My soul—which should’ve faded away—somehow drifted across decades and landed inside Hazel Bennett’s mother.
These tiny rice-ball hands in mine are warm and soft. They remind me, in no uncertain terms, that this is the temperature of being alive.
“Mom.”
Three-year-old Hazel’s voice—sweet and babyish—sounded so adorable.
“Hm?”
I still hadn’t gotten used to being called that. After all, in my previous life I never raised a child. Besides, this little girl is the scheming “green tea” antagonist who ruined my whole life.
“Mom,” she said again, timid but hopeful, “can I have lunch with Daddy today?”
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Little Hazel’s face flushed with happiness; kids wear their feelings plainly on their faces, and she was nothing like the version of herself from my past life.
The elevator reached the top floor. When the doors opened, a perfectly made-up woman was already waiting.
“Ms. Bennett, Mr. Bennett has guests. Please wait here,” she said.
“Okay.”
I took Hazel’s hand and stepped out. The woman led us to a reception room.
She set two glasses of water on the table. As she bent, her cleavage was on full display. I murmured thanks and shifted my gaze away—only to catch Hazel staring at the woman.
Those round almond eyes fixed on the sexy woman without blinking, stunned and transfixed until the woman left the reception room.
“Hazel?”
I called. She seemed to snap out of some trance, turning to me slowly, as if it took her a while to recognize me.
“Mom!”
She flashed a sweet, ingratiating smile and called me that.
“Thirsty?” I asked.
“Yes.”
She nodded hard and obediently picked up the cup to sip.
Her face was round and I had the silly urge to pinch her cheek to feel it, but she isn’t my child and it felt odd to do so.
This morning she walked into my bedroom and reminded me that today was “see Daddy day.” Only then did I remember she has a father.
In the years we’d been friends she’d mentioned, again and again, how rich and loving her father was—yet I never once saw him.
I’d only run into her mother a few times.
If I hadn’t accidentally learned about her parents’ relationship, I would never have guessed Hazel was an illegitimate child and that her mother was just one of Mr. Bennett’s many mistresses. I never expected that the first time I’d meet her father, it would be with her mother introduced to him as his mistress.
A glass clattered and my memories were cut off. Hazel burst into tears. “Mom, it hurts—wah!”
Hearing her cry, I panicked. Her tiny hand covered her face and I didn’t dare move her, so I asked anxiously, “Where does it hurt?”
She sobbed, inconsolable, words choked by her cries.
The woman who’d brought the water hurried over to ask what happened. I could only say the child kept hollering she was hurt; I didn’t know why.
“What happened?” came a stern, authoritative voice.
“Daddy!” Hazel hiccuped, darting around the table to cling to the man’s leg. He paused, bent, and ruffled her hair. “Why is Hazel crying?”
His tone, while concerned, carried no warmth.
I stood up, silent.
For one thing, I didn’t know what had happened. For another, I wasn’t sure how I should feel toward this man.
“Daddy, Hazel got burned.” Hazel pointed with a pudgy arm at the fallen cup.
“How could you not watch the child!” The man snapped.
I froze, then realized the rebuke was directed at me.
“I—”
“Daddy, it’s not Mommy’s fault!” Hazel shook his leg desperately, a tiny insect trying to shake a tree.
“That maid gave Hazel scalding water.” Hazel jabbed a trembling finger toward the woman.
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry! Mr. Bennett, I— I didn’t mean to.” The glamorous woman was startled and apologized repeatedly.
“You can’t even manage this?” The man tossed the words coldly, then ordered without another word, “Come to my office.”
He lifted his foot and pulled himself away from Hazel.
I stayed where I was, unsettled. The two glasses the woman had brought—mine was comfortably warm. There was no reason the other should be scalding.
I looked down. The overturned cup still lay on the table.
Hazel’s little face was streaked with tears. The man turned and left without seeing Hazel’s outstretched hands begging to be picked up.
I stepped forward and took her hand.
The man’s office was elegant, icy, imposing. I set Hazel on the sofa and sat beside her. He sank into the high-backed boss chair, sitting distant and elevated.
“I heard from the nanny that you were drunk again a few days ago,” he said as he took a cigar from the desk drawer and lit it. “Don’t you think you’re frightening the child?”
“No, Daddy, Mommy hasn’t been drinking lately—right, Mommy? Cough—” Hazel rushed in front of me to defend me.
He exhaled a smoke ring. “What’s the purpose of this visit?”
I was puzzled but stayed composed. “Hazel wanted to have a meal with you.”
“Oh? That’s new.”
He flicked ash and looked at Hazel. “What does Hazel want to eat?”
Hazel’s face lit up when he spoke to her. In a sweet, sing-song voice she said, “Daddy, I want to go to that new Hartwell Bistro on Red Maple Avenue. I like their custard puffs. Mommy likes the cheesecake.”
For the first time, a faint smile crossed his face and his tone softened. “And what does Daddy like, does Hazel know?”
“Steak—Mommy told me.” Hazel looked at me with a look meant to please. “Right, Mommy?”
In a noticeably better mood, he pressed a button on his phone. “Call the Hartwell Bistro on Red Maple Avenue. Reserve a private room for three. Have the driver fetch us at the company.”
“Okay, Mr. Bennett.” The glamorous woman answered.
The man paused, then added, “Actually, let Alex Turner handle it. Don’t bother yourself.”
“Mr. Bennett, I—” the woman started.
He cut her off and hung up.
“Daddy said he’d have lunch with us!” Hazel announced, nearly breathless with excitement. I didn’t want to ruin her mood. Though I didn’t want to go, I nodded to her.
“Has Hazel been so happy? Haven’t eaten out for a long time?” he asked.
“No, Mommy often takes me to yummy places!” Hazel hurried to say. “I’m happy to eat with Daddy!”
“Daddy, can we go shopping after lunch?” she continued.
“Yes. Whatever you want, Daddy will buy it,” he said easily.
“I want Daddy to buy Mommy a handbag!” Hazel blurted out.
The warm atmosphere froze. Hazel’s small hand, lifted above her head, stalled in midair.
The man sneered. “That’s all you want?”
His contempt stabbed me. I rushed to explain, “No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t—”
Hazel grew tense; I watched her drop her hands into fists and pick at her fingers. That tiny habit hit me like a physical blow. In the years I knew her, whenever she felt awkward or anxious she would pick at the base of her nails until they bled.
When our relationship soured, I used to find that habit disgusting.
Now, seeing three-year-old Hazel nervously picking her nails, something fierce flared up in me.
I reached out, took her hand in mine, and glared at the man. “I don’t care what you think of me. I didn’t bring her here to please you—she wanted to see you and I wouldn’t stop her. But if this is how you act, I regret coming.”
“Regret?” He snorted, inhaled his cigar, then threw something at me from the drawer. “Take it. There’s two hundred thousand on this card. Enough for a bag.”
“You—”
“The table’s booked. Take her and go. I’m busy and won’t accompany you.”
Hazel’s little hand trembled in mine. Her face flushed and went pale in waves, full of fear. I slammed down on anger, released her hand, and grabbed the card.
He looked more contemptuous. I picked up the card, walked to the desk, glanced at the nameplate, and tossed the card back at him. “Ethan Bennett! Twenty grand to buy you an hour to take her to lunch!”
He didn’t expect that move and froze. “What if I don’t go?”
“Then I’ll find her a new dad willing to eat out with her.”
02
Inside the Hartwell Bistro.
Hazel sat at the table, the custard puffs she’d asked for arranged before her, but she sat with her head down, utterly still, with no intention of eating.
“Hazel, why aren’t you eating? Don’t you like the custard puffs?” I asked, puzzled.
At my voice she jumped, snapped out of her daze, and fixed me with a blank stare for a moment before forcing a weak smile. “Okay, Mommy.”
She picked up a puff mechanically, bit into it with a stiff expression.
Watching her, I felt a mix of worry, guilt, and frustration.
“Not good?” I asked.
Her voice was rough. “They’re good. Mommy, I love custard puffs the most…”
I was about to ask what she meant when she reached for a second pastry and started eating ravenously. Sensing something was wrong, I tried to stop her, but then—she murmured, “Mommy, I’m sorry.”
“Mommy, please don’t hit me.”
Her voice was low and trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, but a smile still trembled at the corner of her mouth.
My hand froze for a moment, then reached toward her again. She shut her eyes at the sudden movement, and big tears spilled down her cheeks.
She seemed scared of me, but she didn’t pull away.
I took a tissue from the table and gently wiped her face. In a soft voice I said, “I’m sorry. Today was my fault. I’m sorry you didn’t get to have lunch with Dad.”
Her eyes opened slowly, still squinting at me. “Mom, aren’t you mad at Hazel?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Hazel made you miss buying the bag and she stopped you from getting Dad’s card.”
I was taken aback—she’d been thinking about this all along. I hurried to soothe her. “Mom isn’t mad. Look, don’t I have lots of bags? And I’m not short on money! Well… I shouldn’t be.”
Just now, after I’d thrown the card at him, Ethan had still refused to eat with Hazel. He’d said if there wasn’t enough money he could put another hundred thousand on that card.
I was furious. I grabbed the glass on the table and splashed it in his face, cursing, “The baby’s coughing from the smoke—are you blind or deaf?!”
After dumping that awful man, I grabbed Hazel and stormed out of the company.
We were supposed to go home, but the reservation was made at The Hartwell Bistro—might as well eat.
I comforted little Hazel a bit more. She relaxed once she saw I wasn’t going to lose my temper, and began to eat. Still, I could feel her sneaking glances at my face now and then.
Ugh, I’m about to lose it.
I never raised a child. Somehow I’m suddenly a mom, and this kid’s family situation is a mess.
In my last life I made it to sixty. Even though I’d been shaken up by Hazel’s scheming, the back half of my life was steady and quiet.
Who knew how it happened—I was dragged back into life to replay this brutal chapter.
Being tied to Hazel again makes me uncomfortable.
Lately I’ve avoided her as much as possible. She’s sensible—she doesn’t come looking for me and mostly eats with Martha, or she sits quietly in the living room watching TV.
The TV isn’t loud, and she’s always quiet when she watches—no laughing or yelling.
Sometimes I watch her sit there like a little doll and wonder—are kids this easy?
“Mom, why aren’t you eating?” Hazel asked.
“Oh, me? I don’t like sweets.”
I glanced at the cheesecake in front of me. I had no appetite—entirely my fault for zoning out when ordering and picking this.
Hazel frowned and lowered her face. “Is it because Dad didn’t come?”
“No, actually… um… my taste changed.”
She’s little; she won’t see through a small fib. I ordered more.
“Do you have lamb chops?”
“Yes.”
“Pan-seared lamb chops, and one savory pie, and open a bottle of a light dry red.”
Hazel shuddered slightly when she heard me order wine.
“Never mind the wine. Bring fresh-squeezed juice and a cup of warm milk.”
“Okay.”
No matter how bad things are, fill the stomach first.
When the lamb arrived I nearly drooled. The scent was intoxicating; the fat on the surface gleamed golden.
I cut a small piece and put it in my mouth—tender, juicy, utterly delicious. I felt lightheaded, like my soul had floated free.
“Mom.”
“Mm?”
“Is the lamb good?”
“Oh my, it’s amazing—I’m telling you!” I said, cutting a bit for her and placing it on Hazel’s plate. She obediently said, “Thank you, Mom,” and took a bite.
“Mom, this lamb is so good!” she praised.
“Of course!” I swiveled my head proudly and handed more pieces to her.
“Do you really like lamb that much?” she asked.
“Yes!” I nodded solemnly. “It’s my favorite food in the whole world!”
Hazel blinked in innocent confusion. She had no idea that in my last days, food had no taste at all—this lamb was something I hadn’t enjoyed in years.
We ate our fill. At checkout I heard the bill had been put on Ethan’s tab, so I took an extra custard puff to go.
By the time the taxi pulled up to our building, Hazel had fallen asleep on me.
Afternoon sun through the window made a soft halo on her small round face. I looked down and noticed how long and curled her lashes were when she was little, how her hair was a lighter color with natural waves—before she straightened and dyed it black to suit Daniel’s tastes. I’d almost forgotten what her hair used to look like.
Daniel… it had been more than a decade since he left me.
Thinking of him brought back the reckless, painful, tangled love of my youth. The thought of never having to deal with Hazel again was a relief.
“Arrived,” Martin said, pulling me back to the present. I paid, opened the door—Hazel toppled into my lap as I tried to get out.
I sighed and lifted the little one from the car.
…
Back home, barely through the door, Martha ran out, flustered. “Ms. Bennett, Mr. Bennett called—he said…”
“What?” A bad feeling rose in my chest.
“He said you have three days to move out of this house.”
03
“Don’t come any closer!”
A woman in a white gown stood on the edge of the rooftop. The wind whipped her hair across her face so you couldn’t see it clearly.
“Back off! Get away!”
She shouted as she put half her foot over the edge.
“Hazel! Come down!” The man with me sounded frantic and terrified.
I looked at him for a beat before realizing it was Daniel.
And the woman on the ledge—who else could it be but Hazel? It came back to me: today was supposed to be Daniel and my wedding. During the ring exchange someone rushed in shouting that Hazel had climbed to the top of the tallest hotel in the city, threatening to jump unless Daniel came to her—calling it a wedding gift to me.
Everyone had gathered at the hotel rooftop. All eyes were on Hazel in her wedding dress. I felt terrified and weirdly embarrassed, as if they were the couple of the day and I was the interloper spoiling the show.
“Come down—we can talk.” Daniel’s voice was steadier, calmer than before.
“Promise you’ll dump her and marry me!” Hazel shrieked—her face cold and frantic, her look at me full of hatred.
“You—” Daniel was momentarily speechless. He didn’t want to anger Hazel further, so he paused and looked back at me. I nodded.
Guests murmured; wind and whispers made a noisy, chaotic backdrop.
“Come down and we’ll discuss it.” Daniel tried to calm his tone.
“Marry me today or I’ll die for you!” Hazel’s voice rose.
“All right.” Daniel finally said. “Come down and I’ll agree.”
I forced a bitter smile. I knew it was a stalling tactic, but everything inside me felt hollow.
“Then take the wedding ring off her hand! It belongs to me!” Hazel cried, the triumph in her voice like a war horn.
Daniel glanced at me, worry creasing his brow. There was no time for stubbornness now—human life was at stake.
I reached to remove the ring that had just been placed on my finger, but no matter how hard I tried it wouldn’t budge.
As I struggled with my ring, Daniel suddenly stopped me. “Don’t take it off,” he said. He took my hand and looked up at Hazel. “I can’t marry you.”
Hazel’s eyes widened in horror.
“I love her.” Daniel said.
My heart trembled as I looked at him. How long had it been since I’d really looked at his face? He was so handsome when he was young.
“All right, all right!” Hazel screamed, laughing crazily, then turned to me with murderous eyes. “You win!”
Before anyone could react, she flung her arms out and leaped.
“No—!” I woke with a jolt, sitting up in bed, shaking. It was another dream. The events from that day, instead of fading, replayed in my head in sharper detail each time.
Enough. I’ve been tormented my whole life; I refuse to be tied to her ever again.
I had to call Ethan.
By seven a.m. I couldn’t wait.
“Hello, Mr. Bennett. It’s me.” I used a formal address since we weren’t close. His voice at the other end hummed with amusement. “Yeah? Speak.”
He sounded lazy.
“You can make me move, but Hazel can’t be left sleeping on the street. I’m giving her to you.”
“What are you trying to get from me by using her?”
“Nothing. I can’t raise her.” I hesitated, then added, “I have nothing—how could I provide for her? You have the money to protect her.”
“If she needs money, come ask me. If she’s too much trouble, drop her at a shelter.” He said it casually and hung up before I could reply.
I glared at my phone and tossed it aside in anger. Then I caught a flash near the doorway out of the corner of my eye.
I went out and scanned the rooms—nothing. Quietly, I crept to Hazel’s door and pushed it open. It wasn’t locked; she was still asleep in her crib.
Martha wouldn’t be in until eight.
Maybe I’d imagined the flash.
I sat down in the living room and tried to think through our situation carefully.
Hazel’s mom was Claire Bennett. Her ID said she was only twenty-seven, and Hazel was already three—meaning Claire had been pregnant before she even finished college, lying in Ethan Bennett’s bed.
And Ethan Bennett, who valued money more than decency, didn’t just want to get rid of a woman he’d long grown bored of. He was even willing to abandon his own daughter. Logically, I had no moral obligation to take responsibility for Hazel. But my current identity made things awkward. Wearing this skin, I couldn’t simply walk away.
Besides, she was a child.
No matter what, the most important thing right now was to survive.
By the time Martha arrived, I’d already packed a pile of things. I was explaining I had to go out when Hazel came out of her room. Seeing both my hands full, she froze for a moment and asked in a small voice, “Mom, where are you going?”
I slid into my shoes and said hurriedly, “I have to go out for a bit. Be good at home, okay? There are some custard puffs in the fridge—ask Martha to warm them up for you.”
I waved at her, turned, and walked out the door. From inside came a tiny, “Bye, Mommy.”
For some reason, there was a quaver in her voice. TV dramas always make a scene out of a parent leaving and a child wailing—earth-shattering and tragic—but this wasn’t like that.
Maybe it was just my imagination.
I hopped into a cab and headed straight to Red Maple Avenue.
Red Maple was the kind of neighborhood rich people frequented. Prime real estate, plenty of luxury boutiques—and, if you looked carefully, shops that bought pre-owned designer goods.
As expected, after checking nearly every side street off Red Maple, I found one.
I dumped all the bags on the counter—thirteen handbags in total.
The owner’s eyes lit up when he saw the merchandise. Two were limited editions. I told him I had more like these at home; if his offer was fair, I wouldn’t bother shopping around.
I walked out of the store feeling lighter—money really does buy peace of mind.
With a wad of cash, I went straight to the bank.
I’d rummaged through the house and found only two bank cards. I planned to withdraw everything, open a new account, and put the money somewhere safe. For reasons I couldn’t explain, it just felt like the right thing to do.
By the time I finished, it was after two in the afternoon.
I was tired and hungry and wanted to grab something to eat. For the first time since this all began, I felt a little relaxed.
I picked a random restaurant and ordered. While waiting for my food, I was already calculating how much Claire’s shoe collection from that entire wall of shoes could be worth.
Just as my order arrived, my phone rang. The home number showed on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Bennett, where…where are you? Hazel has a high fever.”
When I got to the hospital, Hazel was asleep in a bed. Fortunately, St. Clare Children’s Hospital was close by. Martha said Hazel had been treated here before, so they had files—and some nurses and doctors who remembered her.
Martha didn’t know why Hazel had a fever. My nerves were on edge. I told Martha to take care of her and went out to find the doctor.
Near the nurses’ station, I overheard two young nurses gossiping. “That little girl’s back again—with another fever.”
“Just wait. Her mom will use this excuse to call the girl’s dad for money.”
“That woman’s ruthless. She’d even use her child for a payout.”
“What’s the big deal if she’s hustling for money? Maybe she thinks it’s easy—you know, get money by doing nothing—might as well have her daughter follow suit!”
Their words made my skin crawl, but my sixth sense told me this was about me. I stood quietly listening.
“She’s always getting hospitalized. But this time seems bad—her temp’s 102, and her mom isn’t here.”
“Really? That woman’s always teaching the kid little tricks. Won’t she worry the kid will grow up crooked?”
“So what? Maybe she’s happy to rake it in from the couch. Why should the kid miss out?”
“Heh—you have a sharp tongue. But you’re not wrong.”
“And I say…”
“Cough, cough!”
A man cleared his throat behind me, and it jolted me like thunder. I turned and saw a doctor—tall, clean jawline—the kind of face that made you notice him first.
The two nurses straightened up, greeting him: “Dr. Lewis.”
Then they saw me and their tones went thin. “Ms. Bennett, you’re here too.”
Their faces flushed. They exchanged nervous looks, as if worried I might blow up.
“I want to speak to the doctor treating Hazel,” I said calmly, not bringing up what I’d just heard. I had no desire to argue. I’m not the original person; besides, I’ve lived long enough to know these things aren’t worth the trouble.
“That’s Dr. Lewis,” one nurse said quickly.
“Oh—Dr. Lewis, hello. I want to know why Hazel suddenly has a fever.”
“Come into the consult room,” Dr. Lewis said, glancing at me.
Inside the small office—just a desk, a bed, two filing cabinets—something on the desk caught my eye: a framed photograph of four people. Dr. Lewis, a man, a woman, and a baby in the woman’s arms.
For some reason, the man and woman looked familiar. I searched my mind but found nothing and let it go. I don’t have the energy to dig into every face anymore.
“Doc, she was fine this morning,” I said bluntly. “What happened?”
“Ms. Bennett, did anything…unpleasant…happen between you and the child this morning?” He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“Unpleasant? No—when I left she’d just woken up. Could she have eaten something bad?”
He scanned my face as if seeking an answer and answered coolly, “I asked Martha. She didn’t eat this morning.”
I frowned.
“But Martha said after you left, Hazel went back to her room. At first she thought the child had fallen asleep. Later, when she went to call her to come eat, she found her lying in bed, crying. She cried until she fell asleep.”
He spoke evenly, but something inside me shifted.
“She didn’t eat lunch either. Martha found the fever in the afternoon. I ran the necessary tests—no abnormalities.”
He fixed his gaze on me and said, “She likely had inflammation that weakened her immune system, causing a sudden high fever. Ms. Bennett—do you recall anything that might have upset her?”
I stayed silent. But an image flashed in my head: a shadow that passed the doorway when I’d been on the phone this morning…and that tremulous goodbye I’d heard when I left.
“Ms. Bennett, children are like saplings. They grow according to how you tend them.”
Leaving Dr. Lewis’s office, heading back down the hall to the ward, my emotions tangled. Did I hate Hazel? I couldn’t honestly say hatred was the right word.
More than hate, I felt pity.
Back when Hazel was alive, Daniel Price had told me bits about her. After she died, she became a wound in both our hearts—something neither of us spoke of, but the silence never erased her impact.
I remembered people in the past whispering that Hazel was no saint—some even called her a scheming “green tea” antagonist, needy for men and affection. But after learning about her family, I felt a sliver of sympathy. Maybe she’d become that way because of an unhappy home.
“She grows the way her mother raises her. You can’t blame the child entirely.”
Young me always wanted tidy explanations for human messiness. Fate seemed to mock me—like, since you’re so clever, you take care of it now. What could I do?
Back in the ward Hazel was waking. Her big eyes blinked blearily and then found me.
“Mommy!”
She tried to sit up. I hurried over and stopped her. “Don’t move. Lie still.”
She froze and stared at me like I might vanish. I patted her pillow and smoothed her down. “Do you feel sick anywhere?”
I checked her forehead; it was warm.
“I’m hungry…” she replied in a small, childlike voice.
“I’ll get you something to eat.”
She panicked and blurted, “I’m not hungry! Mommy don’t go…”
I paused, looked at her, then spoke to Martha, slipped her some money, and sent her out. Once Martha left, it was just Hazel and me. I told Hazel to nap a bit more and that I’d call after the IV finished, but she refused.
I’m not experienced at handling children’s stubbornness, so I let her be, though I kept checking the drip every few minutes.
“Mommy, where did you go?”
She asked softly, like she’d been building up courage.
“I went to get us some money,” I said truthfully.
“Money?” she puzzled. “To find Daddy?”
“No, no.” I shook my head. “Remember all those bags I had when I left? I sold them—I turned them into money.”
Her little head bobbed on the pillow, not entirely understanding. “You didn’t like them anymore?”
“Not exactly,” I said after thinking. “But we need money more right now.”
She nodded, still half-comprehending, still a child.
When I looked back at the IV, she was picking at the skin around her nails. I reached out and took one of her small hands in mine.
“Mommy, when you need money, will you sell Hazel?”
Her voice was timid, her eyelids lowered, and tears had already clung to her lashes.
I sighed inwardly and soothed her softly, “It won’t be like that.
Because Hazel is Mom’s treasure, ahem…”
I felt guilty saying it and a little nauseated, but seeing the little one’s joyful face, I cleared my throat and added, “I’m selling my bags because I have too many. But Hazel, you’re the only one she has!
And if I sell the bags, Hazel and I can have a better life.
Do you understand what I mean?”
She nodded solemnly, then reached out with her free hand and hooked her tiny index finger at me. I had no choice but to lean forward.
She put that little hand on my head and, in a baby voice, said, “Mommy is Hazel’s treasure too, woof.”
Then—“smack”—she kissed my cheek.
Heat rushed to my face. After living so many years, I’d never heard such a blatant declaration. I was embarrassingly flustered.
Luckily Martha came back just then. After she left, I asked her to feed Hazel something, and I pulled up the phone number of the realtor she’d found outside.
I explained what I needed, and we quickly scheduled viewings for the next day.
There were only three days left, and of course Hazel got sick. I was exhausted.
Single mom life is no joke!
Thankfully Hazel’s illness wasn’t serious and her fever broke quickly. After one night in the hospital, we were discharged early the next morning.
I’d planned to leave her with Martha so I could move faster, but she refused to leave me. So I had no choice but to take her along on the house-hunting, leaving Martha to finish packing.
The realtor was a young man named Zach.
When he saw I had a child, he pulled up a scooter with a baby seat. I was surprised; he smiled and explained they had a “superwoman” in the office who brought her kid to work sometimes, so the seat was kept on hand.
I buckled Hazel into the baby seat and followed Zach on my bike. I hadn’t ridden one of these in ages and felt stiff and awkward.
“Mom, you’re so good at this,” Hazel said from the seat. Her voice was crisp and bright; people on the sidewalk turned to look.
“Ah—thanks,” I replied awkwardly, eyes glued to Zach in front of me, afraid I’d lose him.
“Mom, you ride this so well!” Hazel gushed, practically bursting with excitement.
“Do you like riding this scooter?” I tried to distract her.
“I do!” she shouted. “This is better than a car!”
I couldn’t help but think of those old jokes—better to cry in a BMW than laugh on a bike. Seeing Hazel happily bobbing her head, I laughed. Kids.
That morning we saw six apartments. Only one caught my eye: a three-bedroom not far from where we lived, with a good kindergarten nearby and decent amenities—just a bit pricey.
Back in the realtor’s office, I went over the details with Zach while thinking of the places we’d seen.
Seeing my hesitation, Zach brought up a two-bedroom that was also nice. It would be easier on rent, but then I’d have to find work and wouldn’t be able to care for Hazel as much. Martha couldn’t be fired, and emotionally I wasn’t prepared to be that close a mother to Hazel overnight.
So the three-bedroom felt more suitable.
“Can the price be lower?” I asked. In my last life I never worried about housing; who knew I’d be dealing with this now.
Sigh—once Hazel was in my life, everything became a new challenge.
“I’m really sorry, Ms. Bennett. That unit has great layout, renovations, location, and the neighborhood. The kindergarten nearby is well-known—lots of wealthy families send their kids there. If you lived there, your little girl would have a great school and it’d be convenient to drop her off. The price is really fair.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but it’s still a bit high. I can see dust on the coffee table—hasn’t been lived in for a while, right? Letting it sit empty is a loss for you guys. Lower it a bit and I’ll take it.”
Zach looked troubled.
“Uncle, I’ll kiss you if you give Mommy a discount,” Hazel said suddenly, pushing forward from where she’d been waiting.
Zach blinked, then chuckled. “Okay, I’ll go ask my manager.”
I hadn’t expected that. For a second I was stunned. When Zach turned to leave, I called out, “Wait!”
He looked back, puzzled.
I didn’t have time to explain. I said, “Don’t bother asking. I’ll take it without a discount. Go draw up the contract.”
As soon as Zach left the room I pulled Hazel in front of me. She was perceptive—she’d noticed something off and now her face had gone pale. She stared at me, wide-eyed.
Honestly, I was a bit angry. I hadn’t expected such a small child to say something like that. Did she even know what she was doing?
I forced my temper down. Since Daniel’s death I rarely got angry. I thought age would mellow me, but maybe this is just the emotions of a twenty-seven-year-old body.
“Hazel, why did you tell that man that?” I asked.
“I wanted to help Mommy…” Her voice trembled, thin and small.
“I know you wanted to help, but we can’t use—” I swallowed, along with the words “selling ourselves.” I forced them back down and tried again. “We have to use our smarts, our skills, and our hard work to get what we want.”
She nodded, half-understanding.
“Kisses and hugs are for family and loved ones. You can’t kiss people just like that, okay?”
She nodded again.
“And we definitely can’t use them as a bargain… Do you know what a bargain is?”
She nodded, then shook her head—her little face full of confusion.
“When Mommy and Daddy traded for cards… it wasn’t like that,” she said.
The comment choked me. I hurried to explain, “That’s because Mommy and Daddy loved each other… That won’t happen again.”
I paused and then added, “And you mustn’t do that anymore, okay?”
She nodded earnestly and said in her baby voice that she would.
After signing the lease, I asked Zach to contact movers. I took Hazel home to finish packing, and in the afternoon I had the luxury-shop owner come over. Martha had laid out bags, shoes, and clothes for appraisal—we sold some things off.
Having cash in hand calmed me a little. I wasn’t going to leave any of that stuff for Ethan; let it be my compensation for raising his daughter.
Watching Hazel’s small back as she toddled around, I quietly planned.
On the third day Zach and the movers arrived and everyone jumped into action.
Hazel was both curious and a little overwhelmed. She’d never experienced moving before and had no concept of it.
I kept giving the movers directions and she mimicked me, occasionally flashing me a thumbs-up. I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, so I just smiled.
During a break I decided to have a little talk with her.
“Hazel.”
I set her on the couch and chose my words carefully. “Soon you, me, and Martha are going to live someplace else. Daddy might not come see you anymore. Is that okay?”
Her dark, grape-like eyes fluttered and she said with solemnity, “It’s okay, Mommy. We can go see Daddy.”
“Yes, you’re right,” I answered with difficulty. Honestly, if it were up to me I never wanted to see that man again. Being labeled the other woman was humiliating.
“If—just if—we didn’t have Daddy in our lives, just you and me living together, would you be okay with that?”
She nodded seriously. “Hazel has Mommy and she’s happy.”
Sigh. Kids are weird—shouldn’t she be crying that she wants both parents? I clearly didn’t understand children.
I was still unsure how to tell her we’d been abandoned by Ethan, thinking maybe I’d wait until she was older, when the phone rang.
I picked it up.
“Third day, huh? How come you can keep your cool this time?” It was Ethan.
“Ah?” I was taken aback.
“I’m at the office waiting for you. Bring Hazel this afternoon. Let’s get dinner together—I’ll buy you a few bags.” There was a note of seeking forgiveness in his voice that annoyed me.
“No thanks. I’m busy with the move,” I snapped.
“Moving? Who told you you could move?” Ethan’s voice shot up, shocked.
I wanted to say, Didn’t you kick us out? Are you split-personality now? But I stayed quiet. He barked, “Stay home and wait for me. I’ll be there soon.”
When Ethan arrived, I was eating takeout with Hazel. The movers had finished; I’d had Martha head out with them while I waited for Ethan.
He walked right in—the door banged shut behind him like an announcement.
He glanced around and then fixed his eyes on me and Hazel.
“What are you trying to do?” he asked. Though his face was almost expressionless, his voice had an edge.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and stood. “Moving—didn’t you tell us to leave?”
He inspected me, something unreadable crossing his face. “Are you seeing someone else?”
I hadn’t expected that. “What are you talking about? The kid’s right here!”
Hazel, still a child, kept eating and concentrating on the battle between spoon and noodles.
“Come with me!” Ethan grabbed my hand and led me into the bedroom. He went in and shut the door behind us. I wrenched my hand free and twisted my wrist—the movement actually hurt—and I snapped, annoyed, “Don’t manhandle the elderly!”
Ethan Bennett, who had been walking toward me, faltered for a beat. When he saw my frown, his voice softened again. "Did I hurt you?"
Even though I’ve seen just about everything in life, hearing something that syrupy still sent goosebumps up my arms.
I know I’m a sixty-year-old woman. I feel "safe" in that. But his concern reminded me that to outsiders I’m just a 27-year-old woman — and that the man in front of me is the benefactor of that young woman.
An unmarried man and woman alone in a room, the air already this charged—if I didn’t do something, it would look terrible.
Ethan moved closer. Behind me was a large bed. Not good. I slid a step to the side without changing my expression and put on a businesslike tone. "If you have something to say, say it."
His softened expression stiffened, then cooled. He repeated the question, more controlled this time. "Are you seeing someone?"
"No."
I answered plainly.
"Then why are you insisting on leaving? Are you making a scene on purpose?"
"I’m trying to be independent. I want to support myself and Hazel. Is that a problem?"
"Independent?"
He tasted the word for a moment, snorted, and said, "With what? Have you ever worked? Do you know how much people earn working out there? With your experience, you couldn’t afford a single bag like that in a year. Can you handle it?"
He wasn’t wrong — that was the old Claire he remembered, not the woman I am now.
But there was no point arguing.
"Anything else? Finished? Since you’re here, take a look — the place is fine, the keys are on the rack by the door. No more issues; I’m taking Hazel and leaving."
Before I finished, Ethan suddenly stepped toward me. I jumped back and moved past him to the bedroom door. After decades of living, I know: if something feels off, get away. It’s basic self-preservation.
I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and the lock clicked. I breathed a little easier. I had the door just cracked open when a hard tug on my shoulder yanked me back. Before I could react, my body was slammed against the door.
Bang!
The door slammed shut again.
"What are you trying to do?"
Ethan’s voice dropped low, squeezed out through his teeth. I knew he was furious, but I didn’t know why. Wasn’t it good for him to be rid of a burden? From his earlier behavior he didn’t seem too attached to Hazel’s mother anyway.
"I want freedom."
I kept my voice steady.
"Freedom?" he echoed.
Cornered against the door, I scrambled in my head for something to say; provoking him wasn’t wise. He was too close and I felt suffocated. I tried to shrink away from his gaze, even an inch would help.
When I stayed silent, he reached up and pinched my chin, forcing me to look at him. Oh, I knew this move — the old chest-press, the "kabedon" maneuver that used to be trendy when I was younger.
The wooden door digging into my back was uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he seemed about to kiss me.
His face was inches from mine when noise erupted outside and his motion froze.
"Ma—ma—MOM!" Hazel’s cry rang out.
Ethan sighed, murmured "ungrateful," then opened the door and walked out.
Hazel was still crying. Although I was shaken, I hurried after him.
She was on the floor; her lunchbox lay overturned, a little soup splashed on her calves. Her tiny hands covered her face as she sobbed.
Ethan walked over, looked like he might pick her up, but paused for some reason. He glanced at me with a complicated expression, then said, "The preschool you wanted — it’s all arranged. It starts next week. Bring her then. My secretary will contact you about the other things."
Without another look, he left.
I rushed to Hazel, scooped her up, brushed the food off her legs, and asked, "Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Burned?"
Her crying stopped. Her little hands, which had been clamped over her eyes, parted a sliver, and she peered through them.
"Mom, did Daddy leave?" she asked timidly.
Maybe the soup had splashed near her eyes.
"He left. Are you alright? Your eyes okay?"
At my question, her hands flew open like little doors. A pair of round, grape-black eyes blinked up at me. Not a single tear. She’d been pretending!
No wonder Ethan looked at me like that — he probably thought I taught her to put on a show.
I realized then that she had deliberately bailed me out.
Her hands closed again and a string of cute giggles followed. "Mom, my eyes are fine. Look, sesame opens!" She opened her hands once more and smiled in a way meant to please me. I couldn’t be mad at her for scaring me; I gave her a helpless smile. Seeing me smile, she relaxed and laughed openly.
The spilled soup wasn’t hot; it just dirtied her clothes. She hadn’t fallen hard and wasn’t hurt.
I set her on the sink and washed her calves and tiny feet, replaying the earlier scene in my head and feeling my cheeks warm.
"Mom, why is your face all red? Are you feverish?"
"No." I said, "I’m just old — I can’t take this like I used to."
Hazel cocked her head. "Is Mom old?"
I shot her a look. Old? Well… my body may be sixty, but in spirit, I’m still sharp.
Settling into the new place went smoothly. Martha and I worked ourselves to exhaustion for a few days, but I didn’t mind. After so many years in a sickbed, getting to sweat and feel my limbs ache was proof I was alive.
On Monday I let Martha have two days off and took Hazel to enroll at preschool myself.
The preschool Ethan had arranged was the same one I’d liked when looking for the rental. I had worried enrollment would be a hassle — the agent, Nick, had warned it was hard to get in.
Ethan handling it saved me a lot of trouble.
When we arrived that morning, parents and kids were already waiting. We were early; everyone was greeting each other. Some children were already being left in the play area to warm up. I followed suit and encouraged Hazel to go make friends.
Watching her reluctantly let go of my hand and head for the play area, glancing back nervously now and then, made my chest ache in a small, unexpected way.
Because she’s a child, I told myself.
It certainly wasn’t because she was Hazel Bennett.
While I was lost in thought, something knocked my shin. I looked down to see a boy in a baseball cap had tripped in front of me. I crouched to help him up and noticed he still had a mask on.
I dusted the dirt off his knee. "Are you okay?"
He answered coolly, "I’m fine. Thanks, ma’am." Then he tilted his head, looked around, and asked, "Ma’am, do you know where the teacher is?"
Right then a teacher in a uniform came out, smiling. "Good morning to all the new parents and kids. Our classroom is ready. Please come to Classroom 7 for the opening ceremony."
The kids in the play area swarmed toward their parents. Hazel returned to me with sweat on her rosy little face. After I wiped her brow, I looked up — the boy in the baseball cap had vanished. He must have gone in with his parents.
We all filed into the classroom. After a brief bustle, parents spread around the perimeter while I picked a spot in the back. Hazel sat down and I scanned the room. The boy was there, quietly seated.
Most kids looked around at their parents and the room, but he sat still, calm as a statue. I couldn’t help smiling — he looked cool.
After greetings from the director and teachers, they led the kids in some interactive games. One teacher handed each child a small daisy and explained they’d take turns introducing themselves, then give their flower to a friend they wanted to be friends with, asking, "Can I be your friend?"
It was a cute icebreaker. I worried, briefly, that Hazel might not get a flower and be upset — but my worry was unnecessary. Before long, she had received two daisies and happily waved the three she held at me.
There would be kids left without flowers, I thought, and flagged the game’s flaw.
Then it was the baseball-capped boy’s turn to introduce himself.
He stood and, quietly, said, "Hello everyone, my name is Daniel Price."
He walked through the rows to the back of the classroom and stopped in front of me, lifting his daisy. "Can I be friends with you?" he asked.
Daniel Price. My eyes fixed on him. I forgot to reach out. A teacher had to prompt, "Don’t forget to give it to a child," but he seemed not to hear, holding the little flower straight up.
Yes. It was him. Not a namesake. Not a dream. It was him.
"No one steals my mom!" a loud shout split the room. I snapped back to attention and saw Hazel had charged over and shoved Daniel.
The classroom went momentarily chaotic. The teacher, practiced, rushed to steady Daniel.
I called out to Hazel and told her hitting was wrong. I had Hazel apologize to Daniel. She stuck out her lower lip and quickly teared up. "It’s his fault! He tried to steal my mommy!" she sniffed.
Daniel Price looked at Hazel Bennett calmly, then offered the little daisy to me again.
I almost reflexively reached to take it when the teacher suddenly spoke up: "Look, Hazel’s crying. Why don’t you give the flower to her and be friends?"
Daniel shook his head, refusing.
The room froze. The teacher looked helplessly at me, hoping I’d say something, but I just stared at the two kids and felt my chest tighten.
"Sorry I’m late."
A man’s voice came from the doorway and everyone’s heads turned.
He had messy hair and, from a distance, looked familiar.
He scanned the classroom, talking to himself as he introduced, "I’m Daniel’s guardian. Is he here? Oh—there he is!"
He walked toward the back of the room, clearly puzzled by everyone’s stares. When he reached Daniel, he asked the teacher, "Has he been in trouble?"
The teacher explained what had happened. Daniel tucked the daisy back to his chest. Hazel clutched my finger so hard she wouldn’t let go, shooting angry glances at Daniel.
No one could see the earthquake raging inside me.
To begin with, I recognized that man—he was the doctor I’d visited at the hospital a few days ago.
Daniel’s presence had already stunned me. I never imagined that the doctor would be his guardian.
Then who was he?
After listening, the doctor thought for a moment and asked Daniel, "The teacher said the rule is to give the flower to a classmate. Do you understand?"
Daniel nodded.
"Then would you consider giving it to this little girl, making up with her, being friends?"
Daniel lowered his head in silence, then suddenly looked up at me. I managed a shaky smile. He seemed to make up his mind, shoved the daisy into my other hand, and walked back to his seat without looking back.
The teacher and the doctor exchanged glances. The director recovered first and pushed the activity forward. Fortunately the children weren’t too disrupted and the entrance ceremony finished smoothly.
Parents gradually left the preschool. Hazel kept making me promise I’d pick her up before her mother came. Nearby, the doctor was talking quietly with Daniel; I couldn’t help but eavesdrop.
"Why didn’t you wake me this morning?" the doctor asked.
"You were sleeping," Daniel replied.
"That’s why you should wake me!" the doctor said.
Daniel said nothing. I sneaked a look at him—and our eyes met. I hurriedly looked away and then reminded Hazel of a few things before leaving the preschool.
We’d only walked a few steps when someone called, "Ms. Bennett."
I turned. It was the doctor.
"Hello, Doctor," I said.
He came over, scratched his head, and apologized awkwardly, "Sorry to cause trouble."
"It’s fine."
I gave him a quick look. His hair was a mess and stubble shadowed his lips—so different from the neat, serious man I’d seen at the hospital. I pointed and said, "Your T-shirt’s on backwards."
He glanced down, grinned, and said, "I left in a hurry. I was on duty all night yesterday and I was half-asleep this morning."
I was silent for a moment, then couldn’t help asking, "You’re… Daniel’s…?"
"Uncle. My name is Mark Lewis."
A sudden, wrenching pain hit me and my eyes burned. Still, I clung to a sliver of hope and hesitated before asking, "Why weren’t his parents here?"
Mark was silent for a heartbeat, then said the thing I didn’t want to hear: "Car accident. They died."
I dropped my head and tears fell uncontrollably.
"Are you okay? You… eh… I… paper…" He fumbled in his pockets, embarrassed and useless.
I knew my crying must have looked inexplicable to a bystander, but the hurt in my chest wouldn’t let me stop.
That photo I’d seen on Mark’s desk flashed through my mind—him standing beside Daniel’s parents, the baby in their arms being Daniel.
In my previous life, Daniel’s parents had died when he was very young; he’d been raised by an uncle. That uncle later left the country heartbroken the year Daniel got into college and died abroad. I had never met that uncle in my past life—but now he stood before me, awkward and unsure.
And realizing that Daniel had already suffered the loss of his parents by such a young age—seeing him today, alone at preschool, quietly sitting in his seat—it wasn’t coolness; it was the understanding that no one in that bustling world had come for him.
I had always known Hazel and Daniel had known each other since they were little, but I never guessed they met as early as preschool. In college, Hazel’s constant presence made me jealous. I regretted not being part of Daniel’s childhood, not meeting him earlier than she did.
Who would’ve thought I’d get to his childhood now—only that fate had put me here as his friend’s mother, in a way I never expected.
And Mark? That young, vibrant face—no matter how I tried, I couldn’t connect him to the uncle who’d died overseas of heartbreak.
Wait. Mark never married in my past life. What if I introduced him to someone? If I worked to set him up, could his future change? If his future could change, maybe other things could too.
Right now I’m Hazel Bennett’s mother. If I raise her differently, maybe Hazel wouldn’t cling to Daniel so obsessively. Maybe she wouldn’t do those extreme things.
