1 Three years ago, I almost died on the delivery table. We lost the baby, and Jackson collapsed outside the operating room, sobbing on his knees until he couldn’t breathe.

For the next three years, he was the perfect husband. Devoted. Attentive. He treated me like a piece of fragile porcelain that might shatter at any moment.

Yet, the "Procreation System" bar in my mind remained stubbornly stuck at 99%.

I started to believe the mission would never be completed, that I was destined to haunt this world forever, tethered to a ghost.

On the third anniversary of our child’s death, I went to the cemetery alone. Afterward, needing to clear the suffocating grief from my lungs, I took a drive down to the coast.

I was walking along the dunes when a small boy, maybe four years old, collided with my legs. He tumbled back into the sand.

I knelt down, reaching out to help him. "Hey there, little guy. Are you okay?

Where are your parents?" He scrambled up, shoved my hand away with a scowl, and sprinted off toward a cluster of palm trees.

I followed him, my maternal instincts kicking in—mostly just wanting to make sure he found his family. But as I rounded the bend, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

Under the shade of the palms, Jackson was lounging on a beach chair. He looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in years.

He laughed as he caught the boy in a midair hug. "Daddy!" the boy squealed. And the woman the boy turned to, the one he called "Mommy," was Isla Bennett. My best friend.

My bridesmaid. Sitting next to them were my own parents, laughing as they held out a cup of coconut water to the child. "Come here, Cooper!

Let Grandma hold you for a second," my mother cooed. My father took a sip of his drink and sighed, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. "Summer is probably at the grave today.

Poor girl. If she only knew that Cooper was actually—" "Dad!" Jackson cut him off sharply, covering Cooper’s ears. "Don't. Summer owes this to Isla.

This child is the debt she had to pay." I dug my nails into my palms, my vision blurring. I blinked, praying it was a heat stroke hallucination.

But then, the cold, synthesized voice I hadn’t heard in years rang in my head. “Host, identity confirmed.

This is the child you gave birth to three years ago.” “Mission status: Procreation Task Complete. Do you wish to initiate world extraction?” My brain went numb.

I stood there, paralyzed, as the world I thought I knew disintegrated. "Daddy, Mommy, that lady over there helped me up," Cooper said, pointing toward me. Jackson and Isla turned.

The smiles slid off their faces as if they’d been slapped. "Summer..." Jackson’s voice was a strangled ghost of itself.

He instinctively tried to pull Cooper behind his back, shielding him from my sight. A bitter burn rose in my throat. "Don't hide him, Jackson.

Don't you think I deserve an explanation?" He took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes darting to my parents, then back to me.

The facade crumbled, replaced by a cold, defensive resolve. "Since you’ve seen him, there’s no point in lying anymore," he said. "Yes. Cooper is your son. I lied to you.

We told you he died in the NICU." Isla’s face went deathly pale. She gripped Cooper’s hand so hard her knuckles turned white. "Summer, please... don't blame Jackson.

It was my fault. All of it." She suddenly pushed Cooper toward me, her voice trembling with performative martyrdom. "Cooper, go to her.

That’s your real mother!" The boy burst into frantic tears, scrambling back to Isla. "No! I don’t want her! Mommy, I only want you!

Don't let the scary lady take me!" He clung to Isla’s waist, and she pulled him into her arms, sobbing as if I were the villain in a Disney movie.

In the eyes of my parents, I became the aggressor. "Summer!" My mother stepped forward, physically blocking me from Isla and the boy. "Don’t you dare try to break them up.

Your father and I agreed to this!" My voice shook so hard I could barely form words. "You knew?

Both of you... you knew my son was alive this whole time?" My mother looked away, a flicker of shame quickly replaced by indignation. "It’s your own fault!

If you hadn't insisted on that skiing trip back then, Isla wouldn't have been injured trying to save you. She lost her ability to have children because of you, Summer.

Giving her this child was only right. It was justice." Justice? I remembered that trip.

Isla had tripped on a flat trail; her "permanent injury" was a lie she’d used for years to milk my guilt.

She’d actually lost her fertility due to a botched procedure years before I even met her. She bit her lip, refusing to meet my eyes.

I remained silent, which my mother took as a sign of submission. "It’s been three years," my mother continued. "Let it go. You and Jackson can always have another one.

We’ve been coming here every weekend to see Cooper. Isla is a natural—she’s gentle, she’s patient. You’ve done nothing but mope and cry for three years.

