On the night we finished shooting our wedding photos, I posted a TikTok. My caption: "A little reward for the first time you ever spoke to me." The post featured a screenshot of our very first text exchange, alongside our fresh, glowing wedding portrait. Ten minutes later, Mabel posted her own update. Her caption: "Thank you for still being by my side after all these years." It was a carousel of twenty photos of her and Eric, tracing their lives from childhood to the present. The final slide showed her hooked up to an IV in a hospital bed, with Eric leaning over, his profile sharp and intense as he carefully adjusted the drip rate. Two minutes later, he left a hugging emoji in her comments. I waited until dawn, but my own post remained empty. Not a single trace of him. He had forgotten. Today was our anniversary. Eight years ago today, Eric—a brilliant geneticist with a PhD—pressed a DNA compatibility report into my palm. He told me our genetic sequences were a near-impossible match. He said I was his absolute, once-in-a-lifetime soulmate. As a professional tarot reader, I knew how to read the signs. I knew where this road would lead us, but I dove headfirst anyway. Now, in this three-player game we’ve been running, I’ve finally folded. I’m stepping off the board. … Eric didn’t get home until one in the morning. Finding me sitting there in the dark on the sofa, he let out a sharp, impatient breath. "Why are the lights off? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I stared at him through the gloom, the silence heavy between us, before asking if he would take me out for late-night diner food. Elliott’s brow furrowed. "It's too late. Next time. I have to drop off breakfast for Mabel first thing in the morning." In the end, I took a fifteen-mile Uber ride back to the college town night market. The sweet old lady at the dumpling stall I used to frequent immediately recognized me, greeting me with a warm smile. "Sweetheart! It's been years. Where's your handsome boyfriend? You two used to be glued at the hip. Made an old woman believe in love again." I swallowed hard, my vision blurring as hot tears spilled directly into my bowl of steaming wonton soup. Yes, Eric and I used to have our sweet moments. The cold, brilliant prodigy everyone else found intimidating used to spend hours waiting in line at dessert shops with me, chase sunrises at dawn, and film silly vlogs just to see me laugh. The next morning, Mabel posted on her feed. "A little surprise to cheer me up while I'm sick. Thank you, Eric, for the gorgeous gold bangle. I love it so much~" She tagged him. On her slender wrist gleamed a thick, trendy solid gold bracelet. Yet, when Eric and I got engaged, there was no traditional gold jewelry. I had gently brought it up once, and he’d dismissed it. "Gold is tacky, Miranda. I don't like it." My chest tightened with a bitter ache. I showed him the post, my voice trembling as I confronted him. Eric looked genuinely baffled. "Mabel’s been depressed because of her illness. I bought it on a whim to cheer her up. Are you seriously picking a fight over a sick woman?" "Then go to the mall and buy one for me right now." My voice cracked, thick with unshed tears. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. "Miranda, stop being childish. It's not about the money. It's a stupid gold bracelet—is it really worth all this drama? When did you become so materialistic?" My heart felt squeezed by a cold fist. Right. It was just a stupid gold bracelet. A luxury Mabel could get with a simple pout, while I had spent eight years waiting for a gesture that never came. Sensing my darkening mood, Eric venmoed me $5,000. "Buy whatever you want," he said coldly, turning away. "This is exhausting." Watching his retreating back, my mind drifted back to the day we met. Freshman year. I had almost been hit by a speeding car while crossing the street, and Eric had pulled me back just in time. From that moment, we fell into a deep, consuming love. But everything shifted the moment Mabel returned from abroad. My thoughts spun out of control. Trembling, I pulled a card from my deck. The Moon. Uncertainty, hidden truths, illusion. I resolved to find an opportunity to have a real, honest talk with him. But before I could, Mabel and her son moved into our house. It was a cozy place, and Eric had wanted to upgrade for years, but I’d refused because every corner held eight years of our history. When I pushed the door open that evening and saw toys scattered across the living room rug, I froze. Eric was a neat freak who hated strangers in his space; I didn't even hire cleaning services, handling every chore myself to keep him comfortable. Yet here he was, sitting on the floor with a five-year-old boy named Toby, building a Lego castle. Toby looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes and asked, "Daddy, who is that lady?" "Nobody, buddy. Just a friend," Eric said, not even looking up. Mabel noticed my stiff posture and offered a demure, apologetic smile. "Miranda, please don't mind him. Kids just say things. Eric insisted I move in because my health makes it hard to care for Toby alone. I hope we aren't intruding?" "Don't worry about it. Make yourselves at home," Eric said, gently stroking Toby's cheek with a rare, soft tenderness. "I love having Toby here." Mabel let out a soft giggle, shooting me a fleeting, triumphant glance. The three of them began discussing Toby's preschool family day tomorrow, laughing and chatting like a perfect little family. I