How Did Wordle Nov 3 Compare To Previous Puzzles?

Mom is very biased. Every night, she will pour me a glass of milk before bedtime, simply because my grades are the best. My twin sister, Melody York, and my younger brother, Jason York, have never received this treatment before. On the night before my college entrance exam, Mom brings me a glass of milk before my bedtime as usual. But the next day, I end up collapsing in the exam venue even though I've always been healthy. Because of that, I miss out on the college entrance exam, causing me to fail. Meanwhile, Melody, whose grades have always been terrible, miraculously gets into an outstanding university. Mom consoles me, telling me that it's fine to just repeat the senior year. Every night, she prepares the same glass of milk for me as usual. Before the second college entrance exam, my cousin, Annie Wood, is staying over at my place temporarily. She wants to have a taste of my nighttime milk, only to get berated by Mom for being shameless. But halfway through the exam, I suffer from an intense stomachache all of a sudden. After that, I get sent to the hospital for emergency treatment. That year, I end up failing the exam again. But Annie, who comes from a vocational high school, gets into a pretty good university thanks to her scores. The entire family is elated, to say the least. But the fact that I have to repeat my senior year for the third time makes me the butt of everyone's jokes. I don't understand why all sorts of health problems will plague my body when it's time for my college entrance exam. When I'm taking the exam for the third time, I tell myself that this is my final chance, so I mustn't slack off no matter what. Three days before the exam, the only food I've ingested is the food offered by the school's cafeteria, just in case I run into more health problems on the day of the exam. But on the night before the exam, Mom brings me yet another glass of milk before bedtime.

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

My wife booked plane tickets for the whole family to travel over the Thanksgiving holiday. On the way to the airport, I suddenly noticed that everyone had a number floating above their head. The number above my wife's head was 60 years. Above my parents' heads and mine, it showed only six hours. As I wondered what the numbers meant, I looked through the car window and noticed the driver in the car beside us had only six seconds left. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... The moment the countdown reached zero, a speeding semi-truck slammed head-on into the car next to us. The car exploded into twisted metal, and debris flew everywhere right in front of my eyes. People around us screamed and cried for help, but I couldn't hear a thing. My whole body was trembling. Because six hours later, our flight was scheduled to take off.

At a college reunion, a few drinks turned into a game called the Best Wife Challenge. The rules were simple: each man had to call his wife and ask for $100,000 to buy a car. Whoever got the money first won. As expected, I was the first. "Gideon, we're seriously jealous of you. You've got money, freedom, and the perfect life." The table erupted in laughter, everyone quietly avoiding the memories we all shared. Like how Josephine Strickland and I had been together for eight years but never made it down the aisle. Like how she left for graduate school overseas, and I was the last person to find out. Trying to catch her before her flight took off, I got into a car accident that left me blind for three months. Even during the darkest period of my depression, it was my friend Brady Campbell—not her—who stayed by my side. I smiled and let the jokes continue. Then I noticed Brady gripping his phone so tightly his fingers had gone white. "I'll pass. She's busy with work, so she probably won't answer." The room fell silent. Everyone knew Brady had been secretly married for three years and had a three-year-old son. Yet not a single one of us had ever met his wife. Worried that he was being strung along, I snatched the phone from his hand and dialed the number myself. The call connected instantly. Then a familiar voice came through the speaker. It was Josephine. "Honey, I'm picking up our son from school right now."

My father, Daniel Jacobson, teams up with the elders in my family to launch the Family app. Every child's behavior is converted into points, and those points determine who inherits the family's wealth. As the least favored daughter in the family, I am one of the first people forced to use it. "You earn one point for greeting your parents. Massaging shoulders or washing feet gives you ten points. Handing over your entire paycheck gets you 1,000 points. This is my original digital system for measuring good behavior." If I dare complain even once, or if I rank last on the scoreboard, Dad humiliates me relentlessly in the family group chat. He even forces me to kneel and wash the feet of whoever has the highest score as an apology. He looks at my hands that are red and scalded from the hot water and sighs. Then, his expression turns resolute again as he says, "I know it hurts now, but this is for your own good. A rough diamond has to be cut and polished before it can sparkle. I'm helping to smooth away your rough edges so your future will be smoother. "The points system is my greatest achievement. It's the deepest expression of a father's love." Today is Independence Day. It's also our family's annual scoreboard finalizing day. Dad invites all our relatives over. In front of everyone, he plans to announce that I, the child who ranks last, will be disowned. He wants everyone to see what happens to anyone who dares challenge his authority. "I'm doing this for the good of our family. Without rules, there can be no order. And without a strict upbringing, you won't build up the perfect character. One day, you'll understand my good intentions." But, Dad... I have already ended my own life by overdosing on some medicine. Right now, my lifeless body lies cold in the room upstairs, waiting for you to uncover it with your own hands.

The night before I officially registered my marriage, my friends convinced everyone to play a "mystery box game." The female guests each placed a gift into a box, and the gifts were randomly given to the men at the party. Everyone said it was the fairest way. When I opened my box, there was only a thin card inside. It said, "Thanks for participating." The entire room instantly went silent. Some people couldn't hold back their laughter. My fiancée, Charlotte Kilbourn, reached over and straightened my collar. "Your luck is still terrible." Lyra Sharpe, my childhood friend who grew up with me, whispered, "Just smile. Don't make people think you're a sore loser." Meanwhile, Connor Winfield got the hidden prize in the same round. Inside were a limited-edition mechanical watch personally chosen by Charlotte, a couples' island vacation package I had dreamed about for three years, and a handwritten note from Lyra that said, "We'll always protect you." I forced myself to laugh along, then placed the card back into the empty box. I thought winning a game was just about luck. But when I went to the restroom, I overheard the host checking the prize list in the lounge. "Ms. Kilbourn, you didn't give out the prizes wrong, did you? The hidden prize went to Mr. Winfield, and the participation prize went to Mr. Rayner." Charlotte answered calmly. Lyra laughed and added, "That's right. He won't take it seriously." Standing outside the door, I suddenly remembered the night I turned 18, when I stood in the rain waiting for the midnight fireworks at my debut party. Charlotte and Lyra had given the only umbrella to Connor. Then they turned back and told me, "George, you're closer. Just run a few steps and you'll be fine." That night, after I walked home soaked in the rain, I still believed I was just unlucky. But tonight, I finally understood the truth. They had never planned to give me that umbrella from the beginning. So this time, I tore the card into pieces and canceled my marriage registration appointment. I didn't want to play a "lucky game" they had already planned for me anymore.