She’s a better mother than you could ever be." My father nodded in solemn agreement. "Isla has been like a second daughter to us. We’ve already legally adopted her into the family.

Just think of her as a sister. And Cooper... if you really can’t let go, you can be his aunt.

That’s fair, isn't it?" Looking at their "perfect" family unit, I felt the last warmth in my soul vanish.

I started to laugh—a jagged, broken sound that turned into tears. "My son, whom I nearly died for, belongs to her. My husband treats her like his wife.

And my parents... you’ve replaced me." I pointed at Isla, my whole body trembling. "When I was screaming in the middle of the night, when I was contemplating ending it all because the grief was too much—were you happy?

Did you feel like you’d won?" "Summer!" Jackson snapped, looking at me with disapproval. "Isla had nothing to do with the logistics. If you want to hate someone, hate me.

Leave her out of it." The taste of copper filled my mouth.

I leaned against a nearby tree to keep from collapsing and summoned the System. “Confirm extraction,” I whispered in my mind. “I don’t want to stay here for another second.” 2 The System flickered. “Extraction sequence initiated.

Physical departure scheduled in 72 hours via terminal exit.” I looked at Cooper. I saw my own eyes in his small face, the shape of my jaw.

Despite the rage, a sliver of hope remained. I knelt down one last time and held out my hand. "Cooper," I said softly. "I’m your mommy.

Do you want to come home with me?" He took a step toward me. I allowed myself a tiny, tragic smile. Then, he picked up a heavy plastic truck from the sand and hurled it at my face.

It caught me right on the cheekbone. "You're trying to steal my daddy!" he screamed. "I only have one mommy! I hate you! Go away, you mean lady!" My cheek stung, swelling instantly.

Isla rushed forward, scooping Cooper up with a protective, panicked air. "Summer, he’s just a child! He didn't mean it!

Please don't hit him!" My mother shoved me back, acting like a hen protecting her brood. "He’s a baby!

You can’t just come in here and start barking about being his 'real' mother!" Cooper buried his face in Isla’s neck, wailing uncontrollably. Jackson’s patience snapped.

He grabbed my arm, his grip tight and bruising, and began dragging me toward the parking lot. "He’s terrified of you! Look what you’re doing to him.

Just get out of here!" He hailed a taxi, shoved me into the backseat, and slammed the door. As the car pulled away, I looked through the rear window.

I saw Jackson, Isla, and my parents huddled together, all of them focused on soothing the boy. I was the intruder. I was the ghost.

When I got back to our house—the house that was a monument to a lie—I began to pack. I didn't have much. An album fell out of the back of the closet.

I opened it, and my heart stopped. Photos of Cooper. His first month. His first birthday. Christmas. Every milestone.

In every single photo, Jackson and Isla were holding the child, flanked by my parents. On the back of one, in my mother’s elegant script, were the words: Family Portrait, 2023.

For three years, they had lived a parallel life. And I was the only one kept in the dark. At the very back of the album, I found a hidden USB drive.

I plugged it into my laptop, my hands shaking. The first thing I heard was the Wedding March. The video showed Jackson and Isla standing in front of my parents’ backyard gazebo.

My parents were giving a speech. "Isla has been a part of this family since she was a girl.

We are so happy to see her and Jackson finally find their happiness together." The camera cut to the dressing room.

Isla looked radiant in white. "Jackson," she whispered, "what if Summer comes home early?" Jackson was pinning a veil into her hair, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. "She won't.

She’s at the cemetery today. She always stays there until sunset. Today is for us." I hit pause. I looked at the date.

It was last year, on the anniversary of the day I thought I lost my son.

While I was sobbing over a cold headstone, they were saying "I do." The album hit the floor just as the bedroom door swung open.

Jackson walked in, saw the mess, and his face hardened into a mask of fury. "Summer! What are you doing?

Are you really going to throw a tantrum over some photos?" I looked at him, the hatred burning behind my eyes. "Why? Why did you do this to me?

Why did you build your happiness on the wreckage of my life?" Jackson saw the video playing on the screen.

The fire in his eyes died out instantly. "I..." He ran a hand through his hair, stepping toward me with a look of exasperated pity. "It already happened, Summer.

Couldn't you just have stayed ignorant?

It was better that way." "Better for who?" "I was just helping Isla fulfill her dream of being a bride," he said, as if he were explaining a charitable donation. "You’re the one I live with.

You’re the one I love. Cooper is better off with her. We’ll have our own kids, okay?

Let’s just start over." He reached for me, trying to lift me onto the bed, his touch suddenly possessive and demanding. Slap. The sound echoed in the room.