stood at the threshold, a ghost in my own home. I walked down the hall and opened the master closet. It was packed to the brim with another woman's dresses and a little boy's clothes. My things were nowhere to be seen. Eric walked in, taking a sip of water. "Toby tends to thrash around in his sleep, so they need the king bed. I moved your clothes to the guest room. You'll sleep there from now on." Later that evening, after my shower, I walked out to find him reading Toby a bedtime story, looking every bit the doting father. Suddenly, Toby pointed at me and began to scream. "Why are you wearing the same clothes as my mommy? Get out! Daddy, make her leave!" I looked over at Mabel, who was stepping out of the master bathroom drying her hair. She was wearing the exact same silk pajama set I had on. It was a graduation gift Eric had given me—one I’d cherished and worn for eight years. Hers was crisp and brand-new. I rubbed the worn fabric of my sleeve, feeling a wave of nausea. Mabel let out a soft, knowing laugh. "Oh, Eric. After all these years, your taste hasn't changed a bit." Eric looked momentarily uncomfortable. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the foyer. "He's just a kid, Miranda. Don't take it personally." "You own dozens of properties, Eric. Why do they have to live here?" "It's close to Toby's preschool." "I'll book them a suite at the Four Seasons. Let's get them out tonight." "No." My eyes stung with hot tears. I ripped my hand from his grip and slammed the front door behind me as I bolted. Misfortune loves company. On my way down, the elevator suddenly jolted and ground to a halt. In an instant, the suffocating darkness of the cramped space closed in on me. Panic seized my chest, triggering the darkest, most terrifying memory from my childhood. I clawed at the emergency buttons, my hands shaking so violently I could barely unlock my phone to dial Eric. It rang and rang. No answer. Just as despair was about to swallow me whole, the call connected. "Eric, please... I'm trapped, help me..." But it wasn't his voice. Mabel's whispered tone cut through the line. "Shh. Eric is putting Toby to sleep. Stop calling." Through the quiet receiver, I heard the faint, muffled sound of Eric softly humming a lullaby, his hand rhythmically patting a child's back. Before my world went black, a single thought consumed me: If Eric knew, would he come? I was unconscious for thirty minutes before the paramedics got to me. The property manager apologized profusely, assuring me they had already contacted my family to pick me up. I sat in the leasing office, clutching a paper cup of water, thinking: Eric, if you show up, I'll give you one last chance. I waited all night. Nobody came. I sent him a text saying we needed to talk about something crucial this weekend. The next morning, he called to say he had a sudden academic conference and had to fly out of town for a week. "What was so urgent last night anyway? You called so many times you woke Toby up." The irritation in his voice choked the words right out of my throat. I swallowed my pain and simply told him we'd talk when he returned. Then, the sky truly fell. My mother fell down the stairs at her apartment. A massive brain hemorrhage. She was rushed into the ICU, requiring immediate emergency surgery. I had no connections in the medical field and, in my panic, turned to Eric. "Eric, please, my mom is in surgery. Can you come? I'm so scared," I sobbed into the phone. "I'm in the middle of a panel, Miranda. I'll pull some strings and get the chief of neurosurgery on it." He hung up, cold and detached. I sat outside the ICU, praying to every god I didn't believe in, begging for her life. Meanwhile, a national entertainment tabloid headline trended all day: Renowned Geneticist Spotted on Vacation Abroad with Secret Wife and Son! The photos showed a tall man holding a little boy's hand, his other arm protectively wrapped around a woman's shoulders. The comment section was a storm of envy: "They've been together since childhood, she posted about it on TikTok before!" "This is what real love looks like." I thought back to when we had soft-launched our relationship; Eric had insisted I blur his face because he "valued his privacy." It was all a lie. The surgery was successful, and my mother was moved to a general ward. I practically lived at the hospital, losing ten pounds in a matter of days. Eric never once showed up. My mother watched me with worried eyes, wanting to ask but keeping quiet. One afternoon, Mabel walked in carrying a bouquet of fresh lilies. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, stepping between her and my mother's bed. "Just paying my respects to your mother, of course. After all, Eric and I are so close." She dragged out his name with a sickeningly sweet lilt. Seeing the confusion on my mother's face, I grabbed Mabel's arm and dragged her out into the hallway. "Well, aren't we hostile!" Mabel pouted, her eyes darting around as she sized me up. "Aren't you even a little curious if Toby is his?" My breath hitched. Of course I was. Suddenly, Mabel's eyes widened as if she’d spotted someone. She slapped her own face, let out a sharp cry, and collapsed onto the polished hospital floor. Pointing at me, tears streaming down her face, she sobbed, "I only came to wish your mother well! Why did you hit me?" Before I could even process her words, a stinging slap caught me across the face. My head spun, and my cheek instantly swelled. Eric stood there, his eyes bloodshot