How Can I Set Up An Ereader Library For An Elderly Family Member?

My mom calls me on Friday. "Don't forget about tomorrow's family dinner. Cody loves shrimps, so you should buy more of those at the seafood market in the southern district. "Lexi loves lamb chops. Go take a look in the eastern district for them. Also, don't forget to buy the imported strawberries. Noah loves them a lot." I say yes to each and every request Mom makes. But as soon as I end the call, I receive a text on the family group chat. "I've already given Eileen a list of our favorite foods. It's tough for you to earn money these days, so you shouldn't buy anything." One second later, that message is deleted. Still, I'm flabbergasted by what I just read. I've been married for two years. Every Saturday throughout those years, I'm the one paying and organizing the family dinner of the week. I thought there's no need to be so petty when it comes to family. But it seems that they've already viewed me as the outsider a long time ago. In that case, I won't be attending the family dinner anymore.

Leah will do anything to fend for her family, even if it means disguising herself as a man to take a high-paying job as a caregiver. But her new boss, a billionaire, Jeremy Harper, is as broken as he is cold, still pained from betrayal and loss. When Leah's secret is found out, she gets fired, only to be called back, to something more; something larger than her. What began as a convenient, emotionless arrangement turns into a whirlwind of passion, lies and heartbreak. Can two wounded souls find love amid the chaos, or will their pasts destroy everything?

It was not easy for me to be home for the long holidays, but my father ordered me to do the dishes after dinner. I was taken aback. "Don't you have a caregiver at home?" My mother frowned. "It's been hard on Harry to be taking care of us every day. Since you're home, you should let him take a rest, and do all the housework." I could not understand this. "But I paid a lot of money to hire him to take care of you and the housework. Why am I doing the work I paid him to do?" My words caused Harry Lambert to tear up, and they angered my parents as well. My mother frowned. "What's the point of bringing you up when we hardly see you in a year. At least Harry is considerate enough to stay by our side and take care of us." As for my father, he pointed at my nose. "You don't need to waste your time coming back anymore. Harry will be our son from now on! You can just get out and do whatever you want!" I smiled in exasperation. Work had been extremely busy for me, but I still gave my parents a handsome monthly allowance. Even the caregiver cost a lot of money, but they ended up treating him like he was something precious. If that were the case, I would stop paying for everything. I wanted to see if the caregiver would still be willing to act as their son and work for free.

The Horror Game invaded the world. Real players entered the game, and their every move would be broadcast live. My adopted son shoved me—an eighty-eight-year-old woman—straight into a deadly dungeon to save his own skin. One of the comments in the live stream predicted: [What? They’re tossing in such an elderly woman? No way she’s gonna survive the first night!] On the first night, a frost-bitten ghost exhaled icy breath in my face. I shrugged off my thick floral coat, feeling sorry for her. “You poor thing! You must be freezing. Listen to me and bundle up quickly!” The second night, a starving ghost lunged at me with blood dripping down his chin. I sniffed the air, then found a jar of pickled cabbage. “Look at how skinny you are! Come on, let me get you something hot to eat.” On the final day, the last surviving players tied me up, desperate to steal the one ticket to escape. However, before they could touch me, every ghost in the dungeon came storming out, cleavers and rolling pins in hand. “Touch her, and you’re dead meat!”

Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside. But not with me. Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his." And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber. I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future. From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother. So I let her go. Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean. Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end. I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

I spent three hundred dollars on a brand-new phone for my mother, only for her to start saying that the smartphone was stealing her money and that I had personally siphoned off her bank balance. I could never win the argument. So I offered to just reimburse whatever “loss” she imagined. She got even more unhappy. She slapped a stack of receipts on the table and demanded I pay up. “Where did you buy this piece of junk? It’s a ticking time bomb. Give me my money back!” Most of the receipts were for men’s sneakers and athletic wear; the rest were household basics like brooms and hangers. I felt a wave of suffocating frustration. Since when was shopping free? Why was I expected to pay for her? I bought her a new phone, and I just became the ATM? “Fine. If you hate it that much, I’m taking it back to the store.” But she would not let go.