So, picture this: a guy ditches his wife and kid, vanishes for twenty years, and then just shows up on the doorstep expecting a welcome home party. He’s bawling his eyes out, claiming the “other woman” played him for a fool all this time. I had to laugh. Seriously, what’s his angle? That being old, broke, and pathetic is suddenly charming? The woman whose life I stepped into, Sarah, she was too much of a doormat. His whole family walked all over her. But me? I’m here to settle the score. Even if I have to play nice for a while. 1. “Excuse me, ma’am? We’re from ‘Community Concern,’ the local news segment? We got a call from a gentleman, about fifty years old, hoping to reunite with his family. He says you won’t let him in. Could you tell us why you’re shutting him out?” A TV reporter and a cameraman, gear looking like weapons, were camped out on my front lawn. Standing near them, looking pathetic, was my husband of twenty years ago, Jack. Twenty years gone, just like that. His clothes were worn thin, his skin weathered and dark, making him look older than his fifty years. More gray hair than brown on his head. Jack just stood there silently, playing the part of the poor, homeless old man perfectly. The reporter kept pushing, so I finally took the microphone she offered. “He walked out on me and our baby twenty years ago. Now the woman he left me for kicked him to the curb, and suddenly he remembers he has a family? Let me ask you, if it were your husband, would you take him back?” The reporter didn’t miss a beat. “But isn’t that exactly why you should take him in? Because he has nowhere else to go?” Yeah, I wasn’t buying that guilt trip. Suddenly, Jack dropped to his knees right there on the lawn. “It’s all my fault,” he sobbed. “I let that woman fool me for twenty years. But I’ve changed, Sarah, I swear. I just want to come home, be with you, make it up to you.” He put on his best hangdog, guilt-ridden expression. Right on cue, the neighborhood vultures started circling, eager to show off their saintly compassion. Brenda from across the street, fanning herself on her porch swing, chimed in with a sigh, “Oh, honey, he’s been gone twenty years, but he came back. You should really find it in your heart to forgive him.” “Yeah, that’s right,” added Mr. Henderson from downstairs, pausing his sidewalk stroll. He always loved sticking his nose in. “You’re almost fifty yourself. Your man’s back, might as well make the best of it. Besides, you’re on the news now! Don’t want people thinking folks in this neighborhood are heartless, do we?” Brenda nodded vigorously, her fan picking up speed. “Exactly! Being on the news like this… it wouldn’t look good if you turned him away.” See, I’m here on a job. A system task, they call it. I took over the life of Sarah Evans. Forty-nine, no kids anymore. Twenty years back, her husband ran off with his mistress, cleaned out their bank account, and to please the new woman, he… he abandoned their newborn baby by the river. The baby didn’t make it. Sarah’s life has been one long tragedy. A week ago, she became a client for our company’s ‘Revenge Package’ lottery draw. Lucky her. I’m not here to make friends. I shot the busybodies a cold look. “You all talk such a good game. Why don’t you take him in and look after him?” That shut Brenda up quick. She bristled. “What kind of thing is that to say? We’re just trying to help! We worry about you being alone. He’s your husband, it’s your job to care for him.” Mr. Henderson nodded along. “A woman’s supposed to stand by her man, for better or worse. You can’t keep holding onto the past forever.” I ignored them and looked straight at the man kneeling on my lawn. “You really want to come back? You’d die to come back?” This was part of the system contract setup. I just needed his confirmation. “Yes,” Jack choked out. “I’d die to come back.” Keywords acquired: Die to come back. A smirk played on my lips. A red-bordered window popped up in my vision, visible only to me. Inside the box, text glowed: Task Initiation: Send the Scumbag to Hell. 2 The day after I let Jack back into the house, his charming relatives showed up. No sooner had they stepped inside than Jack’s two sisters, Patty and Joan, made themselves comfortable on the living room couch. They fussed over Jack, asking how he’d been all these years, clucking sympathetically about how rough he must have had it. They even joined Jack in cursing out the mistress, calling her trash, heartless. How could she, after Jack gave up everything for her – his wife, his child – turn around and cheat on him? Make him raise some other guy’s kid for twenty years? Serves him right, I thought. Patty, the older sister, noticed I wasn’t joining the pity party. She shot me a frosty look. “Your husband’s been through hell out there, and you can’t even show a little sympathy? The least you could do is say a bad word or two about that homewrecker.” Oh, I had plenty of bad words, alright. But they weren’t for the mistress. They were for the whole damn family, going back generations. Joan, the younger sister, piped up, “Now that my brother’s back, you need to treat him right. Give him the best of everything – food, comfort, whatever he needs. It’s been twenty years without a man in the house. Now you’ve got one again. You should be happy! You haven’t cracked a smile since we walked in.” The system’s memory files filled me in on these two beauties: Back when Sarah and Jack were married, about five years in, she couldn’t conceive a son (a big deal to him, apparently). He started getting abusive – hitting, yelling, constant digs. That’s when the mistress appeared. And guess who introduced them? Patty and Joan. They