But they’d already made enemies of each other the first day we met. Maybe my appearance had already broken their bond.
Fine—let them hate each other. Better for Hazel to dislike Daniel than to love him from afar, right?
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the heavens to give me a hint—like two big words: CORRECT!
The ceiling remained ordinary. The house was eerily quiet.
"Ring! Ring! Ring!"
A frantic phone call jolted me out of my thoughts and nearly made me drop the phone.
I answered and heard an anxious voice: "Are you Hazel Bennett’s mother?"
"Yes, this is she."
"Please come back to the preschool. Hazel and Daniel got into a fight."
When I returned to the preschool for the second time and walked into the office, Mark was already there waiting. I nodded at him to acknowledge him.
I couldn’t help but look him over first: no hat, no mask, hair and face fine—but there was a sterile bandage on his knee.
For a moment I was furious, but then I caught sight of Hazel. Her eyes were red and wet. My anger evaporated halfway.
"Teacher, what happened between the two kids?" I asked, keeping my temper down.
"During recess, by the sinks in the bathroom, for some reason Hazel pushed Daniel, causing him to fall and scrape his knee, but…" The teacher hesitated and glanced at Hazel, who quickly hid behind my legs.
"Hazel says Daniel splashed water on her, and she bumped into him trying to get away."
I glanced at Daniel, worried. "Is he hurt anywhere else? Did he sprain his ankle?"
Daniel met my eyes and calmly shook his head.
"Any other injuries? Will a bandage on the knee be enough? Should we go to the hospital for an X-ray to make sure he didn’t badly hurt himself?"
I looked to Mark. He’d been examining Daniel but went a little awkward at my question, hastily waving it off. "No, no—kids roughhouse. Just a scrape…"
"That’s not okay!" I snapped.
"A scratch can still be dangerous—what if it gets tetanus…"
As I spoke, I kept glancing at Daniel, wanting nothing more than to scoop him up and run to the hospital. Behind me, Hazel whimpered "Mom" a few times, but I ignored it.
"Ahem, Mrs. Bennett."
The teacher cleared her throat, cutting off my rapid-fire questions. "The issue right now is that, as the school, we have to ensure the children’s safety. We need to resolve the conflict between the two kids to prevent this from happening again. Don’t you agree?"
"Yes, yes, you’re right, teacher."
I pulled Hazel out from behind me and ordered sternly, "Hazel, apologize to Daniel right now!"
"Mom, it’s not me!"
Hazel looked crushed, big tears rolling down her cheeks.
"How dare you!" My voice sharpened. "Daniel’s knee is injured. If it’s serious, I—"
"Miss Bennett, Miss Bennett!"
Ethan couldn’t watch any longer and interrupted my scolding. "They’re kids having a spat. Talk it through and move on—don’t frighten them."
He said that and I realized Hazel looked even more upset. One hand clung to my leg while the other wiped her face.
"Mom, Mom, it wasn’t my fault. He dumped water on me; I didn’t mean to—Mom, wahhh…"
I glanced at Daniel with concern. He spoke up then: "Auntie, I’m okay. She didn’t do it on purpose."
I was taken aback, and softened slightly as I nodded. "Hazel, even if Daniel says you didn’t mean to, he still got hurt because of you. You need to apologize. Understand?"
Hazel hiccupped and stopped crying, looked up at me, and reluctantly nodded when she saw my firm expression.
I separated her from my leg. She kept holding my hand, but finally looked at Daniel and whispered, "I’m sorry."
"It’s okay."
Little Daniel answered calmly.
"Is there anything else you’d like us to address, Daniel’s uncle?" the teacher asked, turning to Ethan. "Both parents are here. If you have any requests, please say them."
Ethan had looked bewildered the whole time. "No, we don’t have any requests. Right, Daniel?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Okay, then…" The teacher exhaled, relieved that it was resolved. "Both kids can go back to class. Mr. Bennett, thanks for coming down. We’ll contact you if anything else comes up."
Ethan nodded, offered a few polite words, and followed Daniel out of the office.
"Mrs. Bennett."
Once the office emptied, the teacher called me over. I nodded.
"The other child’s parents aren’t pressing charges, but I still need to talk to you about this. About the scuffle—Hazel says she fell because water was thrown at her and she tried to dodge, but actually…" She paused, scanning my face, as if choosing her words. "Please don’t be upset."
I nodded.
"Daniel didn’t splash her with water. Hazel pushed him from behind when he wasn’t looking. Our custodian saw the whole thing and reported it."
"Though Hazel cried so hard that something else might be going on we don’t know about—she might even see Daniel as an imaginary rival—she did intentionally push him."
The teacher seemed worried I wouldn’t believe them or would be angry about blaming Hazel. If she only knew—this was so typical of Hazel!
I wanted to grab her and recount every manipulative thing Hazel had done, to tell her about all the times I’d been played by that ‘green tea’ behavior. I forced myself to stay composed; my role now was Hazel’s mother. The priority was to hear the teacher out.
"I understand. I’ll seriously reprimand her when we get home," I promised solemnly.
"I believe you." The teacher looked relieved but still concerned. "Kids are young and might not realize the consequences. Also, we did witness this morning’s incident—maybe Hazel has made a target of Daniel. What you should do is guide her so she doesn’t develop bad thoughts or habits, agree?"
I nodded vigorously.
Before I left, the teacher handed me a thin pamphlet about how moms can communicate with their kids. I opened it to see the bold header: ‘My Mom and I Are Best Friends.’
My skin went cold at the thought of being Hazel’s ‘friend.’
We left the school building and headed toward the gate. From a distance I saw Ethan standing there.
"Hey—I thought the teacher locked you up and you were planning a jailbreak!" I snorted. "Why is your T-shirt inside out?"
He scratched his head, embarrassed. "I fell asleep on the way back and forgot to flip it."
"I’m really sorry about today. I’ll talk to Hazel," I said.
"No, don’t make a big deal. Kids fight. A tumble’s a tumble. Nothing to make a scene over." He smiled and thanked me.
We stood there awkwardly for a long beat before I broke it: "I need to stop by the grocery store for dinner ingredients. I’m off."
"Oh?" Ethan scratched his head again. "Oh—I’m getting groceries too."
Without another word, he fell in step with me.
On the walk, he kept commenting about how kids these days are treated like porcelain—teachers act like any little scratch is a catastrophe. "When we were kids," he said, "we were tougher—unless you came home bleeding, the teachers wouldn’t care."
"Did your school act that careful when you were little?" he asked.
I glanced at him and thought—actually, yes. He had no idea that the three-year-old me was just starting kindergarten now.
He didn’t notice I was drifting away mentally and kept talking about how tiring but rewarding childcare could be. I had been thinking about that too. Where am I now in time? What about my parents, when they were young—where are they living now? I tried to remember details from when I was three: our address, phone number—nothing came. I hadn’t set foot in this city until college. Entire sections of memory had gone fuzzy. All I could recall was having a tall, handsome dad and a gentle, gracious mom. Where are they now? Could I ever see them again?
At the supermarket, Ethan tossed things into his cart without much thought. "Buy some cookies? You’re looking really serious."
I was comparing ingredient lists on three different cookie boxes. "Looking for peanut-free."
After comparing, I put two back and took one. At the frozen foods, I grabbed several bags of potstickers; he threw instant noodles into his cart.
"All done?" he asked.
"Yes, these." I held out the dumplings. "Shrimp for all of them."
He raised his eyebrows. "You really know Daniel’s tastes."
"Do I?" I murmured.
"My wife loves this stuff too," he added, then chuckled.
When I picked Hazel up from kindergarten later, I saw her being led out by a teacher, standing on tiptoe to peer out, little brows knit like she had a secret. When she saw me, her face lit up into a big smile.
I waved and scanned the line of kids until I spotted Daniel at the very end—baseball cap, mask, head down. Hazel ran toward me shouting "Mom!" I thought I caught Daniel glance our way, but when I steadied Hazel and looked back, he was already walking away alone.
I asked the teacher if Daniel’s parents weren’t here. She sighed. "He only has an uncle—he called and said he was stuck at the hospital and told the child to go home on his own. I told Daniel to call me as soon as he got home to let me know he’s safe."
After saying goodbye, I detoured to make sure Daniel actually made it into an apartment building before heading home.
I changed Hazel into her home clothes. She obediently washed her hands and face, water still beading on her cheeks as she proudly presented herself. I patted her dry, placed her in her high chair with a bowl of mashed pumpkin as a snack, then sat across from her, listening to her chatter about her first day while I tried to think how to bring up the talk I needed to have.
Alone, I worried. I had no experience raising a child—could I handle it? And Hazel isn’t my biological child. Did I even have the right to shape her life?
No matter how I thought about it, if we were meant to meet, then this bitter tie was fate. What had to be faced would still have to be faced.
"Mom, I think—it’s just, the preschool is so much fun!"
She waved her arms and choked down another spoonful of pumpkin puree.
"Hazel."
"Mm?"
"Can you tell me about the fight with the other kids at school today?"
At the mention of it, the excitement drained out of her. The little girl who had been buzzing a moment ago went limp as a wilted eggplant, her tiny head nearly dipping into the bowl.
I reached out and touched her cheek gently, speaking calmly.
"I’m not blaming you. I just want you to try to remember what happened because the teacher might not know the whole story. If she misunderstands you and starts not liking you because of this—what would we do?"
Her head went up a fraction. I caught her big eyes slipping a quick look at me.
"The teacher said she saw you push Daniel Price. Is that true?"
At Daniel’s name, Hazel’s mouth pressed tight. She paused, then nodded.
"So you pushed him because he upset you, right?"
She nodded again.
"What did he do to upset you? Did he splash water on you?"
This time she didn’t nod as decisively. Instead she tightened her lips.
"The teacher said she didn’t see Daniel splash water on you—did she get it wrong, Hazel?"
Her shoulders trembled, as if she were fighting back a sob. She slowly shook her head, and I pressed on. "No? The teacher didn’t see it?"
Finally she lifted her chin a little. Tears had pooled in her big eyes. My heart pinched. She mumbled, "I’m sorry, Mommy. I lied. Boohoo—I’m sorry—"
She lifted her face and bawled, pumpkin puree still in her mouth, one hand clutching the spoon. She looked pitiful and ridiculous all at once. I couldn’t help smiling as I wiped her face and soothed her, "Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s okay, I know, I know. No more crying—be good—"
Maybe because I hadn’t scolded her, she relaxed. Between hiccups she even chewed a little of the puree. I started to tell her to spit it out, but she swallowed and, with a crying little flatterer’s tone, said, "Mommy, your pumpkin puree is so yummy, boohoo…"
I hid a laugh. I never suspected Hazel was such a foodie. Still, I didn’t forget why I was asking. "So can you tell me why you pushed Daniel?"
Every time she sniffed, her head bobbed unconsciously. She answered in fits and starts, "I don’t like him taking you away from me, Mommy…"
When she said it, she seemed crushed, then broke into louder sobs and hiccupped.
I jumped up and sat beside her, patting her back and calming her down. It took a long time, and only after she was sure I wasn’t mad at her did she finally settle.
After her bath that night, I told her the story of Pinocchio. When I reached the part where Pinocchio’s nose grows when he lies, Hazel instinctively covered her nose.
It amused me, and seeing how attentive she was, I told the whole tale.
When it was over she sprang out of bed and looked at me seriously. "Mommy, if you lie, will you turn into a wooden puppet?"
I had meant to nod, to say yes. But looking at her, I thought of the day she had died in my last life, and the words that came out were, "If it’s a lie told to be kind…then no."
"What is a kind lie?" she asked.
"A kind lie is…a lie that doesn’t hurt people. Can you understand that?"
Her big eyes blinked; she nodded, confused but trusting.
She didn’t really understand, but for today that was enough. I added, "But it’s okay to lie to bad people."
Her little brows furrowed deeper. She looked even more puzzled and seemed to be working hard to understand. I was about to say she’ll get it when she’s older, but she surprised me by throwing her arms around my neck.
"I’ll never lie to Mommy again."
Her tiny arms were surprisingly strong; I felt trapped in her hug and, for no reason, a little flushed.
"Will you love me forever, Mommy?"
My body stiffened.
After a long beat, I nodded.
—After that first-day scuffle at preschool we made three rules: no lying, don’t be friends with Daniel Price, and no fighting with Daniel. I wasn’t asking for much—just don’t cause him trouble.
She was thrilled I hadn’t scolded her and agreed right away.
Life at preschool settled into a peaceful routine. Habit is a powerful thing; I found myself getting used to being busy for a child.
Every morning we’d eat together; I’d drop her off, pick her up, do crafts with her. Even Martha teased me that I had suddenly learned how to be a mom.
I asked her if I had been bad with kids before. She shrugged. "Not bad exactly, just not very affectionate. Kids were afraid of you."
I asked what she meant.
"Girl, your heart is something else." Martha trimmed green beans into a bowl and said, "When you lived in Mr. Bennett’s house, you were drunk five days out of seven. The other two days you were nowhere to be found. How could you look after her?"
I lowered my eyes and went back to trimming. Martha carried on: "Hazel used to eat by herself, watch TV by herself, play alone. Every time I saw her talking to her doll, my heart—"
She sniffed despite herself. "But now we’ve moved. You’re different, and that’s good. It’s good for the child and good for you."
Martha was in her fifties. Her husband was gone. She took this job to keep busy and not bother her son and daughter-in-law, and to earn a little money. She was hardworking and efficient; I liked her. When I had time, I’d sit with her and prep food, chat, even go shopping together. It felt like having an older sister. Sometimes she’d joke about age, and she’d laugh, "If I lived to be your age, wouldn’t I be a miracle?"
We’d become comfortable enough to speak freely. To her, I still seemed like a kid myself—about the same age as her son—and she worried about me.
"But you’re young. You should find a steady way to make a living. Kids cost more as they grow. Always asking others for money isn’t reliable."
She was referring to Ethan Bennett. I nodded in agreement and she smiled.
I had been thinking about it too. Even though I had the advantage of knowledge from my previous life—buying property and stocks had helped—I’d like to do something real. But after so long away from work, I had no immediate ideas.
I had sold some bags, shoes, and clothes, and tucked money into the bank. It wasn’t a small sum, but living off savings forever wasn’t a plan. Money mattered.
Lost in thought, my phone buzzed; it was time to pick Hazel up.
Kids were trickling out when I arrived. There were four classes in her age group; Hazel was in Class Two. I waited outside and soon they came out.
She spotted me and waved, jumping and telling her teacher, "My mommy’s here, my mommy’s here!" The teacher exchanged a look with me before letting her go.
I fussed with her coat and backpack while she complained of being hungry, and I kept an eye out for Daniel.
Daniel was trailing the line out of the preschool when a woman called his name.
She was young and pretty, wearing a cream floral dress with long hair tucked behind her ears. Daniel walked over and they chatted for a moment. The preschool entrance was noisy, and I couldn’t hear what they said.
Just as I hesitated whether to go over, the woman smiled and reached out to Daniel. He shook his head, and I relaxed—then he followed her.
None of the teachers seemed to notice. A cold feeling crawled up my spine.
I grabbed Hazel’s hand to follow, but a figure stepped right in front of me and blocked my path.
"Ms. Bennett."
I stared at the woman, surprised. Who was she?
"My son goes to this preschool too," she said, pausing. "Ethan didn’t tell you? He wouldn’t, would he?"
Her smile was icy, condescending, eyes skimming down to Hazel.
No way… this couldn’t be happening. Was this the classic showdown—wife ripping into the other woman? I didn’t want to take that blame.
"Excuse me—who are you?" I kept my voice steady and kept Hazel behind me. Hazel’s little hand clung to my finger like she was frightened.
The woman blinked at my question, then sneered. "What game are you playing? Amnesia? You really think you can charm Ethan into bed with that little act?"
"Keep your mouth clean in front of the children!" Her words were filthy; my temper flared. "Hazel, cover your ears!"
She obeyed, squeezing her small hands over her ears until her face squished.
"Oh, playing the innocent maiden now?" the woman said, ignoring everyone else. "Aren’t you worried your daughter will learn about all your dirty deeds?"
People were picking up their kids and hurrying by—who would want their child hearing that kind of filth? The woman didn’t seem to care.
People are naturally curious. As others walked past me, their gazes drifted my way.
I knew I didn’t have the upper hand if things came to blows—being the other woman, I didn’t have the moral high ground.
Not one to take a loss, I grabbed Hazel Bennett’s arm and turned to leave. By then Daniel Price and that woman were completely out of sight.
"Don’t go!"
The haughty woman blocked my shoulder, refusing to let me off. "I haven’t finished talking!"
"Say it, then."
I glanced uneasily toward the direction Daniel had disappeared.
"You—since you’ve already been thrown out of Ethan’s house, you should know how he feels."
She smugly picked at her nails. "My son and I have moved in.
I hope you two stay far away from Ethan from now on. Don’t make me see you trying to steal my man."
"Mom!"
A loud voice cut off my retort. Following the sound, a chubby little boy came running out—midday dismissal. The woman’s face instantly softened into something far friendlier. She crouched and opened her arms to greet the boy.
I seized the chance, scooped Hazel up, and tried to escape. But the woman seemed determined to keep picking a fight.
"I’m telling you, don’t even look at Ethan."
I wanted to tell her I had no interest in Ethan Bennett, but who would believe that? It would only make me look ridiculous.
Seeing me stay silent, she seemed satisfied and couldn’t help gloating: "Even if his wife died, it still wouldn’t be your place!
You have a daughter and you think you can compete with me and my boy?
Dream on!"
Wait.
What did she just say?
His wife?
This woman isn’t the original wife?
Great.
So that earlier scene was even juicier than the usual original-wife tearing into the mistress—this was a mistress tearing into another rival!
"She’s just a daughter. How could she compare to my Zongsheng, my precious boy!"
She crowed triumphantly. Her words grated on me. I glanced at Hazel in my arms—still obediently covering her ears, her big eyes pure and clear.
"A daughter? What of it? Weren’t you someone else’s daughter once, too?"
She hadn’t expected me to snap back; her face froze.
"Besides, if Ethan is happy with you and your darling son, what does that have to do with me and my girl?
Right?"
With that, I hurried after the direction Daniel had gone, holding Hazel close and ignoring the madwoman’s string of curses behind me.
We walked a long way and still couldn’t find Daniel or the woman. Hazel finally spoke: "Mom, how much longer should I keep covering my ears?"
"Huh? Oh—sorry, I forgot."
I put her down and took one of her hands; the other hung by her side.
"Mom, what are you looking for?"
"…Nothing."
Back home I had Martha change Hazel’s clothes and feed her, while I sat in the living room stewing. After a long hesitation I called the teacher to check on Daniel.
When the teacher said Daniel had already gone home, I breathed easier.
Who was that woman? Daniel’s girlfriend?
I kept replaying the morning in my head while showering.
What was wrong with her? Where did she get the nerve to accuse Claire Bennett—me—like that? How could someone be dumb enough to start a scene in front of a kindergarten, not caring about what people would think of her son? Or did she think her son was so precious that everyone should admire her for having a boy?
Hearing those names—Ethan’s son, Zongsheng, Hazel—made me want to laugh at the childish drama. What were these young women thinking?
Coming out of the bathroom, I heard voices coming from Hazel’s room. What’s going on?
I tiptoed over. Her door was left ajar for nighttime trips. On her little bed, a small lump rose under her favorite plush blanket, and a sleepy little voice came from beneath: "Dad, Mom cried today."
"Mm… mm… it was Aunt Lucy. She yelled at Mom, pushed Mom, she even wanted to hit Mom."
"Mm, she said Hazel and Mom should never go see Dad again."
"Mom? Mom’s taking a bath, Mom’s crying…"
I couldn’t hold back. I poked the blanket; the little body stiffened.
I poked again. The kid slowly crawled out from under the blanket, one hand hidden behind her back, sneaking a look to see if I was mad.
I was equal parts exasperated and amused. Daniel’s voice came from the phone behind her: "Hello? Hello? Why aren’t you talking?"
I nodded toward him. Hazel pulled the phone to her ear: "Hazel’s going to sleep, bye, Daddy."
Before he could respond, she hit end, pushed the phone at me, and quickly lied down, tugging the blanket up and shutting her eyes as if asleep.
I sighed and picked up the phone. "Hazel?"
"I’m asleep. Talk to Mom when I wake up."
"Then I’ll talk to Sleeping Hazel."
No answer.
"Sleeping Hazel, can you tell me why you lied to Daddy?"
Her eyelids fluttered. She opened them a sliver and whispered, "Because Aunt Lucy is a bad person."
"Aunt Lucy? The lady from the kindergarten today?"
She nodded.
So she’d met that woman before. I couldn’t help but sigh and tucked the blanket in around her. "We can’t judge people only by whether we like them or not."
She opened her eyes. "Didn’t you always say Aunt Lucy was bad, Mom?"
I paused. "I won’t say that anymore, okay? And what’s between Daddy, Aunt Lucy, and me is grown-up stuff. You don’t need to worry, okay?"
"Okay."
"Sleep."
As I left Hazel’s room, my phone rang.
"Hello."
"Did you see Ziyan today?"
I hesitated before realizing Daniel had been asking about that woman—Lucy Ziyan. "Yeah, I saw her."
"Were you angry?"
He sounded curious.
"No. It doesn’t matter."
"Is there nothing you want to tell me?"
He probed more when my voice stayed cool. I was getting tired of the conversation and just wanted it over.
"Say what you need to say."
"Our boys—Ethan’s and Hazel’s—attend the same school. That way the kids can look out for each other.
If you don’t want them dealing with your girl and her mom, I can tell Ziyan to stop bothering you.
Or… if you’d prefer, I can switch Hazel—or Zongsheng—to another preschool."
I couldn’t help laughing at the implication. "Weren’t you the one who insisted your son go to this school? Think for a second—what are you aiming for? To watch two women fight over you? So the kids be damned? Do you think you’re some emperor, with concubines lining up on either side? Wake up—dynasty’s long gone!"
This time he didn’t snap back right away; after a moment he asked hesitantly, "Are you mad?"
Good grief. Did this man’s brain get stuck in a power fantasy? Do all alpha CEOs think like this?
I was done. I hung up.
The next morning, taking Hazel to school, she wasn’t bouncing like usual—she seemed down.
At the gate I handed her a water bottle. "Hazel, are you upset today?"
"Mom, did you argue with Daddy?"
Her head hung, toes dragging.
I hesitated, not sure how to explain. I decided to tell the truth in a way she could understand. "Your dad and I—there’s a little misunderstanding. Like when you and a friend have a fight, okay?"
She nodded hard. Hazel was thoughtful for her age; with our family mess, she had to be more serious than other kids.
I ruffled her hair. "I’ll fix it. Don’t worry."
I watched her walk into the kindergarten weighed down by her thoughts. When I turned, I saw Daniel Price coming toward me, waving.
"Hi again!"
He wore a white linen shirt, his hair tidy, and thin gold-framed glasses—he gave off a faint hospital-visitor kind of vibe that reminded me of the place we’d met.
"Morning," I replied. "Usually I only see Daniel come by alone."
He scratched his head. "Work’s busy. I can’t always make it. Luckily the kindergarten is close."
"I saw a girl pick him up yesterday," I said.
"Oh, that’s a classmate of mine."
I remembered his heartbreak from his previous life abroad and asked, "Is she your girlfriend? She’s pretty."
He waved me off quickly. "No, no. She was looking for some papers. She could only get in if Daniel was there."
He seemed embarrassed at how much he was explaining and shrugged.
I wasn’t trying to pry—just nodded. Ready to leave, I made a small gesture. He understood and was about to say goodbye when a teacher rushed out and called to us, breathless. "Great, you’re still here."
"Hazel’s mom, Daniel—could you come in, please?"
"What’s wrong?" we both asked.
"A fight broke out. Daniel’s head was split open."
Daniel was ushered ahead to the nurse’s office. I hurried to the office and saw Hazel with a mess of crooked braids and rumpled clothes, a teacher fixing her skirt. At the sight of me she cried, "Mom!" and slipped free of the teacher to run into my arms.
I crouched, gathering her, not even having time to ask what had happened, when I noticed a round little boy standing in the corner who looked familiar. Squinting closer, I realized it was Zongsheng.
"What happened?" I asked the teacher.
"Hazel’s mom, please calm down first," the teacher soothed, guiding me to sit. "Hazel and Zongsheng had some kind of scuffle in the hallway, and Daniel somehow got involved…"
"The teachers have already gone to pull the security footage to find out what happened."
"What about Daniel?" I asked, instinctively wiping a smear of dirt off Hazel’s cheek as I spoke.
"He’s got a scrape on his head, some bleeding. They took him to the nurse. They might need to go to the hospital for X-rays to make sure there’s no other damage."
I nodded.
"Mom, it’s all his fault!" Hazel pointed angrily at Ethan Bennett. Ethan hunched and pressed himself against the wall. Hazel jabbered on, "He grabbed my braid, called me names, hit me."
"Did you hit him back?" I asked.
The teachers froze at my question.
"I—I couldn’t beat him, he’s bigger than me." Ethan looked uncomfortable and flattened himself against the wall.
Sizing him up, he did look a bit rounder and taller than most four-year-olds. Next to him, Hazel was all skinny little limbs and smaller stature—like a thin monkey.
The office quieted down. Through the door we could hear the distant murmur of other kids in class. We waited for the footage result; I was anxious, wanting to know how Daniel was doing.
A sharp click of high heels approached, then, as expected, a woman in a tight, sexy dress—Vanessa Reed—strode into the office.
Her eyes landed on me first, then shot a glare at Hazel, before moving to Ethan.
Seeing his mother arrive, Ethan—who’d been pressed silently to the wall—suddenly began to wail.
Vanessa’s temper flared. She lunged over to inspect Ethan from head to toe and discovered a little scrape on his elbow. She immediately ramped up her act: "What happened? Who did this to my son’s arm?"
I ignored her and glanced at Ethan’s elbow—just a little scuff, no skin broken.
"Mrs. Bennett, please don’t worry," the teacher said. "There’s no bleeding. If you’re concerned you can take him for an X-ray to be sure."
Vanessa ignored the teacher and glared at me through a heavy sweep of eyeshadow, grabbing her son’s hand. "Was it her?"
Ethan cried and nodded, then shook his head.
"What does shaking your head mean? Did she break your arm?"
"It wasn’t me!" Hazel yelled from my lap.
"Shut up!" Vanessa snapped viciously at Hazel.
"Don’t shout at the children!" I couldn’t help but snap back at Vanessa. "The teacher is pulling the footage now. We’ll know in a moment."
"Mrs. Bennett, please calm down and sit. Let’s not scare the kids," the teacher urged, trying to manage the situation.
Vanessa planted herself beside Ethan like a conquering general, shooting us both looks every few seconds.
"Also, there’s another child in the nurse’s office with a head scrape…" the teacher said carefully, glancing at Vanessa. "We may need both parents’ cooperation to decide whether professional medical checks are necessary."
At that, Vanessa almost jumped out of her chair. "Why are we the ones to cooperate? His head got bumped and my son’s arm is broken! Who is this other kid anyway? Where did another child come from?"
The teacher repeated the incident’s sequence. Just then Daniel and Dr. Lewis—Daniel walked in behind the teacher, his face frosty, while Daniel himself kept a blank expression—entered the office and sat beside Hazel and me.
I nodded to Dr. Lewis and my eyes flicked involuntarily to the bandage on Daniel’s forehead.
The teacher asked some of the children to describe what happened. Hazel spoke quickly: she said she was walking down the hallway to class when Ethan grabbed her braid and called her names.
"What did he call you?" I asked.
"He said Mom’s a—umm—watch?" Hazel sounded unsure. "And he said Hazel is a bastard."
Both teachers turned awkward; my brow tightened.
"You’re lying!" Vanessa barked at Hazel, and I immediately snapped, "Shut up!"
Daniel suddenly spoke up and pointed at Ethan. "That’s what he said."
Vanessa didn’t expect anyone to back Hazel up and immediately turned on Daniel. "What does that have to do with you?"
"Watch your language," Dr. Lewis said coldly—his first words since entering the room.
"He bullied the girl—pulled her braid and called names," Daniel finished, then fell silent like he’d completed a task.
"Is that right, Ethan? Are they lying? Did they gang up on you?" Vanessa pushed at her son, trying to sway him.
Ethan, frightened by his mother’s intensity, could only wobble between yes and no and couldn’t form a sentence.
"We’re not lying!" Hazel said, voice thin but steady.
"Shut up! Little tramp, just like your mother—knowing how to flirt with boys at your age!" Vanessa spat, her hateful glare making Hazel shiver.
I set Hazel down and before anyone could react, I crossed the room in three strides and slapped Vanessa across the face.
"You hit me!" Vanessa clutched her cheek, springing up and swinging at me. I already had my arm up and caught her wrist.
Ethan’s crying got louder.
"Teachers, take the kids out. We’ll handle this," Dr. Lewis said from behind. The teacher who had brought the kids in quickly led three children out.
Vanessa glared at me, her low-cut top heaving with anger. I shrugged her arm off and sat back down.
"Mrs. Bennett, Mrs. Reed, this isn’t good for the children. Let’s wait for the footage—it should be up soon," the teacher said.
A moment later someone came in with a USB drive, handed it to the teacher, whispered, and left. The teacher plugged it into the computer and swiveled the screen. The three of us leaned in.
On the video, Hazel was skipping down the hallway past a classroom when Ethan came out, grabbed her braid, and she nearly fell backward. Ethan didn’t let go and seemed to smirk. Other kids walked by and didn’t step in.
Daniel appeared in the footage and went over to them, maybe saying something to Ethan. Ethan shook his head and tried to pull Hazel away from Daniel. Daniel reached out to pull Hazel free; Ethan shoved Daniel hard with his other hand. Daniel staggered and hit the door frame with his head.
Daniel didn’t back down—he moved back in. The three of them began to tussle.
When the video ended, Vanessa’s bravado evaporated; she muttered that Ethan was just "playing with the kid." The teacher ignored her and, businesslike, said, "The footage makes the sequence clear. This was started by Ethan. Next steps…"
She looked at Dr. Lewis. "Do you want Daniel checked at the hospital?"
Dr. Lewis said flatly, "I’ll take him to the hospital in a bit. We’ll cover the check—"
He turned his gaze to Vanessa. Vanessa snapped angrily, "So it’s about money? Fine, take him. I can afford it!"
Then she turned to the teacher, suddenly indignant: "But what about her hitting me just now?!"
I almost laughed at her—her intelligence didn’t seem much higher than her son’s.
The teacher stammered helplessly, "Th—that’s between you two. It’s not something the preschool manages…"
Realizing no one would back her, Vanessa’s face flushed, and she rummaged through her bag. "Wait, I’ll call Ethan’s father, Ethan Sr. He’ll hear about this and see what you and your daughter did to my precious boy!"
"Go ahead," I said calmly. "I’ll call him too and ask what he fathered—what kind of brat he made."
"You!" She stopped mid-rummage, furious.
"I warn you—if I hear any more nonsense from Hazel about your kid, I won’t let it go. You’d better teach your child decency. Have you forgotten your place?" Dr. Lewis added, sharply.
He continued, almost as an afterthought but so that Vanessa could hear, "I don’t want Ethan near my Daniel anymore. I don’t want Daniel picking up these filthy habits at preschool."
Vanessa’s color volleyed between red and white. The teacher, seeing the situation defused, wrapped things up.
After all that, I decided to take Hazel home for the day. At the preschool gate we ran into Dr. Lewis and Daniel.
"Dr. Lewis," I said as we stopped.
"Hazel, say thank you to Daniel," I prompted.
"Thank you," Hazel said obediently. "Does it still hurt?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Will you take him to the hospital?" I asked Dr. Lewis. "We share responsibility here—if there’s an issue, tell me."
"Yes. X-rays," he said. Seeing my worry, he added, "Kids are tough. I checked him—he’s fine. X-rays are just for peace of mind."
I nodded.
"Mom?" Hazel suddenly asked. "Can I be friends with him?"
I hesitated and saw Daniel looking up at me. I nodded slowly.
Hazel reached out and grabbed Daniel’s hand. "Yay!"
Daniel gave a small smile and bobbed his head.
Watching them, a gnawing anxiety twisted in me. In my previous life, Daniel had a three-centimeter scar in the same spot on his forehead. He didn’t remember how he got it.
The scar sat close to the hairline and often went unnoticed. I had almost forgotten about it myself.
The gauze plaster on little Daniel’s forehead left me puzzled: If my arrival changes nothing, then what was the point of all this?
"Mom!"
Hazel’s voice pulled me back to the present.
"Mm?"
"Can I invite my friend over to our house for dinner?"
Hazel grabbed my hand and shook it. Daniel tilted his head, looking at me with pleading eyes.
"But Daniel still needs to go to the hospital…"
"It’s fine. It won’t take long."
Martha saw that even though Daniel wasn’t saying anything, his expression was hopeful. She understood and said, "I’ll take him to the hospital first. I’ll be back soon."
"Is there anything you want to eat? I’ll order something from a restaurant."
"Eat what Aunt Martha cooks."
Daniel suddenly spoke up louder than I’d ever heard him. It was the first time I’d heard him raise his voice like that.
"Hey, kid!"
Martha feigned shock. "Sorry, he doesn’t usually act spoiled. Maybe he’s tired of takeout; I haven’t had time to cook."
I couldn’t argue, so the four of us split up. Martha took Daniel to the hospital, and I took Hazel to the grocery store to buy ingredients.
When we got home, Martha asked why Hazel was back. Hazel announced loudly that she had gotten into a fight today.
Martha was startled and hurriedly asked what happened. Hazel said it was because a boy named Noah had pulled her pigtail. When Martha heard Noah’s name, she was startled again. "Is he in this kindergarten too? Was that kid Liam here today?"
"He was."
Hazel nodded. "Mom got into a fight today too!"
"Huh?"
Martha set Hazel, who was already changing her clothes, down and took a few quick steps into the kitchen. Seeing me organizing ingredients, she turned me around, scanning me from head to toe while muttering, Are you hurt?
Someone caring like that warmed me from the inside out. "I’m fine!"
"How could you be fine? That Liam girl didn’t hold back before—she slapped you and your face was swollen for days. Just thinking about it makes my teeth itch!"
She pinched my chin and looked left and right, trying to find a slap mark.
Hazel ran into the kitchen clutching a doll. Seeing Martha’s expression, she asked, "Mom, what’s wrong with your face?"
Martha babbled, "I’m just checking where that Liam girl hit your mom."
"No, no, no! Mom hit Aunt Liam!"
Martha froze at that answer, staring at me in disbelief, then confirmed with Hazel, "Your mom hit that Liam girl?"
Hazel nodded emphatically, tugging so hard her pigtail snapped against her forehead. She rubbed her head with one hand, then held the doll up with her left while making a pretend slapping motion with her right. Even though the doll’s face wasn’t actually struck, she hurriedly brought its cheek close and blew on it.
Martha widened her eyes in amazement. "Oh my, you’ve got spirit now! I always said—why not fight back? You go out all meek as a pillowcase, then go home and take it out on the family. Oh my, oh my, the world’s changing!"
She rubbed her hands together excitedly. "How do you feel now?"
"Pretty great."
Could I not feel great? I’d spent decades holding everything in—never starting trouble, even with the one who always caused me problems, Hazel. I bottled everything up for a lifetime; my sickness was born from that suppression. I won’t live like that again. Sweetness and forbearance—get lost.
"Oh my little Hazel, your mom finally woke up!"
Martha took Hazel’s hand, giggling as they spun around.
"If you two want to dance, go do it in the living room. Don’t make a mess here—I’ve got guests coming and I’m getting lunch ready."
I put my apron on and shooed them out of the kitchen.
When Martha heard there were guests, she immediately asked, "Is it Mr. Bennett?"
"No, ask her."
"It’s my friend, and his uncle!"
Hazel puffed up with pride.
"Oh my, you have friends now!"
Martha sang along, but instead of leaving the kitchen she tried to wrestle the apron from me.
"No way. Take her to the living room. The kid said she wants my cooking."
I tossed the old woman and the child out of the kitchen and started on lunch.
Outside the living room, I could hear Hazel and Martha bragging about the fight.
By the time the doorbell rang, Martha and I had just set the table.
I went to open the door with Hazel in tow. Standing there were two people, one adult, one child, both with pale faces—like debt collectors showing up.
After a greeting, Daniel went in first and walked up to me, holding something out. "For you."
No greeting, no explanation. I took it—it was a single blue rose.
I shot a questioning look at Martha, who shrugged. "He picked it himself. Little boys like blue, right?"
Daniel followed closely behind Hazel. I carefully put the flower in a vase and followed them back in.
Dinner was ready and we all sat down. Martha insisted on not eating with us, and I didn’t push.
To my right was Hazel; to my left, Daniel; across from me, Martha. Of the three, Hazel was bright and loud, Daniel calm and obedient like he belonged to the family, and Martha looked the most nervous.
Did these three ever meet like this in my previous life?
I couldn’t help wondering.
At the table, Martha and I barely spoke. I wanted to ask questions about Daniel, but I didn’t want to seem too eager or raise suspicion. There would be more chances later.
Martha kept complimenting the food and checking with Daniel for approval. Daniel shoveled food into his mouth, his cool little face puffed, and nodded solemnly. He had presence.
Hazel was the liveliest at the table, chattering like she’d never stopped. She could make anything into a topic. "Uncle, do you like my spoon?"
After getting a yes, she turned to Daniel. "My mom bought this spoon for me. Ask your mom to buy you one too. Friends should have the same things."
Both Martha and I were startled and glanced at Daniel, but he barely reacted.
He swallowed and said to Hazel seriously, "My uncle will buy one. Tell him where your mom bought it."
"Why not ask your mom?"
Hazel was puzzled.
"Hazel!"
I called her name in a panic.
"My dad and mom—they went to heaven."
Daniel said matter-of-factly.
"Heaven? That’s where the angels are, and the old white-bearded man. They won’t come back?"
I wanted to stop Hazel, but Martha subtly shook her head in almost-imperceptible denial. I couldn’t be sure what she meant, so I stopped trying to intervene.
"They won’t come back."
Daniel looked down at his plate. Martha and I watched him anxiously, as Hazel still innocently didn’t know what had happened. "Do you miss them?"
Daniel didn’t answer with words but nodded heavily.
"Hazel, talk about something else."
I couldn’t listen any longer and finally cut them off.
Hazel obediently nodded, her big eyes darting around before landing on a fresh topic. "Do you know your mom had you?"
"I know!"
Daniel brightened and seemed determined to get the conversation back on track. "I also know how my mom had me. Do you know?"
The subject shift was jarring. Martha and I were still reeling from the earlier tension, and the two kids had already moved into another heated topic.
"It’s when my dad puts his little—into my mom—" Hazel blurted, then started to cry.
I clapped my hand over her mouth. "Hazel, finish your food and then watch cartoons with Daniel!"
Martha wasn’t any better; she hushed Daniel: "Knowledge isn’t for showing off, kid. Eat your food! Look at this braised pork—will that shut you up?"
Before Daniel could answer, she stuffed a piece of braised pork into his mouth.
"Ding-dong—"
The doorbell rang again.
"I’ll get it! I’ll get it!"
Martha dashed from the kitchen to the door, thinking it was probably someone from the building management.
"Mr. Bennett?"
Martha’s voice shot up two octaves. "What brings you here today?"
I froze. I hadn’t expected an uninvited guest and hadn’t decided how to handle it. Hazel had already slid off her chair and dashed to the entryway, shouting, "Daddy!" as she ran.
"Why isn’t Hazel at school today?"
Mr. Bennett’s voice sounded in good spirits.
I heard his footsteps come inside and resigned myself to the situation.
"My kindergarten friend is visiting!" Hazel announced proudly.
"Is it a little girl or—"
Mr. Bennett didn’t finish; he turned into the dining room and saw. For a moment, he couldn’t process why a child’s friend had an adult with him. He stared for several beats until Hazel introduced them eagerly, "Dad, this is my friend Daniel, and this is his uncle."
"Oh, I see."
Mr. Bennett composed himself and extended a hand. "Hello."
Martha had already stood and also extended her hand. Although I wanted him to call ahead next time, he was here now. I didn’t want to make things awkward, nor did I want to invite him to sit—yet he seemed unbothered.
He put Hazel back in her chair, shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the couch, rolled up his sleeves, and called to the kitchen, "Aunt Zhao, bring me a bowl and chopsticks."
Then he dragged a chair over and sat between me and Daniel, even asking Martha if she wanted a drink of whiskey—acting like the man of the house.
I was numb. How could someone be so shameless?
After getting his bowl, Mr. Bennett theatrically took a bite and said to Martha, "Claire’s cooking is something else! Try this."
Martha kept a calm, distant expression she’d worn at the hospital, responding politely.
I refused to watch his performance, so I used feeding Hazel as an excuse to nudge my chair away from him. But Mr. Bennett’s voice was persistent: "So, the kid’s uncle, is he?"
"Why didn’t your girlfriend come with you?"
Something poked my elbow. I turned to look.
Daniel Price was standing between Ethan Bennett and me, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other. "I want to feed him too."
I was a little surprised—my impression of Daniel was that he wasn’t the clingy type.
From my last life’s first meeting with him, I still remembered his calm, detached manner that seemed older than his years.
Even a little contact made you feel that distance that always hung around him.
I wanted to ask him: big brother, how did you go from a soft, cute kid to a cold, unfeeling rock?
Before I could puzzle out his strange growth, a hand covered Daniel’s head.
"Men don’t act spoiled; learn to feed yourself…"
Ethan’s voice trailed off when he caught the death glare in my eyes, and he stretched the last syllable into a drawn-out "…oh."
I swatted his hand away, took Daniel’s bowl and spoon, and fed him a bite. "Is it good?"
"Yummy!"
Daniel didn’t hold back his praise.
"Kid, come sit here."
Claire Bennett called out.
"No, it’s fine."
I stopped him quickly, then turned to Ethan, annoyed. "You sit over there—move!"
Reluctant but scolded by my glare, Ethan blinked and then obediently picked up his bowl and moved to Daniel’s chair, even transferring Daniel’s cup without complaint.
I put Daniel on Ethan’s chair and concentrated on feeding Daniel and Hazel. When Hazel ate something tasty, she bobbed her head and insisted I give a bite to Daniel too.
The three of us were in a warm, bustling bubble while Ethan and Claire sat awkwardly at the other end of the table, quiet.
They stared at their bowls and sipped water now and then like they were parched.
Ethan, quick to react—after all, he was used to business—spoke first. "I feel like Mr. Price looks familiar."
"You’ve got a good memory, Mr. Bennett. We’ve run into each other a few times at the hospital—when I was treating Hazel," Claire said.
Ethan squinted, thought for a moment, and nodded.
"Is kindergarten closed today?"
He asked me.
"Yes."
I answered casually, then fed Hazel a mouthful of broccoli. She puckered but swallowed, and I turned to feed Daniel. "Though we all skipped class together, right, Daniel?"
Daniel smiled and nodded when I looked at him warmly.
"What do you mean?"
Ethan glanced around the table in confusion but then got an answer from his daughter.
"Dad, we had a fight, then Mom and Uncle Daniel brought us home."
"A fight? The two of you?"
Only now did Hazel register who they’d fought. She pouted and refused to answer, shaking her head repeatedly.
"Were you the reason he came?"
I asked, surprised—I’d thought Ethan came because Liu Ziyan had complained.
"Of course not."
Ethan hesitated. "For another reason. But who did Hazel fight with?"
"With your precious son."
Ethan’s brow twitched as if someone had just tossed him a child he hadn’t expected.
Claire took a sip of water and asked, "Daniel, did you finish eating?"
