Perfect Strangers

My younger brother, Owen Rivera, and I are playing in Dad's refrigerated truck. Owen wants to grab my ice cream from me, but I refuse to let him have his way. He shoves me forcefully, causing me to lose my balance and fall to the floor, knocking me out on the spot. When I finally wake up and locate him in the freezer, I find out that he's gotten reduced to a frozen statue. The security footage shows that Owen has been screaming the words "Mommy, help me!" hysterically for three hours before his death. After Mom is done watching the footage, she breaks down on the spot. Then, she yanks me by my hair before slamming me against the wall. "What were you doing? You were at the entrance, dammit! Why didn't you open the door for Owen?" With reddened eyes, Dad throws me into the freezer. "Owen was cold and frightened in the freezer! You should have a taste of the same thing too!" The thick and heavy door is slammed in my face. Darkness and a bone-chilling coldness devour me instantly. I curl into a small ball in the corner Owen has just died in. My teeth are starting to chatter, and my consciousness is starting to slip away. I'm sorry, Mom and Dad. I don't feel cold. I'm not cold at all. I will never eat ice cream ever again in my next lifetime.

On the very first day Jason and I made our relationship official, he insisted on handing over his salary for me to manage. He said marriage was only a matter of time and that he trusted his future wife to keep the money safe. On the day of our engagement, Jason demanded that I hand over the $960,000 in salary I had “kept” for him over the past four years. “Each month, I gave you $20,000. In four years, that’s $960,000. After expenses, there should be at least $800,000 left, right? I can’t bear to make my parents empty their savings for my marriage. We will use my savings for the wedding, $600,000 as the down payment for the new apartment, and the remaining $200,000 will be my wedding gift to you.” I froze. “But there isn’t a single dollar left!” Jason exploded. “You wasteful woman! You spent all the money?!” His mother also erupted. “So much money, and you squandered it all! What shameful acts have you been up to?! This marriage is off!” Jason demanded to see the accounts. I immediately pulled out the records in front of everyone. Seeing this, Jason’s mother panicked.

My childhood friend called, saying he was trapped in a fire. He wanted to hear my voice one last time, and I rushed to the scene as fast as I could. But in that small, blazing spot, there was only a cat. Stumbling, I got the cat out, but my arms got burned. A crowd gathered, pointing at me and laughing hysterically. "She actually went for it?" "What a simp, risking her life like that!" Safe and sound, Colin Porter stepped out of the crowd with a grin. He picked up the cat from my arms and handed it to his crush. "See? I told you the cat would be fine. When have I ever lied to you?" Turning back to me, he said, "The cat got spooked and ran into the fire. We didn't know what to do, so we called you. Thank you for your help." The people around us snickered, like they were watching a trained dog. Later, on my wedding day, my husband carried me to the car. Colin, dragging his burned, bloody legs, crawled on the ground. He begged, "I'm hurt, Selena! Come help me!"

I was a top-tier heart surgeon. The kind they gave a government-issued black SUV with diplomatic plates—armored, red-light-skipping, cleared-for-anything kind of ride. I parked it at my fiancé Marco Varonetti's place so he could keep it in shape. Bad call. One day, I got an emergency call: heart transplant for the Chancellor—yeah, that Chancellor, the one with state secrets ticking inside him. I rushed over to Marco's to grab the car. Right as I was about to leave, some rando slid into the back seat like she owned it. "Mall first. I need a mani," she barked. "Then get the ice cream Marco ordered. If it melts, I'll kill you." Excuse me? "This is my car," I said, trying to stay chill. "I've got a critical airport run. You need to get out." She rolled her eyes. "You're just the driver. Open those eyes and check the plate." Then the maid chimed in. "Everyone knows Mr. Varonetti takes Ms. Caro out in this car. Nobody says a word." I froze. Marco used my federally issued SUV... to chauffeur her? This wasn't just messy. This was criminal.

On my way to a meeting at work, I call my daughter, who is at home. Instead, I hear a voice identical to mine over the phone. She claims that she is me three years in the future. "Dezarae, go home to Liv right now. Your daughter is in danger." I am stunned. I argue in disbelief and question who is behind this prank. When I step on the accelerator, she stops me sternly. "Do not drive ahead any further. There will be a traffic accident at the intersection where Peace Street is." In the next second, at the intersection that is less than 30 feet away from me, two cars collide. Cold sweat starts to trickle down my back when the woman with a voice identical to mine says, "Liv will fall off a building and die in three hours. This is your only chance to save her."

