his handwritten letters, which turned out to be mere props in an experiment. I touched my flat stomach, tears streaming down my face. “How could you be so heartless as to kill our baby?” When our eyes met, there was no guilt in Ryan’s gaze, only pride for Julianne. “That new drug was Julianne’s first commercial deal. No real pregnant women were willing to participate in the trial, so I could only sacrifice a child to help her achieve her dream.” “But you don’t need to be sad. At least you contributed to medical science.” Every nonchalant word he uttered felt like a stab to my heart. I looked around, then crawled towards him like a desperate dog, looking up. “What about Ethan? Why didn’t he come to pick me up?” The man recoiled sharply, as if he’d touched something filthy. But his words plunged me deeper into despair. “Ethan isn’t your child anymore.” Before I could react, the phone I’d just received suddenly rang. My son’s tender voice came through the line. “Are you really my mom? But I don’t want a crazy mom. I want a successful director mom like Aunt Julianne. Can’t you just… die?” Hearing my long-yearned-for son utter those words, I was so shocked my jaw hung open. My son impatiently hung up, and Ryan continued to explain. “Actually, this was also part of the experiment. For the show’s effect, I gave Ethan to Julianne as her son. We just wanted to air your reaction on the show.” Reporters rapidly clicked their shutters, frantically capturing the despair on my face. It was postpartum depression after giving birth to my son that led to me being taken to the asylum. That day, I cried my heart out. I worried my son would suffer without a mother. I worried Ryan would miss me. I had believed that today, we could finally be a family again, free from five years of nightmares. But on this very day, all my hopes dissolved into a colossal joke. “Ryan Dudek, let’s get a divorce.” Tears blurred my vision, and I could only hear my own hoarse voice. Ryan, who had been directing the reporters, finally looked up at me, frowning. Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, he forced a smile as he answered. “Of course, the celebratory dinner is ready. I’ll be right back.” “I’ll transfer the money to her. You’re always the kindest.” Hanging up, he pulled a check from his pocket. “Take it. This is Julianne’s payment for your performance.” Seeing the amount, I laughed. Ten thousand dollars. The price for my five years in hell. I furiously tore the check to shreds and hurled the pieces at him. “I said, I want a divorce!” Ryan’s face instantly darkened. “If you divorce now, what about Julianne’s show? People will talk. Don’t be dramatic.” Instantly, my rage was doused with cold water. I gave a bitter laugh. Even the request for a divorce had to take a backseat to Julianne. Ryan slammed the door shut and left. I threw a cushion after him, like a truly deranged woman. Walking out of the asylum that had confined me for five years, I felt no joy of regained freedom. Seeing my hospital gown, taxis and passersby steered clear of me. In the city center, a giant screen played a promotional trailer for Julianne Lynch’ show. The woman in the sleek business suit was everywhere, alongside my own disheveled photos as a “featured guest.” I walked barefoot on the street, opening her social media feed. In these five years, she had become my son’s mother, my husband’s wife. They had visited Disneyland, the Eiffel Tower, ridden hot air balloons, and dived into the deep sea. They had explored every corner of the country and abroad. Ryan used to say he hated traveling. Every time I suggested it, he would pour cold water on my enthusiasm: “You’re not a child anymore. Where would I find the time to go gallivanting with you? Can’t you try to understand?” But he had not only gone with Julianne alone, he’d also taken tens of thousands of photos. Funny ones, playful ones, intimate ones, even some blurry ones were kept. Yet he hadn't been willing to take even one wedding photo with me. Most glaringly, there was his support for Julianne’s career. He poured millions of dollars into paving her way, placing all resources into her hands. But he knew perfectly well that if I hadn’t been sent to the asylum, I would have become a renowned director by now. I self-destructively scrolled through countless times, my tears almost completely dried up. When I looked up again, I had walked home from memory. I tried the door lock code several times, but it always showed “incorrect input.” A bodyguard brutally kicked me aside. “Mr. Dudek said you’re not allowed in. The mistress of this house is Ms. Lynch. You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay!” He looked back, glaring at me with contempt. “Psycho.” I collapsed weakly on the ground, and through the glass, I saw the three of them—a happy family—sitting around the dinner table. This warm scene was exactly what I used to dream of. But now, the mistress of the house wasn't me. Penniless, I huddled on the cold roadside for a night’s sleep. The next day, I returned to my company, only to be thrown out by my boss. “You dare show your face here again? What project would I trust a crazy person with? Mr. Dudek just gave the orders. If you know what’s good for you, get lost.” Thinking of my mother, still hospitalized, I felt close to losing my mind. “How dare he…” Before I could finish, Ryan’s call suddenly came through. “Noelle Lynch, you know Julianne spent five years on this reality show. Why would you ruin her work?!” I froze. “What are you talking about?” Ryan’s enraged voice was deafening. “Look at the big screen in the city center. These photos and rumors are all your doing, aren’t they? Are you not going to stop until you’ve completely destroyed her?!” I sharply looked up. On the large screen, a continuous loop of Julianne’s revealing photos played, alongside intimate pictures of her and Ryan. The furious voice on the phone grew more intense. “Go apologize to Julianne immediately. The breach of contract fees for the reality show, and your mother’s medical expenses—you can’t afford any of it!” As soon as the call ended, Julianne Lynch published a list of breach of contract fees and reputation damage compensation on her official website. She accused me of maliciously spreading her private photos and slandering her for breaking up my family. When the wall falls, everyone pushes it. The company that had just fired me also sent a legal letter, claiming I had damaged the company’s image and demanding compensation. Someone even leaked photos of me looking like a wraith in the asylum, solidifying the claims about my mental state. “Why is this crazy person out? Go die already!” “How can you trust what a psycho says? She’s just deliberately slandering Julianne Lynch!” … Faced with massive compensation demands and defamation, I couldn’t just sit back. I retaliated by posting an “apology video” online. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have allowed Julianne Lynch to take away my husband and child.” “I’m sorry, after being released from the asylum, I should have called the police immediately, instead of letting them turn on me.” The post went viral. Netizens began to question Ryan Dudek and Julianne Lynch’ relationship. Ryan called me repeatedly, but I hung up each time. Just when I thought everything was fine, my son cried in an interview: “Daddy and Aunt Julianne are just friends. My mom has always been crazy. She even said she wanted Aunt Julianne to die, boo-hoo…” Public opinion swung back again, and my phone was practically exploding. Legal letters flooded my phone. Seeing my own son accuse me, coupled with the astronomical compensation demands, my heart sank to rock bottom. Ryan called, his words laced with threats. “Julianne is being cyberbullied to the point of wanting to commit suicide. Do you have to drive her to her death before you’ll stop?” “Get over here and clarify, apologize!” I couldn’t believe it, shouting into the phone: “I haven’t done anything wrong, no way!” To my surprise, Ryan sent me my mother’s medical bill. Thousands of them. “Then you can try me!” Homeless, I wandered everywhere looking for a place to stay. But without exception, landlords slammed their doors in my face. “Who knows what a psycho like you might do? No landlord wants to take you in.” I tried to explain, “It’s all a misunderstanding…” “I saw all the videos online. Can a child lie? Still so stubborn.” The resounding slam of the door echoed heavily in my heart. I tried to borrow money everywhere, but was ruthlessly refused. “Sorry, sweetie, can’t do it.” “To be honest, Ryan told us not to lend you money. If it’s really that bad… maybe just apologize.” The hospital’s messages demanding payment for medical fees grew more urgent by the hour. An unprecedented wave of fear and exhaustion washed over me. I couldn’t hold on any longer. When he saw me, Ryan smiled knowingly. “I knew you’d come around. After this, I’ll take care of all your expenses.” I gave a weak, bitter laugh. Just as I was about to bow to Julianne, Ryan’s cold voice cut me off. “It’s gone too far. A simple apology won’t do anymore.” He pointed to the shirtless men around us and the dozens of cameras. “You cooperate with Julianne and film an R-rated movie. Then this matter will be over.” I looked up in shock, only to hear him continue nonchalantly: “There’s no high or low art. Hurry up and take off your clothes.” My eyes blazed red. “You want me to take off my clothes in front of cameras?” The man who once wouldn’t even let me wear a dress now felt like a complete stranger. Ryan didn’t answer my question, instead impatiently motioning for them to start the recording equipment. I struggled wildly, almost to the point of exhaustion: “It really wasn’t me! Let me go!” But Ryan refused to listen to another word, ordering his bodyguards to drag me onto the set. Julianne, as the director, followed them in. The moment the door closed, her face twisted into a snarl. “How does it feel to be betrayed by both your husband and son?” “Remember, I worked hard to get them, father and son. There’s no way I’m letting you take them back so easily!” Before I could react, she called a bank manager right in front of me: “Freeze the card used for medical expenses immediately!” What followed was a death certificate from the hospital. My heart plummeted completely. “Give me back my mother!” In that moment, I broke free from the bodyguards and lunged, my hands clamped tightly around her throat. “Noelle Lynch, you’re crazy!” Ryan burst in just then, seeing the scene, and shoved me away without holding back. Julianne cried, her face stained with tears: “Ryan, darling, if you hadn’t come in time, Noelle really would have choked me to death. She said I wasn’t fit to be Ethan’s mom…” Ryan’s sharp gaze fell on me, his face terrifyingly grim. “Acting like this in front of so many cameras, do you even care about being Mrs. Dudek anymore?!” I let out a sudden, bitter laugh. “She killed my mom! What else do I have to care about?!” Ryan froze, gritting his teeth. “Using your mother as a shield? You really are something!” “Since you don’t care about anything, then finish filming this movie, and I’ll make you famous!” He scoffed, taking Julianne with him as he left. The next second, the shirtless men closed in on me, frantically tearing off my clothes in front of the cameras. By now, I had no strength left to struggle. My vision swam with black spots, every part of me ached. I was thrown onto the ground like a dog with no dignity, blood gushing from beneath me. That night, Ryan spent a fortune buying trending topics, making the entire ordeal public. Julianne Lynch, as the rising director, received an award at the ceremony for her edited work. Below the stage, my son sat in his chair, eagerly awaiting. “Daddy, didn’t you say Mommy would be here?” Ryan impatiently glanced at his watch, about to make a call. Just then, his assistant rushed in, frantically waving his phone. “Mr. Dudek, bad news! Mrs. Dudek just livestreamed herself taking sleeping pills to commit suicide!”
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