He nodded.
"Mr. Bennett, Ms. Bennett, I need to take Daniel to the hospital later to pick up some test results. We won’t keep you. And thanks for the lunch, it was delicious."
"Thank you, Auntie."
Daniel said thank you politely too.
After they left, I went back to the dining room and Ethan was asking Hazel why she fought.
"He pulled my pigtails and called me a bastard."
Hazel’s voice was low; she couldn’t meet Ethan’s eyes.
At the word "bastard," Ethan’s face darkened, but he didn’t say anything—he just stroked Hazel’s head.
When I returned, Ethan blurted, "That Dr. Price seems… resistant to me?"
He picked his words carefully and probed my expression. I sighed. From Claire’s perspective, a home-wrecker and a sugar daddy weren’t exactly charming—no wonder she was wary.
"He sees you as a handsome, rich young man—he’s probably jealous," I teased, rolling my eyes.
"Oh, that explains it."
Ethan looked suddenly enlightened. I couldn’t believe he didn’t pick up on sarcasm.
"What did you come for?"
I didn’t want to waste time.
"To see how you and Hazel are settling into the new place. If you need anything." He glanced around the house.
I almost asked how he knew our new address, but decided not to—no big deal. Besides, I caught myself thinking of the call from yesterday.
"We don’t need anything. But if you keep coming around, maybe get a better front door."
Instead of getting angry, Ethan’s tone softened. "Are you mad?"
I couldn’t understand him. The first time we met, he was cold and ruthless—after I dumped a pitcher of water on him, he chased us away. Now he was back, fussing and checking if I was upset?
I studied him. Honestly, with Ethan’s looks and money, I could see how women like Liu Ziyan and Claire might throw themselves at him even knowing he had a wife.
Ethan was everything—tall, slim waist, broad shoulders, long legs, tailored suits that showed off his figure. His almond-shaped eyes on that stern face gave him a strange magnetism. And of course, he had money.
The archetypal domineering CEO in real life.
Young, naive girls could easily get swept up.
But beauty and wealth mean nothing without sense. What about genetics?
I glanced at Hazel, concerned. "Hazel, finish your food and let Auntie take you for a nap, okay?"
Hazel nodded and Claire hurried out of the kitchen to take her.
"Say what you have to say."
Once Hazel’s door shut, I lowered my voice.
"I admit before, I was wrong," Ethan said quietly. "But I didn’t expect you’d actually move out."
"Didn’t you order us to leave within three days?" I shot back.
"That was said in anger. Besides… didn’t I give you a way out?"
A way out? I thought for a moment; maybe he had. But I wasn’t Claire Bennett anymore—those so-called outs didn’t mean anything to me.
Seeing me silent, Ethan went on, "I know you drank. We talked about it before and you wouldn’t stop. But you seem better now, so I—"
"Forget it. It’s over. Let’s not go over the past."
I didn’t want him thinking we were reminiscing. I didn’t even know what had happened between him and Claire.
Ethan pursed his lips, took a breath, and shifted topics. "Making you move and letting Ziyan take that apartment was wrong. I had selfish reasons. I don’t want things to be like this—you know that. The requests you made before, I didn’t agree because of things I couldn’t say—things you wouldn’t accept. I understand."
I was puzzled but didn’t ask.
"I just want to know what I can do. As long as you stop drinking and drop that demand, I’ll agree to anything. Buy another house in your name, switch Hazel’s school…"
"I want to break up."
Ethan stopped mid-sentence. He blinked, stunned. After a long moment, he seemed to pull himself together. "Are you sure?"
Something flashed in his eyes and I missed it; that single "sure?" got stuck in my throat.
We stared at each other. His back became rigid as if, the moment I nodded, he’d crumble. I never thought ending things with a man I didn’t love would feel so hard.
Reborn, I was still adjusting to this identity, but I was hopeful about the future—eating what I liked, watching the films I wanted, curling up in bed on rainy days. Every day could be new.
All I wanted now was to untangle the mess Claire Bennett left behind—to live the life I wanted in this body. Hazel was the only responsibility I would take on. I wouldn’t inherit Claire’s lover.
Silence thickened, a dangerous edge rising. Ethan sat there like a beast coiled in the dark, ready to pounce and clamp his jaws around my throat if I so much as moved.
I swallowed and, speechless, finally nodded.
Ethan’s eyelid twitched. He understood.
I waited for his reaction like someone awaiting judgment. He sat stunned for a while, then stood, his expression returning to that first-meeting cold. "I’ll arrange to have your things delivered."
Without waiting for me to ask what things, he left.
It took me a long time to realize I’d gained freedom.
Single freedom.
Whatever Ethan planned to send, whatever Claire had demanded of him—those ties no longer concerned me.
I’m free!
I should have felt sheer joy.
But inexplicably a small unease lingered, like I’d just torn apart a pair of devoted lovers with my own hands.
I cleared the dishes and took them to the kitchen, trying to scrub away that guilty feeling. When I finished, I wandered back to the living room, sat on the couch, picked up my phone and had no idea what to do.
I leaned back and something poked my head—a lump in Ethan’s coat pocket left draped over the chair.
Thinking he might send someone to pick it up, I smoothed the wrinkles I’d pressed into his coat and stepped aside. A small pillbox slipped from the pocket. I picked it up, turning it over in my hand—labeled stomach medicine and sedatives.
I put the pillbox back into his coat. My mind was a fog; my fingers tapped the phone without thinking. When I came to, I’d typed three characters into the search bar: "Ethan Bennett."
On impulse I hit search. There was a profile entry: Ethan Bennett—Top Ten Outstanding Young Entrepreneurs of River City… Year XXXX China Excellent Innovative Entrepreneur… Provincial Philanthropic Businessman…
I didn’t expect him to have so many titles. The entry offered little personal detail, mostly achievements the company boasted about. I skimmed through in a few seconds and then jumped back to the search results.
Aside from the profile, there were PR releases and videos from their company. A few of the videos had incredibly high view counts. I clicked one at random and was startled by the avalanche of live comments across the screen—"Ahhhh his legs are so long!"
"Total CEO energy, I’m dying!"
"Ahhhh I want to marry him!"
"Stop—he already has a wife!"
"Mom I want to marry him!"
"He has a wife?
No way, cryingggg…"
"Does the CEO accept mistresses?"
"I want to be a mistress too, gender no problem, I can adapt!"
I shut the video off. My mouth almost twisted into a grin—I’m really getting old. These kids, what are they even thinking? I wanted to drop a comment like, "Can you handle a CEO with mood swings?"
I scrolled to the bottom of the search results and tapped page two. In the fraction of a second the page changed, and my eyes caught a shocking headline. I quickly switched back to page one and scrolled to the bottom.
—Kept his father-in-law alive to milk his inheritance, poisoned his hard-working wife!
Digging into the dark past of River City’s supposedly upstanding representative Ethan Bennett!
Each word landed like a slap. The photo was pixelated, but Ethan’s outline was unmistakable.
I hesitated for a second and opened the post—Has no one heard the story of River City’s supposedly handsome entrepreneur Ethan Bennett’s rise to power?
He literally climbed over his father-in-law’s coffin to get where he is!
All the so-called "rags-to-riches" guys and peacocks look like weaklings next to him!
They’re all nobodies!
Killing his father-in-law is one thing—maybe just a case of eating his way to the end—but poisoning his wife? Who would even do that?!
According to reliable sources, Ethan Bennett was the only child of a poor family. His father drank and gambled and died early; his mother raised him alone.
They were so poor he couldn’t even afford school. Ethan had to work on farms, feeding pigs and doing menial labor to help his mother.
From that background, he somehow married a wealthy beauty and hit the jackpot. How did he pull it off?
Right!
He used his father-in-law!
Lucky Ethan crossed paths with a small-time lingerie factory owner, Mr. Lewis. Mr. Lewis’s business was modest but he had a good heart—he led charity efforts and donated to build a hope school. Once, when Mr. Lewis personally inspected Ethan’s hometown, he noticed Ethan and decided then and there to sponsor his education all the way through university.
Ethan rode that coattail and finished college without much trouble.
Think that’s the end?
If you think that, your kindness is limiting your imagination!
Ethan didn’t stop at using Mr. Lewis for school—he had his eyes on the Lewis family’s assets.
Why else would a finance major end up in a lingerie factory unless he meant to take it over?
This is where another key player enters the story.
Mr. Lewis had only one daughter, April Lewis.
April was the late-arrival, spoiled daughter—coddled all her life. The suffering she would endure later was all her own doing.
After university, Ethan worked as a low-level employee at the factory and was taken care of by Mr. Lewis. Mr. Lewis often invited him over for dinner. April slowly took a fancy to Ethan.
She was obsessed—had to marry him!
The lingerie business prospered, and Ethan took on more important roles.
By then Mr. Lewis was getting on in years and wanted Ethan to be the successor—an in-law son-in-law arrangement.
Although Ethan had benefited from Mr. Lewis’s kindness, his mother knew this was risky. The old woman opposed the idea of her son becoming an in-law son-in-law. But Ethan pushed forward and accepted. His mother, furious, died of anger!
With his mother gone, Ethan had no scruples. He married into the Lewis family and smoothly took over the factory. He had become the master of his destiny!
This guy had ruthlessness. Otherwise, how could he climb out of a poor valley to run a big city’s business and act like a king?
Ethan’s methods were brutal—he sidelined Mr. Lewis and pushed him out of the factory.
To siphon off the Lewis assets, he set up an investment management company everyone knows now, laundering the factory’s funds into his own pockets.
As for April—he didn’t treat her well. Riding on money and decent looks, he flirted around. Eventually he was linked to the company’s secretary, who supposedly bore him a son.
April couldn’t take it and swallowed pesticide!
Do you think a spoiled girl had ever seen pesticide? Right, she’s not someone who’s worked in the fields like poor Ethan… isn’t that terrifying when you think about it?!
April survived the poisoning but was left infertile.
Mr. Lewis, seeing no heirs, couldn’t take it and passed away soon after.
Mrs. Lewis couldn’t accept reality and followed him to the grave.
Ethan was then completely untethered. It’s said he didn’t even shed a crocodile tear at their funerals.
Well, if you made your mother-in-law die of shock, what’s the point of being sad over a father-in-law?
If he wasn’t ecstatic over it, it would have been a miracle. Everyone knows the later story—after April’s suicide attempt left her bedridden, Ethan spent his days carousing. Rumor even said he kept a mistress and had a child with her, but who knows if that’s true.
Everything I exposed here is real. Ask the old staff at the factory—someone will remember.
That’s all I’ve dug up on Ethan for now; we’ll update if there’s more.
The post ended, and I sat there, stunned.
Exposé posts are often a mix of truth and lies, hard to tell. But this one went into such detail, even naming his mistress and child—it felt at least somewhat credible.
I scrolled the thread. Hundreds of comments flooded the screen—"Will the forum delete this?!" "This is a real-life drama, bookmarking!" "Screenshots!!!" "Is this Ethan Bennett the same as April Lewis? The photos look alike!" "Is the OP trolling? Lingerie factory, April Lewis, investment company—there can’t be two Ethans like this." "No way—he’s so handsome, he can’t be like this… his bearing doesn’t scream poor background. This is slander." "OP is probably a woman. She’s just jealous and wants to sleep with him. What bearing? What bearing—murderer’s bearing?" "This post has details, feels real!" "It’s real! April Lewis’s poisoning happened at the hospital next to my house, I saw it!" "Whoa, eyewitness. Which hospital?" "OMG Phoenix men are terrifying; single daughters, be careful." "Anyone want to date? I’m a good man."
An endless string of reactions—skeptics, bystanders, gossip-seekers, and a few alleged witnesses supporting the poster.
I flicked back up and then one reply jumped out—the language was vicious: "You filthy liar! Where did this stray dog come from, spitting shit on people!"
That aggressive reply had a small pile of responses underneath: "Whoa, what’s going on here?" "If you know the truth, speak up. Insults don’t help." "If insults mattered, the police would be useless."
Many were calling for the original replier to say more, but the account didn’t post again.
Although shaken by the post, I’d finally loosened my grip on Ethan. I didn’t want to be dragged back into his mess. Whether it’s true or not—what did any of it have to do with me?
Still, my eyes kept returning to that forceful rebuttal. I couldn’t tear myself away.
Lost in thought, my phone buzzed. A text came in—open it: "The test results are back. Daniel’s fine. Don’t worry."
"Good, glad to hear that. I can relax now," I replied.
"That kid Daniel really clung to you. Maybe his parents died early. I didn’t take care of him well enough. Sorry for the trouble."
"No trouble," I typed quickly. Then I added another message after thinking it over: "I like Daniel too. If you ever need help, tell me. I’d be happy to help."
"Thank you."
After I closed the messages, I went back to the forum page. I hesitated for a long time, then finally clicked the profile of the replier.
The ID, "InkMilk," seemed to belong to a woman. Her follows were mostly skincare and parenting threads; her shared posts were about bags and shoes. The photos she posted showed a nicely furnished home—she looked well-off.
Still, someone who came out swinging like that was bold. I couldn’t decide whether to ask if she knew anything.
I thought about it for a long time and finally sent her a private message: "Hello. I saw your reply on a thread exposing Mr. Bennett. Do you know anything? Could you tell me?"
After sending the PM I felt even more conflicted. Part of me thought I was asking for trouble.
On the other hand, even if the post was fake, so what?
Was I supposed to post something to clear Ethan Bennett’s name?
I had worked so hard to cut ties with that man. If I started defending him now, wouldn’t everyone think I still had feelings?
Luckily, after the message was sent, no reply came for a long time.
I felt relieved, and yet agitated—like I was split in two. Had Ethan infected me with his drama?
I tossed my phone aside and sank into the couch, trying not to think about the post.
But those words had legs. They crept into my head no matter what I did. I shut my eyes and the phrases kept jumping around my dark little world: "father-in-law," "Xu JL," "Yao so-and-so," "marrying into the family."
"Mom?"
A small, childish voice.
I opened my eyes. Hazel Bennett and Martha were already up.
Seeing me half-asleep, Martha went to the bedroom for a blanket while Hazel scrambled onto the couch and curled into my arms.
Her soft hair tickled my chin.
"You awake?"
"Mm. Where’s Dad?"
"…Dad had something at the office. He left already."
"Oh…"
Her voice was tiny and still a little groggy.
I was about to ask if she wanted some water when the doorbell rang. Martha went to answer.
"Hello, is this Ms. Bennett’s residence?"
A stranger’s voice came from outside.
"Yes—who’s this?" Martha asked.
When I heard my name spoken outside, I picked up Hazel and walked to the door.
"I’m Ethan Bennett’s secretary. Mr. Bennett asked me to deliver something to Ms. Bennett."
He handed me a document envelope and left.
I suddenly remembered Ethan saying he would send something when he left. Curiosity flared.
I opened the envelope. There was a contract and a note. Because I was holding Hazel, I couldn’t reach easily. Hazel stuck her hand into the envelope — nearly her whole little arm — and pulled out the note.
We both looked. Hazel read loudly: "IOU."
"’Party A Claire Bennett, because of mother’s medical treatment borrowed from Party B Ethan Bennett—this character I don’t know—total 5,130,000…’"
"Mommy, bye! Don’t forget to pick me up!"
Hazel waved her little hand at me and ran off after Daniel Price, who had arrived at kindergarten first.
Watching the two kids go into the school building, I finally hailed a cab.
On the ride, I pulled the envelope from my bag and took a closer look.
A photocopy of an IOU for 5.13 million. A copy of a custody agreement.
Even if I hadn’t spent that money, there was no way to disclaim it. The IOU clearly named the borrower as Claire Bennett and bore a thumbprint. No one would believe I wasn’t the Claire Bennett in question.
The custody agreement granted Hazel’s custody to Ethan Bennett. What had Ethan and Claire done? Why had Claire signed away custody—was it for money?
It didn’t make sense.
Shortly after I got the documents, Ethan texted me to make a decision: either I hand him the child and take the original IOU and we’d go our separate ways, never to be involved again; or I keep the child and shoulder the enormous debt, embarking on a long, grueling road of repayment.
Pick one. He framed it as both his mercy and the price of my freedom.
"Or, you can choose neither. Hazel stays with you, and you don’t have to worry about the money," he added in the message.
"I’ll think about it."
Back in Ethan Bennett’s company, a male secretary led me into Ethan’s office.
The moment I stepped in, the sharp smell of alcohol hit me. Ethan was on his phone. When he saw me, he gestured to wait. I nodded and sat down on the sofa.
He said very little, only occasional "mm" and "yes, do as the doctor said." The call dragged on until my eyes started to wander in boredom.
On the desk sat a bottle of whiskey, about a third full, and a stack of contract-like papers. I scanned the tabletop but couldn’t find a glass, until Ethan lifted a tumbler to his forehead.
The call sounded complicated. His brow knit; his knuckles whitened around the glass, but his tone stayed flat and calm. When he hung up, he showed no visible change in expression.
He tossed his phone aside and stood there for a long, blank moment before speaking quietly, "Have you decided?"
"I want the original IOU back."
I was blunt.
He didn’t seem to expect such a straightforward answer. For an instant, his brain looked as if it had to reboot.
He shook his head, frowning deeper. "The child?"
"According to the custody agreement, the child belongs to you."
I said it without expression, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.
Silence stretched. For a second I thought he’d crush the glass in his hand, but he stood frozen as if held in place. Just when I feared he might change his mind, he walked to his desk, rifled through the papers, picked up one sheet, glanced at it once with an almost pained look, and hurried over to set it down on the coffee table next to me.
"I’ll return the IOU to you. From now on, you and Hazel… you and I are no longer connected. Don’t let me see you again."
His face was controlled and cold, but his voice trembled in a way you might not notice at first.
I couldn’t look at him. I took the IOU and said softly, "I’ll tell the kindergarten. Hazel is dismissed at four. Remember to pick her up."
"Go."
He said it under his breath.
Leaving Ethan’s office, I felt spaced out. The 5.13 million IOU was safely tucked in my wallet’s inner pocket.
Still, something felt off.
I told myself the money wasn’t mine to begin with; the child wasn’t mine; I hadn’t played the other woman. I had a clear conscience.
Even thinking that, a shadow lingered in my chest. I didn’t go home. I wandered into a mall.
No debt to pay now, no child to raise, plenty in my bank account. I was only twenty-seven and still attractive. What could be better?
I felt light, almost ready to fly.
In my last life, every day after twenty-seven had been weighted with guilt and suppression. This time, thanks to Hazel and the Bennett family, I could reclaim a bright, free youth.
It felt like compensation.
I shoved my worries aside and shopped my way through the mall, eventually treating myself to the most expensive lamb chops at a restaurant to celebrate my rebirth.
After lunch, time was early so I ducked into a wellness spa for a massage.
The therapist was a young woman with nice skin and a soft voice. While massaging, she complimented my upkeep but said I looked a little dehydrated. Hearing the same script I’d once overheard in a spa decades later made me smile inwardly. I was in a good mood, and the girl’s technique was excellent, so I didn’t decline when she offered a membership.
Her face lit up and she worked with more vigor, chatting: "You’re just in time. We have a promotion here and the mall’s running one too. Combine them and you save a lot!"
I smiled. "I noticed when I checked out earlier—felt like a seventy-percent price cut."
"You have such good taste, so beautiful. This mall has all the big brands. It’s perfect for someone like you."
I smiled but didn’t respond.
She brought a sheet mask and split it into two pieces. After she applied the top half, she suddenly exclaimed, "You look so familiar! You look just like that brand ambassador for ‘Lana’!"
Especially the nose and mouth! "Too similar!"
Her excitement made me curious. "Which ambassador?"
"The one for Lana, the lingerie brand. Our mall has a huge ad for them. Haven’t you seen it?"
I shook my head—I’d missed it.
"The company’s owner is famous around town, tall and handsome. His surname’s Bennett or something," she said.
My heart skipped. I said nothing. The girl didn’t notice my reaction and finished applying the other half of the mask. When I closed my eyes, she fell silent.
After the spa, I hunted down the ad space in the mall.
Seeing the model, I exhaled. I had assumed the ambassador was Claire Bennett, but they merely looked alike.
The ad was near a lingerie boutique. I lingered at the door; a salesperson came out to greet me, but I smiled and shook my head and didn’t go in.
None of it concerned me now.
When I left the mall, I glanced at the time—4:10. By then Ethan should have picked Hazel up.
A strange pang of longing hit me. I didn’t grab a cab. I walked slowly, bags in hand.
If Hazel grew up with her father now, her life would trace a different path than in my previous life.
I had to admit—Hazel was cute. Her face resembled Claire Bennett, but her mouth’s line matched Ethan’s. When she was unhappy, her lips would flatten into a straight line.
Her limbs were long; she’d grow taller—definitely Ethan’s genes.
But Claire didn’t strike me as a good mother—otherwise why would Hazel be so sharp-witted at such a young age?
I stopped and stared at my reflection in a shop window, dazed.
I’m not Claire Bennett. I’m not Hazel’s mother.
I am—"buzz—!"
My phone vibrated in my bag and snapped me back.
"Hello? Where are you?" I answered immediately.
"Why didn’t you come pick up the kids from school?"
Li Qingyan’s voice sounded a little angry.
"I… I was out. I had something to do."
"What thing?"
He wouldn’t let it go. Through the line I could hear a child’s faint crying.
"What’s going on?"
I hurriedly asked.
"Some strange man tried to pick Hazel up."
"That’s her dad — you saw him, right?"
"No!
Hurry over."
He hung up before I could say it might’ve been that male secretary.
I didn’t waste a second. I flagged down a cab, told the driver the address, and called Ethan — but his phone was off.
A surge of panic prickled my skull. I almost shouted at the driver, "Please, go faster!"
At the kindergarten gate I saw Li Qingyan in casual clothes holding Hazel. Daniel stood beside him tugging on Li Qingyan’s sleeve. A man in a black suit and Hazel’s teacher were there too.
I yanked the car door open and rushed forward. Before I reached them I heard Hazel wailing, "I want Mommy…"
My nose inexplicably stung. I nearly cried — and mentally scolded myself for feeling so soft — but my hands still reached for Hazel, who was burying her face in Li Qingyan’s neck and sobbing.
She flinched when my hands touched her, startled, but when she saw me she sniffled briefly then cried louder and flung herself into my arms.
"Ms. Bennett, Mr. Bennett asked me to bring Miss to the office," the male secretary from the company — the one I’d seen earlier — explained. "Mr. Bennett couldn’t leave."
Hazel’s crying rattled me. I patted her back endlessly and tried to hold my neck stiff so her little arms wouldn’t choke me.
The secretary looked uncomfortable, afraid he couldn’t return to report. Li Qingyan and Daniel watched quietly, trying to piece together what happened.
Across the way a familiar-looking woman led a child and kept glancing toward us.
I hoisted Hazel a little higher onto one arm and dug into my bag with the other. I pulled out the thin scrap of paper and handed it to the secretary: "Take this back. Tell Ethan I want custody of the child."
Being pinned down and declared love — I’ve now experienced what it’s like.
"Mommy I love you the most!"
Hazel insisted I lie down on her small bed. She half-lay across my right shoulder, her right arm wrapped around my neck and head, saying for the 108th time:
"I know, you should sleep now!"
Embarrassed and ashamed, I tried to change the subject, but she was still restless.
"Mommy, do you love me?"
My eyes darted. "Of course a mom loves her child…"
She squeezed my face with both tiny hands. "Do you love me the most?"
Her eager face had a hint of anxiety. I forced a nod.
Her face lit up into a huge smile and — without warning — she crashed into me, pressing little kisses all over my face: "I love you most, most, most!"
Wow, that barrage of kisses left me blushing. To get her to fall asleep, I picked up a picture book and read until she nodded off.
I thought that would be the end of it, but the next morning she refused to go to kindergarten no matter what I said.
One minute she said her throat hurt, the next her stomach hurt. Even when I offered to take her to the doctor for a shot — which she immediately agreed to — she still refused to go to school.
She locked herself in the bathroom when I wasn’t watching. I knew she was upset, and forcing her now would make things worse.
Somebody rang the doorbell and Martha went to answer.
"Good morning, Mr. Li. Anything I can do?"
"Morning. It’s nothing, it’s him."
Li Qingyan followed Daniel inside. I had just pulled up the teacher’s number but put my phone down when I saw them.
Li Qingyan spoke first: "This kid said he wants to go to kindergarten with Hazel."
Daniel nodded, expressionless. He didn’t ask where Hazel was; instead he looked straight at me. Curious, I asked, "Is there something on my face?"
He shook his head and reached for my hand. I knelt down.
Before I could react he stepped forward and wrapped his arm around my neck. I have no idea why children’s little arms and necks seem to be attracted to me these days.
I reflexively put my arms around Daniel. He obediently rested his head on my shoulder without saying a word and held me.
I looked at Li Qingyan with my eyes, asking what was going on. He forced a bitter smile.
"Where’s Hazel?"
Li Qingyan asked.
I glanced toward the bathroom and whispered, "She’s sulking, won’t go to kindergarten, hiding in the bathroom."
Li Qingyan nodded knowingly. "Daniel, go get Hazel."
The little boy in my arms slowly released my neck and shuffled to the bathroom door. "This kid dreamed of his mom last night," Li Qingyan murmured as he stepped beside me.
I froze.
"I heard him talking in his sleep last night," he said, taking a breath and exhaling.
Hazel came out following Daniel, this time without fuss — she picked up her backpack on her own.
I teased her, "Stomach okay now?"
She pouted, took my hand, and the four of us left together.
Back home, Martha was doing laundry. I should’ve gone to see Ethan about changing the custody arrangement, but his phone was off despite several calls.
I hesitated about going to his office to confront him when Martha emerged from the kitchen.
"Claire, I’m thinking of going out for a bit — to buy something. I left lunch in the fridge, it’s ready. Will that be okay for you?"
"Sure. Going shopping?"
I asked casually.
"Ahem!" Martha’s smile was clipped and a little shy. "Don’t laugh, but I’m going to buy… a bra. The one I’m wearing’s been a few years old; the strap broke last night, so I figured I won’t repair it."
I nodded. Since I had nothing else to do, I stood up: "I’ll go with you. Why not? Lunch is on me today."
"No, no!" Martha rushed to refuse. "I’m not going to the big mall, just the market. It’s crowded and risky — don’t lose anything."
"Come on, it’ll be fine. Wait for me."
Ignoring her protests, I changed from my dress into a plain T-shirt and jeans, slipped into flats, and patted her canvas shoulder bag. "This bag’s from a supermarket promotion. Sturdy and roomy. Nobody’s going to steal it."
The market wasn’t far. We strolled there and I was stunned when we arrived. In my day, markets had become standardized — closer to a small supermarket. But this market was a chaotic street: produce stalls, meat vendors, snack stands, hardware, and misc. goods all jammed together without order — one-meter gaps between shoe stalls held buckets of malt candy.
Martha clutched my hand like she was afraid we’d get separated. Usually soft-spoken, she barreled through the crowd like an armored knight, loudly clearing the way: "Excuse me! Make way!"
"Hey, you move or what? Don’t block the way!"
"Where are you going? I think you’re doing it on purpose — why don’t you bump into me then?"
A man shoved my shoulder from the front. Martha snapped at him angrily. I didn’t want her to get into a fight over me, so I tugged on her hand and led her away.
The lingerie stall was tucked away; fewer customers than the produce section.
Martha relaxed her grip and we browsed. The stall had a surprising variety: socks, gloves, underwear, bras, insoles — even a line of black cloth shoes.
Martha inspected the bras carefully; I watched with her. The styles were plain, mostly cotton, some with materials you couldn’t quite identify.
She pointed to a flesh-colored bra. "How much is this one?"
The shopkeeper’s eyes slid from Martha to me, lingering at my chest as if by accident: "45 each. Pure cotton, good material, comfortable."
She used a long stick with a clip to grab a whole bundle and tossed all three sizes in front of us. "Three sizes. Try and see."
Martha picked a medium. Before I could ask where to try it on, she just stretched the bra over her clothes and fumbled at the back clasp. I gaped, then looked around. No one seemed to care except an old man who stared at Martha holding a pair of panties.
"This fits pretty well, right? Take it. Good quality — won’t deform after two years."
I thought: It has to have shape before it can deform.
The bra’s cups were droopy, sewn from two flimsy pieces. From every angle, it wasn’t what I’d call a proper bra.
Martha had already pulled it on and was sizing it up. "This quality is just okay…"
I nodded and tried to hurry her. Then she began bargaining.
"Forty-five is too expensive. Twenty. I’ll take it for twenty!"
She actually bargained!
"I can’t take twenty; I’d lose money. I can’t take it," the shopkeeper protested.
"Then tell me a fair price. How much will you sell it for?"
"Lady, forty-five isn’t expensive. If you don’t believe me, ask your daughter. This forty-five is a fair price."
As she said that she glanced again at my chest. I realized what she meant.
She was counting on my ‘daughter’ to get hustled. Was she trying to fleece us?
"Hey, stop bargaining and wasting time! I’ll add five more bucks. If you can sell it to me, buy one—if not, forget it!"
I grabbed Aunt Martha’s arm to stop her blind shopping. She seemed not to notice me tugging, calm as ever, and reached into her wallet for another twenty-five, tossing it to the shopkeeper.
"Fine, fine. I’ll take a loss. Twenty-five for one."
The shopkeeper used a long stick to grab the money and turned back to other customers.
Aunt Martha happily pulled a black plastic bag down, stuffed the bra into her purse, and beamed.
The little duel between pros ended while I was still staring, half bewildered and half like a brat causing trouble for his mom.
Afraid someone would step on us in the crowd, Aunt Martha didn’t linger. She hauled me away from the market.
I wasn’t willing to give up, so I dragged her straight to the mall.
After more dragging and pleading, we stormed through three lingerie stores and still couldn’t find a single bra that would work.
You couldn’t really blame her. The prices alone at specialty stores would scare anyone, and the ornate designs made no sense to Aunt Martha.
"Why wear something so fancy underneath? I’m not a spring chicken anymore! No no!"
"No way, Claire, this underwire is going to kill me. I can’t breathe!"
"This one’s too thick—what is this? Push-up? Lift? They’re gonna lift it to my chin—nope, nope!"
By the time we hit the last shop, Aunt Martha was practically begging: "Claire, please, let your auntie off the hook. None of these are made for women like us."
Her words snapped me back. Living in a twenty-seven-year-old body, I’d forgotten how I’d aged. I’d forgotten those lost years.
After we ate, we shopped a little more and, out of habit, I bought her a blouse as a gift.
It wasn’t until kindergarten dismissal time that I told Aunt Martha to head home first and went to pick up Hazel Bennett.
Hazel left school with Daniel Price trailing behind, tugging his sleeve. "Mom, can he come play at our house?"
I nodded and messaged Li Qingyan.
The two kids snacked at our place and then watched cartoons together. When I finally looked over, they were both slumped on the couch, asleep.
I grabbed two blankets, covered Hazel first, then moved to Daniel.
I crouched and gently draped the blanket over him. I couldn’t help staring. In my last life, I hardly saw any childhood photos of Daniel, so being this close to him felt weirdly incredible.
Young Daniel’s eyes were narrow, the corners tilted up slightly. They always looked cool and unreadable, like he was always thinking three steps ahead.
I brushed his bangs aside and traced the faint scar on his forehead.
He shifted and murmured, "Mom…"
By the time Li Qingyan arrived, the kids had woken and were watching cartoons again.
He stood in the doorway with a serious expression. "What’s wrong?" I asked.
He glanced in without stepping inside. I understood and closed the door gently.
"Dr. Summers died," he said.
"Who?"
It confused me at first, but then I realized whom he meant. Dr. Summers? Susie Summers?
Shock, then confusion. What did this have to do with me?
We stared at each other like two blind people feeling for a path in fog. He snapped out of it first.
"A friend of mine—well, you met her once—she happens to have been Dr. Summers’ supervising doctor. News of Dr. Summers’ death got out somehow at noon. Reporters have swarmed the hospital. My friend is… hiding out at my place."
"Oh."
I nodded.
"Reporters and other nosy people might start digging for gossip about Ethan Bennett. You and Hazel need to be careful."
He paused, cleared his throat, and then asked, "Also… could my friend… maybe stay at your place for a bit? My house has only me and Daniel—"
I blinked. A pretty girl, needing a place to lie low, coming to him for help—sounds like an opportunity to get close, right? He must be oblivious.
I decided to quietly help this woman he knew. "Uh—"
"Mom?"
The door had opened at some point and Hazel’s little head peered through. "So you and Uncle Li were keeping secrets! Heehee~"
Daniel peeked behind Hazel, curious too.
The conversation was cut off. I called Daniel over, "Daniel, Uncle Li came to pick you up. Go grab your backpack."
He ran back to the living room, backpack on, and both boys joined us.
Li Qingyan wanted to say more, but I pretended to smooth Hazel’s skirt to give the moment some cover. Then Hazel surprised everyone.
"Can we go to Daniel’s house to play? We haven’t been there yet!"
"Not today, it’s not convenient—"
"No, it’s fine! Totally fine! Daniel has LEGO. Hazel’s invited to come play, right, Daniel?"
Daniel came over and took my hand, nodding. My heart eased. I agreed.
The woman hiding at Li Qingyan’s must not have expected an entourage when he opened his door. Her smile froze, her face draining a little pale. I felt awkward for her.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Hazel, unfazed, replied: "Uncle, did we get the wrong house?"
Li Qingyan chuckled and ruffled Hazel’s hair. "This is Uncle’s house."
We all went in. Li introduced the woman to us.
Her name was Rose Bennett—a slight name misalignment with the glossary but I’ll use the given replacement—wearing an oversized white men’s shirt, hair half-dry over her shoulders, damp parts hinting at a white bra strap, and super-short denim shorts that showed long pale legs. I recognized the look; when I was young, the "no-bottom" trend had been popular too. Fashion does loop.
Rose looked flustered as she greeted me. "I came straight from the hospital. My clothes were gross so I showered—this shirt…"
She flashed a pleading look at Li, but he was staring at the kids’ LEGO like he was afraid they’d scatter the pieces.
What I had only suspected was now obvious: Rose liked Li Qingyan. She’d literally shown up on his doorstep. And he didn’t notice. This guy was bound to grow old alone if he kept missing signs.
No way I was letting him repeat the mistakes of his past life.
I told Rose, "Hazel insisted on seeing the LEGO. Now that she has, we should go. Don’t let us keep you—get some rest!"
"But Mom, we haven’t started playing!"
The boys were examining a weird-shaped piece. "I don’t even know what this is…"
"I’ll help!" Rose practically leaped between us and kneeled down with the kids.
Li and I sat on the couch. He shot me desperate looks; I decided to ignore him and schemed how to engineer a moment for them.
"Daniel?" I called.
He looked up.
"Do you want to go to Aunt Martha’s tonight? She’ll tell you and Hazel a story."
Daniel glanced at Li. Rose glanced at Li too, hopeful and flushed.
"No," Li said firmly. "Aunt Martha’s house is all girls. You’re a boy—can’t go."
"Then why can Aunt Martha be at Uncle’s house which is all boys?" Hazel was quick on the uptake.
Rose’s face reddened. She opened her mouth and hesitated. Hazel, relentless, plunged on: "Aunt Martha finished showering—where would she sleep tonight?"
"In Uncle’s room," Daniel blurted. "My bed’s too small."
"No!" both Li and Rose denied in unison.
"I’ll sleep on the sofa!"
"She can sleep at your house!"
Rose looked shocked at Li’s suggestion. He took the opening. "Ms. Bennett’s place is all women. I thought that might be more convenient—"
Her eyes welled up. Now Li couldn’t pretend not to see. He babbled a poor excuse: "It’s—Ms. Bennett wanted to look into Dr. Summers’ case."
I was surprised he could come up with a flimsy lie that actually worked. It got Rose’s attention. "Ms. Bennett—are you a reporter?"
"No, not a reporter."
My throat went dry. As Dr. Summers’ supervising physician, Rose would know that Dr. Summers had been married to Ethan Bennett. My status as the other woman was not something I could proudly announce.
"Just… curious," I said. "There’s some dirt online linking Dr. Summers to something."
Rose nodded but stayed quiet.
"People say Dr. Summers drank pesticide and became infertile— is that true?"
Rose glanced at Li, then at me, hesitant. "Yes."
"Has she been in the hospital long?"
"More than half the year, on and off. Her after-effects were serious. She needed close observation and care."
I nodded. It matched what I’d read online. It was hard to imagine Ethan doing something so cruel to his wife.
The room chilled after I stopped asking questions. Rose shifted to chat with Hazel. "What’s your name again?"
"Hazel Bennett," Hazel said, proud.
"Hazel…?"
Rose Bennett instantly grasped the implication and looked up at me in disbelief. "So… Ethan Bennett is?"
"He’s my father!"
The air in the living room seemed to freeze. Rose’s expression cooled. "Dr. Summers passed away, and you’re already so eager to confirm this?"
"Rose, it’s not what you think. Ms. Bennett was invited by me."
Daniel Price defended me.
"She can’t have children, but you did… Are you proud of that?" Rose ignored Daniel’s protest and looked at me with a hint of contempt.
"Hazel, let’s go."
I never liked arguing. Especially in situations like this—no matter how many mouths were stuck to me, there was no explaining that would convince everyone. Why bother?
Hazel obediently rose, patted her knees, waved goodbye to Daniel, and came over to me. I stood as well, preparing to leave.
Rose’s gaze skimmed past Hazel’s back. "Ms. Bennett, do you really think a man would abandon his wife because of your beauty and therefore wouldn’t fall for someone else’s beauty?"
As she said it, she rose slowly. Tall, lithe, every curve accentuated by a chilly expression; compared to before, she looked even more strikingly proud.
I couldn’t help appreciating the beauty in front of me. It was impossible not to envy youth—so radiant that I couldn’t even argue with her point. Hazel, puzzled, frowned.
"But Mom is the most beautiful in the whole world. That’s what Dad says."
I watched the little crease between her brows and laughed, scooping her up. She asked again, earnest: "Mom is the prettiest in the whole world, right?"
She looked at Daniel like she needed confirmation.
Daniel smiled warmly and pinched Hazel’s cheek. "Of course. Your mom is the prettiest in the whole world."
Daniel sat by the Lego box and nodded quietly.
I couldn’t bear to look at Rose’s face anymore. I said goodbye to Daniel, hugged Hazel, and left his house. At the door I bared my teeth at him playfully: "Hurry up and come home!"
I walked back holding Hazel. She started out excitedly saying she wanted the Lego set, but before long she curled on my shoulder and fell asleep.
My mind was clouded. That smear post about Ethan kept screaming in my head, and combined with Rose’s testimony, it seemed likely Ethan really was—my thoughts spun as I returned to the rented apartment. Exiting the elevator, someone was slumped on the floor by my door. I blinked. If it wasn’t Ethan, who else would it be?
Why was he here?
He sat there without reacting as we approached. When I drew closer, a strong smell of alcohol hit me.
I fumbled with the key, opened the door, and carried Hazel back to her room. Aunt Martha’s door emitted loud snores—shopping had worn her out. She was sound asleep.
Outside the room, I shook Ethan’s arm. "Ethan? Ethan? Wake up! Wake up!"
He seemed to pull himself back from a distant place, slowly lifting his head toward my voice. His narrow, bleary eyes studied me for a long moment before a drunken smile spread across his face. "Claire… I’m finally… free…"
The next morning, Daniel showed up at my door with little Daniel in tow even earlier than before. This time they came straight in to have breakfast.
Of course I was thrilled to see Daniel—I ushered them into the kitchen, poured milk and handed out sandwiches, then boiled a dozen large shrimp, peeled them, and split some between Daniel and Hazel.
Daniel glanced at the shrimp in little Daniel’s bowl, snatched one and popped it into his mouth. "Finders keepers!"
I widened my eyes at the brazen man. "How can you steal food from a kid?"
"Can’t I eat shrimp? I like shrimp too!"
Daniel protested loudly.
"Then go buy your own! You’re a doctor—you have an income, right?"
I grumbled and swapped seats so the two kids sat together. I sat between Daniel and little Daniel to keep him from snatching more shrimp. Hazel giggled, and little Daniel looked up at me with eyes curved into crescents, scooping another shrimp into his mouth.
"About yesterday, I didn’t think it through. Sorry."
Daniel said it suddenly.
"It’s fine. We left later. Are you both okay?" I asked worriedly.
"Fine. We’re old friends."
"Is that auntie staying at your uncle’s house now?" Hazel piped up.
"Yes, she’s sleeping in Uncle’s room."
Little Daniel answered.
I was just about to be pleased that Daniel was finally showing some sense when he hurried to clarify, "But I slept with little Daniel, not the auntie."
Well, there’s no saving him—destined bachelor forever.
"Do you like that auntie?" Hazel asked Daniel.
He set his spoon down and stared at the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head seriously.
I almost laughed at the sight. Daniel looked a little nervous and glanced at me. "Why? What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing," I shook my head.
I remembered the old habit from his past life—if you asked him something while he was eating, he had to put everything down and swallow what was in his mouth before answering. If he didn’t, he couldn’t reach a conclusion. Even trivial questions got his full attention, never a perfunctory reply.
That earnestness—no matter how many years—still felt adorable.
After breakfast Daniel went straight to work, and as if by default he left the task of taking little Daniel to preschool to me—plus he freeloaded breakfast. How shameless.
At the kindergarten gate I ran into Zoe Curtis. She seemed taken aback to see me holding a boy, then relaxed when she realized it was little Daniel, tossed me a glare, and walked away.
News of Dr. Summers’ death had gone public; it was a big local story.
I didn’t linger and went home directly.
Once inside, I made a list of things I needed to do.
The house purchase was already discussed with the realtor—just waiting on the right listing.
The remaining tasks were the custody agreement and resolving the 5.13 million debt. I needed to settle things with Ethan quickly.
There was no way regular work would clear that debt fast. Business was a possibility—and with what I learned in my previous life, it was worth a shot.
I already had a basic idea of what to do; now I needed partners, to connect the supply chain. But in this era, the industry I wanted to enter was almost non-existent. Breaking into it would be hard.
I opened my phone and searched while I brainstormed keywords, jotting down potentially useful info.
A notification popped up: "Yao Ji Lai successfully rises to power, injecting steroids into the heir-eating army!"
I almost swiped it away at the silly copy, then realized the pun and opened the post.
As everyone knew, Dr. Summers died yesterday morning, and all her assets reportedly fell into the hands of the gold-digging Yao Ji Lai. Years of scheming finally paid off—this was a boon to those eager to devour family fortunes.
"Reliable! Rich single daughters, beware—no sons, this is what awaits!"
For anyone who missed the backstory, the poster linked to my earlier exposure. I clicked the link—it was the same post I’d seen before. The account was a string of auto-generated numbers; their profile was blank.
Below the new post, commenters lamented the Summers family’s poor judgment and cursed Yao Ji Lai. A few were curious about the original poster’s feud with Yao Ji Lai.
Then a familiar avatar popped up—Ink & Milk. Her comment was as explosive as ever: "Liar—die with your whole family!"
She’d posted just a minute ago. I messaged her: "Hi, I saw your reply on a post that seems related to Mr. Bennett. Feels like there’s more to it. Can you share anything?"
She replied fast, online. "The stuff that idiot poster mentioned? You can find news about it online. Piece together the timeline yourself."
That was all she said, so I didn’t push. I followed her hint and searched.
No one had known Ethan came by last night—I’d told no one.
After he muttered that cryptic line and passed out, I rifled through his phone and called his secretary.
When the secretary arrived he was dressed casual, no constraining black suit. He looked more relaxed.
"Thanks for your help," I said as he helped Ethan into the car.
