After that day, my life became a waking nightmare.
I was a pariah. A rat scuttling through shadows, flinching from every beam of light. The video from the birthday banquet had gone viral, and the internet crowned me its favorite monster. Death threats flooded my inbox. Strangers spat at me on the street. The stones weren't always metaphorical.
My parents, drowning in shame, had me committed.
The mental institution wasn't treatment. It was punishment. Electrodes on my temples. Voltage ripping through my skull until I forgot my own name.
A full year.
It nearly killed me.
When I finally clawed my way out, more ghost than man, I buried Henry Harding in an unmarked grave. I took a new name. Cut every tie. Disappeared.
…
The winter wind sliced at my face as I rode my scooter home. Winter Solstice. The streets were emptying, everyone rushing toward warmth and family.
A luxury sedan swerved into my path.
I slammed the brakes. My heart lurched into my throat.
A woman stepped out. Designer coat. Trembling hands.
Camila Bradley.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and for a moment—just a moment—she looked exactly like the girl I'd married.
"Mom and Dad made dumplings." Her voice cracked. "They want you to come home."
Years hadn't touched her beauty. If anything, she'd only grown more striking—porcelain skin, perfect posture, the kind of elegance money couldn't buy. But the woman wearing that face? A stranger.
Her gaze traveled down my worn delivery uniform, and something flickered across her expression. Pity. Disgust. Both.
"I didn't realize you'd fallen this far."
The golden boy. The top student. Reduced to fighting other drivers for food orders.
A bitter smirk tugged at my lips. "What's wrong? Looking down on the working class?"
"No, I just—" She hesitated. "I saw the post. Joseph's post."
She explained that she'd finally seen the truth. That she'd been deceived all these years.
The hollow cavern in my chest didn't so much as flicker.
"Why bother acting for me, Camila?" My voice came out flat. Dead. "You were the one who swapped out my voice recorder."
Our recorders had been a matching set. A couple's gift from better days. During that critical period, she was the only one who could have touched it.
"No!" Her head shook violently. "We all thought you'd lost your mind! We were terrified that if the scandal kept escalating, you wouldn't survive it. We were trying to protect you—"
"Protect me."
"I searched everywhere for your so-called evidence. I never found it. I thought you were hallucinating." Her voice climbed higher, desperate. "It was a critical period for Joseph's commendation. Mom and Dad decided to suppress it. They thought it was the only way to save you."
Tears carved silver tracks down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Henry. I was wrong."
She reached for my arm.
I stepped back.
"Let me make it up to you," she pleaded. "Give Mom and Dad a chance to compensate you. And... Joel wants to see you."
*Joel.*
Static filled my ears. The old wound—the one I'd cauterized and buried—split wide open.
Back then, I had begged my family to believe me.
They were the first to twist the knife.
I didn't have parents like that. I didn't have a wife like that. And I sure as hell didn't have a son like that.
Camila was still talking, something about her "conscience awakening," about dragging me back for the holiday, when a furious voice exploded behind me.
"Well, well, Henry! No wonder I couldn't reach you—you're out here flirting with some woman!"
My blood ran cold.
"No—Daisy, listen—"
Daisy Matthews stood with her hands planted on her hips, cheeks puffed out, eyes blazing with indignation.
My knees buckled.
"Wifey, I know I was wrong."
"*Wife?*" Camila's face drained of color. "You're *married?*"
