I was scooping the cat’s litter, just like any other day, when I suddenly heard his voice in my head. This clumsy woman is so slow. I miss my real Mommy. Too bad she and Daddy went to Vegas. Where is Vegas, anyway? And why couldn’t they take their baby with them? My husband, Ethan, told me he was on a business trip with a colleague. Who the hell was "Mommy"? My hand froze mid-scoop. The cat, Snowball, raked his claws across the back of my hand, then narrowed his eyes, looking impossibly smug. Mommy said when the delivery guy comes, I just have to let him in. He’ll kill this stupid woman. And then the three of us can finally be a family again! Just then, a heavy knock echoed through the apartment. "Hello? Food delivery!" 1 I grabbed a tissue and pressed it against the bloody scratches on my hand, my eyes locked on the cat in disbelief. Ethan and I had been married for five years. I’d had this cat for five years. I fed him, I cleaned his filth, but he’d never once warmed up to me. He was always scratching me, or worse, perching on my bedside table in the dead of night, his green eyes glowing as he stared down at me with pure malice. One time, he’d swatted my face to wake me up, and I’d screamed, my heart hammering against my ribs. Ethan had just called me dramatic. "He just wants to play, Claire. Why are you screaming like that?" he'd sighed, scooping Snowball into his arms and stroking his fur. His gaze, when it met mine, was sharp with irritation. "You scared him. Apologize." "I'm sorry," I'd whispered, my hand over my chest, my nerves still shot. I’d tried to reason with him. "Can we please keep the bedroom door closed at night? He keeps coming in, I really can't sleep." Ethan's brow furrowed. "No way. Snowball would miss me." His voice turned cold. "Claire, what did you promise me before we got married? Didn't we agree that Snowball is family, and that you would treat him like one?" "I do treat him well! I just baked him some fish crisps today—" "Enough!" Ethan cut me off. "Cats are smart. They know who really cares about them. If you were actually good to him, why would he always be scratching you? If you have nothing to hide, why are you so afraid of him?" He clutched Snowball tighter. "If you can't accept him, then I'll just take him and move out!" With his free hand, he snatched a pillow from our bed and threw it on the floor. "You can sleep in the guest room." Kicked out of my own bedroom, I’d stood on the balcony, staring blankly at the glittering city lights, feeling utterly defeated. For five years, I had poured more effort into caring for Snowball than most people put into raising a child. I made all his food from scratch: salmon jerky, chicken and prawn pâté, beef and cod fillets. He was a picky eater, turning his nose up at anything that wasn't gourmet. Twice-a-week trips to the groomer, vet check-ups every three months... I had managed every single detail of his life, and still, he hated me. I used to blame myself, thinking I wasn't doing enough. But I never imagined it was because he already had another "Mommy." Who was she? I stared at Snowball, my mind racing. The knocking at the door continued, more insistent now. "Hello? Delivery!" Snowball hissed at me, baring his teeth. Stupid woman, go open the door! Open the door, and that man will kill you! Then all your money, this whole apartment, it’ll all belong to my Mommy. Mommy said she’s going to tear down your stupid office and turn it into my room. A whole wall of climbing trees, just for me! Mommy is the best! A chill shot up my spine, raising goosebumps on my arms. It was real. This woman had hired a killer. It was eleven at night. I never ate this late. I hadn't ordered any food. Outside, the man was banging now. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Each blow was louder than the last, his voice laced with impatience. "Anybody home? C'mon, open up! I've got other deliveries to make!" I glanced at the front door. The standard one that came with the apartment was flimsy, so I’d spent over five thousand dollars upgrading it to a high-security model. The installer had sworn you'd need a full toolkit and at least four hours to pry it open. That brought me a sliver of comfort. "You have the wrong address," I called out. "I didn't order anything." The knocking stopped. A moment of silence, then the man's confused voice. "No, this is it. Apartment 901, for a Ms. Summers." "Maybe a family member ordered it for you?" "No," I said firmly. "You're mistaken." He knocked a few more times, then his voice dropped to an angry mutter. "The note says I have to deliver it directly into your hands. What is this, some kind of prank?" "I didn't order any food. Neither did my family. If you don't leave now, I'm calling building security!" The man paused, then I heard him cursing under his breath as he started making a phone call. Inside, Snowball was frantic. Why won't she open the door? You stupid, stupid woman! He lunged, sinking his teeth into my pant leg, trying to drag me toward the door. This time, I didn't hesitate. I kicked him, sending him flying across the polished floor. "Get off me!" "Meeeooww!" Snowball landed in a heap, his eyes wide with utter shock. It was as if he couldn't comprehend that I would ever dare to fight back. Just then, my phone rang. I looked down. My heart seized. It was Ethan. My hand trembling, I answered the call. "Hello?" "What the hell is wrong with you? Why aren't you opening the door for the delivery guy?" Ethan’s voice was sharp, accusatory. "Snowball's hungry. I ordered him some cat treats. Open the door right now." My mind went blank. Hearing Snowball’s thoughts, I had already guessed that Ethan was cheating, that his mistress wanted me gone. But I never, ever imagined Ethan would be a part of it. He wanted me dead. I couldn't breathe. We were college sweethearts. From campus crushes to wedding vows, everyone had said we were the perfect couple. After we married, we both worked hard. The tech company I worked for went public, hitting the jackpot, and as an early employee, I received a substantial amount of stock. I used that money to buy this spacious apartment, and I put both our names on the deed. My success made Ethan insecure. He became touchy and suspicious, always accusing me of looking down on him. So I tried even harder to please him. He doted on Snowball, so I did too, spending almost all my free time catering to that cat's every whim. I never tamed the cat. And as it turned out, I never tamed the man either. An icy coldness spread through my chest. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. Ethan was still pushing. "Claire, open the door!" I bit my lip, forcing my voice to sound steady. "No. Why would you order delivery? You always say pet store treats are full of additives. You make me cook everything for him from scratch." Ethan was a fanatic about Snowball's diet. One meal of wet food, one of dry, and a late-night snack, all of which had to be handmade by me. He claimed it was the "best way to build a bond" and that I should never get lazy. There were nights I was up late, buried in work, and if I was slow to make Snowball's snack, he’d leap onto my laptop and mash the keyboard, deleting hours of my work. Ethan would just laugh. "The king is hungry! Better go serve His Majesty. See? He's throwing a tantrum at you. That means he's starting to like you, Claire. Don't waste this opportunity to get closer to him." So I would have to stop what I was doing, exhausted, and go make the damn cat a snack. He was so ridiculously picky every other day, but suddenly tonight, he wasn't? My question made Ethan pause. "Well—this place is different," he stammered after a moment. "It’s a high-end, custom pet bakery. They use all-imported ingredients. Snowball loves their hand-baked cod crisps. Just stop making a fuss and open the door." Hearing Ethan’s voice through the phone, Snowball shot up and lunged at me again. "Meeoww! Meeeowww!" he shrieked, clawing at my leg. The bitch hit me, Daddy! Avenge me! Kill her! Kill her now! "You hear that? He's starving," Ethan said, his voice rising. "Claire, what the hell are you doing? Just open the door!" "No," I said, my voice firm. "There's fresh salmon in the fridge I made yesterday—" "You can't give him refrigerated food! I've told you, everything has to be fresh, every day!" Ethan's tone grew heavy with impatience. "God, Claire, are you that lazy? You won't even cook for yourself, and now you can't even be bothered to get a delivery?" His voice dropped into a low, menacing tone. "I'm out here working my ass off on this trip, and you want to start a fight with me?" For Ethan, "fighting" just meant the silent treatment. For years, anytime I did something that displeased him, he would treat me like I was invisible. He wouldn't speak to me, wouldn't look at me. It was like I ceased to exist. As someone who was naturally open and direct, that kind of psychological warfare drove me insane. In the end, I was always the one to break first. He was counting on me to break this time, too. "Open the door!" he commanded coldly. The only response he got was the dial tone. I hung up. Furious, Ethan called back again and again. I ignored it, letting the phone vibrate violently in my pocket, a frantic echo of the storm raging inside me. I spun around and ran into the bedroom, tearing through drawers and closets, searching for Ethan's old laptop. I had to know who this "Mommy" was. But the room was clean. His iPad, his old phone, his laptop—he'd taken every electronic device with him. There was nothing. Then, my frantic search sent a book tumbling from the nightstand. It fell to the floor, and a faded photograph fluttered out from between its pages. It was a book Ethan read every single night. I picked up the photo. It was of a young woman's back. She was wearing a tight, green tank top, revealing a sliver of a pale, slender waist. Her hand was raised, and a tiny white kitten—a baby Snowball—was lying on its back in her lap, looking up at her adoringly. The woman’s back… why did it look so familiar? My mind flashed back to the day I first met Snowball. It was the night before our engagement party. Ethan had been out celebrating with his friends, drinking and staying out until the early hours of the morning. When he came home, he had a tiny kitten with him. He told me he’d found it on the street, a stray that had followed him for three blocks and refused to be shooed away. "It must be fate," he'd said, his eyes shining. "Tomorrow is our engagement. It's a new beginning for him, too." He was determined to keep him, but something felt off. The kitten’s fur was soft and glossy, perfectly clean. He didn't look like a stray at all. I’d joked with him about it. "What a coincidence. I heard your cousin lost her white cat. You didn't happen to find the exact same one, did you?" Tina was Ethan's cousin, and also my subordinate at work. Ethan had told me countless times how he and Tina grew up together, that they were more like brother and sister than cousins. When Tina graduated and couldn't find a job, Ethan was more anxious than anyone. For days, he was uncharacteristically sweet to me, begging me to help her out. Tina ended up staying with us for a month. I rewrote her resume, coached her through interviews, and when nothing panned out, I pulled strings, using my position to get her an entry-level job at my company. Tina had thrown her arms around me, overcome with gratitude. "Claire, from now on, you're my real sister!" After that, she always called me "sis" and Ethan "bro-in-law." Ethan had even joked, "Look at this little traitor. I'm her actual cousin, but now that she has you, I'm just the brother-in-law." Right. You two are the real family. The memory of their casual interactions played in my head, and a hot rush of blood flooded my cheeks. No. It couldn't be. They were cousins—family! I had to be wrong. There's no way... I clutched the photograph tighter, and with a piercing shriek, Snowball launched himself at me.
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