"Ms. Bennett, my pleasure. My name’s Mr. Gao—call me Theo."
I smiled and asked, "Do you know where Mr. Bennett’s house key is? If not, get him a hotel room."
Theo’s eyes widened with curiosity. "Mr. Bennett never goes home, you know that?"
"He doesn’t? Then where does he live?"
"In the office. Colleagues say Mr. Bennett practically lives at the company—rarely returns home."
I thought back to last night’s events and typed "Dr. Summers Ethan Bennett" into the search bar.
Every headline painted a tragic footnote to Dr. Summers’ love story. Most described a romance that began with Dr. Summers’ ardor, Ethan’s accommodating reply, then his true colors emerging after marriage. Dr. Summers took her own life by overdose, and the Summers family’s fortune slipped away.
Several articles noted a major turning point in the "Lan" lingerie brand occurred when Ethan joined the factory after graduation. Before him, Lan made plain cotton undergarments. Afterward, the brand shifted to sexy, glamorous positioning. Industry insiders said it was Dr. Summers’ love for Ethan that inspired the innovation, catalyzing the brand’s stylistic transformation.
Dr. Summers’s death was a massive shock to the Lan Lingerie brand. On top of that, a string of dirt—Ethan Bennett marrying in, pushing the elderly Mr. Bennett aside, Dr. Summers drinking pesticide—exploded online. The Lan Lingerie name was quickly tarnished, and many netizens swore they’d never set foot in a Lan store again.
Still, neither the brand’s official channels nor Ethan himself offered any explanation. People assumed Ethan would dump Lan Lingerie and swap it for other assets. Someone like him wouldn’t tolerate a forever stain on his past; he wouldn’t care about the brand itself.
I scoured my phone for every scrap of information, jotting every time-related event on a sheet of paper. I grabbed a quick lunch and kept digging through websites, not even skipping the comments.
When the page was filled, I got a message from Li Qingyan: “Daniel’s birthday is this weekend. Don’t know how to celebrate. Any ideas?”
I glanced at the calendar and slapped my forehead—how could I forget?
Daniel’s birthday… “Let’s take him to the amusement park!”
“Together?”
“Sure.”
Daniel was a mature kid who’d basically grown up with his uncle. His childhood had holes—not because of money, but because Li Qingyan, never married and later a busy, well-known pediatrician, simply didn’t think about lots of things. Saying Daniel basically raised himself wasn’t wrong.
If I had a chance to help him make a better childhood, why wouldn’t I?
I pulled up ride guides for the amusement park and sent them to Li Qingyan, then tucked away the paper full of notes about Dr. Summers and Ethan. It was time to pick up the kids from kindergarten.
Hazel left school pouting, and when she walked over to me she was huffing, grabbed my hand and dragged me along.
“Wait—we’re going with Daniel too.”
Hazel shook her head like a rattle: “No!”
“I’m never playing with Daniel again!”
I blinked. “Why?”
“He played with Jessa! I won’t talk to him anymore!”
She tugged my hand and kept walking even as Daniel came out of the kindergarten, not slowing for a second.
“Who’s Jessa?” I asked.
Hazel stood on tiptoe and pointed to a little girl in a white hoodie and jeans walking out of the gate. “That one!”
“She’s really cute,” I said.
I watched the girl from a distance—cute bun, waving happily to friends, playful and full of charm.
“She’s not cute!” Hazel shouted in a fury. “Not cute at all! I’m the cutest!”
I hadn’t realized she cared so much; I’d never seen her so angry.
Her temper didn’t calm down. When Daniel walked by, she yelled, “I’m never playing with you again!”
Little Daniel halted, confused. I felt irritation rise too. “Hazel, no wild temper-tantrums!”
Hazel’s cheeks puffed. “It’s his fault! He played with Jessa!”
When she was being unreasonable, I couldn’t help asking, “Why can’t he play with Jessa?”
Hazel picked at her fingernails, lips pursed, and suddenly burst into tears. “We met first!”
“We met first!”
Hazel had said that more than once in the last life. I understood her resentment, but I didn’t want to get stuck on this childish point. Usually when she brought up her “years of friendship” with Daniel, I’d either hum a noncommittal line and laugh it off, or pretend I hadn’t heard.
But it was clear this couldn’t be left unsolved now.
“Fine—great. I don’t want you to be friends with Daniel either,” I said, squatting down to Hazel’s level.
“Why?” The surprise on Hazel’s face was immediate—the same child who’d just been so indignant.
“Because Daniel was my friend first, remember? On the first day of kindergarten he gave me a little daisy. So Daniel and I met first, right?”
I smiled at Daniel standing nearby. He nodded solemnly. I turned back to Hazel. “So I don’t like sharing my friends.”
“But… but… does Mom not love me anymore?” Hazel edged closer.
“Ahem. Mother and daughter is mother and daughter; friends are friends. One thing at a time. You’re right—friends shouldn’t be shared.”
“But—”
“No buts. You don’t like your friends playing with others, and neither do I. So from now on Daniel will only play with me, not with you. I think you can understand that.”
Hazel’s lower lip stuck out and her brows knitted. She looked puzzled but didn’t protest further. I didn’t press, took each child’s hand, and we went home.
That evening when Li Qingyan came by to pick up Daniel, he found the two little ones sitting at opposite ends of the couch, each clutching a picture book and refusing to talk. He mouthed, asking me what had happened. I told him, and he chuckled. “I can’t believe you actually did that.”
“Of course—I’m doing a little revenge.”
He looked at me with a hint of curiosity. I didn’t explain. Instead, I handed him a packed dinner and Daniel, and sent them out the door.
While giving Hazel a bath, she tried to bring up Daniel several times; I gently cut her off each time. “Nope. He’s my friend. You can’t have him.”
“Never ever?” she asked.
“Hmm… let me think. How about you help me brainstorm how to deal with other people’s friends?”
She nodded, half-understanding, then drifted off with the weight of it in her little face.
Back in my room, I pulled the paper filled with Ethan Bennett notes back out, read it over in silence, and dug through the news on my phone again.
It was all the same stuff over and over. No one on the inside had answered in public.
Where was the breakthrough?
On a whim I opened Ink & Milk’s profile again. She’d posted a photo captioned “new clothes”—a flashy, sexy robe I didn’t care about. I was about to close it when a jolt hit me like a bucket of cold water: the photo background showed a corner of a walk-in closet.
No way. Could it be her?
The next morning, after dropping Daniel and Hazel at school, I lingered at the gate. Persistence paid off. Zane’s little daughter’s mother—Lily Carter—turned the corner in sky-high heels and red leather pants, with Noah Blake jogging at her right side.
When Lily was about to leave after dropping Noah, I stepped in front of her.
She glared. Before she could speak I asked, testing, “Ink & Milk?”
Her face tightened and she studied me carefully, then slowly nodded.
We sat in a secluded booth at a café that barely had customers at that hour. We kept our voices low.
“How did you know?” her guard up.
“I saw your closet photo,” I said bluntly. No point pretending.
She gave a little embarrassed nod and sipped her coffee, too quickly and coughing. I pushed a napkin over.
“Based on what you said, I pulled some news together and sorted out a timeline. I found some inconsistencies.”
She dabbed her mouth, eyes flicking to mine but she didn’t speak.
“According to old reports, Dr. Summers drinking pesticide didn’t happen after the marriage—” I cleared my throat, unsure of how to lay it out.
The posts claimed Dr. Summers drank because she found out Lily was pregnant and lashed out. But the marriage certificate and the hospitalization records show Dr. Summers was poisoned before they were married. That means the poisoning didn’t happen because of Ethan’s affair. Ethan later married a woman who’d already lost the ability to work and bear children.
If Ethan married Dr. Summers under those circumstances, there had to be feelings there. So how did Lily end up pregnant and having a child soon afterward?
If Lily had nothing to do with Dr. Summers’s poisoning, why didn’t she simply post anonymously and expose everything?
“Do you know what ‘Ink & Milk’ refers to?” Lily asked suddenly.
I shook my head.
“The first year I started, I noticed this handsome guy—everyone in the office liked him. He was young but steady. Colleagues told me he pushed reforms in the lingerie factory and reshaped the brand’s style from the ground up.
That man was Ethan Bennett.
“Before the brand changed, most bras on the street were dowdy—dull colors and old-fashioned cuts. I remember how miserable I was buying underwear in college. Those grandmotherly styles couldn’t possibly flatter a young, beautiful body like mine.
“There were nicer brands, but they were foreign and too expensive. Then I found Lan’s lingerie.
“I joined Lan’s sales company as soon as I graduated. I was smitten with Ethan from the moment I stepped into the office.
“Lots of female coworkers liked him, but they’d write him letters or knit scarves—so uncool.”
Lily’s face softened into a memory. She actually smiled and shook her head. “I wanted to catch his attention in a different way. I started teasing him.”
“One time I dropped ink into his milk and told him it was chocolate milk. He’d been working for two straight days and was exhausted—he took a gulp without thinking and drank half the cup.”
"When he realized something was off, I couldn’t hold back a smug smile. Only then did he process it and realize he’d been played.
Guess what expression he had then?"
I blinked. What expression could it be?
Embarrassed, furious, and humiliated—obviously!
Just imagining how moody he got every time I saw him, I could practically picture that dark face after drinking at Ink & Milk.
"He licked his lips and actually laughed.
He set the cup down, got up from the chair he’d sat in for hours, ruffled my hair, then collapsed onto the office sofa and fell asleep."
"If before that I was merely fascinated by him, from that moment on I was completely hooked."
She laughed softly; the memory made her eyes sparkle.
I didn’t see how this was relevant to what I wanted to know, but I decided to listen patiently.
"It was like I felt encouraged—my little prank had worked.
At the same time, my jealousy and possessiveness grew stronger.
I wouldn’t let other female colleagues get close to him. I secretly tore up some love letters that were on his desk. Worst of all, I wouldn’t allow anyone else to prank him—I regarded that as my exclusive right."
"I scared off a lot of coworkers, but there was one person I couldn’t manage: Dr. Summers.
What can an employee do when the boss’s daughter is involved?"
"Dr. Summers didn’t know what hit her; maybe because she saw me always clinging to Ethan, she started copying my little moves on him too. It made me furious, but I had no choice but to counter every move she made."
"Until one day, she—"
Lily’s voice dropped, and I noticed pain cloud her face, like she was sinking into a terrible memory.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
She shook her head, took a sip of ice water, drew in a few deep breaths, then finally let out a long sigh. "That day I went to the plant for business and saw her sneaking into the side garden. Ethan tended that garden whenever he was upset—he said it was a garden but he also grew vegetables and such.
I followed her secretly to see what she planned to do.
She took a bottle of pesticide, went to the water pipe area and emptied its contents, then washed the bottle carefully several times—dish soap, baking soda, citric acid… she scrubbed it over and over. I didn’t know what she was up to. After a long time cleaning, she filled the bottle with water, stirred something in, sniffed it, and seemed pleased with the result.
Then she put the bottle back where she’d found it."
She spoke slowly; the truth was emerging and I sat across from her prickling with goosebumps.
"I thought, that’s her new trick.
To prevent it from working, I… I found a fresh bottle of pesticide in the storeroom and swapped it for hers."
"The next morning, I walked into the company and heard someone screaming that Dr. Summers had been poisoned and rushed to the hospital—she might not make it…"
I lifted my coffee and took a careful sip, trying to calm the storm inside me.
"You probably already know what happened after. Dr. Summers didn’t die, but Mr. Summers was old. The shock broke him—he couldn’t pull through. Before he passed, he entrusted his daughter to Ethan."
"Ethan has never been more grateful in his life than to Mr. Summers, and he felt partly responsible for what happened to Dr. Summers. Under those circumstances, he married her."
"Wasn’t anyone curious enough to find out what really went on?"
I couldn’t help asking. "After all, Dr. Summers knew she wasn’t supposed to—"
"I thought about that too, but no one investigated."
Lily gave a small, strange laugh. "I guess Mr. Summers thought his daughter had gone too far and poisoned herself. Maybe Dr. Summers thought Ethan had accidentally taken her bottle. Besides, Ethan promised to marry her—she might have even felt secretly relieved. Who can say?"
I remembered the photos of Dr. Summers in her early twenties—her face proud, used to being sheltered by her parents. Still, even those cradled in loving hands can fall.
"Not long after their wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Summers passed away. Ethan hired the best doctors from across the country, but the result was that Dr. Summers lost her ability to bear children and couldn’t handle even mildly strenuous activities.
At first she wallowed in the honeymoon phase, but gradually she realized what she’d lost.
I think she began to believe Ethan had ruined her. Rumors were everywhere. She had nothing to do, tormented by aftereffects—I think she started to lose her mind."
"She began to hate Ethan. She forbade him from coming home, spent her days like a madwoman—either insulting him in person or calling to curse him. Ethan went through a very painful time."
"Eventually I couldn’t take the pressure anymore. One day, after everyone had left the office, I went into his office. He was drunk. I couldn’t help but confess everything about swapping the bottles. He went dumbfounded; I told him I’d turn myself in, but he started laughing like a maniac.
What’s the point of me confessing? Would that let him get a divorce?"
"He told me to get out and never show up again.
He drank like he didn’t care if he lived, and I grabbed his bottle and downed a whole one. Those days I was neither fully alive nor dead—every minute was torture. After a bottle I was dizzy and detached.
We drank ourselves into madness, and it was then I had Noah."
"I considered ending the pregnancy, but…"
Her face twisted. "You know how women can be at that time—stupid because of hormones. And I had a ridiculous thought: I could make up for them both with my child."
I frowned, saying nothing.
"You can laugh at me," she said, "you have every right."
Her words struck me as odd.
"After Noah was born, my mindset changed. I couldn’t give the child away to Dr. Summers. He was Ethan’s and mine—while he lived, there was a chance Ethan and I could be together. That’s how I rationalized it.
Until I found out about you."
I Came Back to Steal Her Life
"I investigated you back then. I thought you were just another woman Ethan kept around to satisfy himself while he paid for your mother's treatment. But when you got pregnant, I realized things weren't as I imagined."
"Ethan loved you. I don't know what you felt, but that's how it was," she said.
I wanted to argue, but when our eyes met I saw in hers self-mockery, helplessness, despair. I couldn't bring myself to speak.
"Because he loved you, he hated me—hated Dr. Summers—hated everything, maybe even hated himself.
That's just my guess. He saw Dr. Summers and me as the same—girls born with everything who amused themselves by toying with others. You, though, were different: unlucky, from a troubled home, but resilient."
"I'm not sure what happened between you and Ethan before, but I heard you drank heavily for a while."
At that, she looked up and smiled at me. "At one point I even hoped you'd drink yourself to death."
Her straightforwardness felt oddly honest—after all, she and I were rivals. Her thinking didn't surprise me.
"But looking at you now, you seem okay. That's good. You're a mother; you have to think about your child."
She finished and flagged a server to pour more water.
"Why tell me all this?" I finally asked—the question that had been buzzing in my head since she began.
She picked up the second glass and drank half of it in one go. "Dr. Summers is dead. Ethan has repaid the Summers family's debt."
"Now, I want to make things right for him."
The weekend arrived. After breakfast I sat dolling myself up slowly at the vanity, humming off-key. Hazel hovered at my side, beaming, occasionally offering syrupy compliments.
"Mom, you look so pretty!"
She stood on tiptoe and clung to my leg, those big dark eyes fixed on my face without blinking.
"That makes me happy—thanks, Hazel," I said, holding back a smile.
"Mom, where are you taking me after you finish your makeup?"
The little trickster worded it roundabout, but I wasn't falling for it.
"Well—today is my good friend Daniel's birthday. We're going to the amusement park. Martha will stay home and watch your favorite cartoons. That's the plan."
I pretended to carefully choose a lipstick while sneaking glances at her reaction.
She burrowed her head into my leg, rubbed against me; after a while she lifted her head and asked, sulkily, "Mom, can I be friends with your friend?"
I put down the lipstick and put on a troubled look. "Hmm… if my good friend gets a new buddy, I might be sad."
Her eyes blinked, her little nose twitched. "Then can't we all just be good friends together?"
"Would you be willing to be friends with JiaoJiao too?" I asked.
At the amusement park, Daniel waved at us from afar. I held Hazel's hand; Daniel jogged up and grabbed my other hand. I smiled and walked the two kids over and said hello. "Hi, Ms. Bennett."
Rose Bennett, standing next to Daniel, scowled but nodded reluctantly.
"Let's take a photo," Daniel suggested.
I took the camera from him. "I'll take it for you."
I pushed Daniel toward Rose and stepped back. Hazel clung to my bag strap and followed obediently.
After Daniel and Rose finished their photo, Rose hurried into the frame and stood beside Daniel.
The three of them in the frame—Rose Bennett radiant and striking, Li Qingyan cool and handsome, and little Daniel Price not fully grown but already rocking that mini-cool-guy vibe—looked like a family with stunning looks.
I clicked the shutter and thought to myself: if she can love Daniel wholeheartedly, I wouldn’t mind her being his stepmom.
Just then Daniel wriggled free from Rose and Li Qingyan, stepped out of the shot, and walked over to me.
Rose clearly still wanted a photo with Li Qingyan, so I played matchmaker and took a few solo shots of them.
Hazel Bennett had been quietly staying behind me the whole time, careful and a little nervous, as if she feared I'd change my mind about letting her be friends with Daniel. I smiled and brought the two kids together. “Want a photo together?”
“Yes!”
The two little ones nodded happily.
After photographing the kids, Daniel came back and tugged at me. Only then did I realize he wanted a picture with me and handed the camera to Li Qingyan.
I crouched beside Daniel. He leaned against me, and a strange warmth fluttered through me. I couldn’t help turning to look at him. At the same moment, he met my gaze. Not far off, the shutter clicked.
Seeing you again… it felt so good.
Hazel joined our photo.
How wonderful—across different times and realities, the three of us stood together again, smiling at the camera.
When we finished those, Li Qingyan suggested a big group shot. Rose suddenly declared she wasn’t photogenic and refused to join, plus she said she didn’t know how to use a camera, and stepped back.
So Li Qingyan asked a passerby to take the picture. He handed over the camera, then dashed back to us.
Daniel and Hazel stood in the middle while Li Qingyan and I crouched on either side. After the helpful stranger took the shot, he studied the image seriously, thought for a moment, and then called out, “Let’s change poses and take one more!”
Li Qingyan laughed and agreed. The stranger instructed, satisfied: “Parents, pick up the kids and get close!”
We’d come to the amusement park for Daniel’s birthday, but honestly, I was just as excited!
It’d been years since I’d been to one.
So when I learned that parents could enter the ball pit with their kids, I kicked my shoes off faster than Daniel and Hazel.
Li Qingyan teased me that my amusement-park excuse was just a cover.
As he was about to take off his shoes to join us, Rose pulled him back, saying she was thirsty and would get drinks. I called after her, “Go ahead, we three are fine!”
Once Li Qingyan and Rose disappeared from sight, Hazel and Daniel lunged at me and the three of us dove into the huge ball pit.
We launched those light plastic balls at each other, and whoever got hit erupted into giggles. I don’t even know why it was so fun, but it was.
This park’s ball pit had an oversized inflatable castle and slides adults could use, too.
We played hide-and-seek in the castle and a slide-chase game. Whoever slid down and couldn’t swim aside quickly enough got caught and “lost.”
There were no penalties or prizes—just laughter.
Hazel was agile and always swam away quickly after the slide. I, as an adult, could stand up in the pit and had an easier time. Daniel, though, always got stuck under the mass of balls and flailed for a little while before freeing himself.
That made it easy for Hazel and me to tag him. Both kids let out those delighted little giggles I loved, and I laughed with them.
“Claire!”
Li Qingyan came back balancing four drinks, waving at us.
Breathless, the three of us lurched to the edge of the pit. Daniel and Hazel grabbed their drinks and gulped. Li Qingyan warned them to slow down, handed me a cup, and said, smiling, “You’re sweating.”
He offered me a handkerchief. I blinked, then laughed—of course, he’s used to kids.
I took the handkerchief and thanked him. “Where’s Rose?”
“Right behind. She’ll be here in a second.”
I nodded and sipped my drink. “Slow down,” he reminded me again.
A staff member came over and greeted us. I wasn’t sure what for until the attendant smiled and said, “Because this slide is popular with kids, please move away from the bottom quickly after sliding, so you don’t get kicked by other children.”
My face heated. I apologized profusely and promised to be careful.
The staffer then said to Li Qingyan, “Sir, please watch your three kids.”
Again?!
Not once, but a second time I was misunderstood!
We’d been mistaken at the park entrance before—there were so many people, and we’d been in a hurry to get photos, so I hadn’t bothered to explain. Now I kept waving my hands. “No, no—”
“It’s okay, I’ll keep an eye on them,” Li Qingyan answered, and gently shrugged at me. “Keep an eye on them, okay?”
Before I could say anything, Rose reappeared behind him, scowling. “Let’s go somewhere else,” she snapped, not looking back, and strode off. Li Qingyan and I had to hurry to get the kids’ shoes and jackets on and follow.
Rose walked briskly ahead; I matched her pace holding the kids’ hands until Hazel shouted, “Mom, I'm tired. Can we rest for a bit?”
I told Li Qingyan he could go with Rose and I’d take the kids to the areas for younger children.
Rose immediately said she wanted to ride the roller coaster. I watched with amusement as Li Qingyan was hesitantly dragged away, and I turned, happily leading the two kids to the sandpit.
This park’s sandpit had an orchard theme, with fake fruit trees and toy tools. They’d buried model fruits and seeds so kids could dig for “treasure” and place finds under matching trees. Uncover ten fruits and you could exchange them for a small prize.
We played in the sand a bit, then started the treasure hunt. The first thing we dug up was hilariously a baby-shaped “ginseng fruit” doll.
Hazel’s eyes widened. “Mom, you should eat this!”
“Uh? Why?” I asked, startled.
“I want you to live a hundred years!” She’d recently seen Journey to the West and was obsessed with the ginseng fruit; she’d seen Zhu Bajie eat it and thought it tasted divine.
“That’s fake,” Daniel reminded her.
“Oh.” Hazel looked disappointed, clutching the ginseng fruit. I comforted her, “I’ll try to live a long time…”
We dug up more items. The first set we completed was twenty peaches. We brought the twenty peaches to a peach tree but there was no staff nearby, so the three of us sat under the tree and rested while we waited.
“Mom, is this the Queen Mother’s peach?” Hazel asked, still thinking of the tale.
“Not sure.” I looked at the single oversized peach decoration on the tree and murmured, “Maybe it’s Momotaro’s peach.”
“Or the Peach Garden Oath peach,” Daniel chimed in, as if recalling something he’d seen the day before.
A spark flashed in my head: the Peach Garden Oath!
“Hazel, do you want a big brother?” I asked.
“Yes!” she nodded emphatically.
“Daniel, would you like a little sister?” I asked him.
He nodded seriously.
“Then let’s play Peach Garden Oath!” I suggested.
“This isn’t a peach garden!” Hazel corrected sternly.
“Okay, okay—you’re right. Let’s call it ‘Oath Under the Peach Tree.’” I was so excited I couldn’t even think up a proper name.
I grabbed their small hands and put on a solemn face. “Repeat after me.”
“Hazel Bennett and Daniel Price, today become sworn siblings of different surnames, to help each other, love each other.”
I improvised the line and nearly added the standard “not born the same day, but…” bit.
Both kids repeated the pledge with innocent, delighted expressions.
“All right, I declare you sworn siblings. From today, you’re good brother and sister—behave, okay?” I said.
Hazel nodded vigorously. I thought, don’t blame me later—this is for your own good.
A staff member walked over just then. We handed over the twenty plastic peaches. He went to the service desk and returned with two peach-shaped cookies, handing one to Daniel and one to Hazel. “Be good friends,” he said with a smile.
“No!” Hazel protested. “We’re sworn siblings!”
“Yes—good brother and sister!” Daniel agreed loudly. I was a bit surprised—he’d never been this enthusiastically into something before.
I felt pleased with myself. Just then I got a text from Li Qingyan asking where we were; I replied, Meet us at the bistro.
At the bistro, Daniel and Hazel rushed over, clutching their peach cookies, babbling about the “oath under the peach tree.” It was noisy in the restaurant, and Li Qingyan couldn’t make out their words. He smiled in bemusement and praised them.
Rose, however, grew darker and darker as she listened.
After we found a table, I went up to the counter to order. Li Qingyan reminded Rose to watch the kids and came along.
“What were they saying? What oath?” he asked from behind me.
I explained the whole story as we moved forward in the line. He chuckled when I finished. “So they have a godmother now,” he teased.
I looked at him blankly and he nodded toward our table. “It’s our turn.”
When I returned with the trays, the two kids were chattering away excitedly, and Rose was scrolling on her phone as if they weren’t part of the table at all.
I sat across from Dr. Lewis. Hazel Bennett was beside me, and Daniel Price sat opposite her, with Rose Bennett to his right.
Even though I knew Rose had come partly because she wanted to butt into whatever was going on with Dr. Lewis, she kept scowling, and I started to get irritated—after all, today was Daniel’s birthday. If she wasn’t going to celebrate, she might as well have stayed home!
“Excuse me for interrupting!”
A sweet voice piped up. We all looked over. It was a girl in the bistro uniform. “Our restaurant offers free family photos to dining families. Would you like a photo of both parents with the two little ones?”
“N-no—” I waved my hand to explain.
“Since when do you two look like their parents?” Rose slammed her fork and knife down with a clatter and glared at the girl like she was venom.
The girl hadn’t expected a harmless offer to cause trouble; she froze, stammering an apology.
Heads in the restaurant turned toward us.
“You, come out here.”
Dr. Lewis said it quietly. He pushed back his chair, gave Rose one cold look, and walked out of the bistro.
Rose followed, giving the girl a contemptuous look. Maybe it was my imagination, but she tossed me a glare while she did it.
The girl stood there at the table, tearful and unsure whether to leave. I kept telling her it was okay, that I would explain to the manager. I thought it would be over, but then a shout came from outside the restaurant: “Are you his father? Are you responsible for him?”
At that question I glanced at Daniel's reaction. He sat very still, staring at his plate like he was miles away.
I asked the girl to watch the two kids for a second and stood up to stop Rose’s inexplicable outburst—at least to get her to take her drama somewhere else.
Just as I reached the door, an even sharper voice cut through the air: “You’re not his uncle at all!”
What was that supposed to mean?
Dr. Lewis… not Daniel’s uncle?
I stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Daniel, confused. He hunched there small and still, not moving.
Hazel sneakily pushed a disliked piece of broccoli onto his plate, mumbling something under her breath.
People in the bistro kept glancing at the two kids. I changed my mind—better to get the kids out another way and let that pair argue by themselves. It wasn’t my business.
“What’s it to you?” Dr. Lewis’s voice was cold, low but crystal clear.
“Can’t you see how I feel about you?” Rose’s tone cracked with emotion.
“That’s your business. I told you before: we’re just friends.” Dr. Lewis didn’t budge. “I’m saying it again. Daniel is my nephew. Say another word and the only thing we’ll ever be is former classmates.”
“Are you doing this because of her?” Rose demanded, sounding half-angry, half-bewildered.
She’d spotted me standing by the door, and in the heat of her rant she looked straight at me. Dr. Lewis glanced at me for a second too.
“That’s my business, not yours.”
“She’s a homewrecker! She—” Rose trailed off, furious and baffled.
“I said it’s none of your business. Don’t come near Daniel or me again. Goodbye!” Dr. Lewis’s brow knotted; he wouldn’t let Rose finish. He turned and left, leaving Rose stunned.
When he reached my side he said softly, “Let’s go.”
I nodded and followed him back to the table. He scooped Daniel up, and I gave the girl my number and told her to have the manager call me—I’d explain the misunderstanding. Then I picked up Hazel and followed Dr. Lewis out of the bistro.
Rose followed closely behind, shouting, “I’ve been by your side for years! You just met her—how long do you know her?”
No matter how she yelled from behind, Dr. Lewis kept walking, holding Daniel tight and ignoring her.
I thought it was cold to be so harsh, but remembering how she’d treated Daniel wiped away any sympathy I’d felt.
We hailed a taxi. I set Hazel in the backseat and she clambered in with surprising agility. Dr. Lewis set Daniel in the back too and sat in the passenger seat.
He barely spoke except for a few replies to the driver. Daniel went back to that unsettling quiet that didn’t fit his age. I kept glancing at him; Hazel copied my look.
“Daniel?” I murmured.
He looked up at me.
“Happy birthday.” I said it and hugged him.
“I want to too!” Hazel shouted and climbed up behind him, hugging him from the back. Their warmth melted some of Daniel’s gloom; he giggled.
A smile returned to Dr. Lewis’s face. He turned to Daniel. “Happy birthday, kiddo. There’ll be cake when we get home.”
The taxi brightened with their chatter as they argued over whether it would be yogurt cake or vanilla. Dr. Lewis asked where we should go for dinner. I pulled out my phone to check, and then the screen switched to an incoming call—I hadn’t meant to accept it.
“Hello. What’s up?”
“Are you home with the kids?” Ethan Bennett asked over the line.
“No, we’re on our way back,” I answered.
“Don’t go back yet.”
“Why?”
“There might be paparazzi at your place. Lay low—go to a hotel for a couple of days.”
“Paparazzi? Looking for me?” I blinked. “How would they know where I live?”
“Not sure yet,” Ethan said. “Don’t be scared. I’ll have people pick you up.”
I muttered to myself that I wasn’t scared. Dr. Summers wasn’t my fault; who could use that against me? I told him I’d be careful and hung up.
The taxi pulled up at the neighborhood gate. We climbed out. Before I could answer Dr. Lewis’s question, my phone rang again. It was Aunt Martha.
“Claire, where are you?”
“Why? We just got to the gate.” I heard urgency in her voice. “Don’t come in. There are two reporters at the front. They knocked asking for you. I didn’t tell them it’s our place or open the door, but they’re still here.”
My blood boiled—those paparazzi had no shame, camping out at someone’s home like that. It was such an invasion.
“Don’t worry, we’re coming back. I’m calling the police right now to get them to leave.” I hadn’t finished speaking when two men walked past us—one holding a small video camera.
One of them glanced at me when he heard my voice. He paused, tugged at his partner, and jerked his chin toward me. The man studied me, then stepped toward us. I shielded Hazel behind me. “Are you Claire Bennett?” he asked, and then he leered at the children behind me.
I was about to ask who he thought he was when Dr. Lewis stepped forward and shoved the man aside. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong person. This is my wife,” he said.
I snapped back before I realized it, too. “Who do you think you are? You’ve got a screw loose or what?”
The reporter hesitated, then motioned to his cameraman to film Hazel. Dr. Lewis hunched, scooped Hazel up and buried her face in his shoulder. He warned them coldly, “Don’t film. What are you doing? Keep filming and I’ll smash that camera.”
The cameraman looked at the other guy, who shook his head unsurely, and the camera turned away.
I held out my hand to Daniel. “Come on, son. Let’s go.”
He obediently reached for me. While those two guys lingered, the four of us slipped past them. I muttered loudly as we went, “People these days have no sense!”
Dr. Lewis still held Hazel, angling her away so they couldn’t get a shot.
“Relax, sweetheart. Don’t be mad—it's not worth it,” he said lightly.
We headed to Dr. Lewis’s place. No one followed, and we let out a collective breath.
Once we were inside and he put Hazel down, he laughed. “You react fast, you know that.”
“You flatter me. Not as fast as you.” I chuckled. Hearing us laugh, the two little ones giggled and ran to the living room to play.
I suddenly remembered, “You two were great out there!”
“Daniel told me at the amusement park that if you can’t solve something, don’t say anything,” Hazel beamed.
I felt a tug in my chest—what kind of experience made a three-year-old decide that?
Dr. Lewis cleared his throat. “Daniel’s right. Hazel, you were smart too. Later everyone gets a big slice of cake.”
Hazel cheered and dragged Daniel off to play with the toys.
“I’m going out to check on things and pick up the cake,” Dr. Lewis said, then left.
I sat on the couch instead of joining the kids. I messaged Aunt Martha to update her and told her to stay inside and not to speak to reporters if she must go out.
I leaned back, exhausted, thoughts racing.
Why would reporters show up at our home? I don’t even live at Ethan’s house now—how did they find me so easily? Even if they did, what could they do? Keep smearing Ethan on the internet? Aren’t there enough smear posts already?
I decided I needed to get the custody agreement finalized with Ethan and cut ties clean, so there’d be no more entanglements. If his situation kept affecting our lives, we’d move—back to my hometown, to the city where I grew up.
But what about Daniel?
Sunlight poured through the window, warm across Hazel Bennett and Daniel Price as they played intently. If we left now, who would keep Daniel company?
"Jiajia—"
A voice rang in my head. I froze for a moment, a flicker of reluctance rising in me. I shook my head hard, forcing the voice away.
What did Rose mean by that line?
Is Dr. Summers not Daniel’s uncle?
I remembered how Daniel had reacted earlier—clearly he knew something. But I couldn't bring myself to ask him then. I vowed to find a chance to question Dr. Summers later.
Ugh, what a mess.
Putting that aside, Lily Carter’s confession from a few days ago came rushing back.
She’d said she was telling me everything to help Ethan Bennett— to help him and to help me, she claimed. But I don’t want her “help”!
I don’t love Ethan like she does.
What kind of helping is that?
She can’t possibly be stupid enough to out Dr. Summers as the one she harmed, can she?
I meant to call her, but only then realized I didn’t have her number. I thought of Ink & Milk and hurried to open a browser to find her account and leave a message.
Even after doing that, my stomach still fluttered. I opened the browser again and typed just one character: "Yao."
A trending tag jumped up: "Yao JL finally getting what’s coming to him—justice, even if late!"
My eyelid flicked. I clicked the news link: "Rumor confirmed!
Yao JL's mistress's child is hospitalized with a serious illness!
Karma’s a bitch…"
When Dr. Summers got home, Daniel and Hazel were already asleep from playing so hard.
He put his things away and lowered his voice to me. "There were a lot of people with cameras around the neighborhood. Maybe you should stay inside for now."
I nodded.
After a moment of silence, he looked at me thoughtfully. "Do you know why they’re after you?"
"Sort of."
I told him about the anonymous post I’d seen: someone saying Ethan’s mistress’s child was gravely sick, and joking about whether it was karma for "Yao JL" or some stunt by the other women fighting for status.
That one sentence had set the comments ablaze. If I guessed right, the reporters were trying to blow the story bigger for clicks.
"But I’m not sure how much of that is true. I don’t have Lily’s contact, and I can’t reach Ethan," I told him, glancing at my phone again for new messages.
"A lot of it is true," Dr. Summers cut in unexpectedly. Seeing my disbelief, he explained, "My colleagues at the hospital posted in our group—saying to avoid the south gate because there are lots of reporters. Then I checked with people in my department—Ethan Blake is in the hospital. Acute myocarditis."
"Acute myocarditis?"
Just hearing the name chilled me. "Is it serious? What’s the child’s condition?"
"Not optimistic. They put him on ECMO."
"What?"
"It’s an extracorporeal life support."
What Dr. Summers brought back from the hospital hit me harder than the anonymous post I’d read on my phone. I stood there stunned, unable to digest it.
"Don’t worry. The ICU team is monitoring Noah Blake closely. If anything happens, the doctors will—"
"How could this happen?" I muttered. "So suddenly…"
"Mom."
Hazel’s voice came, small and clear. "Mom!"
Dr. Summers and I jumped. I hurried to her.
Hazel blinked sleepily, rubbing her face. She sounded weak. "Mom, I forgot when I opened my eyes…we’re at Daniel’s house."
Daniel sat up from the couch, still drowsy.
Dr. Summers used the chance to offer cake, and the kids, at the mention of cake, popped immediately to life. They hopped to the chairs at the table, eager to watch him cut it. Hazel began singing "Happy Birthday" loudly—off-key, to my surprise. No wonder she got sulky whenever people suggested singing in the past life.
"What are you laughing at?" Hazel asked.
"Nothing." I wiped frosting from her cheek, not telling her I’d discovered her secret. "You sound great."
Puffed with pride, Hazel sang even more enthusiastically. Dr. Summers chuckled helplessly but didn’t stop her. Daniel munched cake with a mouthful, seemingly unaffected by the noise.
"You’ll probably be staying here tonight," Dr. Summers told us.
"Why?" Hazel interrupted, curious.
I cleared my throat. Dr. Summers winked at me: "Because Daniel’s birthday doesn’t finish until midnight."
That night Dr. Summers cleared his bedroom for Hazel and me. He was telling Hazel a bedtime story when a knock came. I opened the door to find Daniel standing there, half-asleep, with Dr. Summers behind him.
"Can I listen to the story?" Daniel asked politely.
"He won’t listen," Dr. Summers explained from the doorway.
I let Daniel in; Dr. Summers signaled he'd come get him later and went to the living room.
Both kids obediently lay in bed and the story continued. Hazel was a curious little thing who interrupted whenever she didn’t understand something. Compared to her, Daniel seemed almost mute—quietly watching my face with soft, adorable eyes.
Within half an hour they were both asleep. I reached for my phone to text Dr. Summers, but a distinct little noise came from the living room. I opened the door.
Dr. Summers stood at the dining table, holding a cup carefully. "Sorry if we woke you."
I shook my head. "They’re asleep."
"Wanna tea?" he asked.
We sat opposite each other, quietly sipping herbal tea.
After what Rose had said earlier, I had no desire to deny that Dr. Summers had feelings for Claire Bennett. The pity was—I am not Claire.
How do I make him give up that idea?
I glanced up through my cup at him. He looked up too, and I choked on a sip of tea, coughing. "Cough, cough!"
I tried to stifle it so I wouldn't wake the kids. Dr. Summers came over when he saw me struggling. I stepped back, flustered. He looked a little helpless, then picked up my tea cup and handed it back. I took a sip between coughs.
Once the cough settled, the air at the table felt awkward. I said quickly, "I’ll go get Daniel."
Back in the bedroom, I smiled at Daniel’s sleeping face and couldn't help murmuring, "What a sweet kid," and kissed his forehead lightly.
I carefully lifted him out of bed and headed out. Dr. Summers was already waiting, looking awkward. He edged forward to take Daniel; his hands seemed unsure where to put themselves. We exchanged him clumsily.
Just as Daniel left my arms, he hummed and reached out, grabbing the collar of my sweater.
Before either of us could react, his little tug warped the neckline of my knit sweater.
Dr. Summers instinctively stepped back—my chest was exposed in that brief, mortifying instant.
He froze, eyes fixed on me, then leapt back forward almost immediately. As he moved, my collar fell back into place. I wished I could disappear then and there.
I hurriedly pried Daniel’s hand away. Dr. Summers’s face flushed as his breathing quickened; to break the tension he forced his gaze elsewhere.
My palms were sweating as I finally freed Daniel’s fingers. Dr. Summers hurried back into the bedroom like someone escaping.
I stood there a mess.
Back on the bed my heart hammered. I covered my face and sighed, telling myself this was Claire Bennett’s body, not mine.
My phone buzzed. A message from Dr. Summers: "Don’t worry."
I laughed at the absurdity. Worry about what?
"I’m a doctor. I see the human body differently."
Please don’t lecture me.
Not knowing how to answer, I tossed the phone aside. Sleep crept in. I glanced at Hazel—she slept sweetly—and let my eyes close.
Later, a faint sound pulled me awake. I fumbled for my phone. The screen was on; a notification.
Ink & Milk had replied: "I’m at the hospital. I’m so scared."
I sat up and typed fast: "Don’t be scared. How is Noah?"
She answered quickly this time: "Still in ICU. He hasn’t woken up. The doctors said they need to get some machine balanced with his heart. I don’t understand. They’re monitoring him."
"Are you at the hospital alone?" I asked.
"Yes. Just me."
She replied.
"Send me your number."
Once she gave it, I left the bedroom and called her.
She picked up sobbing. I didn’t ask why she hadn’t called Ethan or anyone else; I simply soothed her in a low voice. She probably didn’t hear much of it.
Her emotions fraying made me ache for her. "Get yourself together a little—if you collapse, who will your baby have?"
She murmured in agreement.
"I’ll come to the hospital and stay with you a bit. Have you eaten?"
The call ended. The living room light came on; Dr. Summers must have come out.
"Sorry if I woke you," I said.
"No—no, I wasn’t asleep," he stammered. Then, as if he’d remembered something, he fell silent.
"Ahem… Actually, I need to go to the hospital now. Could you watch Hazel for me?"
"To the hospital?"
I told Dr. Lewis about Lily Carter. He didn't immediately agree; instead he insisted on coming with me.
"What about those two?" I asked.
By the time Martha arrived at Dr. Lewis's place, I was already wearing his jacket and he’d plopped his baseball cap on my head.
After a few quick instructions to Martha, Dr. Lewis and I hurried out. We rode in silence and were soon at the hospital.
To prevent reporters from causing a scene, Lily had been placed in a temporarily vacant ward.
I had braced myself, but seeing Lily still shocked me.
She was dressed plainly. Her hair had been straightened—no more of the big waves I’d seen before, just simple long straight hair. Her face had no heavy makeup; normally quiet features now looked even paler. Tears streaked down her cheeks. "Disheveled" barely covered how awful she looked.
When she saw me, she seemed to exhale with relief, then flush with embarrassment—probably realizing how awkward our positions were. I didn't care about that; I reached out with a couple of comforting words.
Dr. Lewis explained what he knew in detail, and she calmed a bit.
She looked like she wanted to tell me something, so Dr. Lewis tactfully said he'd step out to ask around. No sooner had he left than Lily blurted, "You have to believe me. I'm not trying to use this kid to get Mr. Bennett's attention. Noah really is sick."
I nodded to show I hadn't jumped to conclusions.
Her tear-filled eyes made her look fragile in a way that somehow made her even more pitiable.
I handed her a tissue. She thanked me and then said slowly, "I was actually going to turn myself in today, but Noah said he felt terrible. On the way to the hospital I thought it was a simple cold, but at the hospital the doctor said it was myocarditis…"
Hearing that, I asked directly, "You mean they only confirmed myocarditis after he got to the hospital?"
She nodded.
"Then how did the media find out so fast that Noah had a serious illness?"
Lily blinked at my question. She'd been so anxious about Noah she hadn’t thought about such things.
"Did you run into anyone you know after you got here?" I asked.
"I don't know, I…" Lily fumbled, panicking as she tried to remember. "I didn't notice."
"Don't rush—think it through," I soothed.
She shut her eyes in frustration. "I should've known. As soon as Dr. Summers died, someone would start watching anyone connected to Ethan. The place I'm staying is actually under Ethan's name. I brought Noah out in the open—drawing attention. Maybe then someone started digging for dirt on Ethan."
When she mentioned Ethan, I finally asked, "Did you tell Noah that he's sick?"
"No—but he already knows." Lily gave a bitter smile. "This morning I had him taken to Ethan's place. The people from there had just arrived when Noah started feeling bad, so we came to the hospital. I called him in the evening and his phone was off."
We fell silent. I knew it wasn't going to be that simple, but I couldn't help pressing; curiosity and concern kept pulling me on.
As Lily said, after Dr. Summers' death, journalists would swarm anything related to Ethan. Seeing all the vicious posts online, I felt the people watching Ethan weren't only reporters.
Ethan's phone being off was probably because he couldn't stand the harassment. Lily looked at me with an exhausted smile. "Thank you."
I patted her shoulder but said nothing.
Dr. Lewis returned and told us the chief physician was personally overseeing Noah's care. His condition was stable for now but still critical.
At that, Lily gripped my arm instinctively, harder than I expected. I frowned.
After speaking to Lily, Dr. Lewis's gaze dropped to my arm. His expression softened. "You're Noah's mother. You need to stay calm. Don't break down when your child needs you the most."
