The Perfect Storm

“Who the hell changed the screw tolerance by 0.007 mm?” “I did. Is there a problem?” Kimmy Zabel, our department’s “good-luck charm” and full-time slacktivist, did not even look up from her compact mirror, where she was carefully applying lip gloss. “It just didn’t look right, so I tweaked it. Do you really have to yell at me?” The production line had been running on the wrong spec for twenty-four hours. I hit the emergency stop. Keeping my voice steady took some effort. “These parts no longer meet export standards. If we miss tomorrow’s shipment, even a month of overtime wouldn’t cover the penalties.” “It’s one tiny number. You’re being so dramatic!” Kimmy snapped her makeup case shut. “Anyway, it’s New Year’s Eve. I’ve got a date. I’m not staying here to suffer with you people.” Before she even reached the door, I gestured to the staff to pull the shutters down. “For precision components like these, one number translates into a million-dollar loss. You can take these defective units and explain them to the regulators.”

I return home from my business trip that night. The pharmacy I always go to calls to say that my membership card was used that afternoon, but the payment failed, and the account needs to be topped up. I look over at my wife, Catherine Francis, who's focused on making dinner. I ask her what she bought. She smiles and pulls out a box of supplements. "I've been staying up late working these past few days. My heart's been acting up a little, so I bought some heart supplements." Seeing my expression go flat, she lets out a helpless sigh and takes a card out of her bag. "I know you're particular about money. Since I accidentally used your membership card, I'll pay you back ten times. Okay?" However, I don't take the card like I used to. I just look at her calmly and say, "Let's get a divorce."

My sister, Winona Clarke, was stabbed to death by a thug in order to save me. My mom, Amber Green, does not want my nephew, Sonny Cohen, to suffer. So, she suggests that I marry my brother-in-law, Kenneth Cohen, and take care of the father and son. For Sonny's safety, I end up on the verge of death due to Kenneth's relentless and merciless torture. Just then, Winona, who should have been dead, returns! Her arm linked with a millionaire's, she boasts to me, "Thank you for putting up with that maniac and sticking around until he died. Not only did you help me raise Sonny, who has Super Male Syndrome, but you even made it possible for me to inherit all of Kenneth's assets through Sonny." Sonny joins Winona in belittling me and even spreads rumors that I killed Kenneth. Because of her lies, I become notorious online and eventually die while being the subject of everyone's criticism and ridicule. The heavens must have taken mercy on me, for I am granted a second chance at life. Now, I am back to the day Mom wants me to marry Kenneth.

Our bridal room was set on fire, and my husband, a firefighter, was grievously wounded while trying to save me. I sent him to be saved at the hospital where Winnie Sloan, his childhood friend worked, but the surgery ended up being a failure, and my husband passed away. After the announcement that my husband was deceased, Winnie told me that his dying wish was that he wanted a child. Hearing that, I powered through my grief and used the sperm he had previously frozen to conceive a child through IVF, raising my son to be enrolled in the most prestigious university in the area. On the day of the celebration party, my son kicked me out and invited my husband and Winnie onto the stage as his 'biological parents', and that's when I found out that my husband had faked his death. All those years ago, he and Winnie had swapped out the embryo I'd conceived in secret. The son I had painstakingly given birth to and raised turned out to have no blood relation to me whatsoever. Meanwhile, my husband had been enjoying a luxurious life overseas with Winnie while waiting for a chance to reconnect with his son. In my rage, I confronted them and demanded an explanation, but ended up dying because they pushed me down the stairs. When I came to, I was back to the day of the fire.

For eighteen years, my wife, Elizabeth Connerty, never once reached out to her first love, Lucas Ryder. She committed herself fully to me and cooked warm meals for me. She attended every parent-teacher conference for our daughter. She carefully planned our family trips year after year. That was how we lived—quietly, steadily, and happily—for eighteen years. But after our daughter celebrated her eighteenth birthday, I turned to Elizabeth and said, "Let's get a divorce." She stood in the doorway of our daughter's bedroom, staring at me in stunned silence. I added calmly, "When our daughter was born, you promised me that once she turned eighteen, we would divorce."

My boyfriend has always doted on me. However, after learning that I can't go to work at the bank after falling and injuring myself, he snaps at me. "Why didn't you tell me you switched shifts with someone else? That was a cheap move!" I don't refute him. Instead, I pull out a hospitalization record as I watch the bank descend into chaos. In my past life, I attended to a couple who wanted to deposit five million dollars into their account. Their child had been diagnosed with a rare illness. They'd gotten the money by selling their organs and mortgaging the home—it was to save their child's life and pay for the surgery the following day. However, the money was stolen the following day. I helped them check where the money was withdrawn, but the surveillance footage showed I was the one who did it. My best friend wept when the couple questioned me. "You shouldn't have stolen the money someone needed to save a life, no matter how materialistic and covetous you are!" My boyfriend hurried over and said, "I wondered why you suddenly had money to buy a car—you stole it! You're heartless!" The child died after failing to receive treatment in time, and the couple stabbed me to death on the streets out of devastation. When I open my eyes again, I think injuring myself will help me escape this. To my surprise, the surveillance cameras once again capture me stealing the money.

