Independence

In New York’s Upper East Side, there were two heirs. One was a speed-obsessed daredevil dominating the racetracks, the other was a brilliant actuary who controlled the flow of capital. Born into powerful families and polar opposites in temperament, yet they grew up side by side as each other’s only best friend. They had fought over girls and bickered endlessly over racing bets. However, at fifteen, there was one thing they did in perfect unison. They each put on the same roughly carved bronze badge. They were trinkets Mia had idly made during a craft class, marked only by a faint “M” scratched on the back. Back then, Mia was seated in the last row of the classroom. Her background was a complete mystery to everyone. Yet they wore that badge for ten whole years. Whether standing on the F1 podium or locking in billion-dollar trades at the exchange, the cheap little badge on their chests never changed. Until Ella showed up. She was the cherished daughter of a rising conglomerate family. She hand-stitched two gold-thread fabric patches and gifted them to them. The patches looked so ordinary they looked like the kind of trinket you would find three for a dollar at a flea market. And yet, they both replaced their bronze badges with her plain patches. Mia did not say anything. She simply folded away an old newspaper clipping with a photo of the three of them smiling together. That night, she called her father in Sicily. Her voice was emotionless. “Papa, I accept the marriage arrangement.”

On my wedding day, I jumped from the 38th floor of the hotel. It all started when I got together with my first love, Colin Frey. My best friend, Alice Manning, came to me and said she had bound herself to some kind of love system. She claimed that every guy I dated would fall for her and dump me. I thought she was just messing around and did not believe her. However, just a few days later, Colin came to me and confessed that he wanted to break up because he had fallen in love with Alice. After that, I got smart about it. I stopped telling anyone about my relationships and did not even post anything on social media. Yet, somehow Alice always knew. It was as if she had installed some kind of tracking device on me. No matter who I dated, she would find out. Then, within days, they would all fall head over heels for her and leave me behind. I was completely heartbroken, so I moved back to my hometown to get as far away from Alice as possible. Through my parents' arrangement, I was set to marry a guy through a blind date setup. Yet, on the actual wedding day, he stood up in front of everyone and confessed his love to Alice, saying he wanted to marry her instead. My parents, who were sitting in the audience, were so furious and devastated that they collapsed on the spot. They were rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. They were gone. Meanwhile, Alice was wearing the ring that was supposed to be mine, looking absolutely smug as she boasted, "A man this amazing? As if you deserve him. Now he's mine, so why don't you just step aside like a good girl?" I could not take the blow, so I climbed to the hotel rooftop and leapt off without hesitation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the very moment before Alice had ever mentioned that so-called system.

Grandpa died, and we immediately went for each other's throats over the inheritance. Then a blizzard hit, trapping us all in the family estate. An app appeared on our phones: [THE LAST ZOMBIE: FINAL RECKONING]. We had to pick a hiding spot. The last one standing—the last human standing—would inherit everything. I chose the dark, silent recording studio in the basement. Away from them all. When it was time to pick special powers, my family chose powerful weapons or pocket dimensions full of supplies. I chose Bio-Stasis. It slowed my cells to a crawl, and my body along with them. My stepbrother's fiancée, Chloe, called me an idiot. "Hiding from your family and picking a useless power? You're on a suicide mission." They threw a zombie-slaying party upstairs, already celebrating an inheritance they hadn't even won. Until, one by one, they turned. And started tearing each other apart. What they didn't know... was that I'd rigged the game from the start. The only way to win was to stay completely silent.

I'm already half-blind in my left eye, but Cedric Thompson forces me to donate my right cornea to his childhood sweetheart. Her parents berate me. "She's blind now! It's not like you'll die without one eye's cornea!" Cedric consoles me. "We're only taking the cornea for one eye. It won't affect anything." I'm forcibly placed under anesthesia. I lose all hope in life before my eyes slide shut. I would never have married him if I'd know he would treat me like this. He has no idea I can barely see with my left eye now.

When my dad died, my husband was at the airport—picking up another girl. She looked like me. Only difference? He actually loved her. I was just the stand-in. Three years of marriage? It cost me my dad... and every last shred of self-respect. But at least I finally saw him for who he was. I left the country in a soaked dress. That's when it hit him—what it really meant to lose. "Emily, I was wrong!" "Daniel Wilson, it's too late." Stand-ins don't get love. They get a new beginning.

My husband, Samuel Crawford, made an excuse about attending a company business meeting and refused to participate in our daughter's school activity. He also suggested that we should not participate either. Seeing my daughter's disappointment, I decided to take her myself. As soon as we entered the school, I spotted Samuel sitting on the stage with his ex-girlfriend, Monica Sterling, and her son. They looked intimate, appearing every bit like a perfect family of three. Samuel spoke confidently into the microphone about achieving family harmony and career success. Throughout his speech, he occasionally exchanged glances and smiles with Monica. The audience applauded enthusiastically. Samuel's expression grew increasingly smug, and even the little boy beside him wore an arrogant look. Soon the Q&A session came. I then grabbed the microphone and asked, "Mr. Crawford, when did you have a son? Does your wife know about this?"

Five years of marriage, and I was finally pregnant. I couldn't wait to tell Neil—until I heard his mom say: "When are you going to tell Angela? Cece's already showing. This family needs an heir." "Just give me a little more time. I'll handle it." I froze in the doorway, the ultrasound report burning in my pocket. Neil Schmidt, your promises mean nothing.

I had been married to Natasha Bates for ten years, and not once did she ever join me for our family's Independence Day cookout. This year, on the night before the celebration, I finally gathered the courage to ask if she wanted to come. She scoffed and said, "What are you, stuck in the past? Who even celebrates the Fourth with a family dinner anymore?" Yet that very evening, I saw a social media post of Natasha with her male best friend, Stanley Rogers. They were quite intimate in the picture, and the caption read: [True happiness is celebrating Independence Day with your bestie!] I commented back: [Hope you two lovebirds make it official soon.] Stanley did not hold back. He messaged me a bunch of intimate photos of the two of them. Then, he added, [You're just a leech living off his wife. What right do you have to question anything about Nattie?] Everyone always thought I was a gold-digger living off Natasha's success. However, they all forgot that I was the sole major shareholder of the company. This time, I’m done staying silent.

When I was ten, I accidentally overheard my mother on the phone. It seemed like she was talking about me being a switched-at-birth rich girl, and that my real last name was Gardner. The coldness and cruelty my mother had shown me all these years suddenly made sense. When I turned 11, I paid an adult to get a maternity test done for both my mother and me. The results confirmed that I was indeed her biological daughter. I kept the report to myself and pretended I was still in the dark.

On New Year's Eve, I prepare a feast. The clock strikes twelve, but my husband, Vincent Porter, still isn't home. My daughter, Lorelei Porter, tugs at my sleeve and holds up my phone. "Look Mommy, Daddy is at this lady's house!" Vincent has posted an update on Twitter. He is with Christine Snow, his childhood sweetheart. They are smiling at the camera, with a boy who looks about ten standing between them. In front of them sits a swan-shaped cake. The caption reads, "The most special day for the most special you." My heart sinks into my stomach. A marriage that came later in life can never compete with a pair of childhood sweethearts. I accept defeat.