Lily nodded and held tighter.
Then Dr. Lewis stepped between us to point something out toward the corner of the building. Lily had to let go, and I felt relieved.
He walked to the window, leaning forward slightly, pointing. "There's a more discreet entrance around that corner. Most people don't use it. If you need to go out without drawing attention, use that."
He described the route: out of the ward, right, ignore the two middle elevators, go to the end, then a right to a fire door. Open it and there's a private elevator.
The hospital window was narrow; Lily leaned forward to see and almost brushed against him. He quickly stepped back to give her space.
While she squinted into the night trying to find the entrance he pointed out, Dr. Lewis looked at me. "There's nothing more we can do here. Go home, okay?"
Hearing that, Lily pulled back and, embarrassed, couldn't directly beg me to stay. She managed a pleading look. I sighed. "I'll stay with her tonight. You should go rest. I'll be there first thing tomorrow."
Lily visibly relaxed. Dr. Lewis nodded without argument and left.
It was just Lily and me in the ward. She whispered her thanks, and I waved it off. Frankly, I was meddling—what did this have to do with me? I probably should keep my distance to avoid getting burned.
But looking at Lily I couldn't bear it. I remembered bringing Hazel in for that appointment. If I was that worried over a suddenly appearing daughter, how much worse would I feel seeing someone's own son in danger?
Maybe to ease the tension or to show gratitude, Lily almost enthusiastically waved at the two beds in the room. "You choose first!"
I pointed at one at random. It was just for the night.
"Knock knock!"
The knock in the quiet room made Lily flinch; she stared at me. Had the reporters found this place?
"Claire, are you asleep?" Dr. Lewis's voice.
I breathed easier and opened the door.
He stood in the doorway carrying a bulging plastic bag in his left hand and a thermos in his right. Without waiting for questions, he set the things down. "I grabbed some food. Eat if you're hungry. This is hot water; there are disposable cups in the bag."
I hadn't expected him to do all that when he left. Touched, I whispered thanks.
He ignored my thanks, took my hand, and with his other hand pulled a small packet from his coat pocket and placed it in my palm. "Put this on when you go home. If you run into a creepy uncle, call me."
He smiled, then left without waiting for my reply.
I stood there a moment stunned, then gathered everything into the room.
"Did Dr. Lewis actually bring food?" Lily asked, curious.
"And this." I set the mask on the table.
After a grueling day, Lily was exhausted. She drank some water and soon fell asleep.
The ward grew quiet. In the dark, I could hear Lily's occasional anxious breaths. Outside, distant noises rose and fell.
Lying on the bed, listening to those near and far sounds, I felt transported back to that previous life where I barely clung to existence. Back then, I spent days in the same half-asleep haze, listening to the world go on outside…
"Did you hear? Hazel is a love child!"
A lanky girl's excited voice cut through the darkness.
(Where am I? That girl looks familiar…)
"What? Where'd you hear that? Spill!"
A short-haired girl demanded.
(I turn my head—who is that? I think I know her. This looks like a college dorm?!)
"They say Hazel's Noah's illegitimate daughter, and her mom is the other woman!"
"That's huge!"
"There's more!"
"What what? Tell us!"
"Hey, don't spread rumors if you don't know!"
Another girl poked her head out to scold the gossipers.
I turned and froze—there I was.
Is this… a dream?
"Why are you so upset? It's not even about you," the tall girl muttered.
"Come on, don't bicker. What's the bigger scoop? Spill! We're listening!"
The short-haired girl urged.
I watched my younger self pull her head back onto the pillow as though to say something, then stay silent.
Back then, I barely knew Daniel Price or Hazel.
"They say Ethan's current wife got her position through borrowing a child. His real wife died years ago. Hazel's mom had a daughter, so she couldn't inherit—ha!"
"Ha! Kids make mothers powerful!"
The short-haired girl laughed.
"Even crazier!" The tall girl dabbed at tears of laughter. "They say Hazel's mom couldn't win favor, so she slept with Hazel's dad and gave him an affair! Can you believe it?"
"Oh my god, that's more dramatic than a TV show!"
"What's that line? He who is third with others, others will 'three' him?" the tall girl said, trying to sound profound.
"Haha, you're brilliant!" the short-haired girl guffawed.
They laughed and continued their gossip as I lay there, frozen between dream and memory.
Young-me had had enough. She bolted upright in bed, trying to stop the two of them from mocking Hazel behind her back. She groped around on the nightstand, grabbed a book, and pounded on the bed frame—“thump thump thump thump!”
I shot up as well. Lily Carter, on the other bed, scrambled up in alarm. The light from outside showed her face half terrified, half dazed. We both turned toward the door making the thumping noise.
“Lily?”
A woman’s voice called, “The child’s awake. Go see.”
At that, Lily tumbled out of bed and bolted from the room. I followed close behind.
When Noah Blake stirred awake, Lily was a muddle of tears and laughter as she stroked his head and cheeks. After she soothed him back to sleep, I went with her and the doctor into the consultation room to hear the medical advice.
All the while my head buzzed. That dream—no, that memory—felt so real.
No.
To be precise, it wasn’t a dream. It was a piece of my buried past.
Those two girls—my college roommates.
That day, I heard it.
I heard the “story” about Hazel and Claire—took it for idle gossip, never imagining it would be tied to me.
Noah’s condition stabilized. Lily breathed easier. I said goodbye and told her I had to go home to take care of Hazel.
Amid Lily’s repeated thanks, I left the hospital in a fog.
By the time I reached Daniel Price’s apartment it was barely six. Daniel himself opened the door.
When he saw me he hurriedly pulled me inside and shut the door.
I deliberately shrugged off his hand, took off his baseball cap, and hung it on the coat rack behind the door.
Seeing my drawn expression, he asked, worried, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
He reached for my forehead; I stepped back and dodged his hand.
His palm hovered in the air. “What’s the matter with you?”
I decided to ignore him.
There’s still time.
If his heartbreak is because of Claire Bennett, then I can stop it from happening.
I blankly took off his jacket and hung it up, then turned toward the master bedroom. I was going to take Hazel away from here.
“Don’t leave.”
Daniel’s voice was low, a tremor threaded through it.
I tried to pull away from his hand and he gripped me tighter.
Before I could force him to let go, the doorbell rang.
We both froze. Had someone been tailing me?
He released my hand and peered through the peephole, then visibly relaxed and opened the door.
Standing there was Rose Bennett.
Rose’s face brightened the moment she saw Daniel, but the smile froze halfway and turned cool when her gaze slid past him to me.
“You… what are you doing here?” she stammered, suspicion and resentment thick in her voice.
“For reasons I couldn’t avoid…” I chose my words carefully.
“Shameless!” Rose cut me off, furious. “You really have no—”
“She’s the one I invited,” Daniel interrupted. “Is there something you need?”
Daniel defending me made Rose’s eyes instantly glass over; she looked at him fixedly, then tears fell in an instant.
“Ms. Bennett, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Dr. Price was only helping me and Hazel. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Misunderstanding? Misunderstanding what? That you seduced someone’s husband and still you’re not satisfied, and now you come—” Rose’s voice ripped.
“Ms. Bennett, I’ll say it again. You’re wrong. In my heart… there is only my husband.”
I looked Rose in the eye and enunciated those three words, “my husband,” heavy as a hammer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daniel’s hand clench into a fist.
“I won’t disturb you. I’ll take Hazel out now.”
I turned to leave. Daniel’s voice called after me, “My reasons for helping you aren’t simple.”
Then, unexpectedly: “I like you.”
The confession hit me like a bucket of cold water. My hands and feet went numb. I wanted to move but my legs wouldn’t respond.
“You think I helped because of you? No. I helped because it benefits me…”
“Daniel!” Rose choked.
“No matter what,” I forced my emotions down and let a slightly flippant tone slip through, “I still appreciate Dr. Price’s help. But since he says that, I can only assume he’s helped a lot of mothers like us. Sorry—I have no interest in a frivolous man.”
“That’s not true.” Daniel’s eyes reddened at the corners. His dark irises fixed on me and I looked away.
“Ms. Bennett,” I turned back to Rose, “a woman shouldn’t humiliate herself for a man like this.”
“What gives you the right to judge me?” Rose’s lips tightened; anger flared in her eyes. “You, the other woman?”
As if on cue, my phone rang. I glanced and answered, switching to a sugary, coy voice: “Ethan? Why are you calling now?”
There was a brief hitch on the other end. Hesitant: “Are you—what happened?”
I ignored his surprise and kept the act. “Hold on, darling~” I covered the mic and gave the two of them a sweet smile. “Sorry, my husband needs me. I’ll go back to the room. You two keep talking.”
I forced calm and walked into the master bedroom. Hazel was still asleep—both arms stretched out under the blanket, tiny fists raised above her head. I padded to the window, uncovered the mic, and whispered, “Hello? What is it? Say it.”
A soft “hmm?” came back, then resumed normally: “Where are you?”
“I’m… at Dr. Price’s place.”
A beat of silence.
“In thirty minutes, come out the back gate. Dress Hazel and yourself warmly, try not to be seen. I’ll be in a black Buick, plate ending 185. You’ll see me when you come out.”
“What’s the plan?” I wasn’t sure whether to follow him.
“Hide for two days. Lay low. I’ve arranged a place. I’ll pick you up now.”
I thought for a moment and agreed.
When I walked out, Rose and Daniel were still locked in their standoff at the entryway. I moved forward and said with a smile, “My husband’s picking Hazel and me up. I won’t keep you.”
Rose ignored me and, eyes red, asked, “Is this really the man you choose?”
Daniel’s face was expressionless. “I didn’t make a choice.”
I kept smiling, pretending none of this concerned me, and tried to play it off: “I won’t be a third wheel. I’ll—”
“If there’s nothing else, you can go.” Daniel cut me off, addressing Rose coolly.
“All right…” A single tear fell from Rose’s eye. A bitter smile twisted her mouth. “Fine. Fine…”
Her gaze, laced with despair and fury, swung from Daniel to me. Her voice was thin and heavy.
“You win.”
She turned on her heel and left without another word.
Daniel closed the door and looked at me, searching. “Are you okay?”
You win… you win… you win…
Those words, full of hatred, were an arrow that flew through decades and pierced my brain, nailing me to agony and endless regret—the blood-stained wedding, the desperate leap, the girl driven mad with despair… “Mom.”
A soft, sweet voice ripped me out of the past. I turned quickly, snatched back to the present.
Little Hazel rubbed her eyes and came toward me. “Mama, hug.”
She held up her hands, yawning as she waddled over. I crouched and picked her up automatically.
“You woke up and didn’t call me,” she scolded in a kid’s reproach.
“Good girl. I’ll dress you now, then we’ll go find Daddy, okay?”
“Okay!” Hearing “Daddy” brightened Hazel’s face—she shook off the last of her sleepiness. Then she frowned like she’d remembered something. “But I promised Daniel I’d play with him today.”
Seeing her hesitation, Daniel gently soothed her, “When he wakes up, I’ll tell him you waited. You can play together next time, okay?”
Hazel nodded.
After I dressed her, I carried Hazel back to the entryway. Daniel was still there, leaning against the wall, looking exhausted.
When he saw us he stood up straight and handed me three masks, saying flatly, “I’ll walk you to the gate.”
“No need.” I blurted.
His movement stalled; the empty background of his posture hit me and I couldn’t help but soften. “Mr. Bennett’s waiting at the community gate. He’ll pick us up. Don’t worry.”
He still faced away. My voice sounded frail: “Daniel, Ethan will wake up soon. He’ll feel down if no one’s home. Please stay with him.”
His frame wavered and he stepped aside.
I opened the door and hurried out, then hesitated and turned back.
“Dr. Price.”
He looked up.
“Ethan really needs you. Please stay—always stay with him.”
“Ethan and you both deserve happiness.”
“Please give him a happy, healthy, normal home. I—”
“I understand.” A fleeting, unreadable expression flickered across his face. “Now go.”
“Wait.” He went to the coat rack, came back, and placed his baseball cap on my head. “Be careful.”
From the community gates we hurried, me holding Hazel close, dodging morning exercisers and commuters, and avoiding two sketchy people with cameras. Finally, at the back gate we spotted a black Buick waiting.
I was just about to check the last digit of the license plate when the driver-side window rolled down halfway. Ethan waved, then the window came back up.
When Hazel and I climbed in, she shrieked with excitement, "Daddy! Are we going out today?"
Ethan leaned over and ruffled her hair with one hand. "Daddy's taking you and Mommy somewhere nice."
He took his hand off Hazel's head and reached to touch my hand. I awkwardly pulled away.
He lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, settled in, and started the car.
The ride was quiet. Every so often Ethan glanced at me through the rearview mirror. I turned my face to the side, irritated at myself for not having sent Dr. Summers after Rose earlier—her words kept gnawing at me.
After thinking it over, I texted him. It took a long time, but he finally replied with a single "Okay."
Less than an hour later the car pulled into a vast underground parking garage.
"We're here."
Something about the whole trip felt off. Ethan had said we'd be hiding for a couple days, but he'd brought us to one of the city's most luxurious hotels. What was his angle?
The most dangerous place is the safest?
Before I could ask, Ethan had already gotten out and scooped Hazel into his arms. I followed.
He carried Hazel into the elevator, pressed the button for the first floor, and I trailed in silently. When the elevator dinged, I remembered the third mask Dr. Summers had given me and fished it out of my pocket.
I tapped Ethan with the mask. He glanced down and gave a small smile. "No need."
I didn't press it and tucked the mask back away, following him out of the elevator.
The hotel lobby on the main floor was busy. The moment we appeared, some heads turned.
"Mr. Bennett."
A server hurried over.
"Well, Mr. Bennett, long time no see," said a potbellied, designer-clad middle-aged man from a distance.
"Isn't that Mr. Bennett?" another balding man in a suit asked as he came forward to shake Ethan's hand. The woman hanging on his arm batted her eyelashes at Ethan, all flirtatious charm.
More people drifted over to greet Ethan. I couldn't understand what he was trying to pull—parading like this would only draw attention.
Every person who came up to him glanced at Hazel and me—some openly, some furtively—but no one asked who we were.
Ethan, oddly, didn't seem in a hurry to leave. He chatted easily with the crowd as if enjoying the attention.
I hissed to him to hurry and get a room, but he only smirked, "In such a rush?"
His teasing bothered me. Fine—let fate decide.
"Jin, good to see you," a man in a white linen shirt said, appearing out of nowhere.
Ethan handed Hazel to me and shook the man's hand. "Nate, long time."
I studied the man Nate. He and Ethan seemed to have some history—out of everyone who greeted Ethan, Nate got a handshake and an extra second. Their exchange ended casually with "Let's catch up sometime."
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Zhang Nian—an old friend," Ethan said, looking up at me. "Why ask about him?"
"He's weird," I said. "Out of all those people, he was the only one who completely ignored Hazel and me."
Ethan didn't reply, and finally we made it to the front desk. A receptionist recognized him and hurried over.
"Mr. Bennett, your room is ready." She pushed a key card across the counter.
"Still room 1820?" Ethan asked.
"Yes, still 1820."
I rolled my eyes silently: why not shout it twice while you're at it?
We took the elevator up to the 18th floor. Only Hazel whispered beside me, "Mommy, what fun things are in hotels?"
How would I know what your father is up to?
The corridor was quiet and long. Hazel counted the doors softly as we walked: "1806, 1808, 1810…1820!"
Her voice had barely fallen when we heard a door click open behind us. Before I could turn, a large hand grabbed my shoulder and yanked Hazel and me into the room opposite 1820.
The door slammed shut behind us.
I hadn't even registered what happened when Hazel was ripped from my arms.
I steadied myself and saw Ethan carrying Hazel into the suite.
"Daddy, this room is so big! It's beautiful!"
"You like it?"
"I like it!"
The suite was luxurious and spacious, lavishly decorated: a wet bar, an office area, a sitting room. One corner of the living area was piled high with toys; the coffee table groaned under mountains of snacks.
Ethan set Hazel down in front of the table. She stared in disbelief, eyes wide, then glanced from the snacks to me. Whispering, she asked, "Is this all for me?"
I nodded toward Ethan with my chin.
She ducked her head and stole shy looks at him, then poked her temple like she was reminding herself of something. After a beat, she puffed out her cheeks, grabbed a bag of pink cotton candy, and hopped over to her dad. "Daddy, do you like cotton candy?"
Ethan seemed amused and a touch surprised by her reaction. "Daddy doesn’t like sweets."
"But… this cotton candy is so sweet. What should I do?"
Little Hazel frowned and sighed dramatically, genuinely agonizing over the cotton candy's fate.
"Throw it out, I guess," Ethan said.
"Throw it to Hazel?" she proposed.
Ethan couldn't help laughing. "All these toys and snacks are for you. Daddy didn't know what you like, so he had a bit of everything bought. Pick whatever you want, okay?"
"Daddy bought it? I like everything Daddy buys!"
"Good. Go play with the toys for a while. Daddy and Mommy need to talk."
Hazel hugged the cotton candy and hopped into the toy pile. Ethan finally looked at me. "Did that scare you these past few days?"
"Not really." I answered coolly. "What are you planning?"
"You and Hazel stay here for a while. When things die down, we'll go back. Keep Hazel's school on leave. For now, bear with being here. No matter what happens, don’t leave the room."
"Do you know about Noah Blake being sick?" I asked.
"I know. I've already spoken to the chief. Right now he isn't suitable for transfer. When he gets better, I'll make arrangements."
He glanced at me suddenly. "Why the sudden concern—"
He caught himself and fell silent, as if his last words had rung wrong.
"I've seen some of the posts online. What's the plan? Doesn't your company have a PR team?"
At the mention of PR, Ethan seemed oddly relieved. A flash of warmth crossed his usually cool eyes. "The PR team has been working on it, but their proposed statements are superficial and won’t fix the core problem. They might even make things worse. For now, a cold treatment—do nothing publicly—is best. I've tasked them to trace the source of the smear, but there's no news yet."
"She told me about it," I said.
When I mentioned Lily Carter, Ethan got nervous and stepped forward to grab my hand. "What did she say?"
"She said she swapped the pesticide bottle," I told him, and wrenched my hand free. "She wanted to turn herself in—on the day Noah fell ill."
"What?" He looked shocked at the confession that Lily had wanted to confess and hurried to pull out his phone.
"I told her not to be rash. The child is still ill, and confession wouldn't help right now."
He stopped dialing, crestfallen.
I didn't tell him that Lily's impulse had been meant to save us—that she wanted to spare us trouble. The situation was awkward, and I didn't want to create any unnecessary fantasies in his head.
We lapsed into silence and both looked toward Hazel. She was sitting in front of two stuffed animals, holding a piece of cotton candy up to one and asking if it tasted good.
After a long beat, Ethan exhaled. "I have to go back to the office. Things are busy. If you need anything, call me and I'll arrange it."
I scanned the suite and thought for a moment. "I need some art supplies—paper, pens, that sort of thing."
"Send me a list on my phone."
He turned to leave. I followed to close the door. At the doorway, Ethan suddenly turned and studied me. "I don't know, maybe it's been too long since we've been together. You seem… different."
His words surprised me, but I kept my face placid. "People change."
He seemed to want to embrace me. I stepped back and maintained a meter of distance, broadcasting a clear "stay away" energy.
He sighed, opened the door, and left.
"Mommy." Hazel had somehow come up behind me. "Daddy left."
She looked at me calmly. I was puzzled; Ethan hadn't said goodbye to her, and she didn't seem to care. She was simply stating a fact—Daddy left.
In my last life, to her, Daddy had been nothing more than a shadow.
I took her hand and we returned to the living area. She saw me lost for a moment and, obedient as ever, found a packet of beef jerky from the snack pile and handed it up to me. "Mommy, eat. It's salty!"
After Ethan left, I called Hazel's preschool and arranged for an absence. Hotel staff brought the supplies I needed. With nothing else to do, I set up my drawing tools in the office area, spread drawing paper on the desk, and started working from memory. Hazel obediently grabbed a box of crayons and lay on the carpet to draw.
The suite was quiet except for the rustle of pencil on paper and the occasional flip of a page.
I strained my ears, afraid I'd miss some sound from outside the door.
I kept glancing at my phone. It was the only thing connecting me to the outside world, lying quietly on the table. I didn’t know whether I wanted it to ring or to stay silent.
After lunch I coaxed Hazel to sleep, then sat in the living room replaying the day’s events.
When did Dr. Lewis start liking Claire Bennett?
Claire’s background shouldn’t have mattered—so he really was a lookist.
But after the mess I made today, his feelings for Claire must be dead, right?
Is that a heartbreak worth mourning?
In my last life, Dr. Lewis left after Daniel got into college. Now Daniel’s only three. He can’t just abandon him like that, can he?
Daniel… in this life I’ll make sure he grows up happy.
I don’t know how long I sat there thinking before I dozed off on the couch. I was startled awake by the click of a keycard at the door.
I moved toward the entryway. Our door hadn’t budged; I breathed out in relief.
Just as I was about to close my eyes and rest again, I realized the sound came from across the hall.
I jumped up from the sofa and ran to the opposite door, but I was too late. I pressed my eye to the peephole and watched as the other door closed.
I pulled out my phone and called Ethan Bennett. He picked up, frantic: “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“1820—some guests checked in! What do we do? If someone comes to harass—”
On their end there was the noise of a meeting; someone said, “The posts are still being taken down…”
Hearing me, Ethan relaxed a little. “It’s people I set up. I’ll explain later. Don’t worry.”
Then he hung up.
Maybe because I hadn’t slept well at the hospital yesterday, or because of everything that happened, my heart felt fluttery and my eyelids twitched.
Evening came and the people across the hall didn’t seem to be having dinner.
Hazel and I bathed early. Before bed she learned she wouldn’t be going to preschool for a while and got a little upset—no more playing with big brother Daniel.
Once she finally fell asleep, I tossed and turned. I pulled out my phone and scrolled aimlessly, then discovered that Ethan had a large stake in this hotel.
That led me to look up his other holdings. The Lan Lingerie factory was only a small piece of his empire.
An article about the local textile industry mentioned several brands. Lan had been the first to push bold, sexy designs into a new market; others followed but never caught up. Only years after Mr. Summers died did the city see a second strong brand—Nouvelle.
The strange name caught my attention, so I searched “Nouvelle.” Among the results one name jumped out: Nathaniel Zhang.
I got up, went to the computer, and typed his name.
I wasn’t wrong. He and Ethan were very close—some might say Nathaniel was like a second Ethan.
Like Ethan, he’d been taken in by Mr. Summers, raised in his household from a young age—Nathaniel two years younger. He was ambitious, got into university on his own, and studied fashion design to repay Mr. Summers.
After Mr. Summers died, Nathaniel left the lingerie factory and started Nouvelle Lingerie. Its style and positioning were similar to Lan’s; the two brands were rivals.
I muttered, “So they’ve known each other a long time—did their friendship really go sour over this?”
But thinking of Ethan’s frosty demeanor, maybe it was inevitable. Who could be friends with him easily?
Lan, Nouvelle, Lan-Nouvelle… The next morning after breakfast, while I watched cartoons with Hazel in the parlor, a commotion erupted outside.
I went to the door and peered through the peephole.
A small crowd had gathered outside 1820. Someone at our side held a camera pointed at 1820. The lead person was pounding on the door.
Soon 1820’s door flew open. My curiosity spiked. A tall, striking woman stood framed in the doorway in a plum-colored silk slip dress. Her waist-length hair lay smooth on her shoulder; irritation showed on her face. She swept the hallway with a disdainful, cold glance.
“What are you doing? Who are you people?”
“Hello.” The man at the door ignored her, assuming familiarity. “Are you Ms. Claire Bennett?”
“Who in God’s name do you think you’re talking to? Who are you to disturb people early in the morning? What kind of dump hotel is this, letting any rabble in?”
“Please watch your language—we’re reporters—”
“Oh please. A badge doesn’t give you the right to harass people. Paparazzi, sure. Reporters? What station are you from?”
The men were taken aback and a little tongue-tied. The woman didn’t hesitate; she pulled out her phone and flashed it in their faces a few times.
After taking photos, she dialed numbers, then pointed at the group. “Everyone stay right where you are. Don’t you dare run!”
“I’m calling the police—”
“This is The Grand Meridian. Room 1820. There are unidentified people blocking my door, harassing me, and taking photos!”
“My last name is Lin,” she added.
Her aggressive style had the group exchanging glances. They lowered their equipment. A couple tried to placate her: “Miss, don’t be upset—we made a mistake—”
She didn’t bother with them. “Made a mistake? Mistake or not, you can’t just barge into a hotel and harass guests.”
“Miss, please—we’re sorry—”
“Save your sorry for the cops.”
Just then a small voice came from inside: “Auntie, I’m hungry.”
A girl with a small ponytail poked her head out. The woman instantly softened. “Alright, sweetheart. Auntie will get you breakfast.” She pushed the child back in.
Only then did the men seem certain they’d been at the wrong door. They scattered toward the hallway exit.
From her doorway the woman shouted after them, “You can run but I took your pictures. Wait for the police!”
She watched them disappear, then turned and, after about half a minute, breathed out and went back into her room.
Hiding behind the door, I was shaken by the intensity of her stare. When she finally retreated I felt my heart slow.
She was one of our people, but I’d rarely seen someone so fierce. And oddly, I felt I’d seen her before.
Back on the couch I strained to place her face, but it wouldn’t come.
My phone vibrated.
“Hello? Aunt Zhao, what’s up?” I answered.
“A little while ago Daniel came to the house,” Aunt Martha said. “He came by himself. I made him something to eat and took him to preschool. I just got back and thought I’d tell you.”
A bad feeling rose in my chest, but I pushed it down.
I told Aunt Martha we wouldn’t be home for a few days and asked her to keep an eye on things—and if Daniel showed up, to feed him. She agreed.
After hanging up I tried Ethan’s number. It went straight to voicemail. I tried several times; the same thing.
I frowned at my phone and started searching for the hospital’s number.
“Pretty lady on TV!” Hazel suddenly pointed at the television. “Like Mommy!”
I followed her finger. The woman from 1820 was on the screen—no wonder she seemed familiar; she’d been in a mall ad.
Hazel’s comment reminded me: the masseuse the other day had said something similar.
Since waking up inside Claire Bennett’s body I’d avoided mirrors when I could. Claire was beautiful, but seeing this face in a mirror that wasn’t mine still unsettled me.
The ad playing was for Lan Lingerie. On-screen she was sensual without being tawdry—vibrant, confident, not submissive to conventional standards of female beauty.
Seeing her ferocious behavior through the peephole, I laughed to myself—she had been performing as herself.
I looked up the name of Lan’s spokeswoman. The woman from 1820’s name popped up: Lin Shu-jing. I smiled.
Hazel was a quiet child; the thought came to me again. How did she become the paranoid, domineering, twisted woman she later turned into?
Watching her quietly drawing on the carpet, sleeping like an angel, I couldn’t help but wonder what Claire had done to Hazel.
I tried to dig through memory for answers, but either time had dulled them or the past was too heavy. Every time I felt on the brink of remembering, the memory slipped away.
I told myself I at least had the present.
Being cut off in the hotel had its perks. Aside from cartoons and toys with Hazel, I had a lot of time to work.
Poor Alex Turner, though—he was getting a workout handling my procurement requests.
Because some items were specialized, Ethan had put that part of the work under Alex.
After Secretary Harris bought everything on my list and handed it to the hotel staff in charge of my floor, they brought it up to my room. In no time my suite was filled with dress forms of every size and stacks of fabrics and notions.
Two days passed like that. Daniel Price still came to our place for breakfast, and Aunt Martha said he looked the same as ever—only that every time he asked when Hazel and I would be going home.
Posts about Ethan Bennett and Lily Carter trickled online now and then, but there was nothing new. The internet churned out a hundred little stories every day; an old scandal fizzled out quickly if no one kept poking at it.
Ethan, cautious as ever, asked us to stay put. My work was almost done, so I agreed to keep calm for a couple more days.
Then, just as I was starting to relax, I got a call from Lily.
At first she only said Noah Blake had finally stabilized and would be observed for a day or two. I told her I was holed up in the hotel.
After a little small talk they fell silent. Then, hesitantly, Lily asked if I’d been in touch with Dr. Lewis lately.
Something tightened in my chest. I asked what she meant.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I overheard some nurses chatting… they said Dr. Lewis’s girlfriend had a car accident.”
My heart lurched so hard my phone nearly slipped out of my hand.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“Where is he? Is he at the hospital?”
“I saw him around noon. I don’t know if he’s still here.”
After she hung up I called Dr. Lewis. No answer. I thought for a moment, then called Ethan and told him I needed to go out for something important but I didn’t want Hazel left alone.
He asked where I was going. I didn’t hide that I was going to the hospital.
He paused, then said he’d let Ms. Turner know and that I could leave Hazel with her.
When I ended the call, Hazel lifted her little face and asked, “Mom, where are you going?”
“I’m going to find Daniel’s uncle about something. Can you wait in room 1820 for me? That’s where someone you saw on TV is staying today.”
Hazel blinked. “I only saw you on TV!”
I smiled. “No, the pretty lady you saw on TV. She has a little girl in her room too. Maybe you’ll make a new friend.”
At the mention of a child, Hazel dove into the toy pile and grabbed two unopened toys to give as presents to her new friend. A few days indoors hadn’t shown much in her, but it had clearly made her stir-crazy.
We tidied up and put on masks. I cracked the door, checked the hall, then knocked on 1820.
The door opened quickly. Ms. Turner gave me a glance and stepped aside before I said anything. “Mr. Bennett told me to watch the child. You go ahead and take care of what you need.”
“Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
She smiled faintly at Hazel and called inside, “Yuki, we’ve got company!”
At that, a little head with two tiny buns popped out from behind the door and giggled at Hazel.
On the taxi ride I called Dr. Lewis twice more—still no answer.
By the time I reached the hospital it was almost his shift’s end. Mask and cap on, I circled to a discreet entrance and took the service elevator that rarely saw traffic. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like the elevator had begun to descend the instant I hit the up button.
Everything was quietly tense. My pulse thundered. What was I going to say to him? Dr. Lewis’s girlfriend had been in a car accident—was it Rose Bennett? Was it serious?
The elevator dinged at 3-2-1 and the doors slid open. Leaning against the elevator wall, head tilted back, eyes closed, was a man who looked exhausted.
He opened his eyes slowly, stepped out, and then froze when he saw me. He stared, unbelieving.
Oddly, my pulse calmed; suddenly I couldn’t hear it at all.
I stood there awkwardly, my prepared words gone. We both forgot the elevator was still moving. The doors began to close.
Dr. Lewis reacted first, slamming the button to stop them. The doors reopened. He didn’t step out, so I swallowed my nerves and got in.
“I—I came to see Noah,” I blurted.
“Mm.” He pressed a floor.
The doors closed and the elevator rose.
“I heard your girlfriend had an accident,” I said.
“It was Rose Bennett. She’s not my girlfriend,” he replied flatly.
I felt weak despite having braced myself.
“How? Is she hurt? Is it serious?”
He glanced at me. “If you came to see Noah, why don’t you ask how he’s doing?”
My voice caught. He asked, “Did you come… to see me?”
“You came because you were worried about me, right?” he pushed when I remained silent—more direct now. “You’re worried I don’t have time to take care of Noah.”
Hearing that, Dr. Lewis paused. The light in his eyes dimmed a little more. He looked pale, the strain of recent days visible; a blue stubble shadowed his jaw.
“If you don’t mind, I can have Aunt Martha watch him for a while—bring him home to my place or she can pop over to yours.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Lily had said Noah looked better. She was worn out but relieved. When she first saw me Noah seemed puzzled, but after his mother and I chatted kindly for a minute he shyly called me “Auntie.”
When we left, I followed Dr. Lewis out of the hospital. He wouldn’t talk about Rose’s condition. He stretched his neck and shoulders, said he’d been going home to cook for Noah and then heading to Rose’s place.
“If you’re worried about him, go there today. I’m going straight to that hospital,” he said.
I nodded and watched him walk away. He took a few steps, then hesitated. My heart jumped. He didn’t look back; he kept going.
I felt numb, oddly heavy. I don’t remember how I ended up in a supermarket, or when I found myself standing at Dr. Lewis’s apartment door.
I pressed the buzzer. I heard some movement inside, like someone shifting a stool, then the lock turned and the door opened. Little Daniel darted out and launched himself at my legs before I could say hello.
A stool stood behind him—he’d been peeking through the peephole.
I set the grocery bag down and crouched to his level, brushing a strand from his cheek. My chest ached.
“Are you hungry?”
He nodded.
I led him inside and strapped him into the high chair. I handed him a soft-boiled snack egg while I started dinner. He peeled his egg carefully and ate with a tiny spoon, savoring each bite—so deliberate, so small. Hazel had been quiet, too, but Daniel was almost mute.
Suddenly his spoon tilted and a dab of yolk fell onto the table. He froze, as if struck. Lowering the spoon, he stared at the yolk with a face that showed he’d entered some fierce inner debate.
I put the stir-fry on the table, wiped the tiny bit of shell from his cheek, and smiled. “If it drops on the table you can’t eat it, okay?”
“But—”
“I know you like these soft eggs.” He cocked his head. “How did you know?”
I just smiled and didn’t answer. “I bought you a few. They’re in the fridge. You can have more tomorrow, okay?”
His face lit up. I sat with him while he ate and told him that Aunt Martha would watch him these days. I asked if he’d rather go there or have her come here.
He thought a moment, then asked, “If I stay here, will you still come see me?”
My eyelids jumped. I looked at him. Rice grains clung to the corner of his mouth; his eyes gleamed with hope.
I wrapped him in my arms. “Wherever you are, I’ll come find you.”
After I left Dr. Lewis’s place I messaged him to say Noah would eat breakfast and dinner at my place from now on, and that if he couldn’t make it home, Noah could stay with me.
“Thanks,” he replied.
On the way back to the hotel, the chatty cab driver said, “Only rich folks stay at the Grand Meridian. People of standing in this city—if they don’t have a permanent suite here, they lose face!”
I nodded and told him I was just staying there for a couple of days by chance, that I didn’t know much about such things. He rambled on with stories about sports cars.
As I stepped out I bumped my head on the doorframe and my baseball cap slid crooked. I reached up to fix it and remembered this was Dr. Lewis’s cap—I still hadn’t returned it to him.
I’ll give it back next time, I thought as I straightened the hat. Then a figure flicked across my vision when I looked up: Zach Newman. He seemed in a good mood; the way he walked betrayed a certain smug satisfaction.
As I was studying him, he seemed to sense something and swept his gaze in my direction.
I hurriedly tilted my hat down, pretending I was just glancing around.
Zach Newman paused only a moment, then walked down the steps and left the hotel.
I opened Room 1819. A single soft-shaded lamp glowed in the living room.
Just as I reached to turn on the light, a low snore sounded from the living room.
The snore came from the slightly slumped figure on the sofa.
Ethan Bennett sat in the single armchair, his right hand propping the armrest, barely supporting his head.
In his left hand, dangling over his knee, he was clutching a contract.
His phone had slipped onto the carpet; the red breathing light blinked a low-battery warning.
I crept over, picked up the phone, and as I set it on the coffee table, my eyes accidentally flicked to the cover of the contract. A few words were written there: Equity Transfer.
The phone slipped from my palm and clacked on the table. The sound made me jump; I quickly looked at Ethan, who was dozing.
The noise jerked him awake. He inhaled deeply. The hand that had been holding up his head covered his eyes, rubbing vigorously before releasing them.
"You're back."
He smiled faintly, tossed the contract from his left hand onto the coffee table, and reached out toward me.
I stood rooted to the spot and did not put my hand into his.
The air around his left hand chilled and froze; the cold crept up to his lips and the small smile faded.
"Where's Hazel?"
I asked.
"She's asleep."
He glanced toward the bedroom, rose from the sofa, and let his hand fall.
"You're going to… sell the lingerie factory?"
"Yeah. The lingerie brand is under my control now, but it's been taking a hit. It doesn't hurt my assets much, but it's become a burden. Better to let someone else make it work. Besides… Zach knows the Lan brand and the factory. Putting it in his hands won't leave it in the state it's in now."
"But Mr. Summers entrusted the factory to you so it would thrive under your care, right?"
His tone grew low. "That's better than letting it die on my watch."
We both looked at the contract. I took two steadying breaths and tried, "If I told you… I have a plan that could revive Lan Lingerie, would you be willing to try?"
He looked at me, puzzled.
I hurried into the study, pulled out the completed design sketches, and handed them to him.
His expression grew even more puzzled, but he didn't ask questions. He seriously began to study the designs.
"This is lingerie designed for easy putting on and taking off," I said. "The target group is mainly middle-aged and elderly women, and… women who are bedridden long-term."
He sighed softly, a hint of sympathy. "This is… for your mother?"
I looked at him, confused. It took me a minute to realize what he had assumed.
In his mind I was the dutiful daughter, Claire Bennett, who'd gone into debt and sold herself to pay for her mother's treatment. He had no idea why I designed this bra: because I was the one always in geriatric wards, because standard underwire, back-hook bras were torture to wear for a day, let alone for someone weak and immobile. For many women confined to beds, buying a comfortable bra was impossible. No one had designed lingerie specifically for them.
Living through that made me, more than any year before, aware of being a woman—of a fragile, sensitive pride that needed careful protecting.
With that thought, I used my last strength to design this piece.
But I didn't need to explain all that to him.
"What do you think of the market and prospects for this kind of lingerie?"
I deflected, asking him instead.
He knit his brow, but there was a trace of certainty in his voice. "A lingerie market focused on middle-aged, elderly and bedridden women is essentially blank right now. If we seize the opportunity… huh. I'll have design and marketing study it together tomorrow. Did you make these designs?"
"Yes. I have complete design data and information on fabrics and trims. But it's not free."
Worried he'd pry into why I designed it, I revealed my purpose. "Let's make a deal."
"Deal?" he echoed.
"If you adopt these designs, I'll hand over all the data and details, and provide technical support whenever needed. In return, I don't ask for much: you bring the lingerie brand back to life, and wipe the $513,000 debt in principal and interest."
"You're saying one creative lingerie design can erase over half a million in debt?"
Of course I believed in it.
In my previous life I donated this design to a company that understood my concept. The bra took off—within a month of launch the company's value more than doubled. Thinking of that I almost rolled my eyes at Ethan—if I hadn't been desperate to cut ties, I wouldn't have been so reasonable. Five hundred thousand was a bargain for me!
"Oh. Right, a single design might not cover five hundred thousand. Fine—add Hazel's custody agreement. That was supposed to be mine anyway; I won't haggle over it."
At the first part of my proposal Ethan nodded slightly; when I mentioned custody, his neck stiffened.
His eyes narrowed, thinking.
"Of course, if you think it's not worth it, I can sell it to someone else. It's possible to clear the debt another way."
I met his gaze calmly. I wasn't completely certain, but I was gambling.
A few years ago Ethan had led a turnaround of the lingerie factory—he had courage and sharp market insight. My design was decades ahead even now; he would see its market potential and not let it slip away.
My part of the negotiation was done. Now it was up to his response.
"Since you're so confident, wouldn't it be more profitable for you to sell it to someone else?"
"Certainly. But you're Hazel's father—your reputation affects her. Market potential aside, the most important thing is whether you can use this to reverse the current situation."
He glanced around at the mannequins and piles of fabrics and trims I'd scattered around the room, then fixed his gaze on me. "I agree to the deal."
"Then it's settled. Take the designs back and study them. If you approve adoption, do it under the conditions I mentioned. Have your people draw up the contract; sign it and send it over."
Things were going smoothly. I was in a good mood and hummed a little tune as I took off my hat and set it aside.
"What are you humming?"
"Just a famous song…"
The song was about to slip out when I met Ethan's stare and swallowed the title back down.
Close call—this song wouldn't be released for another twenty or thirty years!
"What are you staring at me for?"
"Nothing." He said, then glanced at his watch. "You haven't eaten dinner, have you? I'll add a cheesecake to your order."
"No, get the lamb chops instead."
Relieved, I relaxed and named a favorite dish, but his voice stopped me. "Lamb chops? Are you sure?"
"Uh… what about them?"
My pulse quickened, but I kept my face composed. "This hotel does the lamb chops well. Worth trying."
"Alright, then I'll have some too. Nothing else to do tonight—after dinner, we can rest early."
Rest early?
Alarm bells went off in my head.
"You're staying here?"
He didn't answer directly. Instead he walked toward me, tilted his head, an expression that plainly said, "What else?"
My mind raced for a natural, non-suspicious excuse to stop him.
"This… isn't appropriate," I said.
"Why?"
He stepped closer.
"Hazel's still here."
"Tell her to go play across the hall for a bit."
He stepped closer.
"I'm not feeling well."
"Oh? Where does it hurt?"
He was almost in front of me.
"This… um… I…"
"Mm?"
His voice was soft, but close to my ear it gave me goosebumps.
I found myself at a loss for words when he said suddenly, "Right now, there's nothing keeping us from doing what we've discussed."
"The request you mentioned before—I can fulfill it now."
Request?
What request?
Seeing my confusion, he chuckled lightly. "You said you wanted to give me a son. You seem to have forgotten. Were you drunk the other night?"
My mind slammed with heat; I flushed. I was not that kind of person. And he's Hazel's father!
"No, no, no—you must be mistaken. I would never ask that!"
"Why not?" he retorted. "You already have a son, remember? Think about your eldest!"
Maybe my slip of "eldest" snapped some memory into place.
Ethan watched me as if amused by my performance.
"Zach Newman. Your son. The one in the hospital!"
I flailed my hands, miming a chubby little baby.
He said nothing.
"My goodness, you need a son? You don't, do you? Besides Zach, there might be others I don't know about!"
Perhaps seeing me get worked up, Ethan suddenly clarified: "Aside from Zach and Hazel, I have no other children."
Huh?
What did he mean by that? Was I supposed to be grateful? I couldn't tell whether Ethan was simply tactless or completely unbothered by the idea of a mistress's child.
He looked serious. Men were impossible to figure out. Mostly, I couldn't be bothered to try.
“Before I said no because I couldn’t give you a proper status then. Becoming the mother of two kids like that wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“Now that’s no longer an issue. Once the gossip outside dies down, if you want to marry me, I can agree.”
He sounded neither flippant nor casual — almost solemn.
But Lily Carter’s face flashed in front of me.
“And what about Lily and Noah?”
The man in front of me lifted his brow, as if he’d never considered that before.
“Give me some time to deal with it.”
“No.”
I said coldly, “Not ‘deal with it.’ Face it. Treat it. Take responsibility.”
He looked puzzled.
“Forget it. Go home and think it over.
You’re a man. No matter how this relationship started, you should at least face it honestly. Don’t you feel any pity for the other person?”
He nodded without arguing.
“As for me, Hazel is enough.”
“Then why were you drinking before?”
“I forgot.”
“Not because you didn’t have a son?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t you want a son now?”
For a moment I yearned for the brooding, office-smoking, whiskey-drinking domineering CEO from my memories and didn’t want to waste another word on the clingy mess in front of me.
“Can you—”
I was impatient to end the conversation.
“Mom.”
Hazel must have woken up without our noticing. She stood in the doorway clutching a stuffed rabbit and peered at Ethan and me with a shy, uncertain look. “Are you two arguing?”
Ethan and I exchanged the same look.
I stepped forward and picked Hazel up. “Nope. Daddy and I were just discussing something.”
Hazel pressed her forehead against my cheek and asked, “What kind of discussing?”
Ethan seemed in a good mood and came over to pinch her cheek. “Mom and Dad were talking about getting Hazel a little baby brother.”
Hearing that almost set me off.