with pure, unbridled fury. "Miranda, you've gone too far!" I stared at him in utter disbelief. He didn't believe me. To him, I was nothing but a violent, jealous monster. He scooped Mabel into his arms and walked away, without even stepping foot inside my mother's room. My best friend, Georgia, came to visit me. She told me Eric and Mabel were being spotted everywhere together, completely ignoring the rumors swirling online. She looked at me with deep concern. Georgia worked in public relations; I asked her to leak the news of my engagement to Eric. I wanted to force him to face me. The coffee shop was quiet when we met. "Miranda, what is this stunt?" Eric rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. "Who is Toby's father, Eric? And what exactly is Mabel to you?" "Miranda, stop with this paranoid delusion! Look at yourself—you're acting completely unhinged!" his voice boomed. Perhaps realizing he had crossed a line, his tone softened, and he reached out to clasp my hand. "Miranda, please. Don't overthink this. Mabel and I aren't what you think. Once I wrap up this project, I'll take you on a trip. Just the two of us." I looked at his hand, then up into his eyes. Slowly, I pulled my fingers away. I said nothing, turned, and walked out. He reached for my coat sleeve, but his fingers slipped off the fabric, grasping nothing but air. Back in my apartment, I stared down at the lab results. Pregnant. Eight weeks. But could I bring this child into our broken world? I pictured Eric reading to Toby, the rare warmth in his eyes. He loved kids, didn't he? Caught in a web of indecision, I eventually returned to our house to pack the rest of my things. As I reached the front door, the sound of a heated argument echoed from inside. "Eric, if I hadn't gone abroad back then, would we..." "Mabel, stop." "I'm not stopping! Miranda looks exactly like me. Even her name sounds like mine. How could you ever love her for who she is?" "I know I made mistakes in the past, but I'm back now. Eric, can we please just start over—" "Enough! Mabel, our genetic markers are completely incompatible. We could never be together. Besides, you and my—" The world began to spin, a loud buzzing filling my ears until Elliott's voice drowned out entirely. Miranda Callahan. Mabel. So that was it. He was with me because our names sounded alike. He was with me because our genes matched on paper. I was nothing but a biological placeholder. I booked an appointment at an abortion clinic. Before I could be called back to the surgical room, Eric burst through the doors, grabbing my arm in a violent, desperate grip. "Miranda! What gives you the right to murder my child?" "Your child? Isn't Toby your child?" I spat, laughing bitterly. "What are you talking about?" He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "Have you no shame, Eric? We are engaged, and you have another woman living in our home!" I pounded my fists against his chest. "At least I don't harbor disgusting secrets, Miranda. Do you think I don't know about what happened to you when you were seven? With that older man?" he hissed. I froze, my hand flying to my mouth as a torrent of tears spilled over. Being molested by my elementary school teacher when I was seven was the defining nightmare of my life. The broken window theory is real: the scars you bare to someone in vulnerability will eventually become the weapons they use to destroy you. During our sweetest nights, when I would wake up screaming from nightmares, Eric would kiss my forehead tenderly, whispering that it wasn't my fault, that I was safe with him. Seeing the utter shock and devastation on my face, Eric realized his mistake. He tried to reach out, his voice suddenly frantic. "I didn't mean it like that, Miranda, I..." I clapped my hands over my ears, screaming to drown out his voice. The pregnancy continued. Because of Elliott's immense influence and wealth, no doctor in the city would perform the procedure without his consent. Using my mother's medical care as leverage, he locked me away in his suburban estate. I was under twenty-four-hour surveillance, unable to even step past the front gate. He would kiss the crown of my head and whisper, "Just focus on the baby, Miranda. I'll make sure your mother gets the best care. Once the baby is here, we'll have our wedding." I stared at the Death card I had pulled over and over again from my tarot deck, and quietly whispered, "Okay." When he discovered I was carrying twins, his devotion turned obsessive. He accompanied me to every prenatal checkup, cooked every meal, and held me from behind at night, massaging my aching calves the moment I cramped. But during his business trip in my eighth month, I finally managed to pick the lock on the study door he kept strictly barred. Inside, I found the genetic reports for Toby and my unborn babies. Toby suffered from a rare, congenital genetic blood disorder. Eric had dedicated years of research to finding a cure, and he finally had. My unique genetic sequence meant the cord blood from my babies could save Toby's life. I dug my fingernails deep into my palms until they bled. My eight years had been a beautifully orchestrated lie. Meanwhile, across the ocean, Eric was standing on a stage at a prestigious international gala, accepting accolades for solving a major genetic breakthrough. As he smiled for the cameras, thinking about what expensive gift to bring home to appease me, his phone began to vibrate...
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