helped Jack cover up the affair for two whole years, right up until Sarah finally got pregnant. The mistress panicked. She pushed Jack to leave Sarah for good. To make sure he wouldn’t go back, she told him to get rid of the baby. Dump it by the river. And his wonderful sisters? Not only did they not stop him, they were apparently more interested in… well, let’s just say they were disgustingly callous right after Sarah gave birth. Sarah, still recovering, dragged herself out and jumped into the cold river to save her baby. But the baby was premature, and fragile. Without proper care after the ordeal, the poor thing died less than a month later. Sarah was devastated, and the trauma ruined her health. Gossip flew around town. Everyone pitied Sarah. When Patty and Joan heard their own reputations were taking a hit, they marched over to Sarah’s house and started spreading vicious lies. Said Sarah was cheating, that that’s why Jack left. Claimed the baby wasn’t even Jack’s, that it deserved to be drowned. Back then, loudest voice won. People believed them. Sarah, being gentle and broken, just hid in her house, too ashamed to go out. It made my blood boil just reading it. All that pain, and she didn’t know how to fight back. Thank God she had a brother who left her this small two-bedroom house before he passed away. Just then, Jack pulled me down onto the couch next to him. Said it was time for a family meeting. Patty, ever the bossy older sister, started things off. “Now that my brother’s back, this house needs a man in charge again. Tomorrow, you should sign the house over to him. Put the deed in his name.” I stared at the three of them like they’d sprouted extra heads. “The house is mine. My brother left it to me. Why would I sign it over to him?” Joan jumped in eagerly, “If you put the house in his name, it’ll show him you trust him! It’ll keep him tied to you. He’ll definitely treat you right then.” Wow. Just… wow. I must be getting rusty at these revenge gigs if this level of audacity still shocks me. Seeing my hesitation, Jack resorted to his standard move: hitting his knees. “Sarah, trust me. I won’t let you down again. I swear it.” I looked down at him, my voice dangerously soft. “And if you do?” He saw a flicker of hope, poor fool. He held up three fingers. “Then may God strike me dead!” Keywords acquired: Strike me dead. The system’s health bar program officially kicked in. I glanced up, imagining a health bar floating over his head, a chunk of it vanishing. A small, cold smile touched my lips. “You remember that,” I said softly. “You’ll be struck dead.” 3 “Don’t say that! Bad luck!” Patty snapped, waving her hand dismissively. “Since you’re agreeing to sign the house over, we’ll let bygones be bygones.” She sounded so high and mighty. Joan chimed in, looking annoyed. “My brother’s turned over a new leaf. He didn’t come back here to listen to you making morbid threats. Less of that talk in the future.” I just gave them a bland smile. “He’s the one who volunteered to kneel and make the dramatic oaths. Got nothing to do with me.” Jack, hearing I’d “agreed” about the house, was practically buzzing with excitement. He wasn’t about to worry about some empty promise to God. “Okay, Patty, Joan, you two head on home,” he said, eager to get rid of them. “We won’t keep you for dinner.” Mission accomplished, the sisters got up to leave. As they walked out, the three of them exchanged quick glances. The look was clear: Got the house. She’s such an easy mark. As for signing over the house, I stalled. Said I needed to “get the paperwork sorted out,” maybe “check with the lawyer.” Bought myself ten days. Jack seemed completely confident he had Sarah – me – wrapped around his little finger. He didn’t push it. Dealing with scum like him… I really wanted this task over with quickly. His health bar seemed to be dropping too slowly. I needed him to trigger more keywords, run that meter down faster. Jack started gambling again. At first, his luck was weirdly good. He’d stumble home drunk every night, singing loudly in the wee hours, driving the neighbors crazy. The ones suffering the most were, ironically, Brenda across the street and Mr. Henderson downstairs. Jack would weave his way home, humming off-key, and every time he passed Brenda’s porch, he’d drunkenly yank at her flowers or knock over a planter. Just because. Brenda would be out there the next morning, yelling curses at the empty air. After a few days of this, she apparently ran out of steam yelling at nothing. So, she came to me, blaming me for not controlling my husband. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you care that your husband’s drinking like a fish? What if he drops dead drunk in a ditch somewhere? You’ll be a widow!” she lectured. “And he’s ruined all my planters!” I almost laughed. I put on my best sympathetic voice, echoing her tone from the other day. “Well, Brenda, he was gone twenty years. Now that he’s back, I have to forgive him, right? It’s just a little drinking.” The next day, Mr. Henderson showed up at my door, dark circles under his eyes. “Can’t you keep your husband quiet? He comes home singing, kicking things over… I’m right below you, the banging is giving me heart palpitations! You need to make him leave!” I gave him his own words back, sweet as pie. “But Mr. Henderson, my man’s finally back home. Guess we just have to make the best of it. Like you said, it was on the news and everything. If I kicked him out now, people might think folks in this neighborhood are heartless.” Mr. Henderson was speechless. He just muttered something under his breath and shuffled away.
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