Before I could flare up, Hazel screamed louder than me. “No little brother! No little brother! No little brother!”
She twisted and squirmed so hard I had to adjust my hold and steady her, soothing, “No little brother, no little brother—stop. Daddy’s just joking. Behave.”
But she carried on like she couldn’t hear me, sobbing, “No little brother, no little brother—waaah!”
Ethan, unaccustomed to a child throwing a tantrum like this, lost his usual composure and stood there scratching his head, stammering, “I… you… your mom…”
I rolled my eyes and stalked to the coffee table, grabbed the design drawings, and shoved them into his arms. “Take these. Get out. Don’t forget the terms we agreed on.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I practically shoved him out of the room.
“No little brother! No little brother! No little brother! Waaah—”
Hazel was buried against my neck, sobbing, and her rabbit had somehow been tossed to the floor.
I crouched awkwardly with her in my arms and picked up the toy. “Hazel, look—your rabbit!”
“No rabbit! No rabbit! No rabbit! Waaah—”
She didn’t even glance at it and waved her little hand in the air, refusing.
“Okay, okay—no rabbit, no little brother. Stop crying, okay?”
She burrowed further into me but kept sobbing.
“Look—look—your daddy’s gone!”
At that, she peered up doubtfully. Her crying softened when she saw the room was empty. “Daddy’s gone. Hmm… then no little brother. Waaah…”
I couldn’t help but laugh and be exasperated.
All evening she flooded me with the thousand questions of a child: “Mom, do you love me?”
“Mom, do you love little brother more or Hazel more?”
“Mom, why does Daddy want a little brother?”
“Is it because little brothers have a little penis?”
“What do you mean? I kind of don’t like Hazel.”
My arm linked through Daniel Price’s as we walked, my body shifted playfully to one side, half teasing, half testing him.
“Mm.”
He answered calmly. “I know.”
“Know what?”
I shook him, pouting.
“It’s normal you don’t like her,” Daniel exhaled. “I don’t like her either.”
“Then why are you still friends with her?”
“Isn’t there a saying, ‘If you understand my past, you’ll forgive my present’?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’m the one who knows her past…”
“So you mean she had an unhappy childhood?”
He smiled faintly. “I promise to keep my distance as much as possible. I won’t let her trouble you, okay?”
I shrugged, noncommittal.
He looked at me with nothing but warmth, slipped his arm out and drew me close, leaning in. A sweet warmth rose in my chest and I lifted my face to meet him.
Just as our lips were about to touch, I woke up.
Lying in bed, I touched my lips, still lingering on the feeling. Hazel muttered in her sleep beside me and dragged me fully back to the present.
The little person beside me looked peaceful and sweet even in sleep.
Lately she hadn’t been outright refusing the idea of a little brother, but she’d been uneasy. She refused to wear her favorite dresses — no pinks, no reds — and she ignored the dolls Ethan had bought her, instead clutching a small toy train and carrying it everywhere.
I reached under the pillow — something had been poking my shoulder. Sure enough: Hazel’s new favorite train.
I gently set it on her pillow and tiptoed to the window to crack the curtains. The sky was gray and misty — not a good day.
Ethan had told me the design team agreed the lingerie I’d submitted was a technical reform. The factory had retooled production lines and marketing was in full swing. PR and marketing were coordinating to try to turn things around.
Though Ethan didn’t say it outright, I’d seen the negative coverage about Lan Lingerie online.
The biggest Lan store in town had been vandalized with paint. The troublemakers were caught and claimed they were “doing the right thing.” The store closed temporarily for repairs. The financial hit was bad; the PR damage worse. Sales tanked and the stock kept falling.
Worse, it wasn’t just Lan — Ethan’s entire business empire had taken heavy losses.
Under that pressure, the new product launch had to make the biggest possible impact. Ethan knew that, so everything was moving at breakneck speed.
I’d only seen him once recently — he’d come to show me material samples from purchasing. He’d dozed on the sofa while I set the table, slept maybe an hour, woke up and gobbled a sandwich, then told me his team had been tracking the paparazzi who’d shown up at the hotel using the photos taken by Lin Shujing, and that they’d put other things in motion. He told me to be at ease, and that if Hazel wanted to go out, we could just take precautions.
I looked at the gloomy sky and decided to go to the hospital to see Lily Carter.
When I was dressing the just-awakened Hazel, she glanced at a little dress, tightened her lips, and chose denim overalls instead. I smiled helplessly as I helped her into her boots and then told her where we were going.
“Mom, are we going to see Uncle Lewis?” Hazel asked in her high little voice. “Can we see Daniel?”
“This isn’t the children’s hospital,” I said with a smile. “We’re going to the general hospital to see your other brother.”
“Other brother?”
She puckered her mouth.
“Noah. Noah is your other little brother.”
I slid her tiny boots on, patted her back and asked, “Do you want to go?”
“No, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go!”
At the mention of Noah, she stomped and tried to run back to her room. I caught her gently.
“Listen,” I put a finger to my lips and made a shushing motion. “Be good. Let Mom finish, and then we can decide, okay?”
She wrinkled herself but nodded obediently.
“Noah was very, very sick and stayed alone in the hospital for many days.”
“He was sick?” She cocked her head. “Did he die?”
I hadn’t expected that. I flinched. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Mom always say it’d be better if Noah died?”
The little girl in front of me reflected my image with those innocent eyes.
I steadied myself, forcing down the sharp twist in my chest, and crouched to meet her at eye level. “Hazel, before, Mommy was wrong. Mommy needs to apologize.”
“Mommy wasn’t always…mature. I shouldn’t have had those awful thoughts.”
“Noah isn’t my child, but he is your father’s son, so by blood he’s your little brother. If you don’t want him, Mommy understands.”
“Before, Mommy didn’t handle things right with Aunt Martha and Noah’s situation…”
Now, Mom and Aunt Nora's relationship wasn't as bad as it used to be.
"Today we're visiting Noah at the hospital," I said. "Whether you want to be friends with him is up to you, okay?"
I rambled on like that, not knowing if she understood, but she still nodded. Before we left, she even hesitated a bit as she sifted through her toys. "Mom, there aren't any boy toys in here."
I smiled. "Boys can like teddy bears too!"
"Um… Hazel, hi."
In the hospital room, Lily Carter awkwardly rubbed her hands together and shyly greeted Hazel.
Her clothes and style were very different from before. Hazel didn't recognize her at first and froze for a second.
When she realized who it was, she scooted back behind me like she was a little scared.
Lily noticed and hurriedly picked up a small, pretty box from the table. She crouched down in front of Hazel and smiled gently. "Hazel, I knew you were coming. I bought you a gift—hope you like it."
She offered the box. Hazel took another step back.
"Aunt, I used to envy those families with little princesses. If only… well. Anyway, I did a lot of bad things to you before. Can you forgive me?"
Hazel glanced up at me. I gave her an encouraging smile.
Slowly, Hazel stuck out her little head, nodded, and reached for the box. Her small fingers opened the lid to reveal a pair of delicate hair clips.
Hazel's eyes lit up and a smile bloomed on her face. She whispered sweetly, "Thank you, Auntie."
"Didn't you say you brought Noah a present too, Hazel?"
Hearing that, Hazel nodded and hugged her teddy bear as she waddled to the bedside, struggling to lift the bear high. "This is for you."
Noah scratched his head. "Thanks."
"Is Noah supposed to be resting in bed?" I asked Lily.
"No, he's just bored. He gets down and acts like a brat when he has nothing to do!"
Lily scolded him playfully, pulled Noah up, and put a jacket on him. "See? Your sister is here. Let's go to the garden and play for a while, okay?"
Noah grinned and let his mom carry him down. As he passed me, he shyly said, "Hello, ma'am."
Then he darted out without another word.
We all went to the garden. It didn't take long for Noah and Hazel to be playing together.
Watching the two little ones, I felt a small surge of relief. "Thank you."
"Ahem! Don't mention it," Lily brushed it off, tucking stray hair behind her ear. "I do like little girls, but you know—our situation… If it weren't for all that mess…"
"I understand."
"Sometimes I think, if I hadn't fallen for Ethan, if I had just dated normally, married normally, had a son and a daughter, my life would have been perfect."
I stayed silent.
"We're both people fate messed with. You've made your own mistakes too," Lily said with a smile. "You used to be so annoying!"
"Me, annoying?" Her words made me recall what Hazel had said earlier.
"Absolutely!" Lily went on. "When I first met you, you had that naïve, poor-girl kind of vibe. Then you changed so fast—designer bags, named shoes, everything. And Ethan doted on you so much."
"But to be honest, during your drinking phase, Ethan clearly grew disgusted. I thought you two might be done for…"
Her voice trailed off suddenly.
I followed her gaze and saw what she was looking at.
A thin man far off was pushing a woman in a wheelchair, strolling slowly.
If it wasn't Dr. Summers and Rose Bennett, then who?
"By the way, you and Dr. Summers…" Lily probed. I shook my head slowly.
"Funny thing—we met Dr. Summers the day we were transferred here. I heard from the nurses that the woman in the wheelchair is Rose Bennett. She works at this hospital, and they say Dr. Summers is her boyfriend. Did you know that?"
I shook my head, then nodded. "I knew she was a doctor, but not that she worked here."
Lily waved a hand. "I wasn't asking about that! I mean… well, whatever. I'm a little nosy—I even asked around. Apparently Rose had a car accident a few days ago. I wondered why no family was taking care of her except Dr. Summers."
I watched Dr. Summers from afar but kept listening as Lily continued: "Turns out she's from here, from a pretty well-off family. Her family didn't approve of her being with Dr. Summers. She tore things up with them and moved here on her own. After the accident, she didn't tell them."
"Because Dr. Summers has a kid?" I asked.
"Heh, guess what—no, that's not it."
I was genuinely surprised. To me, Dr. Summers was handsome, accomplished, kind—other than being unmarried with a child, there was nothing to fault.
"Strangely, the nurses don't agree exactly. Some say Dr. Summers is actually an orphan."
"Mama, can you clip this on for me?"
Hazel's voice pulled me back from the window. She was holding the hair clip Lily had given her, eyes sparkling.
"Of course."
I took the clip, adjusted her small head, smoothed a strand of hair, twisted it, and secured the clip.
"Does it look pretty?"
"Very pretty."
"Mama, Aunt Lily says girls are better than boys!"
"Oh yeah?" I asked.
"Aunt Lily says girls can wear pants or skirts, but boys can only wear pants. So girls are better!"
I laughed and rubbed her head, keeping quiet.
My mind buzzed with Lily's line that "Dr. Summers is an orphan" and Rose's earlier words, "You're not his uncle at all."
How could he be an orphan? How could he not be Ethan's uncle? If he wasn't Ethan's uncle, why did he raise Ethan?
Questions spun in my head. I wanted to pull Dr. Summers over and demand answers.
"Mama, why are we going back to the hotel? I want to go home," Hazel muttered, pressing her face to the taxi window.
I looked out again. The sky had darkened even more; thick clouds pressed down. A storm was coming.
I called Martha. She said she was cooking at Ethan's house and that Dr. Summers wouldn't be back until evening.
I held myself from asking the baffling questions about Ethan and Dr. Summers. After I hung up I felt utterly drained.
Outside the taxi, the scenery blurred. Hazel kept narrating what she saw.
We stopped at a light, but when it turned green the taxi wouldn't move. The driver fiddled with it and apologized, then asked us to get out. He said the hotel was about two kilometers away.
I tried to hail another cab but failed. Every car speeding by was full of people rushing home before the rain.
I glanced at the lowering clouds and scooped Hazel into my arms. "Let's walk."
She hugged my neck and nodded. "Okay!"
We walked down the road. Hazel held tight and giggled, "Mama, I like walking with you."
I teased, "You didn't take a single step before—I guess this counts as a walk!"
She laughed and rubbed her damp hair against my cheek.
Her hair was already soft; the humid air made it even more so, cool and soft on my face. I let her, savoring the moment. "You little stinker, Hazel."
She'd been running and playing with Noah so much she was sweaty; there was a faint tang in her hair. She laughed more when I teased her and nuzzled me harder.
A large raindrop landed on my lower eyelid.
Hazel froze, wiped it away, and whispered, "Mama, are you crying?"
"Are you sad because you want a little brother?" she asked.
I shook my head and hugged her tighter. "Mama has you. That's enough."
The rain started harder. I took off my jacket and draped it over her, then picked up my pace.
People hurried by and cars sped up. Through the misty rain I could see the hotel close by. I lifted Hazel to check the distance.
A black car pulled up and a door opened. A man leaned in: "Get in."
I looked and recognized Zach Newman.
Seeing me hesitate, he added, "You're headed to the hotel, right? I'll take you. It's pouring and the kid will catch a cold."
That settled it. I climbed in with Hazel.
"Thank you."
I folded my jacket around Hazel and held it in my hand.
"Thanks, sir," Hazel chimed sweetly.
"No need," Zach smiled. "I noticed your hat and recognized you."
My mind stuttered. I embarrassedly touched the hat—I'd been wearing Dr. Summers's hat the first time I ran into Zach at the hotel.
Zach nodded and didn't press.
We reached the hotel's garage quickly. Hazel and I thanked him over and over.
"Since you're so grateful, how about dinner sometime?" Zach offered. "Let me properly introduce myself—I'm Zach Newman, an old friend of Ethan's. May I know your last name?"
"My mom's name is—"
"What should we treat Uncle Zach to, Hazel?" I asked.
"Mama says the hotel's lamb chops are delicious. Let's take Uncle Zach for lamb chops!" Hazel announced loudly.
"My last name's Lin," Zach said. "Ethan's a friend of mine."
"Then I guess that makes us friends too," I said.
Zach Newman looked momentarily surprised, then handed over a business card. "Here's my contact. Whenever you're free, we can grab lamb chops."
He waved goodbye to Hazel Bennett, closed the car door, and drove off.
Hazel sighed softly.
"Mom, is that man a bad guy?"
I was taken aback—didn't expect her to ask that. "Why do you ask?"
"Mom, you lied."
Back home, after giving Hazel a hot bath and getting her to sleep, I sat alone, lost in thought.
Why had I lied to Zach?
I couldn't explain it.
By now I'd adapted to living as Claire Bennett. I tried to be a good mother, tried to free myself from the shackles that came with Claire's life using my own strength.
At first I couldn't understand why fate had put me in this mess.
As days passed, I gradually let go of pointless struggles. I accepted Hazel, took comfort in caring for Daniel Price, faced Li Qingyan with mixed feelings… I almost forgot who I once was.
Until Zach asked my name.
Almost instinctively, I lied.
Deep down I resisted meeting Zach as Claire Bennett. I couldn't put my finger on why. I knew exposing the lie probably wouldn't be hard for him given the situation, and yet I chose to keep it.
I strained to find an answer in my heart—it felt like I was on the verge of seeing it, but the answer drifted away like smoke.
Around three or four, Martha came up to our room with little Yuki to play and to say goodbye.
Martha had to go abroad for work, and Yuki was going back to his mother's side.
Watching Hazel and Yuki play in the corner, Martha said, "I heard a rumor before—that Mr. Bennett insisted on choosing me from a whole pool of models because I looked like someone. I didn't believe it and was pretty mad."
"Seeing you now, I finally understand how that gossip started."
"To be honest, during the years I represented Lan Lingerie, I once had a crush on Mr. Bennett. I wanted to prove I was better, more charming than the woman he liked."
"But the longer I knew him, the more I realized he was a miserable, dull man. For him, aside from work, life seemed meaningless. I even wondered if he was capable of truly liking someone."
"So I gave up. I'm young—I shouldn't waste myself on one-sided suffering. Even if I proved I was attractive to him, what would that change?"
"He has a wife, a lover, a child. That's a mess I won't get into."
"But…" Her voice trailed off; her lips trembled and her eyes reddened. Seeing me look, she hurriedly downed a glass of water.
"But you weren't completely satisfied."
I lowered my gaze and pretended not to notice the tears in her eyes. "Have you heard the saying, 'The people I love all look like you'? That's probably what it's about."
She nodded.
"I've lived a lifetime, and I hate that phrase more than anything."
"Why?"
"Here's how I see it: who someone chooses to be with, or the type they like, has nothing to do with that person's exact identity. We choose a type. It's not that one person looks like another; it's that everyone he likes fits a certain type."
"That's my take. So don't get hung up on baseless rumors. You and I are just part of that type—maybe by looks, maybe by personality."
"But there's no doubt you were chosen because you're excellent."
"Maybe Ethan just happens to fit the type you like. That's all. You're young—give yourself more chances."
After I said that, she seemed to relax and smiled. "Are you afraid I'll steal him from you?"
"Hahaha, then hurry up and take him!"
"Come on. I'm too gorgeous to spare him!"
They cackled, and the phone on the table buzzed. I answered. "Hello, Aunt Zhao? Yes?"
"Claire, I'm at Dr. Lewis's place. There's someone who wants to see you. Can you come?"
"Dr. Lewis? He's back?"
"No—it's Daniel's grandmother."
The woman waiting at the front of the clinic was Daniel Price's grandmother. She looked to be in her sixties, but the exhaustion and grief etched into her face made her seem far older.
Losing a child is the cruelest sorrow.
She sat quietly on the sofa. Daniel stood before her obediently, leaning into her like a child clinging to home.
Aunt Zhao set two cups of tea on the coffee table and said she needed to go home to get something. As she started to leave, the woman called her back, asking her to take Daniel out for a walk.
Aunt Zhao glanced at me. I nodded.
Daniel obediently followed Aunt Zhao out.
"Claire, may I call you Claire?" the woman asked with a kindly smile.
I nodded and returned the smile.
"I've heard a bit about you from Daniel and that caregiver. Thank you for taking care of our Qingyan and Daniel."
"Our Daniel is such a poor child—he lost his parents early. Qingyan is so busy with work. When I'm home, I keep worrying: did he eat on time? Did he have enough clothes? Thinking of it makes me cry…"
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to dab her tears, sniffed, and exhaled. "I don't often get the chance to come. Seeing that you had a caregiver here—someone told me you arranged for her—I felt so grateful. Thank you, Claire."
"Dr. Lewis is busy, but he cares about Daniel. You don't need to worry too much," I reassured her.
"Hah, I'm old but not foolish. A young man still getting himself together, trying to raise a child—it's not easy. If it weren't for necessity, we wouldn't want to burden Qingyan…" Her voice trailed, and that brought up the question burning inside me. I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. Before I could filter it, the words slipped out: "I heard Qingyan isn't Daniel's biological uncle…"
Surprise flashed across her face—she hadn't expected me to know. "Qingyan told you that?"
I was momentarily speechless; I couldn't very well say I'd heard gossip. She didn't press. Instead she sighed and began to speak.
"You're right—Qingyan is not Daniel's biological uncle. But in all meaningful ways, he might as well be."
She told the story like someone carrying a small candle through the dark—wanting to share its light with anyone she met.
Qingyan had no parents. He was found abandoned at the orphanage, wrapped in nothing but a simple blanket. The director took him in, checked him over, and seeing he was healthy, cared for him while waiting for his parents to return.
Months passed. That scrawny little boy grew into a chubby toddler, yet no one came to claim him. The director, anxious, finally completed the adoption paperwork.
Because he was healthy, there was no shortage of adoptive families. The director chose a family with good circumstances—a married couple who'd been together five or six years without children. They had decided to adopt.
After Qingyan was taken away, the director felt relieved but always worried about him.
Then, unexpectedly, a year later the child was returned. The adoptive couple had become pregnant not long after—and whichever rumor they'd heard, they were convinced the pregnancy was because of Qingyan. They wanted to secure that one precious pregnancy, so after the baby was born safe, they heartlessly returned Qingyan to the orphanage.
Seeing the chubby boy come back skinny tugged at the director's heart.
From then on, the director hesitated on future adoptions when it came to Qingyan. Years later, when he was six, the director couldn't bear to let him grow up there. He placed Qingyan with another family.
But fate repeated itself. Not long after, that family's wife became pregnant. This time they didn't return Qingyan, but his status plummeted—he became nothing more than a household servant. At an age where he should have been playing, he was washing clothes, scrubbing dishes, doing tasks far beyond his years. When he failed, he was beaten and starved.
To save money to raise their biological child, they refused to send Qingyan to school. One day, after half a year of abuse, while heating water for the baby, he scalded his leg. They wouldn't pay for treatment. Qingyan couldn't take it—he dragged his injured leg back to the orphanage.
After that, the director refused to place him with anyone else. Qingyan stayed at the orphanage.
"Later, when he was in high school, he became good friends with Daniel Price's parents. Qingyan and Daniel's father used to come to our house for meals. They were so close I thought they might be brothers!"
"Because Dr. Lewis is also a Li, I used to think they were related."
"Qingyan chose the surname Li from the orphanage director—it was his choice. Fate, I suppose."
She sipped tea and continued, "My husband and I used to joke: both those young men were decent—who would be my son-in-law?"
"To tell the truth, Daniel's father wasn't that much better off than Qingyan. Though his parents were alive, his situation wasn't that great either."
That couple fought all the time and took it out on the child. It was so bad that Daniel’s father didn't even want to go home anymore.
When the woman talked about Daniel's parents, her brows knitted. "Those two aren't right in the head. They threw their own son around like trash after the divorce!
So cold-hearted!
When my daughter and son-in-law had their accident, those cruel parents didn't even take part in the funeral!"
She broke into a coughing fit as soon as she finished. I stepped forward and patted her back until she calmed. After a long cough she sighed and said, "Poor Daniel, oh…"
"At first, we thought maybe this was for the best. At least no one would fight us for Daniel, and having him with us would be some comfort. But ever since my girl and her husband had their accident, my old man got worse every day—grief hit him hard, he had a stroke, and he was almost half-paralyzed.
"Qingyan saw me struggling to care for my husband and raise my grandson alone, so he volunteered to take Daniel. There wasn't anyone more suitable around, and after all, Qingyan and Daniel's family have that connection. We felt safe handing Daniel to him."
I froze on the spot.
In the last life, Dr. Summers had been, to me, just Daniel's uncle I never met—an image, a lamentable elder in a memory.
This time, not only had I met him, I was learning dusty, hidden parts of his past. Seeing his life unfurl before me filled me with a crushing despair and pain—a person with no known origin, alone in the world, walking a lonely road, and ultimately destined to die alone!
The woman noticed my pale face and asked me worriedly what was wrong.
I couldn't hold it in any longer and choked out, "I want to help him, but I don't know what I can do… what should I do?"
Back at the hotel, Martha told me Ethan Bennett had stopped by earlier but left when I wasn't there.
She handed me an invitation with her name on it.
"Mr. Bennett said there'll be a new product launch in a few days. If you want to go, you can get in under my name. They'll have someone do your makeup. Most people haven't actually met me in person—if you don't stand out too much, you'll be fine."
After Martha stayed to eat dinner with Hazel and me she said her goodbyes. She teased on her way out, "I was hoping you'd knock everyone's socks off with your looks, but safety first, ha!"
Once the guests left, I could no longer hold myself up. I sank onto the sofa, exhausted, and tried to rest.
Eyes closed, Daniel's grandmother's face floated up in my mind. "Claire, at my age there's one thing I finally understand: the people we meet and the things we go through are fate.
"But what is fate? Fate is God's chessboard. Win after win or lose step by step—so long as you play the whole game with your heart, even if we misstep, there's nothing to regret and nothing to be afraid of."
"I don't know what happened between you and Qingyan, but I believe him, and I believe you. Do what you can. As for things we can't control, that's Qingyan's fate—and Daniel's fate. Don't make it hard on yourself."
I pressed my hands against my eyes and thought, Qingyan will leave alone for overseas in fifteen years.
Fifteen years—there's a lot I can change in that time. Not just Qingyan, but Daniel, and more…
I sat up on the sofa and looked at Hazel in the corner straightening up the toy pile.
"Hazel."
I called to her.
"Yes, Mama?"
She came running, clutching a doll. I took her in my arms. "Hazel, are you happy?"
She hugged me back. "I'm the happiest!"
I rubbed my chin against her little head and something felt off. "Hmm? Hazel, where's the other hair clip?"
After little Yuki left, Hazel couldn't stand staying in the hotel. For days she kept asking when we'd go home. Because we weren't sure if paparazzi were still lurking around the complex, I didn't want to make any rash moves—Ethan's launch was right around the corner, and fewer complications now would be better.
So we waited until the morning of the launch. Mrs. Zhao arrived with Daniel at the Grand Meridian. As soon as we were in the room, Daniel held a daffodil over his head.
I took the daffodil and crouched to hug him. Hazel, behind me, asked, "Danny-brother, does Hazel not get a flower?"
Little Daniel loosened one hand from around my neck and said, "I don't have enough pocket money. How about this?"
He pulled out a hard candy from his pocket and handed it to Hazel. She took it, smiled, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth.
Almost immediately her face puckered. "So sour!"
Daniel giggled, "It's lemon candy."
We stayed at the hotel playing with Daniel and Hazel until noon. Just after lunch, Ethan sent the stylist.
While the stylist did my makeup, Hazel and Daniel sat beside me with juice, sipping and watching me appraise each brush stroke.
"Mama is so pretty!" Hazel declared.
"You're really pretty!" Daniel chimed in.
The stylist was amused by them and, smiling, put a pair of light-cocoa crescent sunglasses on my face to finish the look.
"Ah! You look like Auntie Martha!" Hazel shouted.
"Who's Auntie Martha?" Daniel asked.
Hazel pulled a Polaroid from her little bag and showed it to Daniel. He compared it to my face, nodded, and pointed. "Who's this?"
"This is my new friend. Her name is Yuki."
"You have a new friend?"
"Yes. She left, but when she comes back you can be friends with her. She's great!"
I listened to their lively back-and-forth without interrupting.
Looking in the mirror, my styling really did resemble Martha, just as Hazel said.
The stylist was skilled. My lower face already naturally resembled Martha's; using shadow and highlights, the stylist amplified that similarity to the point of near indistinguishability.
Martha and Claire's biggest facial difference is in the eyes. Martha's eyes are long with upturned corners; mine are rounder with straight tails. The stylist used shadow and liner to craft a striking, lifted eye look. At a casual glance, it blurred the differences.
The light-cocoa sunglasses helped, too—covering part of the eye area and downplaying the bridge of my nose. The stylist raised an eyebrow in the mirror, pleased with the result.
I left Hazel and Daniel in the room with Mrs. Zhao and walked out with the stylist.
On the way to the event, I learned this stylist often did Martha's looks and knew her features well.
"But I'm curious," the stylist said. "Martha was always central at Lan Lingerie's launches. She isn't attending this time—which I get—but why have you impersonate her at all?"
Not knowing what Ethan had told the stylist, I smiled but said nothing. The stylist kindly added that after the show she'd stay with Ethan's team, and if I needed her I could call.
We arrived at the venue, I parted with the stylist, and used Martha's pass to get in.
Everything felt odd, and I wasn't alone in sensing it.
I was in a wide corridor lined on both sides with displays the organizers had built.
The theme was simple: "The Woman I Love."
The display wall presented a girl's journey from adolescence to maturity. Each stage was represented by a pink female silhouette.
In puberty, the silhouette was a pale blush, facing a wall of cute, youthful bras and pointing at one.
In first love, the silhouette deepened to bright pink, covering her face in a shy gesture before a bra that was cute and sexy at once.
By the wedding silhouette, the pink was almost red—matching the two suggested lingerie choices: pure white and festive red.
After the wedding, the woman's silhouette showed a softened belly curve—motherhood—and the corresponding lingerie included nursing bras and other maternity-appropriate pieces.
I stopped there, studying the silhouette's curve and drifting into thought.
I haven't given birth, yet fate made me a mother. Though I've never felt the pain or joy of childbirth, my time with little Hazel let me know how profound that bond can be.
The corridor continued. Women grew and evolved; their lingerie choices ranged from sexy to tender, styles as varied as a woman's inner world.
Each look made you wonder what kind of woman would choose it.
I was lost in thought until I realized I'd reached the end of the corridor, where more people had gathered.
Over their heads I could see a huge display wall filled with all manner of lingerie—each piece labeled with a number starting from 1.
The crowd moved slowly. I followed and saw why.
In front of the lingerie wall were seven small platforms. Each platform had a gray-pink silhouette—clearly representing middle-aged to older women.
Guides asked people to stand behind the silhouette, step onto the platform, and, from that perspective, choose a piece of lingerie they thought suited her. After stepping down, attendees entered their chosen lingerie number into voting machines beside the display; if they didn't pick anything, they entered 0.
Though I already understood the event's concept and admired the careful design, I stood behind the gray-pink silhouette and seriously considered the hundreds of pieces on display.
There were whispers behind me from time to time, but the moment you stepped onto that platform, everyone fell silent as if by agreement.
Each person studied the wall of lingerie carefully, then walked down the platform with serious expressions and solemnly entered their number on the voting device.
We reached the venue quickly. Still getting my bearings, I overheard a low conversation beside me.
“Hey, this is different. Old-school lingerie launches always have a runway. Why isn’t there one this time? With this setup, you’d think it’s a phone release.”
“It’s not that strange. Did you see what else is here? When I walked through the corridor I noticed — besides fashion reporters, there are a lot of general news reporters…”
“General news?”
“Cough. Didn’t you hear about those recent incidents? Miss Summers’ death, Mr. Bennett’s—um—other woman’s son being seriously ill. Ethan Bennett rarely shows his face or talks to the press. There’ve been so many online exposés and no official statements. These reporters are probably hoping to dig up something big.”
“What? Is Ethan Bennett coming out in person?”
“Don’t you know? Word is his company is taking this very seriously. He’s expected to appear.”
“That’ll be a show.”
“Who knows? But honestly, I’m more curious about the product. Did you vote when you went by?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I stood there staring forever trying to picture what my mom wears. I’m a thirty-year-old man — when have I ever paid attention to this?”
“Me neither. I asked a woman I work with and she couldn’t remember what her mom wore either.”
“When I was little I remember my mom hanging bras on the balcony. I can picture that, but at her age now she definitely isn’t wearing stuff like that.”
“So what’d you vote?”
“Zero. No way. So many styles and none fit what my mom would wear.”
“Same. What’s their angle? Are they launching granny bras?”
“Probably. But what’s the point of doing such a big deal about it?”
“We’ll see.”
Hearing them, I couldn’t help but smile. The mystery was working — everyone guessed something, but no one was sure. Perfect.
I threaded through the crowd to find my seat. Ethan had messaged and said my seat was in a discreet left-side section. I felt around and located it.
I sat down and let out a small relieved breath. Good—no one noticed me.
Someone patted my shoulder lightly. I turned, surprised.
“Hello, are you Ms. Bennett?”
A reporter’s unfamiliar face hovered at my side. Behind her, someone hefted a camera pointed straight at me.
Before I could react, the woman launched into questions. I didn’t even catch which outlet she represented. “Ms. Bennett, we all noticed there’s no runway. Can you give us some inside info?”
I thought to myself — you’ll know in a minute — but kept my expression calm. “Sorry, I’m as curious as you are. Let the organizers reveal the surprise.”
She wasn’t satisfied. “Ms. Bennett, since you’re not appearing onstage and you don’t know the new product, does that mean you’ve ended your collaboration with Lan Lingerie?”
I hadn’t heard of such a thing. “If there were an announcement, Lan Lingerie and I would inform everyone through official channels. Thank you for your concern.”
That didn’t stop the reporter. Exchanging a glance with the cameraperson, she tried again. “I heard Mr. Newman from Ink & Milk reached out to you before. Any thoughts on cooperation?”
Ink & Milk? Zach Newman? I was surprised. Zach had tried to reach out to Martha? Did he mistake me and Hazel for Martha and someone else?
“Ms. Bennett?” the reporter prodded.
“Again, if there’s news I will announce it officially,” I said.
“Ms. Bennett—”
“Sorry.”
A man’s voice cut her off. A hand came up to block the camera. “The press conference is about to start. If you have questions, why not save them for the organizers afterward?”
It was Zach Newman. I was startled — speak of the devil. The reporter blinked, then quickly got back into professional mode. “Mr. Newman, we heard Ink & Milk admires Ms. Bennett’s endorsement power. Any chance of future collaboration?”
Zach still shielded the lens but answered politely, “This is Lan Lingerie’s launch. Let’s focus on the host.”
Then he turned to me. “This seat is a bit out of the way. Why don’t you move forward? You’ll see better.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to be roped in, but refusing him amid persistent reporters and a camera pointed at my face didn’t feel smart. I stood and followed him.
His stride was steady and quick. I tried a few times to thank him and step away, but didn’t get the chance.
He stopped at a forward row and gestured for me to take the seat beside him.
“This seat was reserved,” I said, glancing at the name card. “The person who was supposed to sit here was coming with me but had something come up. Don’t be shy.”
He smiled coolly and pulled the chair out.
Just then the opening music swelled. I exhaled, murmured thanks, and sat. Fine. If the tide comes, I’ll adjust.
At the end of the music a host took the stage and introduced the event’s keynote: Lan Lingerie’s design director.
True to what people had said, the launch felt less like lingerie and more like a tech product release. A giant screen showed a 3D model — of a bra.
Even the men in the room noticed something different about that model. My curiosity piqued as well.
Last life I missed the launch of the bra I designed. This time, seeing it unveiled with my own eyes stirred me just as much as anyone else.
After the design director explained the structure, everyone understood: this was a more avant-garde design, focused on ease of putting on and taking off.
Still — did this justify such a grand event?
Murmurs filled the hall. I stole a glance at Zach. He was watching the screen intently. I wanted to ask him, as a colleague, how he saw the product’s prospects, but my eyelid twitched uncontrollably for reasons I couldn’t explain.
At that moment the design director announced the next segment would be hosted by Mr. Bennett.
Heads turned to the stage.
Ethan Bennett strode up in a few confident steps. He carried a composed yet energized presence.
I heard a few women behind me sigh, “So handsome!” I stifled a laugh with my hand; Zach caught my look and seemed puzzled. I pretended not to notice and refocused on the stage.
Ethan looked refreshed — whatever fatigue he’d had at the hotel was gone. Even without a spotlight, he seemed to radiate light and drew everyone’s eyes.
After a brief greeting he began to speak.
“Before you entered, you walked through a thought-provoking corridor. That concept came from our marketing team’s women. They tied different stages of a woman’s life to the lingerie she chooses, showing how underwear plays an important role through a woman’s life. I think this idea is brilliant and touching, and I believe the women here feel the same.”
“For the men, who may not share those experiences, walking the corridor will still make you think of the most important women in your lives.”
“Before entering you all answered a question. I wonder if the person you thought of is the same one I thought of.”
“That person is: the woman you love.”
His opening carried the room with him. Ethan’s voice had a magnetic calmness — a mature man’s directness that inspired trust.
“Now, some data.”
He pointed to the screen and a bar chart appeared. The room stirred. Aside from a few scattered votes on several designs, the most obvious result stood out: the most voted choice by far was Option 0.
“From this result it’s clear: choosing a suitable bra for ‘her’ among current products is not an easy task. From ‘her’ perspective, what’s needed isn’t cute, isn’t sexy — it’s comfort and ease of wear.”
“After our design director’s explanation, I think you can see the focus of this launch: lingerie that prioritizes easy on-and-off and skin-friendly comfort.”
"This line uses a brand-new design. Not only new fabrics and new technology, but more importantly, it's aimed at an entirely new consumer group."
"When I say 'entirely new consumer group,' it's because, until now, we've never paid attention to this group."
"As you can see, there are many types of lingerie. As a woman grows, she chooses different functions, materials, and styles at different stages of life. But for a long time we've overlooked one demographic: older women."
"Our research shows that, in the current lingerie market, older women have very limited options. To be frank, Lan Lingerie has historically ignored this group in our market research and product development."
"That's wrong, but—"
Ethan hesitated here for a beat. "That's partly due to some personal experiences of mine that led to that oversight."
Ha!
Playing the sympathy card.
There was a ripple through the crowd. I saw Zach's mouth curl in that quick, dismissive way—scorn flashing and gone.
I remembered an online post I'd read earlier; the author had similar upbringing to Ethan, which explained Zach's contempt for Ethan's tactic.
I looked at the people on stage and felt no discomfort with his approach.
No matter his motive, if saying this now helps make the launch a success and get the product out there, who cares whether he's playing the sympathy angle or something else?
Ethan's sharp—he knows how to stop at the right spot. He didn’t keep digging into "personal experience."
He steered the topic back to the product itself.
"As you can see, our new product differs from traditional lingerie in roughly two major ways."
"First, the wearing method is not the traditional back hook or pullover. We made that choice because for many older women, fastening a back clasp or pulling on a pullover can be a real challenge. So we eliminated both of those wearing styles."
"Front-closure bras aren't unheard of in our market, but for this product we chose a front clasp. For the clasp mechanism, we worked with a domestic studio that specializes in button development to design a new opening-closing buckle. Even people with limited dexterity can open and close it easily."
"Second, for fabrics we partnered with a leading textile factory to co-develop a new Class A fabric. It delivers comfort, breathability, and moisture-wicking, with an exceptionally soft hand."
"The surprise with this fabric is that it can be infused with customizable natural essential oils. We currently offer three different essential oil fabric options. The most popular in our internal tests is the lavender-infused fabric. How the market responds, though, remains to be seen."
Ethan's presentation continued, and every time he hit a key point the audience applauded.
Amid the warm clapping, I heard Zach, almost inaudible, mutter, "This product won't succeed."
"How so?"
I couldn't help but speak up.
"Lan has always used high-end materials and trims—it's part of the brand's positioning. Price has never been their concern. The problem with the older-women market is not design—it's that this group's willingness and ability to spend are weak."
"No matter how revolutionary the concept or design, if they keep the old 'cost-is-no-object' approach, they create one problem—"
"High cost equals high price."
"For their target consumers, buying a product at that price point is impossible."
Zach wore that smug, confident smile and shook his head. When he finished, he looked at me as if fishing for agreement.
I copied his head shake but stayed silent.
As if to answer Zach's prediction, Ethan wrapped up the product intro and shifted tone. "So, for a product with brand-new design, technology, and fabric, I know the question on everyone's mind is price."
"After everything we've said, you can see how much Lan Lingerie hopes for this product. We believe it will be welcomed when it launches."
"But back to our original intention—designing something suitable for older women—we have to consider their spending ability and willingness."
"After several rounds of pricing discussion, the final price we've set is—please look at the screen!"
Everyone turned to the screen. For a moment the room went completely quiet, then applause erupted.
I glanced at Zach again. For the first time, his brow creased; he looked genuinely incredulous. "No way. He's lost his mind."
When the clapping died down, Ethan announced, "39.90 yuan!"
"This is our final price."
"This price is unprecedented within Lan Lingerie's pricing structure!"
"This product will be on shelves at major stores nationwide shortly. After today's launch we'll hold a small on-site sale. We brought two thousand pieces of this new product; anyone interested can participate afterward. Our sales, design, and R&D teams will be on hand to answer questions."
When the event ended, staff guided everyone to the demo sales area.
I planned to split off from Zach there, but he must have known what I intended; before I could say anything he invited me to come along.
I steeled myself and made a gesture to join him as we went forward.
At the demo, people crowded the booths and staff—testing the product, asking questions.
I saw many gathered around Ethan, including the persistent reporter who'd bothered me earlier.
"Mr. Bennett, you mentioned personal experience at the launch. Is your inspiration for this product related to your late mother?"
"I believe everyone feels stronger affection for their mothers as they age. It's true this product is designed for older women, but I hope the people who buy it are the sons and daughters among us."
Ethan didn't directly answer the reporter, but he did respond in spirit.
I couldn't help smiling. Of course he'd be stubborn—he could have just fed the reporter a neat story, but he wouldn't lie. So he danced around it.
"Won't this pricing affect Lan Lingerie's brand positioning and revenue?"
"As I said at the launch, our original intention is to make a bra suitable for older women. If we price it so high that they can't afford it, we betray that intention. As for Lan's brand positioning—we've long been focused on high-end lingerie, but a company can't abandon its social responsibility."
Reporters jabbed more questions, and after listening a while I left the crowded circle.
At a booth, I bought one of the lavender-essential-oil bras from memory.
While I paid, I overheard two people nearby whispering, "With these materials and craftsmanship at that price, if Lan really runs it like this, it'll be impossible for anyone else to enter this market."
"Tsk. Funny—I've heard rumors Lan was being courted for acquisition by Somer & Co., but they pull this move days later? Obviously that rumor was false."
"What rumor?"
"They said Ethan had no interest in running Lan anymore, wanted to dump it and wash his hands of past scandals. Haven't you heard?"
"Shh! Keep it down—this place is full of Lan people. Let's step outside."
"Wait—I need to buy two for my mom."
"Alright, alright, I'll buy some too!"
"Excuse me? If this doesn't fit, can I exchange sizes?"
"Sir, if the item doesn't fit you can call our factory for an exchange or go to a store with stock and your purchase record. The product will be on shelves soon. Feel free to buy with confidence."
The two left happily after buying two each. I followed, paid, and took the simple but classy paper bag. I looked toward Ethan, still surrounded by reporters—he'd pulled it off.
He'd asked my opinion on pricing before.
I had told him about the time I'd gone with Aunt Nora to buy undergarments and shared my view.
In my previous life, this design had been donated away, which might be why the other team didn't invest in it like Ethan did.
You could see his understanding and care just from the essential oil choice—he even exceeded the effort made in my past life, decades down the line for this product.
Ethan hadn't announced this at the launch, but he'd told me the design inspiration: the oils were added because older adults and the chronically bedridden can carry body odors. Using perfume isn't realistic for these groups; a light, pleasant essential oil infused into the fabric addresses the issue better.
He'd also intentionally avoided big, flashy marketing about this to protect the dignity of those consumers.
For such a product, and for Ethan to set that price—if I wasn't moved, I would be lying.
The press conference wrapped up smoothly, the sales meeting was a hit, and I had no regrets. I turned to Zach and said goodbye, "Mr. Newman, thanks for covering for me back there. It looks like the event's completely over. Sorry, I have something else to take care of—I should get going."
"If Miss Bennett isn't in a rush, why don't we sit and have dinner together? There's a place nearby—the Hartwell Bistro. Their lamb chops are excellent."
"But—"
"Oh, right. The other day when it rained, you left a hairpin in the car. It’s still at the hotel. After dinner, I can drive you back so I can return it to you."
When Zach mentioned that rainy day, it would be rude to refuse again.
The restaurant he chose really was lovely: elegant, generous portions, and yes—the lamb chops were outstanding.
I had assumed Zach was being so persistent because of that news item at the press conference about Rose Bennett maybe collaborating with Lan Lingerie.
Surprisingly, though, he never brought that up. Instead, he focused intently on the food.
"This Syrah from the Rhône Valley in southern France has balanced acidity, full floral and fruit notes, and warm spice—pairs wonderfully with a fatty lamb chop. Do you like it, Miss Bennett?"
I took a cautious sip and agreed, but inside I was a wreck—fidgety and on edge. I messaged Rose explaining where I was and asked her to call me ASAP so we could compare notes. I didn't want to blow our cover, and I didn't know if she planned to switch partners—I'd hate to unwittingly sabotage her deal.
Zach clearly noticed my distraction. He set down his glass, folded his hands, and smiled faintly. "Is something uncomfortable about having dinner with me?"
"Oh no, sorry. I'm just still a bit out of it from the press conference."
"Oh? Speaking of Lan Lingerie's new line—what do you think of it?"
"Um… from a market perspective, it targets a niche segment of lingerie. There are innovations in design, fabric, and workmanship. Emotionally, it addresses a group that's often overlooked. Personally, I admire it."
Zach nodded, leaned back, and asked with a smile, "Your insight is sharp. What did you major in in college, Miss Bennett?"