In my past life, I was trafficked and gave birth to a son. When Noah Barrett turns six, I plan to take him and escape from the mountains. On my first attempt, I map out the route in advance and prepare to flee with him. But in the morning, my mother-in-law, Ruth Whitaker, blocks me at the door. She ties me up and locks me inside the shed. Then, she starves me for three days. On my second try, I secretly buy sleeping pills from an unlicensed village doctor and slip them into dinner. At the table, Ruth flips the table without hesitation and beats me until I am half dead. The third time, I take advantage of a village meeting and escape with Noah again. We hide in a concealed mountain cave. Neither of us makes a sound, yet Ruth finds us with ease. I am dragged back and locked away in the pigpen. Ruth takes a shovel and strikes me with it again and again. "You filthy bitch. You dare run off with my precious grandson!" Her eyes are bloodshot. With the final blow, she uses all her strength and smashes the shovel into my head. I collapse to the ground. My consciousness fades. My blood drains away, and I die. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day I plan to escape the mountains with Noah. Suddenly, I can hear Noah's thoughts, his voice clear and dripping with viciousness. "Mom can't be allowed to run. Grandma says Mom is our family's slave. She's supposed to serve us for her whole life."

For a decade, my world had been measured in laundry cycles, grocery lists, and the ever-growing pile of dishes in the sink. I was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the remnants of another family meal, when it happened. A sudden, silent cascade of text flickered at the edge of my vision, like subtitles for a movie only I could see: [Gosh, the heroine is so tragic. Her husband's entire family has been feeding on her luck like parasites!] [Her husband stole her graduate school admission and her career!] [The in-laws are literally siphoning her health away. No wonder she's always sick.] [And the sister-in-law took her "romance" stat! No wonder her love life is a desert.] [Heads up! Her husband's about to give her another "gift." Let's see how much more he takes from her this time.] My hands, clutching a greasy plate, froze. Right on cue, my husband, Tristan, sauntered into the kitchen. A smug, self-satisfied smile was plastered on his face as he took my wet hand. He slid a flimsy, garishly colored plastic bracelet onto my wrist. "Look what I got for you, sweetheart," he announced, his voice dripping with pride. "I made a special trip after work. Found it at the dollar store. It's romantic and economical, just like you always say you want. You love it, don't you?"

I was from a rich family. But after I finally returned home, my parents made me sleep in the store room and eat leftover food. Yet, they still felt like they had wronged their foster daughter. When the government introduced the Children’s Fairness System, my parents immediately bound the entire family to it. My father breathed a sigh of relief and said, “With this perfectly fair system in place, Annie won’t be treated unfairly anymore.” My mother gently held my hand and said in an unyielding tone. “Ever since you came back, you’ve taken everything that was meant for Annie. This is unfair to her.” My elder brother never showed a hint of kindness toward me either. “I only acknowledge Annie as my sister. You’ve gotten way more than you deserved already, so don’t push your luck,” he said. I looked down at the cheap clothes I had worn for five years. Then, I glanced at Annie’s lavish bedroom and countless luxury items. I found it all utterly ridiculous. However, when the system took effect, they all ended up breaking down.

To cheer up their depressed adopted daughter, Ashley Reid, my parents don't dare to treat me nicely. They've even locked me in a pitch-black room more than 700 times, just to put a smile on her face. At first, they feel guilty toward me. But eventually, even my older brother, Liam Reid, who used to care for me the most, treats it like it's all perfectly reasonable. When Ashley's depression finally starts to ease, I work up the courage to kneel and beg them to seal off that room for good. But at her birthday party, simply because I'm wearing the only T-shirt I own, she starts tearing up and asks my parents if I don't like her. My parents and Liam rush to comfort her and, yet again, lock me away in that dark, endless room. "Summer, you're her elder sister. You have to be more considerate of her feelings." "If you hadn't insisted on wearing something so tacky for her birthday party, she wouldn't have gotten so upset." "You've gotten used to it after all these years, right? One more time won't matter to you." I curl up in the corner, gripping my hair, unable to say a word. Three days later, they finally let me out. They remind me not to upset Ashley again. But I just stare at them blankly. "Sorry, who are you?"