He stumbled back, clutching his cheek in disbelief. "You hit me?" I pushed him away, the last shred of my heart turning to ash. "Jackson, I want a divorce.

Get out." 3 He let out a sharp, condescending laugh. "Don't say things you'll regret. You’re emotional. Isla and I... it's not what you think." His phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, and his entire demeanor changed. "Mr. Reed? This is St. Jude’s Hospital.

Isla Bennett has been admitted..." Before the person on the other end could finish, Jackson was out the door. He didn't even look back. I watched his car speed away.

The System pinged in my mind. “Countdown: 48 hours remaining.” Jackson didn't come home that night.

I fell into a restless sleep, only to be jolted awake by the acrid smell of smoke. The room was an orange blur.

Flames were licking at the curtains, climbing the walls. "Help!" I screamed, lunging for the door. The handle wouldn't turn. It was locked from the outside.

I hammered on the wood. "Mom! Dad! Jackson! Somebody!" Then I heard a small voice through the crack in the door. "Why are you trying to take me away?

Why did you make Mommy cry?" It was Cooper. "I’m going to burn the bad lady," he whispered, his voice chillingly calm. "So Mommy can be happy again." I peered through the gap.

I saw the boy standing in the hallway, clutching a lighter, his eyes filled with a terrifying, learned hatred. "Cooper... you set the fire?" My lungs burned.

He grinned. "Nobody likes you anyway. You deserve to burn." The smoke was thick now, black and suffocating. I collapsed to my knees, coughing violently.

The System flashed red. “Host, hold on! Jackson is almost here!” A moment later, the door was kicked off its hinges.

Jackson charged through the smoke, a fire extinguisher in one hand. He dropped it and scooped me up, his arms trembling as he carried me out of the inferno.

When I opened my eyes, everything was white. Sterile. Jackson was sitting by my bed, his head in his hands. He looked exhausted. "You're awake. The doctor said you’ll be okay.

Minor smoke inhalation." He handed me a glass of water. "Don't be mad at Cooper. He’s just a kid.

He was scared you were going to take him away from the only home he knows." My voice was a raspy whisper. "He tried to kill me, Jackson. Isla raised him to be a murderer.

Doesn't she have to answer for that?" Jackson’s face darkened. "Enough! You’re just looking for ways to blame Isla.

If you hadn't threatened the boy yesterday, he wouldn't have snapped." I stared at him. The sheer absurdity of his logic drained the last of my energy.

There was no point in arguing with a man who had already decided I was the problem. "Leave," I said, closing my eyes. "I’m tired." He didn't move.

I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, his grip desperate. "Isla was diagnosed with acute leukemia," he rasped.

His eyes were bloodshot, pleading. "While you were unconscious, I had the doctors run a compatibility test.

You’re a perfect match, Summer." He leaned in, his voice a pathetic whimper. "Please. Save her. For Cooper’s sake.

He can't lose his mother." 4 I ripped my hand away, staring at him in horror. "You want me to give a piece of my body to the woman who stole my life?

To the woman who helped my son try to kill me?" He hung his head, his voice cracking. "I know I’ve failed you. But Isla is so young. Cooper needs her.

If you do this, I’ll do anything. Anything you want." I felt a sob rise in my chest. Jackson had never begged me for anything. Not once in our marriage.

And here he was, on his knees for her. "Get out," I hissed. "This is her karma. Let her rot." Slap. The blow caught me across the face, the same cheek Cooper had hit with the truck.

My head snapped to the side. Jackson froze, his hand still midair. "Summer... I’m sorry. I didn't mean—" I didn't cry.

I just started hitting him back, swinging wildly, raining blows on his chest and face. He didn't fight back. He just stood there and took it.

When I finally stopped, he was trembling. "Isla isn't 'the other woman,' Summer." He pulled out his phone and showed me a photo.

It was a red marriage certificate sitting next to a set of divorce papers.

The divorce papers had my signature on them. "I filed these three years ago so I could put Isla on Cooper’s birth certificate as the mother," he whispered. "We’ve been legally married for years.

I forged your name." My heart seemed to stop beating. "What?" "Technically," he said, unable to look me in the eye, "in the eyes of the law... you’re the one who doesn't belong here." I stared at him, the room spinning.

I fell back against the pillows, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat until it turned into a jagged sob. "You’ll regret this, Jackson.

I hope you realize what you’ve done." I closed my eyes and spoke to the System. “Can I choose the manner of my death?” When it confirmed, I looked at Jackson. "Fine.