His sudden question stunned me. I felt cold sweat prick at the back of my neck—this was too basic a question to blank on.
"I…"
Right then, my phone in my bag rang.
I grabbed my clutch and stood up the instant I saw the caller ID. "Excuse me, Mr. Newman, I need to take this."
I hurried somewhere Zach couldn't see and answered, "Oh my God, perfect timing. Tell me—what's your degree? What did you study?"
On the other end, Rose paused, then laughed. "I thought this was an interview! I have a bachelor's—aviation services. Why?"
"I'm having dinner with Zach Newman and he just asked me that out of nowhere. I freaked. Aviation services—that rings a bell…"
I ransacked my memory for anyone I knew in that field but came up empty. "Never mind. Short version: I heard Noah Blake might want to collaborate with you. What's your take? If you don't want it, say no so I don't accidentally ruin your chances."
"There is talk. I turned him down. If he brings it up again, you can just refuse for me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Mr. Bennett paid me well for my endorsement—he's been a supporter. I won't burn that bridge."
"Good. Also—are you familiar with him? Would he recognize you?"
"Familiar? We met once privately for maybe five minutes. Other times he'd see me on the runway or on TV—unlikely he'd recognize me."
Back at the table, I felt much calmer and more composed. Zach didn't pry further into personal stuff, so the rest of the meal passed pleasantly.
Before getting into Zach's car, I called Lily Carter on speaker—careful not to use her name—loud enough for Zach to hear, "Sweetie, remember you said I'd come over? I'm running a bit late. I'm taking Mr. Newman's car to the hotel to pick something up, then I'll head to you."
"Huh? Who's Mr. Newman?"
"Zach Newman," I replied. "Yes, I'll be there soon."
I hung up and apologized to Zach with a sheepish smile. "Sorry—she's my best friend."
He nodded and slid into the car.
Zach's work life was busy; his phone buzzed nonstop. He looked a little weary, rubbing his brow between calls. After ending a fourth call, he breathed out, pocketed his phone, and smiled at me. "Sorry—work."
"No problem," I said.
"Miss Bennett," he began, "earlier I thought you displayed real market insight into lingerie. May I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Have you compared Lan Lingerie and Nongjin? In your view, what are their strengths and weaknesses?"
I thought for a moment. "My knowledge of both is mostly from online research, so it's not exhaustive. Objectively, both position themselves as affordable-luxury. Their target audiences and markets are similar."
"But in my opinion, their brand cores differ."
"How so?"
He tilted his head. "Although both are light-luxury, Lan prioritizes meticulous craftsmanship based on long-collected data: they aim for fit and wearability without excessive decoration. Nongjin aims for extreme glamour, accentuating sensuality. One notable thing: Nongjin demands more from the wearer's figure."
He murmured, "Extreme glamour…"
"Mr. Summers said something similar," I added.
I realized he was reminiscing. He'd practically finished a bottle of wine earlier.
"When Mr. Summers was alive, he often criticized me for not understanding lingerie—said I made things too flashy and tacky," he said, curling his lips into a tipsy smile. "He always insisted lingerie must be human-centered; comfort is basic. He'd compare me to Mr. Bennett and say my taste wasn't as good. Mr. Bennett learned on the factory floor; I went to university to study design only to impress Mr. Summers."
"Still, he looked down on me."
"I don't think Mr. Summers looked down on you," I began to comfort him, but he cut me off.
"He'd say chasing luxury is forgetting your roots. What's there to forget about our origin?" He sounded drunker now but not incoherent. He turned his face out the window and didn't speak again until we reached the hotel.
I learned Zach stayed on the eighth floor too. I said I needed to go find my friend and insisted on waiting in the lobby for him to fetch my hairpin. Zach let the driver help him into the elevator.
A short while later the driver returned, apologetic. "Miss Bennett, Mr. Newman fell asleep as soon as he got upstairs. I couldn't ask where the hairpin was. He's been working little and drank tonight—please forgive us."
"That's fine," I waved it off. "If you tell me the room number, I can wait until he wakes and you can send the hairpin down."
"No need. Next time." I smiled and declined. "I have to go—thanks."
"If you need, I can drive you to your friend's place."
"Thanks, but no; please look after Mr. Newman. I already asked the front desk to call a car. It should be here soon."
At the hospital, Lily came out to meet me.
"Why are you here? Where's Noah?" I asked.
"He's sleeping. I hired a nanny—she's inside watching him. But more importantly, why were you with Zach Newman?"
I explained, and Lily snapped her fingers. "Good thing I'm sharp. When I heard you were with him, I got nervous."
"Nervous about what?"
"You don't know him—he's weird."
Her expression was hard to read. "Tell me as we walk."
We headed toward the garden while chatting.
"What's weird about him?" I asked.
"Ahem. How to put it? Petty, maybe. He's terrified of being looked down on. We used to work at Lan Lingerie together, and he'd always try to outdo Noah. They came from similar backgrounds, so you'd think they'd understand each other, but he always had to one-up Noah. Privately, we thought he was arrogant—a weird sense of superiority. After he got into a prestigious university, he looked down on us staff."
"Not just us—Mr. Summers would sometimes…"
I remember one year at a company meeting, CEO Summers called him out by name. He argued that Lan Lingerie should go full luxury, that only wealthy people deserve finer products. He said if they wanted a high-end brand image they had to raise the consumption threshold, filter out lower-spending customers. That really infuriated CEO Summers.
"If he does that, wouldn’t he only cause trouble for himself? Won’t coworkers just ostracize him?"
"Not everyone was completely against it.
Look, Ethan actually agreed with some of his views — otherwise Lan wouldn't be what it is today. There are definitely entry barriers for everyday consumers now.
But that’s a change from the last two years. Back then the timing probably wasn’t right? I don’t really know."
"So he and Ethan should've had a lot in common."
"In theory, yes. But he strangely disliked Ethan. To be precise, he was pretty aloof at the factory — looked down on everyone. Still, Dr. Summers was close to him."
"Ah?"
"Even though he looked down on us, he was tight with Dr. Summers. After all, the Summers family had done a lot for him, so he was close with them. Dr. Summers’ mother liked him too. From where I stood, CEO Summers didn’t hate him — more like disappointed in him, like hating the iron for not becoming steel.
Otherwise, why would they feed and house a total stranger, pay for his schooling and give him a job? You see what I mean?"
I felt a pang of melancholy, thinking of Zach’s expression when he mentioned CEO Summers. Could Zach really not understand such a simple thing?
"You said he was close to Dr. Summers?"
I asked.
"Yeah. Back then a lot of people at the factory thought they were a couple, but I know Dr. Summers actually liked Ethan."
"How so?"
"You don’t know Dr. Summers. She has that spoiled rich-girl temperament — a little arrogant. She treated Zach only a bit better than the rest of us. But around Ethan she got shy, ladylike. Can’t you see that? Zach was often by her side, but to me she treated him like a friend, a male best friend!"
I nodded, keeping my silence.
"Anyway, never mind them. In a few days, Noah will be discharged. I want to throw him a small party at home. Could you bring Hazel?"
"No problem. She’s been cooped up in the hotel and going stir-crazy."
"If you don’t mind, I’d also like to invite Dr. Lewis and that little kid of his. Is that okay?"
I thought for a moment and said fine.
"Speaking of Dr. Lewis," Lily glanced at me cautiously, "he looks worn out lately. I saw him yesterday — with work, taking care of that woman, and a kid at home, he’s got a lot on his plate."
"Honestly, I don’t think he’s romantically into that woman. He cares for people diligently, but he doesn’t seem emotionally invested. You know what I mean? There's no spark between them.
Also, Dr. Lewis always looks so alone, a little pitiful."
When I didn’t reply, she paused, stepped in front of me and, mustering courage, said, "I told you before I was willing to step aside for you and Ethan because I knew how he felt about you. But after spending time around you, I’m not sure you feel the same about him."
"If you like Ethan, I’ll step back. But if you like Dr. Lewis, I’ll support you. Do you understand?"
Her voice was earnest, her clear eyes fixed on me.
I sighed. "I don’t like Ethan, but—"
"I also can’t be with Dr. Lewis."
"Why?"
A voice from behind startled both Lily and me. We whipped around and saw Rose sitting in her wheelchair, as proud-eyed as ever.
After a beat, Lily scolded, "Why were you eavesdropping?"
Rose didn’t bother to answer Lily’s rebuke. "What do you mean you can’t like Dr. Lewis?"
Lily, irritated that Rose ignored her, snapped back, "There are plenty of doctors with the last name Lee. Why does it have to be Dr. Lewis? Don’t know what you’re so eager for."
Rose caught the double meaning in Lily’s jab and looked a little unsettled.
Lily, sensing victory, readied another strike, but I grabbed her arm.
"Ms. Bennett, we have things to do. We won't stick around."
I knew Rose had long held a grudge against me and didn’t want to argue, so I pulled Lily and started to leave.
"You know you’re the other woman with an illegitimate child. You’re not entitled to like Dr. Lewis! So why do you keep pestering him?"
Rose’s disdainful voice stopped us cold. Lily spun around, furious, pointing at Rose. "You want me to flip your wheelchair? Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you can’t walk!"
Rose met our rage without flinching, head held high.
"Lily, go check on Noah. I’ll be there in a minute."
Hearing me, Lily shot Rose a glare then left.
"Ms. Bennett, about your question earlier — I can answer. But first, what position do you have to be questioning me?"
Rose, who had been so fierce, suddenly deflated and glanced away. "I…none of your business!"
"Then my life is none of your business either."
I didn’t back down.
"I’m…a friend of Dr. Lewis’s!
And for someone as scheming as you—"
I cut her off. "Ms. Bennett, for the sake of your friendship with Dr. Lewis, I’ve never spoken cruelly to you, nor done the things you’ve accused me of. If you insist on speaking to me like that, I don’t have to listen to your nonsense or answer your questions."
I watched her expression. She looked choked by the words she hadn’t finished, her neck tense, ears flushing red.
After a long moment she swallowed and lost her haughtiness. "What do you mean you can’t like Dr. Lewis?"
"Ms. Bennett, how are your legs?"
"What?"
"As a doctor, you know better than I how important healthy legs are. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve wondered if you think that as long as your legs aren’t healed, Dr. Lewis will stay by your side to care for you?"
Rose’s face flushed deeper, as if I’d hit a nerve.
"In other words, is Dr. Lewis more important to you than your medical career?"
Rose’s eyes darted away, uncomfortable. "So what if he is?"
I gave a small laugh and continued, "If Dr. Lewis matters more than your career, then why can’t you tolerate someone as small as Daniel Price being near him?"
Mentioning Daniel seemed to give Rose a way to strike back. "It’s not that I can’t tolerate him — he doesn’t like me!"
"Children are very perceptive," I said flatly. "They can tell if someone truly likes them. And I know Daniel — he’s not the type to make unreasonable demands."
"What are you getting at?"
Rose threw her head, impatient. "Are you just saying this to brag that Daniel likes you so you can win Dr. Lewis? Is that it?"
"No." I smiled slightly. "What I mean is, I care more about Daniel than Dr. Lewis."
"What?"
For the first time, Rose’s tone lost its cocky resistance and turned to disbelief.
"I used to know a girl who had a childhood friend she loved. He didn’t love her back. Later he met the woman of his life in college. The girl couldn’t bear it and tried everything but couldn’t break them up."
Rose looked puzzled, but I went on. "Back then I didn’t understand what that boy meant to her. I took for granted that everyone’s greatest love should be themselves — their interests, work, life. I didn’t realize that for someone deprived of care and warmth, that boy could mean everything. By the time I realized it, it was too late."
Rose asked hesitantly, "What happened to her?"
"On the day he married, she jumped off a building and killed herself in front of him."
Even as I looked at Rose, my thoughts were on someone else.
"I don’t know why I’m telling you this," Rose said, stunned and confused.
"When I heard you had run out of Dr. Lewis’s house and had that accident, I kept thinking of that girl. I thought, if someone as proud as you could do something for a man, then that man must be everything to you."
"So I sincerely hoped this incident might win you Dr. Lewis’s love. I’ve often wished that if that boy had known he meant more to her than her life, he might have made a different choice."
"But seeing Dr. Lewis lately, so exhausted and worn, I realized something else —"
"Love is love. When anything else gets mixed in, it wears people down. Especially when someone is asked to bear a burden as heavy as another person’s life."
"If you still don’t get it, Ms. Bennett, I’ll ask plainly: in this time, has Dr. Lewis’s care for you gone beyond friendship?"
Her face fell and she didn’t answer, but her silence spoke volumes. Still, she retained her pride and refused to bow. "How do I know you’re not making this up to comfort me? And you’ve danced around so much and still haven’t answered — what does Daniel have to do with any of this?"
"What does whether you like Li Qingyan have to do with anything?"
I breathed out a long sigh and said, "The girl I mentioned is Hazel Bennett. The guy she likes is Daniel Price, and Daniel's heart—"
"is mine."
"What are you… saying?"
Rose Bennett's eyes went wide, shock and disbelief written over her beautiful face.
I was calm inside and began to explain, quietly, the whole story of my past life and how I’d ended up here.
Rose's expression never lost that stunned disbelief, but her manner toward me gradually softened.
It wasn't until I laid out my experiences and my purpose completely that she seemed to recall something. In a dazed voice she said, "There's something I want to tell you. The day I ran out of Qingyan's house, when Qingyan chased after me, I saw a car coming. Qingyan didn't see it. I didn't think, I just jumped—and that's why…"
I hadn't expected that reason. I felt both relieved and ashamed at once. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood you."
"No, no, no!" Rose hurriedly waved her hand. "It's nothing. It's just that my parents aren't from here, and I didn't want to worry them or make trouble for them, so… I used the chance to have Qingyan take care of me."
"I understand," I said softly.
"Then… Lin…" Rose hesitated, like she couldn't decide how to address me.
"Call me Claire. I'm used to it."
I smiled.
"Claire, I get what you mean. I'll think about it," Rose said, embarrassed. "Actually my leg wasn't badly injured. It's almost healed."
…
The Lan Lingerie launch was a huge success. Local mainstream media all ran special segments on the line—underwear designed specifically for middle-aged and older women. Newspapers and TV stations offered to help spread the story.
After the turmoil around Dr. Summers' death, Lan Lingerie's reputation among consumers shot back up.
Every so often a post would pop up praising Ethan Bennett for his wise, sentimental gesture. Some accused him of using paid posters, but those doubts were quickly drowned out by more approving voices.
Then a male user wrote a post that changed the conversation. He said his wife had been hospitalized for six months and spent a lot of time lying still. Her usual bras were uncomfortable, and when she didn't wear any, she felt sloppy.
She was meticulous about her appearance—even in the hospital she brushed her hair and kept herself presentable—except that her underwear had been a problem.
To make his wife feel better, the man got into the habit of glancing at lingerie shops when he passed them. That habit led him to Lan's new product.
He bought one of each of the two essential-oil styles. When his wife saw they were from Lan, she teased him for spending money, but when he told her the two cost less than a hundred bucks, she thought he was just trying to cheer her.
In his post he wrote, "My wife no longer worries about this. I can't cure her, but making her a little happier gives me more confidence. My wife will get better. We'll be okay."
That post thrust Lan Lingerie's new product into the spotlight. Many praised the product as not only a blessing for older women but also for patients who felt they had lost their dignity while sick.
Some people noted that Lan Lingerie's positioning and pricing felt unusual—almost like a tribute to Dr. Summers. Increasingly, voices suggested that Ethan's company pivot and this new line were silent expressions of his feelings for Dr. Summers.
Public praise for Lan Lingerie kept rising, and sales climbed day by day, quickly burying the earlier negative posts.
Ethan's other businesses benefited as well.
When Ethan called to share the good news, I was at The Grand Meridian packing up our and Hazel's things. Little Hazel was busily organizing her toy box like it was serious business.
"Mm, congratulations," I said, folding Hazel's little dress into the suitcase.
"I'll come over tonight. Let's celebrate with dinner," Ethan's voice sounded pleased.
"Okay. Bring the IOU and the custody agreement with you—bring the originals." I folded in the fabric and said it flatly.
"What?"
"Don't play dumb. We agreed: once my design is used, those two things are mine."
There was a long silence on the line before he finally answered, "Fine."
I hung up and was just about to put the phone down when I received a text: "Dear, I'm all done here, heading back soon!" It was Martha.
By the time Ethan arrived at the hotel, I had already set dinner out.
Our luggage was packed. He scanned the room without speaking.
He draped his suit jacket over the sofa, set the folder on the table, and sat down.
I sat across from him, Hazel between us.
"Why do you insist on having those things?" Ethan asked.
"For freedom. I've told you several times," I said, glancing at the folder on the table. "And per our agreement, those two items belong to me."
He lowered his gaze and then quickly raised it. "Is this about that Li family?"
I knew he still had misconceptions, and explaining would be pointless. In some ways he wasn't wrong, so I nodded.
Hazel sensed the tension but didn't know what we were arguing about. She said quietly, "Mom, Dad, I'm hungry. Let's eat."
I patted her head and soothed, "Okay, let's eat together, alright?"
She obediently nodded, picked up her little spoon and fork, and started on the custard.
I reached across the table and offered my left hand, then looked at the folder with my eyes.
Ethan's face darkened, but he pushed the folder toward me.
I checked the documents in front of him to make sure they were in order. Happy, I said, "Let's eat!"
He didn't speak, didn’t refuse—just picked up his cutlery and slowly began cutting his lamb chops.
"Zach wants to throw a party for Noah. Are you going?" I asked between bites.
"Depends on timing," he said.
"Okay." I cut a small piece of lamb and put it on Hazel's plate. She gave me a sweet smile.
"Zach's doing this alone with the kid. You should pay more attention to Lily and Noah. You're a father but act like a hands-off manager. That's not right," I said.
"What about you? You're raising your daughter alone. If someone should make amends, why can't it be me and you together?" Ethan's tone was like discussing a business plan—I even heard a hint of pleading in it.
"I'm different."
"In what way?"
"She still loves you."
I looked at him honestly after saying it, hoping he would truly understand: she still loves him. Only she loves him.
Ethan shot me a peculiar glance; I ignored it and continued. "Besides, living alone—where does that lead? Lily waited for you for so many years and suffered alone. Why should she?"
"People should learn to pursue happiness, otherwise life is too bitter," he replied.
"Lily has parents who love her, a son who loves her, and a heart that cares for you… Ethan, those are happiness within your reach, aren't they?"
"You don't understand what happened between us…" Ethan said.
"I know. But it was a string of accidents. What else can you expect her to do? She thought about confessing, but what good would that do? Without evidence, confessing would be in vain. From the moment it happened, it already sentenced her. You and she will carry that guilt forever—doesn't that seem enough?"
He fell silent, and after a while said, "I'll handle my matters myself."
I knew any more urging would be useless and focused on my meal.
After finishing her custard and lamb, Hazel grabbed a custard puff and, taking a bite as if discovering a new world, exclaimed, "Mom, today's custard puff is savory—your favorite!"
I picked one up, tasted it, and smiled at Hazel. "It's savory. Tasty."
"Hazel likes sweet. Mom likes savory!" she announced proudly.
"You used to love sweets," Ethan said out of nowhere.
After that he set down his cutlery, patted Hazel's head without looking at me, said, "I have something to do. I have to go," and left.
The door had barely closed when Hazel asked softly, "Mom…"
"Mm?"
"I love Dad, but I love Mom more."
I pulled her into my arms and murmured, gentle and low, "That's enough."
…After moving back home with Hazel, my routine of dropping her off and picking her up resumed.
Besides that, I dove into researching the household eldercare market online and found, to my delight, that it's still largely untapped!
I couldn't contain my excitement. I worked day and night to map out upstream and downstream possibilities related to that industry, hired a professional market research team, and ran studies on market prospects and potential users to test product–market fit.
While waiting for the results, a small—yet troublesome—piece of news popped up online that caused a bit of a stir for me and Martha.
Martha had returned and checked back into Room 1820 at the Ritz.
Unfortunately, while dining in the hotel's restaurant one time, she ran into Zach Newman.
When Zach saw her, he handed her a hairpin.
She didn’t understand what was going on, but she instantly thought it might have something to do with me. So she quietly grabbed a hairpin and exchanged a few casual words with him.
That chance moment was photographed by someone, and the picture of them talking was posted online. Overnight, the rumor that Martha would give up the Lan Lingerie endorsement and instead team up with Nongjin resurfaced.
Worse, a small outlet mashed together a few photos—me sitting with Zach Newman at the Lan Lingerie launch and at dinner, and me getting into his private car—and the post went viral, drawing millions of views.
People started whispering that Martha and Zach had something shady going on.
When I saw the photos, I remembered the two intrusive reporters and the cameraman from that day.
But what good did knowing that do?
All I could do was call Martha, tell her what had happened that day, and apologize over and over.
Luckily she wasn’t bothered. She actually comforted me and said her manager had already worked out a PR statement with Lan Lingerie’s team.
“Don’t worry, it's nothing. You don’t need to stress,” Martha said on the phone. “By the way, when should I give you the hairpin?”
“When are you free?” I asked. “I’ll come pick it up.”
“Let’s do Sunday. I’m bringing little June over—she wants to play with Hazel.”
“Sunday? Hmm… Lily wants to throw a party for her son that day. I’ll ask if we can squeeze in two more kids. Is that okay?”
“Sure, no problem. Just tell me ahead of time.”
I told Lily, and she gladly agreed—she even got excited and suggested a small costume party for the kids since they’d all be together.
I passed that on to Martha, and she sounded eager too.
After I hung up, quiet settled back in.
So much had happened lately that I often felt like I was walking through a thick fog, something dangerous hiding in it. A few times I’d thought I was close to it, but it always vanished in a blink. Now that same sense of danger rose again.
I clicked my tongue, stood, and paced the living room, trying to pin down the feeling.
I wasn’t usually an anxious person, but after Hazel died, that steadiness vanished. That was when I first realized how fragile life was, and when worry settled into me.
Since waking up in Claire Bennett’s life, trouble had been a constant. Yet only now did I see that those messy problems had kept my anxiety at bay. As I accepted this new identity and life, the anxiety returned.
Was I overthinking?
I looked out the living room window and was startled by the front door opening—Aunt Nora had come back from shopping.
She changed shoes while chattering about what was fresh at the market and what had gone up in price. I only gave a few faint replies.
She didn’t notice my low mood and kept talking. “On the bus I saw that advertisement you gave me for the bra. There was a mother and daughter talking, and the daughter said she wanted to drag her mom to the store. I almost went up and told them I’m wearing it—it's so good…”
I laughed and teased, “You’re turning into a walking Lan Lingerie ad, Aunt Nora. The neighborhood’s influencer.”
Since I’d bought a couple of bras at the launch and given them to Aunt Nora, she wouldn’t stop raving about them. She’d recommended them to every older woman in our building, even to the vegetable vendors at the market.
“I couldn’t help it. We women live with this stuff our whole lives. Even when you get older, you’ve got to look decent,” she said, then went to the kitchen to start dinner.
I had some time, so I sat back down on the sofa and took out my phone.
I opened the browser and typed a few words. The photos taken of Martha and Zach were actually mixed with my pictures with him in the news feed. The venue had been dim that night, and I’d worn sunglasses, so it was hard to tell from some shots.
I tapped one picture—Zach politely opening a car door for me. The photographer had been far away; the image was a little blurry.
I frowned, feeling I’d seen this moment somewhere before… “thump-thump-thump!”
A rhythmic knocking came from the kitchen—Aunt Nora tapping something.
A girl’s voice echoed in my head: “I heard Hazel’s mom couldn’t win favor, so she went and gave Hazel’s dad a green hat—got herself with another man!”
That was the voice from the night I sat with Lily in the hospital—her voice from a dream.
“What was that line again? ‘One who betrays will be betrayed’—”
“Hahaha, ‘what goes around…’”
Young me would have slammed a book down—I’d remember with a thud. Suddenly the girl’s words in the knocking mix came back. She’d said, “It’s said that person was that famous Zach Newman!”
I broke out in a cold sweat. My whole body froze.
At that moment my phone lit up with a call from an unknown number. My fingers trembled as I answered.
“Hello, is this… Claire Bennett?”
The voice sounded unsure. “I’m Rose Bennett.”
Of course—Rose. I let out a small breath.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“I saw some photos online today—supposedly Martha and Zach. But some of the pictures have Martha wearing the same outfit you had when you came to the hospital. I was wondering… could that be you?”
“Yes. That was me.”
Her question struck me as odd—why would she ask that? Had she misunderstood something?
“Why?” she asked hesitantly. “I recognized Zach. I saw him.”
When she said that my grip on the phone nearly slipped—Zach again?
“Where?”
“In the hospital, in Dr. Summers’s ward.”
She hurriedly added, “I just thought it was strange and wanted to tell you.”
“What was strange?”
I remembered Lily saying Zach and Dr. Summers had a friendly relationship, so Zach visiting her would be normal. But Rose didn’t know that.
“What I mean is, people online say Zach once had feelings for Dr. Summers—do you know about that?”
“Sort of. I’d heard.”
“If you liked someone who ended up with your rival, would you try to get close to the rival’s loved ones?”
Her question jolted me awake. If in my last life Claire had truly been part of the betrayal with Zach, then maybe Zach was seeking revenge on Ethan Bennett. But when Zach approached me, I’d been pretending to be Martha. What was he after?
Why pick the Lan Lingerie spokesperson out of so many models? Was that oddness a clue?
Could he have realized Martha and I were different people?
What did he want?
My mind raced with scenarios until I felt dizzy, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Does he visit Dr. Summers often? I heard her mental state is fragile.”
“I only saw him once. I remember that day well—Dr. Summers seemed fine, but after Zach left she got upset again. The nurses and I had to comfort her for a long time.”
“Do you remember the date?” I asked.
Rose thought for a bit but could only recall roughly. I didn’t tell her about the memory that had flashed back; I just reassured her not to worry if she couldn’t be exact.
Though she’d noticed something off about Zach, it didn’t seem to have caused any direct impact, so she advised me to keep an eye out and dropped the subject of Zach and Dr. Summers.
“Thanks for telling me. If needed, I’ll ask Ethan,” I said, then asked, “How’s your leg?”
She laughed brightly. “I’m back at work—walking fine! Oh, by the way, have you seen him lately?”
My heart skipped. My answer came a beat later. “I saw him once last night when I went to pick up Daniel. He didn’t say hello—he just left.”
“Have you thought about telling him?”
I was taken aback but answered honestly, “No.”
We were silent for a moment, and then I realized why she asked—she probably hoped I’d tell Ethan. That way Ethan would know about Zach… “I’ll tell him when the time is right,” I said softly.
The next day, when I went to pick up Hazel from preschool, Daniel came to my house with her. They stayed for dinner and played until Daniel and Hazel were both drooping with sleepiness. Ethan hadn’t been in touch all evening.
Seeing them so tired, I bathed them both and put them to bed.
I sat by Hazel’s small bed and watched their peaceful faces. I sighed and drifted into thought.
Could their lives stop repeating the tragedies of my last life because of the choices I make now? If so, what did I have to lose—even if I gave everything I have now up?
I’m past sixty. If I have to give my life meaning, then you two—my greatest meaning.
A soft knock at the door pulled me out of my reverie. I rose and went to the door; through the peephole I saw Ethan. I opened it a crack.
“You’re off work?”
“Yeah. Where’s Daniel?”
"Asleep, in Hazel's room, I went to pick up—"
I was about to say I’d go pick up Daniel when I suddenly remembered that night at his place. I hurriedly corrected myself, "You go get him."
"Can I stay a bit?"
Daniel's voice was rougher than before. "I want a glass of water."
For some reason, I felt flustered. When I let him into the apartment, I’d even been a little clumsy.
I poured a cup of warm water and set it in front of him, hesitated, then slowly sat across from him.
In a silence like that, two people looking at each other felt almost intimate, but I couldn't think of anything to say.
"Rose was discharged."
He drank half the glass in one breath and said it out of nowhere.
"Yeah, I know."
I hurriedly replied. "We talked on the phone today."
Silence again. I cleared my throat and tried to start, "You and Miss Rose are—"
He cut me off. "There is nothing between me and her."
My mouth hung open and I couldn't think of how to respond.
"I've done a lot of thinking lately."
He finished the water in one gulp. "The day I chased after her, I didn't notice the car coming. It was her who lunged forward and pushed me out of the way."
"In that moment… I won't lie, I was moved."
"While taking care of her at the hospital, I tried to admire her with a man's eyes. I tried to see her that way, but in the end I found I could care for her like a brother, like a friend—but not like a boyfriend."
"I felt ridiculous when I realized that."
He actually twitched the corner of his mouth at the admission.
His smile touched me and I froze.
"I couldn't force myself to like her against my heart. As I thought that, I realized my feelings for you were real. But in that process I discovered—I haven't done a single thing for you."
His eyelids lifted and he looked straight at me. "I haven't done anything for you."
I wanted to tell him not to be so hard on himself, but would that just be encouraging him?
"I thought it over and over. The reason I haven't done anything for you is because I didn't know how you saw me. I didn't know what kind of relationship you had with Ethan. I didn't know if you'd worry about Hazel… I didn't know. If I rushed into something, would I cause trouble for you?"
I couldn't meet his eyes and let my gaze fall to his shoulder. His shoulders sagged, and my heart dropped with them.
"I don't have parents. I grew up in an orphanage. When I was sick as a child, I would see kids whose parents took them to the hospital and think how lucky they were. So when I grew up, I chose to work in a children's hospital."
"My salary isn't high now, but it will increase."
"The place I live in actually belonged to Daniel's parents. I'm saving up to buy a place of my own."
"As for Daniel, after his parents died I promised his grandparents I would raise him like a son. So in a way, he's my child too."
"That's everything about me."
"I told you all of it because I only want one answer from you."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
He said it like he was reading a medicine leaflet—calm, steady, practical.
He finished the sentence as if asking whether the prescription fits.
I stared at him, a hollow echo swelling in my chest: to you, am I the patient or the doctor?
"Daniel."
I said his name softly. The young man in front of me looked at me steady and gentle, like a quiet stream.
"Don't do anything for me."
The words finally left my mouth, and I watched the light in his eyes dim.
"If there is one thing you must do…"
"Live happily."
Something flickered in his eyes. He didn't know what I meant. He had no idea what fate awaited him in the life I remembered. He knew nothing at all!
How I wanted to tell him I wanted his happiness more than anyone, that I wanted him to have a full, happy life. But I knew those words would only sound like a cold refusal to him.
Should I tell him? How?
What good would it do for someone to know in advance that their life would end lonely and tragic?
I looked at him with confusion, anxiety, and a pain I couldn't hide.
What would he choose? To accept fate, or—
"Daniel, listen—I'm not Song—"
Knock knock knock!
A rapid knocking at the door cut me off.
"Who is it?"
I jumped, momentarily stunned, but Daniel immediately stood and went to the door.
"It's me."
The voice outside was low and muffled, deliberately quiet.
I followed behind Daniel. He peered through the peephole and whispered to me, "Ethan. Should I open the door?"
I nodded.
Daniel's brow flicked, then he opened the door.
Ethan stood there in black, a little surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"He came to pick up Rose."
I beat Daniel to it.
Ethan ignored my explanation and fixed his gaze on Daniel.
Daniel met his stare without flinching until I coughed, and he pressed his mouth into a thin line. "I'll go carry Rose out."
He went back inside.
"What are you doing here? At this hour?"
I stood in the doorway, not planning to invite Ethan in.
"I have two things to tell you."
Ethan didn't bother with my objections. He stepped forward.
By then Daniel had come to the door carrying Rose wrapped in his coat. Rose lay soundly asleep on his shoulder.
"I'm leaving. Thank you for taking care of him."
Daniel said to me.
"Yeah, be careful."
I tightened the coat around her a little more.
Before I could withdraw my hand, Ethan grabbed it. I hadn't reacted when Ethan, sounding displeased, said to Daniel, "Sorry, Doctor. I still have things to discuss with my daughter's mother, so I won't see you out."
Daniel ignored the provocation and only nodded to me. That seemed to anger Ethan, who lost his composure and snapped, "If you can't take care of a child yourself, hire a nanny. I wonder if a doctor's salary can afford one…"
"What are you talking about?!"
I interrupted him, angry. "I'm happy to take care of Rose. What's it to you?"
Ethan fell silent at my reproach. Daniel's lashes fluttered, then he spoke: "Thanks for your concern, Mr. Bennett. My salary can't afford a nanny right now, so I'm relying on Claire."
After he said it, he gave me a small, faint smile. "How about shrimp egg custard for breakfast tomorrow? Rose said she wanted it."
Without thinking, I agreed. Only after Daniel's figure disappeared into the elevator did his words sink in—he meant he'd come in the morning too?
There wasn't time to ask. Ethan blocked the doorway, scowling. "Can I come in or not?"
He didn't wait for my answer and pushed past me into the apartment.
"You said you had two things. What are they?"
I shut the door and followed him into the living room.
"I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?"
Ethan avoided my question and instead acted a little whiny. "I haven't eaten all day."
"Say your things quickly, then go to a restaurant."
I was eager to get him out.
"I'm too weak to go to a restaurant."
He flopped onto the sofa like a sulky kid. His stomach obliged with a perfectly timed grumble.
I sighed. "Noodles okay?"
"Mm."
A sly smile tugged at his mouth. "With big shrimp."
I rolled my eyes. "Two drops of soy sauce will do."
The noodles were ready quickly—no big shrimp, but with a fried egg on top. He wasn't picky and happily slurped them down with two drops of soy sauce.
When he finished the last spoonful of broth, he leaned back satisfied and said, "I've found who’s been posting the smear pieces about me online. The evidence is complete."
I was puzzled. "That's good news, but why tell me? Why not hand it to the police or sue?"
"Aren't you curious who it is?"
Ethan asked with interest.
"Who?"
I played along.
"You won't know them."
He smirked.
"Then don't tell me."
I was irritated—coming here late at night just to tease me?
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Ethan hurried to apologize. "It wasn't just one person posting the smears. It's a small group. You don't know them, but the person behind them—you're not unfamiliar with them."
As soon as he said that, I guessed. "Zach Newman?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You guessed that fast?"
"Is it really him? What are you going to do?"
"Of course I'm going to take him down. But with this alone, it's not enough. The real blow comes from the second thing."
Ethan grew serious, and even I started to tense up.
"Yesterday on the phone you told me Zach Newman visited Dr. Summers. I reviewed the timeline you gave and checked all the footage from that time."
"Footage? What footage?"
I was suspicious.
"It's a long story."
He cleared his throat. "In short, I had surveillance cameras installed in Dr. Summers's ward."
"You?" I was shocked. "That's not allowed. How could you do that on your own?"
He pressed his lips together, as if something weighed on him. After a moment, like a man who'd made up his mind, he explained: "She's been in and out of the hospital these past years. Her mental state has always been unstable. Sometimes she—well, she would have hysterics. The hospital wanted to perform a psychiatric evaluation. I know that once she's labeled mentally ill, it would be a terrible torment for her."
"Especially for someone as proud as she is. When she's lucid, she acts perfectly normal. So I paid a lot to keep her in a regular hospital."
"I rarely visited—partly because of work, but also because I couldn't face her."
"Until one time I did go. She kept muttering that someone was trying to hurt her. She didn't look like a raving lunatic, but she didn't look entirely right either."
"I was worried someone might try something, so I secretly had a camera installed in her room."
He looked up at me cautiously when he finished. "I know that was wrong. After she passed, I removed the camera."
I listened without commenting.
"I brought the equipment back and shelved it. Then yesterday, when you mentioned Zach Newman, I decided to pull the recordings out."
"You know what I saw?" he suddenly asked.
His question startled me. I saw Ethan Bennett's eyes go glossy with tears before I realized it, and my stomach dropped imagining what the footage might show.
He set a hard drive on the table. I got the laptop and closed the door to Hazel Bennett's room. Ethan clicked play.
The camera pointed straight at Dr. Summers' bed. Dr. Summers sat propped up, looking calm, even cheerful.
On screen she draped her hair over one shoulder, smoothing it with both hands, then began braiding it. She hummed a little tune; everything felt soft and peaceful. I found myself staring, almost mesmerized.
That tranquility went on for about two minutes, then the door outside opened.
Half a minute later, a man walked into the room.
Dr. Summers looked up at the sound. For a beat her face registered confusion; then, after four or five seconds, she began to murmur, like someone remembering something: "Zha… Zha…"
"Zach," Zach Newman called from the foot of the bed, back to the camera. "It's me, Zach."
"Zach… Newman…" Dr. Summers repeated his name, as if testing whether memory would stick.
Her voice grew clearer with each repetition, like someone piecing a memory back together.
"Do you remember me?" Zach asked.
Dr. Summers didn't answer directly. "Why are you here?"
Her tone snapped cold in a single instant—there was even a hint of fear.
"I…" Zach's head tilted slightly, as if weighing words. "I heard you'd been improving… so I came to see you. After all—"
"What are you here for?"
Dr. Summers' eyes sharpened. I frowned. What was going on?
She spoke with crisp enunciation and a clear gaze—nothing like the unstable patient they'd described.
Zach smiled, almost light. "Seeing you well really comforts me."
"Funny how concerned you are. Could it be because you still love me?" she said, loosening the braid she had just made.
"You know me," Zach began. "Actually, I wanted to discuss something else."
"Say it."
Dr. Summers barely blinked, braiding her hair again.
"You know how much I respect what Dr. Summers' father built with his lingerie factory. I run a lingerie company myself. I'd like to merge his factory with mine."
"You want to buy my family's factory? Why—what's wrong with your company?"
"Nothing! You know I'm trained in fashion and I studied with Dr. Summers' father—running a lingerie factory is simple. I suggested this partly to protect his legacy, and partly because your health is poor and Ethan's business keeps him busy. He can't manage the factory. Rather than let it flounder—"
"Rather than let it flounder, you want to buy it from us?" she asked. Her braid came apart again.
"Of course—it's up to you, really."
Zach's voice was all tenderness, genuinely concerned.
"Me? I have no plans," she said lightly, smiling as she braided again. "It's just a factory. I'm not like someone else; I can't be bothered scheming over it."
Her words were loaded.
On the video, Zach heard it too. He said nothing, shifting so his profile faced the camera.
"Sell it to you? It's not like I haven't noticed your interest for years. If I don't sell it to you, I worry you'll go crazy. Ha—"
She finished with a sharp laugh and fixed a blazing stare on him. For a second I couldn't tell whether she was looking at Zach or directly into the camera.
"How much are you offering?" she asked, in the voice of a practiced negotiator—cold, unruffled, lucid beyond belief. If I hadn't seen the tape, I would've refused to believe it.
Zach faltered, opened his briefcase, and took out a document.
"I've drafted all the terms. The price is well above the market value of Lan Lingerie. If you agree—" he began.
"If I agree, then your plan finally works, doesn't it?" she snapped, tossing the paper aside.
"Plan?"
Zach smiled softly, as if he didn't understand. "What plan?"
"Oh, please." She laughed, bitter. "For heaven's sake, after all these years, you don't have to pretend. You know what you did the day I was poisoned!"
Zach's expression froze; his warm, feigned concern slipped in an instant.
"I only told one person about the plan that day. I trusted you enough to tell only you. I put a fake bottle out—so why did I drink the real one?"
Zach's face went stiff. "Anyone could have moved the pesticide. The person most likely to touch it would be Ethan Bennett."
"Yes, anyone could have moved it. But no one knew it was supposed to be a prop for me. If he had known what I planned, how could he be stupid enough to think I'd actually drink something so foul?"
"I don't see what that has to do with me!" Zach protested.
"Before I drank the pesticide, the biggest problem was the glass of juice you brought me!"
Her voice rose; her eyes flashed with feverish intensity. "After I drank that juice, I lost my sense of smell and taste. That's the only real truth I could piece together in all the time I've been in bed. That cup of juice—that was the culprit!"
She tore out the braid again. Her face was edged with boundless hatred as she glared at him.
Zach didn't rebut. He didn't even flinch. He stood there, unnervingly calm, silence stretching.
I was almost afraid he'd take advantage of the empty room—until he gave a small smile and said softly, "You actually… guessed it."
Hearing that, my blood rushed to my head. I had assumed her rant was madness; instead Zach admitted it on camera.
"So you're not completely deranged," Zach said, then sat down on a nearby chair.
"But you were crazy enough to obsess over marrying Ethan Bennett. If you hadn't been so bent on him, how could I have dared to harm you?"
"Shameless!" Dr. Summers spat.
"Hmph. At least your behavior was less base than Miss Bennett's. Tell me—what's so great about that Bennett? When suspicion pointed to Ethan, you stopped your father from reporting him and forced yourself to marry him? You, a fine young lady, insisted on marrying a poor man who didn't love you. Isn't that low?"
Zach's cheerful tone cut deep with every phrase.
"At least I bet on the right man," she ground out.
"Big deal. He sent you to the hospital and never looked back," Zach shot back. "You marrying me would have been better than marrying her. And if Ethan had gone to jail back then, I'd have married you without hesitation. With what you did, I wouldn't have treated you unfairly, would I?"
"You're disgusting," she said, face twisted with loathing.
"Me? Disgusting?" Zach didn't flinch at being called that; instead his face split with eager, mean delight. "Ethan isn't disgusting. But after you married her, did he ever touch you?"
Dr. Summers turned her head away, silent.
"But he had one affair after another, fathering children left and right." He paused, then added with a sneer, "But that's what you and your father got for yourselves."
At the mention of her father, Dr. Summers reacted: "How dare you speak of my father! He did a lot for you!"
"He did things for me? What things? Oh—I get it. You mean when your father took me and Ethan in, trying to groom a live-in son-in-law?"
Dr. Summers glared at him, but Zach ignored it. "What, am I wrong? Isn't that your father's aim? To us poor people, what are we but breeding stock? If you're good enough, you drag us in to mate with your bitch of a daughter; if not, you treat us like stray dogs—beat and throw away!"
"You're talking nonsense! My father isn't like that! If he were, he would have kicked you out long ago. Why would he keep you in our home?" she protested.
"Because I was useful!" Zach snapped.
Zach Newman let out an angry roar, and for the first time the muscles in his face twisted.
"Forget it."
His tone shifted on a dime. "It's all over now.
Since that old bastard is dead, and you—"
He cast a mocking look at Dr. Summers. "Looking like that, I wouldn't bother to look at you even if you were naked. I don't think Bennett would, either."
Hearing that, my anger flared up. I heard a weird sound at my ear and turned to Ethan Bennett — it was the crack of his knuckles as he clenched his fist.
Worse, I saw the joints of his fingers were all wounded.
Those were the kind of wounds you could read at a glance.
I glanced at the bulging veins on the back of his hand. He must have been furious and grief-stricken alone watching those recordings.
The video kept playing. At Zach’s taunt, Dr. Summers had turned away, refusing to meet his scornful eyes. But Zach wasn't done hurting her. "Even a few years ago he might not have wanted you.
If he married you, you should thank me. If I hadn't drugged you, would you have married him?
Ridiculous. You women, thinking pranks can trap a man—what, you read too many novels?
If you want to lock a man down, you need to spend some real money.
Hahahahahahaha!"
For some reason, after he said that, Dr. Summers suddenly grabbed her braids and her eyes went wild and frantic. "I will marry him!
I will marry him!
Daddy!
I will marry him!"
Her sharp shrieks filled the hospital room. Zach calmly put the contract back in his bag, but moments later the footage showed four medical staff rushing in — one of them was Rose Bennett.
Zach's sly smile had vanished. He wore an expression of shocked concern and said to Rose, "Doctor, look at her—what's wrong with Summers? She was fine a moment ago…"
Rose didn't wait to answer. She shoved him out of the room.