On the day of the wedding, my best friend, Elena Hartman, can't bear to part with me, so she threads my wedding shoes with a string and ties them snugly around her slim waist. The groomsmen turn the whole place upside down, and we end up late for the ceremony. She eventually cracks up and tugs at her billowy bridesmaid dress, revealing the outline of the shoes at her waist. "I dare you to come take them. As long as I'm here, she's not getting married!" My fiancé, Miles Lawson, shakes his head and chuckles. "You just love tormenting us, don't you?" Miles exchanges a look with the groomsmen, and they charge at her at the same time. She squeals as she falls back onto the bed, squirming under her layers of tulle. "Don't be so rough! I'm ticklish…" The groomsmen flush bright red. Miles' ears turn scarlet as he feels around her waist. She giggles even louder. "How are you going to undo it through all these layers? Use your head!" Then, she gasped. "That tickles!" Her theatrics make my temper flare. I spring to my feet, lift her skirt, and rip the wedding shoes right off her. "If you're that ticklish, smack yourself with a slipper. Drop the act, or I'll yank out the nerves that make you ticklish!"

I came back to life the day Cedric Gramont got drugged. This time? I didn't offer my body to him. I called his so-called soulmate instead. In my last life, I stupidly fell for the uncle who wasn't blood-related. When I found out he'd been hit with something strong, I ignored his plea to call Elyna Humbert—and "helped" him myself. A month later, I was pregnant. He had to marry me. On our wedding day, Elyna, who'd gone abroad to "clear her head," got kidnapped and killed. Before she died, she called Cedric 199 times, begging for help. He didn't pick up once. Too busy sealing the deal with me. Later, he just stared at those missed calls, not saying a word. Then the day I went into labor, he locked me in the basement. I begged him to take me to the hospital. He just smiled, cold and empty, and watched me die screaming, the baby still inside me. Last thing I heard? "If you hadn't gotten pregnant, I wouldn't have married you. I wouldn't have missed Elyna's calls. You deserved to die." When I opened my eyes again, it was that same day—Cedric was drugged, but this time, I knew better.

The new colleague at my company is a stingy mother. On her first day, she shows up with a huge pile of expired snacks that her son refused to eat and hands them out to everyone. Once we're done, she pulls out her PayPal and says, "These are all imported snacks for my son. I'll need 50 dollars from each of you." During a company team-building event, she refuses to participate, saying she has to go home to take care of her child. The day after, she comes over holding her phone and asks me for money. "I didn't eat with everyone yesterday. Since the company is footing the bill, just hand me the cash equivalent for my meal." Furious, I rejected her request immediately. What I fail to realize is that she would bear a grudge against me over it. One night, her son comes down with a high fever, so she calls me and requests a ride to the hospital using the company car. Once again, I refuse without a second thought. Because of the delay, her son suffers severe cognitive damage. She blames me for everything that happened. In a fit of rage, she ends up running me over with her car. As I open my eyes again, I find myself transported to her first day on the job.

During my legal aid work, I run into a pitiful village girl. Her brother is abusing her, and she has nearly died from his fist. As a lawyer, I can't stand aside and do nothing. So, I help her. After she wins the case, I help her get a job as a janitor at my law firm. A few days later, she becomes pregnant and disappears. I assume she has found a family. However, she returns with a baby and accuses me of raping her. Then, she demands I compensate her. I believe she is just spouting nonsense. But the paternity test comes, and it states that I am the baby's biological father. From that moment on, I become a pariah. I am labeled a disgrace and treated as the scum of the Earth. My girlfriend breaks up with me. Meanwhile, my parents can't bear the shame and commit suicide. Then, a self-righteous fool pushes me off an 18-story building. Even as I die, I still can't understand how she became pregnant with my child. Using her identity as the baby's mother, she inherits all of my assets upon my and my parents' deaths. She then goes on to live the life of a wealthy socialite. When I open my eyes, I am back at the moment I see her getting beaten by her brother.

My husband's beloved lover suffered from menstruation complications. A traveling doctor claimed that a fresh placenta was needed to cure her. His gaze fixated on my seven-months-pregnant baby bump. And thus, I was pinned down on the bed as they ripped the placenta from my body. My son was carelessly tossed aside. He didn't even get the chance to cry before his tiny body fell silent forever. My husband pinched his nose in disgust, frowning as he looked at me—bleeding out, feebly reaching for my child. “It’s just a premature baby. He'll be fine after a few days of care. Why are you making such a fuss? Sandra is waiting for her medicine." He left and locked the door behind him without looking back. He claimed it was a lesson I needed to learn. By the time he finally remembered us, my son and I had long since bled dry, our bodies cold and stiff.