I’ll do the donation." He grabbed my hand, his eyes filling with tears of relief. "Summer! I knew you still loved me! I promise, this is the last time.

After the surgery, I’ll distance myself from her. It’ll just be us.

I swear." I looked into his eyes, seeing the hollow man he had become. "I have one condition." "Anything." "I want a public confession.

I want you to post on every social media platform you have, admitting that you stole my child, that you cheated, and that you forged the divorce.

You tell the world exactly what you did. Then I’ll save her." Jackson hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. "Fine.

If that’s what it takes." I kicked him out of the room. “System,” I thought. “I want to die on the operating table.

I want him to live with the knowledge that he forced me into the grave.” The night before the surgery, I could hear laughter coming from the room next door.

Jackson was playing with Cooper, making Isla laugh.

My parents were there, too. "It’s lucky Summer is a match," I heard my mother say. "It’s the least she can do to pay Isla back for everything." I looked at the silver bracelet on my wrist—a charm I’d bought when I was pregnant, a prayer for my baby’s safety.

I took it off and dropped it into the trash can. My phone started blowing up with notifications. Jackson had posted his confession. “It was my fault. I destroyed my family.

I betrayed Summer...” My friends, my colleagues—everyone was messaging me in shock. But I felt nothing. Just a cold, heavy numbness. A knock at the door.

My mother walked in, carrying a thermos. "I made you some soup.

You need your strength for tomorrow." I looked at her—the woman who used to fight my teachers if they were unfair to me, now a stranger. "Mom... what if I don't make it out?" "Oh, stop being so dramatic!" she snapped, though she didn't look me in the eye. "You’re just trying to make us feel guilty so you don't have to donate.

You promised. Don't go back on your word. We’ll all be a happy family again after this, you’ll see." My father sighed from the doorway. "Just do this, Summer.

Then you and Jackson can move on." “Countdown: 12 hours.” The next morning, the nurses came for me.

As they wheeled me toward the OR, Jackson caught my hand. "When you wake up, everything will be better. We’ll be okay." I didn't answer.

As the anesthesia took hold, the bright lights of the OR began to fade. "Doctor! Her blood pressure is plummeting!" "She's hemorrhaging! Get the crash cart!

Now!" I drifted in the gray space between worlds, hearing the System’s final countdown. “Extraction sequence complete.

Five... four... three... two... one...” The long, flat tone of the heart monitor was the last thing I heard. My soul pulled away, rising above the chaos. The doors swung open.

A nurse rushed out, covered in blood. "Where is Summer Reed’s family?" Jackson sprinted toward her. "Is she okay? Can I see her?" "She’s in shock. There was a massive hemorrhage.

We’re doing everything we can, but you need to prepare for the worst." 5 Jackson’s face went white. "What are you talking about? It was a routine harvest!

How could this happen?" The nurse was sweating, her eyes wide. "Sir, why didn't you disclose her medical history?

She had a severe, underlying lung infection—likely from smoke inhalation. Her system was already compromised.

She never should have been cleared for surgery!" Jackson froze. "The fire...?" "We’ve lost her." The lead surgeon stepped out, pulling off his mask.

His face said it all. "I’m sorry.

We did everything we could." Behind him, my mother let out a strangled cry and collapsed against the wall. "No," Jackson whispered. "No, that’s not possible." They wheeled "me" out a few minutes later, a white sheet pulled over my face.

Jackson stood there, paralyzed, unable to touch the shroud. My mother threw herself over my body, wailing. "My baby! Summer!

How could you leave us?" The surgeon handed Jackson a report. "Mr. Reed, her lungs were in terrible shape. Why wasn't this reported?

Who performed her intake exam?" Jackson stared at the paper. "We went to the local clinic after the fire... they said she was fine." Then he remembered.

He had been on the phone with Isla’s doctors the whole time.

Cooper had been the one to run out and tell him "The doctor said she’s okay." Jackson hadn't even bothered to look at the discharge papers himself.

Cooper wandered over from the waiting area, looking confused. "Grandma?

What’s wrong?" My mother grabbed the boy’s hands, her face streaked with tears. "Cooper... this was your mother. Your real mother. And she’s gone." "Is she dead?" Cooper asked.

His voice was flat. My mother nodded, sobbing. "Honey, give her a kiss goodbye. Tell her you're sorry." But Cooper didn't cry. He started to clap.

A high, shrill sound that echoed through the sterile hallway. "Yay! She’s dead! The mean lady is gone!"