The recording ended there. Ethan shut the screen and sat motionless for a long time. I watched the crusted wounds on his fists split open again, and I got up to fetch the first-aid kit.
Just as I stood, Ethan spoke. After a silence his voice was rough: "All of this—he did it."
I nodded.
"Do you understand? It was—Zach Newman. He did it!"
"I understand."
I frowned. "He hurt Dr. Summers. That alone is enough to put him in jail!"
"Not just Dr. Summers."
He recited slowly, "Old Mr. Summers, Aunt Martha, Lily Carter, and—"
He didn't finish, but I already knew who he meant.
"I've consolidated the chain of evidence with our lawyer. Tomorrow the lawyer will submit everything to the public security and file suit.
This time, I'm going to ruin him."
He warned me Zach seemed to know about Hazel and me. I told him Zach might be confusing me with Martha. He thought for a while, and whatever scheme he might have been planning felt impotent now, so I didn't dwell on it.
When Ethan left, I exhaled a long breath — the tragedy entangling Ethan and Lily had finally been exposed in this life.
On Sunday I took Hazel and Daniel to Lily Carter's house early — the same unit Claire Bennett had originally lived in.
The living room was full of toys and treats; balloons and decorations hung everywhere.
Hazel kept insisting on wearing the little panda costume, Daniel had on a green baby dinosaur, and Noah Blake wore a husky suit.
The three kids burst into giggles the moment they saw each other.
Since Martha and little Yuki hadn't arrived yet, Lily set the kids up in the play corner she made for Noah. One wall was painted with chalkboard paint so they could draw freely. The kids were in heaven.
"Where's Dr. Lewis?" Lily asked me.
"He… he had something to take care of," I said.
"Isn't today a weekend?" she asked in surprise.
"Uncle went on a date with Aunt Rose today," Daniel piped up out of nowhere, looking up innocently.
Lily's face brightened in surprise. No matter how much she pressed, I didn't indulge her curiosity.
She didn't care that I brushed past it. She'd been in a good mood lately. A few days ago video clips had circulated showing Zach exposing himself in Dr. Summers's room, admitting he once poisoned someone to frame Ethan — people suddenly woke up. The online smear campaigns against Ethan vanished. Sympathy and support flooded in. Most notably, Ethan's company stock shot up faster than ever.
But that wasn't what made Lily happiest.
What had truly cheered her was Ethan's proposal.
He'd just proposed, and she told me immediately.
At first her joy was mixed with hesitation and guilt. I reassured her I truly didn't mind, and she broke down crying on the phone — sobs full of grief and relief. I listened in silence. That weight had sat on her for too long.
She'd lived painfully for years: loving someone she couldn't have, and carrying the guilt of the woman she'd wronged. Regret crushed her, but she held on.
I comforted her softly until she sniffled thank-you and hung up.
Now, watching her in a rose-pink dress flitting through the room like a flower sprite, I couldn't help smiling.
Soon after, Secretary Hwang drove up to Lily's house. Noah's father had sent him with things — mainly a huge cake and two small outfits for the kids.
When I unfolded Hazel's princess dress, Hwang laughed, "Mr. Bennett picked these himself!
He hoped the kids could wear them soon."
"Okay, got it."
Lily couldn't help asking, "Why hasn't Ethan come?"
"Mr. Bennett has something he can't get away from," Hwang said, glancing at us in a quick, uncomfortable way. I chalked it up to my own tiredness and ignored it.
"Thanks for coming by," Lily said, smiling as she sent him off.
After he left, I looked at the princess dress and then at Hazel, who'd been excited to wear the panda suit and was happily playing. I set the dress down. Lily looked at the little prince outfit Ethan bought for Noah and sighed — it looked small.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"The clothes are a bit tight. Our Noah might not fit."
She didn't seem too bothered and glanced at the three kids crowded at the chalk wall drawing. "Daniel would fit, though."
She set the cake on the table next to one she had already prepared.
We chatted idly until Martha and little Yuki arrived. Yuki wore a giraffe costume with a long neck bobbing as she walked — utterly adorable.
Martha handed me hair clips at the door. I called Hazel over. She took a clip, thanked her, then ran to Lily with a sweet voice: "Aunt Lily, can I give this clip to Yuki? Then we can each wear one!"
With Lily's permission, Hazel eagerly popped the clip on Yuki's head and explained loudly, "I'm wearing a carrot clip today. Next time we can both wear these!"
With everyone there, Lily rallied us into games: newspaper stacks, team rock-paper-scissors, Pictionary. The kids had a blast. You could tell Lily had put a lot of thought into Noah's party.
During a lull when everyone sat on the carpet, I couldn't help admiring Lily — she was a good mother. Now that Ethan had opened his heart to her, they could become an enviable family.
While I was wiping Hazel's sweat, I heard Yuki tell Martha, "Auntie, this is going to fall!"
Before the child could finish, Martha cried out, "Careful!"
I turned quickly. The cake Ethan had sent had somehow been pushed to the edge of the table. As Yuki walked by, her giraffe head bumped it and it tipped.
In a heartbeat the cake slid and landed — splattering onto Yuki and Daniel, who were standing very close.
Adults jumped up. Yuki was frightened and ashamed, at a loss. Daniel stood dazed, looking from the ruined cake to me.
"It's okay, it's okay, it's my fault for not setting the cake properly," Lily reacted fast. "Yuki and Daniel—are you okay?"
Yuki looked at Martha a little timidly. Martha wiped whipped cream off her and reassured her, then told her it was fine. Yuki breathed easier and apologized to Lily, "Sorry, Auntie, I didn't mean to."
"It's okay. It's Auntie's fault for scaring you," Lily said.
Lily Carter answered softly, "We’ve got another cake, so don’t worry."
I wiped the frosting off Daniel Price with a tissue. At that moment Hazel Bennett piped up, "Mom, Noah and Daniel’s clothes are dirty!"
Hearing that, Lily jumped up like a spring had been tripped and hurried over with the little prince outfit, holding it out to me. "Put this on him."
I was surprised and glanced at Noah Blake. His chubby, rosy face wore a big, indifferent look. "I don’t like that outfit. Give it to him."
Hazel tugged on my sleeve and shouted, "Mom, Mom, I want to give the princess dress to Noah. Is that okay?"
I told her it was hers to decide now that she could manage her own things.
When I handed her the princess dress, Hazel hesitated for a second, then quickly took it and handed it to Noah.
After Noah and Daniel changed, the four kids launched into a prince-and-princess wedding game. Hazel declared she was a red panda and performed a rolling-ball stunt for the royal couple: she hugged a ball and did several agile rolls on the carpet, so clumsy and adorable that everyone burst out laughing.
Noah wouldn’t be outdone. Dressed as a husky, he insisted Daniel throw things for him to fetch, sending Daniel pacing around the living room looking for something suitable to toss.
Watching them having such fun, my mind drifted elsewhere. Lily stayed close to the kids, worried about another accident.
Martha had somehow sat down beside me.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"Nothing." I snapped back to reality and forced a smile. "Just a little tired."
"Just letting it go like that? No regrets?"
"How did you know?"
She smiled. "I’m not blind. The moment I walked in I saw her huge diamond ring. Isn’t that one of the sets that’s been in the news lately?"
When I registered what she meant, she went on without waiting for me. "Looks like she really has let it go. She didn’t even bat an eye at that engagement ring."
I smiled faintly. "I did notice."
"Mr. Bennett must be loaded!" Martha shook her head and clicked her tongue. "I’ll have to charge more for endorsements when I renew my contract!"
I only shook my head slightly and didn’t explain—the ring on my finger had nothing to do with Ethan Bennett.
After eating and drinking, Lily suggested we take the kids to the nearby park.
We’d been cooped up and everyone agreed. Since parking near the park might be tricky with so many of us, we decided to walk.
Our group filed out in a cheerful parade; hearing the children chatter and laugh eased my mood a little.
But the good feeling didn’t last. Just past the community gate, an uncomfortable sensation crawled up my spine.
It was a cold, sticky feeling, like—an eerie gaze following us.
"What’s wrong?" Martha asked, concerned.
I shook my head. "Nothing."
I glanced back. No one suspicious. I must be overthinking. I didn’t want the rest of them to start worrying for my sake.
Surprisingly, the park wasn’t crowded despite the weekend. We found an open patch, laid out a picnic blanket, and the three adults sat while the kids rolled around on the grass.
"This is so nice," Lily breathed, inhaling the fresh air.
"What’s so nice?" Martha said, leaning lazily against a tree.
"I always used to daydream about taking kids to the park or mall with friends. It made me happy. But after Noah was born, caring for him nearly killed me, and I don’t really have any friends, so—" She stopped herself. "Anyway, this is the first time. The park is so pleasant."
They chatted idly, but I remained uneasy.
After that video surfaced online, Zach Newman had disappeared. The police had posted at his office and home, but his colleagues said he hadn’t been in the office for two days. No one knew where he was.
I scanned the park. A few moms with kids scattered about, two elderly couples strolling. We’d play a bit more, then head back, I thought.
"Hey, Claire, hold my phone. I’m going to the restroom."
Martha handed her phone to me. I slipped it into my small bag.
"Huh? Where’s my phone?" Lily fumbled through her pockets, then laughed, "Oh—it's in my bag. I forgot to bring it."
After Martha left, Lily leaned over and whispered, "Thanks."
"Mm." I replied softly.
Hazel started her panda rolls again; Noah grabbed his legs and rolled along. Daniel and the other kid clapped and laughed.
We watched them in silence. A breeze drifted by and gently blew away some of my worry, making everything seem peaceful.
Until my phone rang.
"Hello?" It was Dr. Summers. Wasn’t he supposed to be out with Rose Bennett? But his tone sounded…angry.
"You’re in the park, right?" he asked.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I’m at the pavilion by the park entrance."
"But—"
He cut me off and hung up before I could ask anything.
I stared at the dark screen, hesitated, then told Lily I’d be right back and checked on the kids one more time before briskly walking toward the pavilion.
From a distance I saw Dr. Summers pacing inside. He looked agitated—this was the first time I’d seen him like this.
"How did you know we were here?" I asked.
"The neighborhood security guard told me. He heard you talking."
His words came rapid-fire, like he’d be unable to remember if he paused a second too long.
Oh. So that cold prickling I felt at the gate was from the guard. I breathed easier and then realized—wasn’t he with Rose?
"You weren’t—" I began.
"What do you mean?" he snapped out of nowhere.
"What do you mean?" I repeated.
"You’re not Claire Bennett!"
"What do you mean? You’re not Claire Bennett—then who are you? Is this some new way of turning me down?" His questions came like a machine gun.
He was so worked up I wanted to calm him, but he wouldn’t let me speak. "If it’s a rejection, why did someone else tell me? Don’t you have the courage to say it to my face?"
"I’m not Claire Bennett," I said after he finally paused. "I’m telling you now with my own mouth. Can you believe me?"
He looked at me—half shocked, half hurt—but even with his emotions raw, he kept his composure. He stopped barraging me with questions and seemed to swallow every word he was about to say.
Just looking at him, I realized Rose had probably told him everything I’d said. That was all right. Cutting off his fantasies like this would spare me further trouble. I wouldn’t have to be tormented by it anymore, right?
But watching him there—pained and confused—wasn’t something I wanted to do either.
What could I do? I couldn’t do anything.
After living through sixty years of seasons, six decades of joys and losses, I thought I’d been made numb to surprises and feelings.
But fate didn’t leave me alone. It woke me up again and gave me a young body. My life had meaning again—hope, joy, health—and for that I was grateful. I looked forward to the future.
Yet in this new life a terrifying thing had happened: my heart—had started to stir.
This man standing before me had been just a name in my memories. But now he was real: flesh, blood, kindness, loyalty—a real man.
I couldn’t ignore the flutter I felt around him.
Still—"You’ve probably heard everything from Rose, so I won’t repeat it," I said, my voice calm and cool.
"I—" Dr. Summers began, then choked on his words.
"My wish now is simple: to help Daniel and Hazel grow up happy and to give them a life different from my last time. As for you, Dr. Summers—you matter to Daniel. I want you to be happy, too."
"And if I’m not happy?" he snapped, sounding sulky.
I swallowed the sting in my throat and kept my face steady. "Then at least don’t go abroad."
"Don’t go abroad?"
"Don’t misunderstand. I say that for Daniel. After he’s grown, his maternal grandparents will be gone. If you leave, he’ll lose another guardian and be all alone."
I’d told Rose that in the previous life Dr. Summers left for overseas after Daniel came of age and never returned. I hadn’t told her the rest of his ending.
He searched my face for the slightest crack, the tiniest hint of deception—and found none. His voice dropped. "I’m definitely going."
"Why—"
Before I could ask, sharp screams echoed from a distance.
I jolted and instinctively walked out of the pavilion.
The screams didn’t stop—they grew more frantic. I could make out words—"Help," "children"—mixed into the cries.
Two words—almost in the same instant—my eyelids started twitching. Before Dr. Lewis could even figure out what was happening, I was already sprinting back the way we'd come.
He followed me.
The cries for help grew nearer—those shouts… they were definitely Lily Carter!
My scalp went cold. My head filled with a roar and her desperate cries. What’s happening?!
I turned down a path and finally saw Lily. She was clutching two children so hard her arms trembled, shouting for help. Martha was beside her, grabbing at people, begging, “Can I borrow your phone? Please—can I use your phone?”
“Can I borrow your phone? Please—can I use your phone?”
When she spotted me, she ran straight over, snatched my purse, and in one motion pulled out a phone and started to call the police.
Still shaking, I finally looked properly at the children in Lily’s arms and froze. They were Hazel Bennett and Noah Blake.
“What happened?” I demanded.
Hazel heard my voice and leapt out of Lily’s arms. “Mom!”
“I don’t know! I—I was spacing out here for a second, and then two men suddenly appeared and grabbed Daniel and little Yuki and ran! I was the only one here. I had to stay with them. They ran toward the back gate of the park!”
“Daniel!?” Dr. Lewis sounded stunned.
“Kidnappers?” Lily’s face was wet with tears, fear wobbling her voice.
Martha finished the call to the police and told them our location and everything she knew.
When she hung up, she joined our hurried discussion. “I just got hassled by a fan on the road. From how smooth those guys were, that’s definitely a kidnapping ring. The police will move fast. I think we should split up—four ways. Lily stays with the kids and waits for the cops; the three of us head toward the train station, the bus depot, and other exits.”
Lily and Dr. Lewis agreed instantly. I hesitated, something niggling at me.
That feeling of being watched—the kind that had started back home in our neighborhood—the constant unease. My gaze drifted to Hazel in her arms: the panda outfit.
In a flash, everything clicked together. A blurred answer formed in my mind.
I handed Hazel to Dr. Lewis, pulled out my phone, and dialed.
“It’s me. Are you at the office?”
“Did Secretary Gao go back yet!?”
“What’s going on? Why are you panicking?”
On the other end, Ethan Bennett sounded baffled. “He dropped off gifts for the kids today and then took the day off.”
“Those two outfits you sent—who else saw them besides you?”
“Only Secretary Gao saw them. What’s happened?”
“The kids were taken. This involves Secretary Gao. Send people to find him right now!”
There was a bang in the background, then Ethan’s frantic voice: “Hazel and Noah!”
“No—Daniel and little Yuki. They were wearing the clothes you sent, so the kidnappers mistook them for Hazel and Noah. Go after Secretary Gao now. He’ll know something!”
“All right. I’m on it.”
He agreed at once.
“Do you have any contacts in the police? Lily said she saw the kidnappers run toward the park’s back gate. They must have had a vehicle. Can you check surveillance? This happened maybe fifteen minutes ago. If there are cameras nearby, something should show up.”
Ethan didn’t ask more. He promised to check and hung up.
We followed Martha’s plan, splitting four ways. Lily stayed at the park entrance with the kids—safer at the guard booth—while Martha, Dr. Lewis, and I took the three paths leading from the park’s back gate.
We moved along the bus-stop road, asking everyone we passed if they'd seen two kids—one in a little princess dress, one in a prince outfit—being carried off by two men. I scanned for cameras along the route.
Too bad surveillance wasn’t ubiquitous in this era. There were almost no cameras—no intersection cams, no shop cameras. We kept searching, hour after hour, until my phone suddenly rang. I fumbled it out of my bag and hit answer without looking.
“Claire, it’s me. The PD reports someone saw two men put the kids into a van. They pulled footage from a camera some distance from the back gate. About half an hour ago, two white vans drove toward the road west of the park's back gate. Both vans had no plates. They think the kids are in one of those."
“The police have sent teams in that direction. You and Lily should take the kids home and lock the doors. I’m on my way.”
I cut him off and called Dr. Lewis, then Martha, telling her the vans had gone toward her area. Then I tore back toward the park gate.
Just before we reached the park, a black car screeched to a halt in front of me. The window rolled down to reveal Dr. Lewis. “Get in!”
I didn’t hesitate and jumped into the passenger seat. He slammed the car into gear and tore west.
All three of us were on edge, craning forward. I peered ahead, scanning.
After what felt like forever, I shouted, “There—look! That’s the camera the footage came from!”
We’d confirmed we were heading the right way. I checked my phone—fifty minutes had passed since Ethan called. He’d said the footage was from over thirty minutes earlier, meaning it had been about an hour and a half since the abduction. Sweat prickled my palms. At that speed, they could be close to leaving the city.
I didn’t know how strict checkpoints were in this era. I kept watching the road ahead and glancing at the clock—but of course my phone died.
I shoved it back into my bag and went even more on edge.
Lily and Dr. Lewis hadn’t blamed me, but I felt crushing guilt. If I hadn’t taken Martha’s phone, if I hadn’t put little Yuki into Hazel’s dress… I’d meant to bring everyone happiness, but I’d failed. And now innocent people were dragged into this.
I couldn’t even force myself to look back and comfort Martha.
On the drive we scrutinized every vehicle we passed, especially vans. When a beat-up van came toward us, I deliberately turned my head to stare.
“That one had a plate,” Martha murmured, as if reading my thoughts.
We reached a checkpoint. A white van was parked beside it—unmarked. It had no plates.
We leapt from the car and dashed to the van. It was empty. No driver. No children.
Dr. Lewis ran straight to the checkpoint office; Martha and I followed.
Inside, a middle-aged man with a face full of worry was explaining that his plates had come off somehow. Three police officers stood there too. When they saw us, they hurried over.
“Officers, where are our children?” Martha demanded.
“Who are you?” the lead officer asked.
“I’m the aunt of one of the kidnapped kids,” she shot back. “He’s their uncle—have you found them? Is that the van we were looking for?”
“Lady, calm down,” the officer said. “We’re the nearest precinct and we responded quickly. But…” He nodded toward the distressed man and continued, “since we got the alert, we’ve only intercepted this one unmarked white van. And as you can see, there’s just a driver in it—this doesn’t match your description.”
“There was only this one?” I asked.
“When was this van stopped?” Dr. Lewis asked.
“About ten minutes ago,” the officer said. “We’ll keep watching for similar vehicles. Parents, please stay calm.”
Outside, Martha sank lower, more anxious than before. We stood on the roadside watching cars go by. Then Dr. Lewis said suddenly, “The timing’s wrong.”
“What?” Martha was dazed.
I looked at him and understood immediately. The middle-aged man with the lost plates had simply happened to be on that road; he wouldn’t have been driving at the reckless speed we were. He’d only reached the checkpoint a little earlier than us.
So if the kidnappers had driven that route, they would have passed the checkpoint earlier still. Given the police had already increased checks by the time we got the alert, any suspicious vehicle should have been stopped. But that van wasn’t stopped—so it couldn’t be the one. The more likely possibility was the kidnappers turned off somewhere we didn’t know about.
I told Martha, “Call Ethan. Tell him what’s happened here and ask if there’s any new info.”
Martha unlocked her phone and quickly called Ethan Bennett. Once the call connected she gave a concise rundown of the situation and the three of our suspicions.
Ethan said he'd go check things out right away, then asked Martha to hand the phone to me.
As I took the phone, the three of us climbed back into the car. Daniel spun the wheel and started driving back the way we'd come.
"Didn't I tell you to stay with Lily and keep the kids safe?" Ethan's voice came through sharp with accusation.
I ignored that and asked if he'd found Secretary Gao.
"I'm on my way to the airport now," Ethan said. "Someone at the company said they'd seen Secretary Gao buy a ticket to Canada. When asked, he claimed it was a trip, but he hasn't filed any leave requests recently.
We already checked his house—no one was there.
But how did you know something was off?"
"Almost no one knew I'd moved, yet the tabloids found my address in no time. On the day Noah Blake got sick and was hospitalized, I heard you sent people there—such private info appearing online almost at the same time.
There's no way that's happening unless paparazzi had him under 24/7 surveillance.
Put that together with Secretary Gao showing up with clothes this morning—specifically telling us to change the kids—and the misunderstanding where Daniel and little Yvette were mistaken for your kids… everything points to Secretary Gao. I can't not suspect him.
As for why he'd do this, we'll only find out when we catch him."
After my rundown, Ethan promised to update us on the van's movements as soon as he had news, warned us to be careful, and hung up.
I exhaled slowly and was passing the phone back to Martha when another call came in.
I glanced at the screen before answering and couldn't help but whisper, "Dad!"
The car slammed on the brakes so hard Martha, who'd leaned forward to take the phone, smacked her head on the seat in front and let out a small howl.
Daniel's eyes widened. He stared at me in disbelief and I went numb. Martha clutched her head and wrestled the phone from my hand.
"Hello? Brother-in-law?" she said, her voice trembling but trying to stay composed. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't hear the other side, only Martha's replies:
"My sister's left eye is twitching badly? Tell me to stop playing and bring little Yvette back quickly?"
"…"
"Brother-in-law, is my sister beside you?"
"Then stay away from my sister. Don't let her hear what I'm about to say."
"Brother-in-law, calm down and listen—little Yvette is missing."
"Right now we don't know whether it's a trafficking case or… anyway, we've called the police. We're tracking a white unplated van. Officers are on it.
I'll text you the details and tell you immediately if anything new comes up."
Daniel and I held our breath, following Martha's conversation. Several times Daniel glanced at me with stunned eyes; I avoided his gaze.
My shock was as big as his, maybe bigger.
I raked my memory for my childhood and finally asked, voice barely steady, "Martha, what's your sister's name?"
She didn't notice my change. Typing and talking at once, she said, "Lena Hartwell."
A coldness flooded up from my soles.
"Does your sister's family live in the city?"
"Yes. Pretty much the opposite side of town from you."
I felt lightheaded. Almost inaudible, I said, "Drive faster."
Daniel read my face and understood enough not to probe. He kicked the engine and we pressed on.
My hands clenched. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
Suddenly everything made sense—why I could never remember where I'd lived as a child. We never stayed in one city for long.
When I got into university here, Dad finally confessed what had happened years ago. When I was very small there'd been a fire. I was okay, but after that my mother developed bipolar disorder. If she stayed long in one place she would break down and live in terror, so Dad would move us every year for work.
The real reason my mother got sick was… her sister. My aunt had died saving me in that fire.
I couldn't even bring myself to look at Martha.
Last life—my aunt died saving me, and because it had happened so far back, I hadn't recognized her the first time I met her and little Yvette.
Little Yvette!
Yvette—
Zoe Yvette!
She still hadn't changed her name.
And I hadn't connected the dots because… because I had let that memory slip.
Dad told me!
He told me he'd changed my name to Lena Yvette to comfort Mom and honor my aunt. How could I forget?
It wasn't just forgetfulness—I remember once saying I used Mom's surname because I couldn't be bothered to use Dad's. With my aunt gone so early, she faded from my mind over time.
It's my fault.
I pressed my fingernails into my palm, furious at myself.
The car crawled slower than before. We anxiously awaited Ethan's updates. Not long after, his call came through: "Friends at the police say there are four cameras along that road—one broken, one obstructed, but one caught something.
The van turned off toward a road called Willow Ridge about five kilometers past the checkpoint."
"Also, we've got Secretary Gao detained. He's slippery but not tough—he doesn't know much, but he did overhear someone with the surname Zhang say something about taking them 'to the old home.' Coincidentally, Willow Ridge heads out of the city and not far after that is where the Zhang family home is. The kids are probably being taken there."
"I've told the police everything. They're dispatching the nearest officers now."
Ethan's information felt like a shot of adrenaline.
With the route confirmed, we headed straight to Willow Ridge.
Using the updates Ethan sent and whatever we could find online, Daniel drove with Martha's directions.
I stayed quiet, watching the road and running questions through my head. Why would Zach Newman kidnap Noah Blake and Hazel Bennett? It'd been hours since the kids were taken—were they really at his family home? Why bring them there? Why did Zach hate Ethan so much? Was it just because Ethan won Mr. Bennett's favor and Dr. Summers' approval?
No. There had to be a deeper reason fueling years of resentment.
What was it?
I hadn't had much contact with Zach; the only real interaction was at the press event. The disdain and coldness he'd flashed after drinking that night echoed in my mind—the way he'd said on the ride, "Ethan Bennett sure hasn't forgotten where he came from…"
"Ethan Bennett sure hasn't forgotten where he came from…"
The thought struck like lightning. Not Zach's hometown—Ethan's old home.
I shouted, "Call Ethan now!"
Martha dialed quickly and handed the phone to me.
"Ethan, where's your old home?"
"Yatesville. Why? Any new leads?"
"I think Zach took the kids to your old home. I don't have time to explain—we're heading that way now. The police might beat us to Zach's place, so we may have to take a gamble."
Ethan said he'd update the police and hung up.
Martha started mapping the route to Yatesville while worrying aloud, "Claire, are you sure we should go to Mr. Bennett's old home? That van—"
"I… I'm not sure," I admitted.
Then an idea came: "We'll split up. One team to Zach's family home, the other to Yatesville."
Daniel immediately agreed. "I trust your instinct, Claire. I'll go to Yatesville."
Martha hesitated, so I added, "The team going to Zach's place should meet up with the police there—both to be safer and to keep lines of communication open."
As if to help our plan along, a police car caught up and pulled alongside. It was the same lead officer from the checkpoint.
We stopped, explained the situation, and decided Martha would go with the police to Zach's family home. We swapped numbers and split up.
After Daniel and I turned and drove off, he asked suddenly, "Did you mean to send Martha away?"
I took his phone, opened a mapping app, and started looking at the route—my silence meant yes.
"Why?" he asked.
"To… save her life," I said.
For the rest of the drive we said nothing beyond directions.
Yatesville was a long way from the city—remote, with rough roads and sparse houses. The closer we got, the worse the roads became.
And then, right as we were about to enter Yatesville, the car sputtered and died—out of gas.
Daniel slammed the steering wheel in anger.
There wasn't time to waste. We both got out and started walking toward the village.
By then, the sun was sinking toward the horizon. Around us were broken low hills and irregular patches of farmland. Ahead, a stretch of earthen-roof cottages came into view. Daniel and I exchanged a look and started forward.
“Wait!”
Daniel suddenly called out and pointed at the ground. “Tire tracks!”
I hurried to look. Sure enough, the ruts on the dirt road were still fairly clear. More importantly, there were no other wheel marks nearby.
I glanced toward the village not far off. It didn’t look like a place with frequent vehicle traffic.
That made me feel even more certain.
We didn’t hesitate. With the last light of sunset, we followed the tire tracks.
The path was rough; the ruts were uneven, so whatever vehicle had traveled here hadn’t done so smoothly.
The light grew dimmer, and we dared not use our phones’ flashlights for fear of draining the batteries.
Fortune favored us. After walking another twenty minutes or so, we came upon a parked van.
The van was beat-up. We switched on our phones and shone our lights inside. The vehicle was empty.
We circled it in disbelief and found nothing.
Just as disappointment began to settle, I spotted the license plate.
I’d seen this van before.
On the way to the checkpoint, I’d noticed it.
I told Daniel immediately. He brightened for a moment, then his brow tightened even more—if, as we suspected, Zach Newman had brought the children here…
Nothing good would come of it.
A chill passed between the two of us. We didn’t say it aloud; we simply looked for clues around the vehicle in silence.
The area was very quiet. So when Daniel’s phone rang, we both jumped. He answered quickly.
“We found that unregistered white van in the river here, but there was no one inside. The police searched the whole village—asked every villager—no one saw Zach Newman. The village is small; we checked the surroundings thoroughly and found nothing!”
Martha summed up their situation the moment she connected.
“We found a van over here, too.”
Daniel handed the phone to me.
“This van brushed past us earlier. It’s parked here in Yatesville now, but there’s no one inside. We’re going to ask around the village—see if anyone saw a car come through or where it went.”
“The police are still searching the village to see who drove the van into the river,” Martha said, her voice cracking. “What if we can’t find them? How do I explain this to my sister?”
“We… we’ll find them. I’m going now—I—”
Before she could finish, a sudden sliver of light seemed to come from nowhere. Daniel’s tightly drawn brow slowly rose; terror filled his gaze. In his eyes, I saw a bright flare.
I turned and saw a blaze on the slope of a low hill.
A scream rose in my head.
I forced myself to tune out the roar in my ears and shouted into the phone, “They’re here! They’re here! It’s on fire! Hurry!”
Before I finished, Daniel was already sprinting toward the flames.
I followed.
The ground was treacherous—hard-packed earth studded with big stones—and night was falling. We ran with difficulty.
In my desperation, I tripped and fell.
I scrambled up, my knee searing with pain; my lower leg nearly buckled again.
No. I couldn’t stop.
I bit down and pushed forward.
The fire grew stronger, and my anxiety climbed with it.
As I neared, I saw Daniel wrestling with someone!
A figure was running away a short distance off.
I wanted to help Daniel, but he shouted, “Save the children!”
The flames had spread. From where I stood I could see this was a dilapidated house—two rooms at most, the doorway already caved in.
Were they inside?
Why was there no sound?
I called out, frantic, “Daniel! Yvette!”
The fire roared on, but no answers came.
At that instant a gleam flashed on the threshold. I reflexively reached down and grabbed it—it burned my hand. It was a hairpin.
It was the hairpin Hazel used to wear in Yvette’s hair!
I didn’t hesitate. I shoved the hairpin into my pocket, wrapped my coat over my head, and dove into the blaze.
My eyeballs felt scorched, but there was no turning back. I had to find them.
The room was small and smoky; I painfully scanned every corner. No sign of the children.
Ignoring the burning on my skin, I pushed into the inner room and groped forward, tears stinging my eyes.
Seconds crawled. Just as I was about to give up, my hand hit a foot.
Pure relief and adrenaline surged through me. My vision cleared a bit as I drew closer.
There they were—Daniel and Yvette—motionless. They lay on what looked like a narrow earthen bed.
There wasn’t a moment to lose. I lifted Daniel, then gathered Yvette into my arms and headed for the exit.
Pain in my knee intensified, but I couldn’t slow down. It felt like my leg might snap. I didn’t look at the wound; I focused only on the doorway, inching forward with every ounce of strength.
Though it was only five or six meters, it felt like a hundred as burning thatch and beams cracked and fell around me, forcing me to pick my way step by step.
Finally I reached the outer room and the doorway. A burning club—about half a meter long—fell from above. I flinched back and Yvette slipped from my arms.
I crouched to grab her, but the knee pain spiked so fierce I almost dropped Daniel.
My leg wouldn’t bend.
There was no time to hesitate.
I braced Daniel in my arms and staggered to the door. Because I couldn’t bend my knee, I essentially shoved him onto the nearby slope.
Not a second later, I dove back into the room. As I reached the threshold, a hand grabbed my shoulder and yanked me backwards, throwing me off balance.
Before I could react, Daniel lunged forward and bolted in!
“They’re right inside by the door! Cough—over there!! Cough—!!” I gasped.
Daniel came out carrying a child.
I moved to Daniel’s side and saw he had placed the two children side by side and immediately started emergency measures.
I fired questions between coughs, “Are they—what’s wrong with them? Cough—are they—cough—?”
“Quick! CPR! Now!” His movements were heavy and frantic, breath ragged, but he didn’t stop.
I tried to copy him, wanting to kneel beside Daniel, but my knee wouldn’t bend. I forced myself to drop to the ground and brace up enough to help.
From a distance we heard a metallic clanging—“clang clang clang”—and someone shouting, “Fire! Fire!”
Soon the sounds of police cars and ambulances drifted closer.
Daniel and I kept doing CPR. For a moment I thought Daniel was pressing so hard he’d break Yvette’s ribs. Police, medics, and villagers swarmed up. The villagers immediately set to fighting the blaze.
A medic pushed me aside and took over Daniel. Others relieved us; Daniel collapsed to the ground, spent.
Only then did I remember the man who’d wrestled with him earlier.
Two officers walked over toward the figure lying not far away. I watched until they dragged the unconscious man up and I could see—it was Zach Newman.
A dark stain of blood matted his head. As he was lifted, something clattered to the ground—a large stone, the same kind that had tripped me.
I finally looked down at my own knee. Only then did I register which leg it was—the skin had burned away, exposing bone.
I hissed, and then heard a soft cough—“cough—!”
It was Daniel.
Before I could turn to look, everything went black.
…
Time flew. In the blink of an eye it was Hazel’s eighteenth birthday.
I told my newly hired assistant to pick up the cake we’d ordered, then buried myself back in work.
Thanks to ten years of effort, my home-aid equipment had secured a place in the market. A few houses I’d bought years ago had appreciated; my assets were substantial.
On top of that, Ethan had converted all of Lan Lingerie’s production lines to make bras for middle-aged and elderly women. Sales were good. After talking it over with me, he gave Hazel some shares; Lily agreed, too.
In short, by her eighteenth birthday Hazel was already a young woman of means—adorably so.
“Mom, I’ll be home soon. Can you come back early? I want to spend more time with you tonight.” Hazel texted.
I smiled and replied with a simple “Okay.”
Tonight’s guests for Hazel’s birthday were: me, Aunt Martha, Ethan and his family, and Martha—who’d just flown back from an ad shoot abroad—had arrived. The remaining two guests were that clingy pair who were always together and impossible to separate.
Since I promised Hazel I’d be back early, the moment my assistant returned I wrapped up my work, gave everyone at the office the afternoon off, and went home.
When I opened the door, the living room was decked out in birthday decorations—everywhere you looked, the air hummed with celebration.
Right in the center of the room sat a gigantic doll. I eyed it for a moment—wow, that one’s really well made.
I forgot to mention—Hazel discovered a new talent in this life: doll design.
She’d started learning to design and make dolls a few years ago. I didn’t stop her—in fact, I encouraged it wholeheartedly.
Who would’ve thought she’d become famous for a doll modeled after her own childhood look?
This mother couldn’t have been prouder.
I walked in, set the cake down, and took a look around. “Hazel?”
No answer.
“Hazel?”
I checked her bedroom, the closet, the storage room, the bathroom—everywhere. No sign of her.
Not knowing where she’d run off to, I just dropped onto the sofa and closed my eyes for a moment.
In the silent room, a big hand suddenly landed on my shoulder.
I was already braced for mischief—this brat loved pranking me.
I whipped my hand back to press down on that hand—and the moment I did, I realized this wasn’t a normal hand!
I jumped up so fast from the couch that my heart lurched. Before I could turn, a string of giggles filled the room.
Yep, it was Hazel.
The doll that had been planted in the center of the living room clumsily removed its head, and Hazel’s little face popped out. She wagged her head, laughing on the couch, and I teased, half annoyed, half amused, “How old are you? Still behaving like a kid.”
She stuck out her head from the doll’s neck, chirping, “Eighteen, of course—not old. I’ll just be eighteen forever. Mom, can you help me zip the back?”
I feigned irritation, “Nope! Figure it out yourself!”
Hazel fumbled, turning the doll’s round body awkwardly as she sidled around the sofa and lunged at me. “Mommmmm—pleaseee!”
She put on a ridiculous voice and shook my arm until I felt dizzy. I raised my hands in surrender, “Fine! Fine. You needed help now, huh? How did you get into it in the first place?”
“Aunt Zoe helped me,” Hazel said. “After she zipped me up she hid. The second you walked into the complex she came to report to me!”
“Hmph. You two are in cahoots.”
“We just wanted to surprise you!”
Once she’d changed, Hazel skipped out to thank Aunt Zoe.
Aunt Zoe’s gotten older these last couple years, but after all the time she’d spent with us, we just couldn’t let her go. Fortunately Hazel’s older and doesn’t need as much looking after anymore, so we kept her on.
I went to my room to change. I spun in front of the mirror a few times but felt something was missing.
I pulled open the jewelry cabinet and tried on a few necklaces before picking one.
Just as I was about to close the cabinet, a glint caught my eye.
The hair clip.
I picked it up and sat down, letting my thoughts drift.
That year, Yvette and Daniel miraculously came back around. Thanks to prompt rescue and treatment, they didn’t suffer lasting damage—apparently they’d been unconscious and hadn’t inhaled much smoke.
Me? My leg was broken, my hair almost completely burned off, and I’d inhaled a lot of carbon monoxide in that burning mud house. It took ages to recover afterward. At least my face was unhurt.
When Martha arrived at the hospital and saw me looking like a ghost, she burst into sobs—loud, uncontrollable wails. No one could calm her. Later she complained she’d lost all her vanity; thank goodness none of her fans were in the ward.
Dr. Summers had used a rock to knock Zach unconscious. When Zach came to, he pretended to be insane—until the police saw through it. After more than a year of trial, Zach was finally thrown in jail.
I got to see my younger parents. They didn’t understand why tears started falling when I saw them, but my mother, like when I was little, gently took my hand.
Martha didn’t die—she went into show business and, after a decade of hard work, became an internationally known star. Her talent could no longer be ignored.
Mom wasn’t bipolar anymore, and Dad didn’t have to drag her and Yvette around anymore.
Oh, and Yvette didn’t change her name—she’s still Zoe Yvette.
Different from my previous life, she and Daniel had become a little couple since high school and were inseparable. Every time I saw them together I couldn’t help but smile like an aunt.
Hazel was mad at Daniel—he’d stolen her best friend—but that didn’t stop her from being the first to give Yvette a newly released doll every time Hazel finished one.
Everything seemed to be falling into place… then noise came from outside. I rose and walked toward the door. Before I saw anyone, I heard Hazel shouting, “You! Thanks for the gift—leave! I won’t escort you out!”
“You can’t do that, I didn’t even get a bite of cake!” Daniel complained, sounding annoyed but smiling in his eyes. “Besides, the gift you just took was from Yvette. You haven’t gotten mine yet. If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.”
“I don’t care—get out!” Hazel pouted, chin in the air, refusing to look at him.
“All right, I’m going. Yvette, let’s go.” Daniel took Yvette’s hand and motioned for the door.
Hazel panicked and grabbed Yvette’s other hand. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry—okay?”
“Oh, he’s teasing you,” Yvette said, slipping free of Daniel to pull a small, delicate box from his pocket. “Here—his gift! It’s right here!”
“What’s with everyone crowding the doorway?” another boy’s voice called. We all looked outside to see Noah Blake.
Noah was no longer the chubby kid he used to be; the baby fat had melted away, sharp edges showing on his young face—he looked a lot like Ethan Bennett now.
“Where’s Dad?” Hazel craned her neck to look.
“He’s still downstairs parking,” Noah said, ushering everyone back into the house. “Don’t block the door—let Aunt Zoe in first.”
Once everyone was inside, Noah came over and hugged me. “Aunt Claire.”
When he hugged me, the other kids piled on too. Youngsters are rough; I almost couldn’t breathe under the onslaught.
Martha came in with Ethan and Lily, and once everyone was there, the house buzzed with chatter.
The birthday party started amid all that din and went on in the same noisy way.
After we ate and drank our fill, the adults sat on the sofa to chat while the kids headed to the playroom to try out Hazel’s new game console.
We four were making small talk. Lily kept teasing Ethan—turns out they were delayed not by parking but because Noah had forgotten the birthday gift he’d specially prepared for Hazel and left it at home.
“You told me before you left!” Lily complained.
“Okay, okay, my bad. Just give it to her next time. It’s not like she only has one birthday,” Ethan soothed, trying to appease her.
“Next year she’ll be nineteen! Nineteen and eighteen aren’t the same!” they bickered.
I half-listened, then Martha leaned in and asked quietly, “Are you still in contact with Dr. Summers?”
I nodded, silent, lost in thought.
Three years ago, Dr. Summers had entrusted Daniel to me and then gone abroad. Only now did I understand why he’d insisted on leaving: as a young man he’d promised Daniel’s parents he would live overseas for a few years before he turned forty—to experience life on the other side of the world.
Though Daniel was entering a crucial high school period, we all agreed to let him go. I objected inwardly but couldn’t stop him from keeping a promise to the dead.
So Dr. Summers left alone. Every now and then he’d send postcards from different places. Even though communication is so easy nowadays, he seemed to avoid talking directly to me. Why send postcards then? They usually said the same thing—“I’m in such-and-such place, all is well, don’t worry.”
Realizing this, I suddenly noticed it had been a long time since his last postcard. My heart tightened. I didn’t have time to explain to the others—I hurried back to the bedroom.
I pulled open the bedside drawer and took out a stack of postcards. The most recent one was two months old. What happened?
Unease washed through me. I picked up my phone and, without thinking, dialed Dr. Summers. The call rang and then the message: the number you are calling is switched off.
My chest dropped as if I'd fallen into a pit. I sat on the bed, stunned and unsure what to do.
The doorbell rang. I couldn’t move—my old knee pain felt like it was coming back.
I heard Martha go to the door. Outside, someone said, “This letter looked like it was put at the wrong address by the postman. I saw it belonged to your house, so I brought it up.”
“Thank you very much,” Martha replied politely. “Yes, it is for here. Thank you.”
Soon Martha came back with an envelope. “This postman—keeps talking,” she said, handing it to me.
I glanced at the envelope and saw Dr. Summers’ name. My heart calmed a little.
Martha left the room and closed the door. For a moment, the room held only my breath, my heartbeat, and the rustle of paper as I opened the letter.
“Claire, how are you? Last month I had a serious illness and spent over ten days in the hospital. I’ve recovered physically, but my mind feels broken—childlike and homesick.
I don’t know if I deserve to call it a home, but when I think of going home, your face appears in my mind.
This month I finally visited the last city I’d always wanted to see. Everything here is beautiful…”
When I was young, I dreamed countless times of settling down here.
That way, every morning when I woke up and opened the window I could see blue skies and white clouds, and from the center of the street I could gaze out at the distant mountains.
Now I live in an attic, and as I wished, this attic fulfills my childhood fantasies and desires — to stay quietly, and have no one come looking for me.
But now, as I write this line, I wish someone would knock on my door.
Over these three years, I wrote you thirty-two “Do not miss me.” I’ll admit I wrote them on purpose, hoping that without feeling burdened, you’d still think of me sometimes.
Two weeks ago I heard Rose Bennett was getting married.
When I heard the news I finally felt a little relieved, and a little envious.
Her romance lasted so long — seven years!
She said it took her seven years to be sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.
I envy her certainty, and I envy most of all that she’ll have someone to accompany her through her later years.
I thought more and more about how you once said you had walked the last stretch of life alone; at the time I didn’t have the courage to ask, was it lonely?
The thought that in this life you might have to walk on alone again gave me the courage to cast aside my fear of solitude.
When I walk alone through the woods, when I descend alone into a deep valley, I can’t help thinking of you.
In this vast, empty world, you move forward alone and I choose to walk solo too — in a sense, doesn’t that count as a kind of companionship?
As this month’s journey comes to an end, I’m preparing to return home.
I’ve done my best to keep the promises I made to friends.
My first half of life wasn’t exactly happy; in the second half I’m hoping for warmth and stability.
For me, whatever you offer — friendship or anything else — is enough.
I once asked you what I could do for you.
Now I’ve found my own answer.
To accompany you.
(The End)
