The day after the new year, during a family gathering, my aunt sneered at me as I worked overtime, reviewing a proposal.

"Why are you pretending to be so busy? It’s not like we don’t know you only make three thousand a month. Real money-makers are people like my daughter, a designer so successful she doesn’t even have time to come home!"

I ignored her, but she directed her spoiled son to delete all my files while I was in the bathroom.

My hands trembled with rage. "This proposal is due in ten minutes—if I don’t submit it, everything is ruined!"

She scoffed dismissively. "He’s just a kid. What could he possibly know? Besides, your job isn’t even worth much. If you lose the files, you lose them. Worst case, you get fired."

I chuckled coldly but said nothing.

She had no idea it was the proposal her daughter had spent an entire month working on.

And I was the client who held her daughter’s fate in my hands.

The day after the new year, my family of three visited Grandma’s house for a gathering.

I had just settled into my seat when I received a text from my cousin, Leslie Bolton:

[Allison, I just sent my proposal to your email. Please, review it, I’m begging you! Whether I keep my job or not depends entirely on this!]

Leslie worked in a design agency. Her company was struggling financially and planned to lay off employees. The company used the collaboration with us to make the staff compete—whoever’s proposal was selected would stay.

A day before New Year's Eve, her colleagues had already submitted their proposals, but Leslie hadn’t finished hers. Determined to outshine everyone with a perfect design, she had worked nonstop for over a month, surviving on just two hours of sleep per night.

However, one of my business partners had already found a proposal he liked and saw no need for further discussion. It was only after my repeated pleas that he reluctantly agreed to give Leslie a chance.

Still, he made it clear that meeting deadlines was also a test of competence. To be fair to the other entries, the proposal had to be submitted by 8 p.m. sharp. There were no exceptions.

I had reminded Leslie multiple times to send her proposal in as soon as possible, yet after waiting the entire day, she had only just sent it.

It was already 7:45 p.m.

In our work group chat, my two other partners were growing impatient. One of them even grumbled that if it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have wasted their holidays working overtime.

I quickly forwarded Leslie’s proposal to the group. At the very least, I had done my part for her.

Just as I thought everything was finally under control, a red exclamation mark popped up on my screen.

There was no internet connection. The file had failed to send.

I looked up and saw Aunt Mary’s ten-year-old son, Ben holding the unplugged internet cable, making faces at me.

Suppressing my frustration, I said to him, “Stop messing around, Ben. Plug it back in."

Just then, Aunt Mary’s voice rang out, sharp and indignant. “Why are you yelling at a child, Allison?"

The entire family turned to stare at me.

I was baffled and laughed helplessly.

"I wasn’t yelling. I just asked him to reconnect the cable," I explained.

Aunt Mary dusted off the nutshells from her palm and eyed me with disdain.

"Working overtime during holiday—just how ‘busy’ are you? Even your uncle, who runs a whole supermarket, isn’t this busy! Who are you trying to impress?"

I checked the time—only twelve minutes left. I couldn’t afford to argue, so I decided to send the file from my phone instead.

But before I could, Aunt Mary snatched my phone away.

"I’m talking to you, and you're staring at your phone? I can’t stand you young people! It’s the new year, and instead of talking to family, you pretend to be busy on your phone just to avoid us.

“So pretentious! Do you really think you’re some big shot? You’re just another underpaid office drone making three thousand a month!"

Then Aunt Mary shut off my phone in front of everyone.

I let out a cold laugh.

"This concerns Leslie’s future, Aunt Mary!"

She burst into laughter.

"Leslie is a top designer! What does her future have to do with a grunt worker like you? You never tell the family what you do. And let’s be honest, isn’t it because your salary is embarrassingly low? You’re too ashamed to talk about it, aren’t you?

"The truth is, we all know—you’re just a regular office drone making three thousand a month. Stop pretending to be busy. It only makes you look ridiculous!"

Sensing my anger, my mom quickly stepped in to mediate. "Don’t say that, Mary. Allison wouldn’t be working on a holiday if it weren’t urgent.

“Please, return her phone. And Ben, plug the internet cable back in—everyone's waiting to use it."

She spoke gently, but that one sentence sent Ben into a meltdown.

He jabbed a finger at my mom and me, stomped his feet, and burst into loud, wailing sobs.

Distressed, Aunt Mary turned on my mom, scolding her for bullying a child.

Seeing Ben cry, Grandma grabbed a pair of scissors and marched toward the router, ready to cut the internet cable.

The room descended into chaos.

I checked the time. Eight minutes left.

Leslie, your job might just be ruined by your mother and brother.

…

Speaking of pretending, no one in our family could put on a better act than Leslie.

She graduated from a vocational college but told the family she had a university degree.

She worked as a designer at a small firm but claimed she was working at a top-100 company, earning 400,000 a year.

One lie always needed countless more to cover it up.

Blinded by pride, she took out a 150,000 loan—despite making only 4,500 a month—just to give the money to her mother as a supposed year-end bonus.

For over a month, Aunt Mary flaunted it in the family group chat, constantly comparing us—praising Leslie while belittling me.

And every time Aunt Mary bragged about her, Leslie would send out monetary tokens in the chat to maintain the illusion of wealth.

She was suffering just to keep up appearances.

But I sympathized with her.

Aunt Mary was very vain and materialistic. She always treated her son better than her daughter. So Leslie had been forced into this charade.

Back when Leslie was still honest, life had been unbearable for her.

One moment remained especially vivid in my memory.

In fifth grade, Leslie scored a 69 on her final exam.

That same year, I scored a 99.

The second Aunt Mary saw her test paper, she didn’t say a word and slapped Leslie twice across the face.

Stunned, humiliated, and too afraid to cry, Leslie just stood there, dazed.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Aunt Mary yanked her by the ear and kicked her relentlessly. She forced Leslie to sit out in the snow, clutching that failed exam paper, and refused to give her food.

Whenever someone passed by, Aunt Mary would humiliate Leslie by telling them that her daughter was worthless and incapable of doing well in her exams.

Leslie had once been an outgoing child, but after years of beatings and verbal abuse, she became withdrawn and sullen.

From that moment on, she learned to alter her grades—bringing home only perfect scores.

With her limited education, Aunt Mary was easy to fool.

The sight of a flawless report card softened her attitude. She even bought gifts and showered Leslie with exaggerated praise in front of others.

Leslie became trapped in her mother’s delusions, convincing herself that she was a genius.

Day after day, year after year, Leslie built a fragile world of self-deception—one so precarious that reality itself became unbearable.

And when she stood before me, the one person who knew the truth, she begged me not to expose her lies.

"If you ever tell anyone," she whispered, "I’ll end my life."

Leslie said that as long as she secured the deal with my company, she could gradually repay the 150,000 loan.

Her boss had promised that after the layoffs, all resources would go to the one employee who remained to groom them for success.

If she made it through, earning 20,000 a month wouldn’t be difficult. Step by step, she could turn her fabricated persona into reality.

But first, she had to survive the cull.

I had wanted to help her, but I hadn’t foreseen this chaos.

Only five minutes remained.

I strode forward, snatched the scissors from Grandma’s hands, and yanked the network cable from Ben’s grip.

“Just five minutes! After that, I’m done!” I said firmly.

Ben wailed even louder as he pointed at me and screamed, “You worthless loser making only 3,000 a month! How dare you take my stuff? I’ll beat you to death!”

Aunt Mary let go of him and watched as he threw a flurry of punches at me.

My dad stepped in to restrain him, but before he could say a word, Aunty Mary lashed out at him, "What do you think you’re doing? He’s just a child! His punches don’t even hurt! It’s nothing more than play-fighting!"

Grandma smacked my arm and then turned to Ben. “Bad Allison! Grandma hit her, see? Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

As she spoke, she struck my back twice more.

Although the blows didn’t hurt much, my parents’ faces darkened.

But wielding her age like a shield, Grandma snapped at my mom.

“What’s that look for? Are you planning to hit your own mother, Jen? Allison is old enough so what’s the big deal about a couple of slaps?

“My precious grandson is crying his eyes out—how are you going to make up for that?”

Aunt Mary smirked triumphantly at my parents.

They weren’t ones to stir up trouble so for the sake of keeping the peace, they let it go.

I plugged in the network cable, ignoring the chaos behind me. There was no time to argue—I had to send the email immediately.

But my business partners had already lost their patience.

One of them was furiously tagging me in our group chat, making it clear that if the proposal wasn’t in by eight o’clock, they wouldn’t even bother looking at it—no matter how brilliant it was.

I understood their frustration. Working overtime during the holidays was already frustrating enough.

With three minutes left, I rushed to send the file. The network lagged a little, but it should have gone through.

Then I hurried to the bathroom.

By the time I returned, the clock had struck eight.

I thought everything was fine. The proposal had been sent in time. Crisis averted.

But when I sat down to check my business partner’s response, my mind went blank.

The proposal hadn’t gone through. It had been recalled.

Seeing nothing in the chat, my partners, now fuming, announced that they wouldn’t review it at all.

Panicking, I tried to resend the file only to find it gone.

I looked up.

There was Ben, grinning at me, his face full of mischief.

I stared at him. “Did you delete the file?”

He stuck out his tongue.

“That’s what you get for being mean to me! Just teaching you a lesson so you know who’s in charge. Hmph!”

…

Aunt Mary’s hostile gaze pierced through me.

“What’s that look for? Are you planning to hit him? He’s just a child! What’s wrong with a kid being a little playful?

“You’re an adult, and you’re holding a grudge against him? How pathetic can you be?”

She scoffed and added coldly, “It’s just a file. So what if it got deleted? What kind of ‘valuable’ documents could someone with your measly salary even have?

“Worst case, you get fired. That’d actually be a blessing—you can finally come home, find a husband, and give your parents some peace of mind.”

I shut my eyes briefly, forcing down the anger.

Turning back to the computer, I quickly messaged Leslie, urging her to resend the file immediately.

Maybe—just maybe—there was still a chance to fix this.