Zero Trace

I bought a mini-fridge out of the goodness of my heart to help a student store her medication.

Two weeks later, the medicine spoiled.

She collapsed in the classroom, leaving her permanently disabled.

Her parents protested at the school gates, weeping and hoisting banners that read, Heartless teacher ruined our daughter!

I took care of her for ten agonizing years, but it was never enough. They demanded I marry her and support her for the rest of her life.

I had a girlfriend whom I was forced to leave behind.

On the way to her wedding, I suffered a sudden heart attack.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back ten years in the past.

Amy stood right in front of me, looking fragile and helpless. "Mr. Mercer, my medicine needs to be refrigerated, but there isn't a fridge in the classroom..."

I looked at her and said, "That sounds like a question for Facilities."

I was reborn.

I woke up at the exact moment Amy first claimed she needed a refrigerator for her medication. Behind her stood her three roommates, all of them my students. Four pairs of eyes stared up at me, wide and pleading.

I was twenty-four, fresh out of a top-tier master's program in philosophy. Hoping to eventually secure a tenure-track position, I had taken a temporary assistant job at this private university to build up my resume, all thanks to my mentor's recommendation.

In my past life, I was fueled by nothing but naive idealism. Hearing a student in need, I ran myself ragged trying to help. But when the administration told me to just submit a formal request and wait, I couldn't bear to let her suffer. I paid out of my own pocket for a small fridge to speed things up.

Two weeks later, she collapsed during a break.

Only at the hospital did the truth come out. She didn't have diabetes, and she wasn't refrigerating insulin. She suffered from osteogenesis imperfecta, commonly known as brittle bone disease. It was incurable, requiring lifelong medication.

An investigation revealed her medication had degraded because the fridge's plug had slipped from the outlet, cutting off the cooling. Her parents demanded answers from the school, but the administration washed their hands of the matter, claiming the appliance wasn't university property. They threw me under the bus.

The public backlash was suffocating. My family was relentlessly doxxed and harassed online. Broken and desperate, I surrendered and took on the burden of caring for her. I carried that cross for ten years.

But her family's greed was bottomless. They demanded I marry her and support her parents too.

I had a girlfriend whom I loved with all my heart. She waited for me for a decade. Realizing I would never escape this nightmare, I forced myself to be cruel, pushing her away so she could find a real life. She went back home to settle down. The night before her wedding, Amy had a flare-up, and I stayed up all night taking care of her.

The next morning, as I drove toward the wedding venue just to catch a glimpse of her in her dress, my chest seized. A massive heart attack. My emergency medication was sitting right in the cup holder, but I didn't reach for it. I didn't call 911 either. Instead, a strange, profound peace washed over me. My only regret was for my girl. Today was supposed to be her happiest day, and here I was, ruining it one last time.

Now, I was back. Looking at these four hopeful faces, my chest burned with nothing but cold hatred and disgust.

"Is the applicant Amy?" I asked, my voice flat. "If you require a refrigerator, you need to download the medical accommodation form online. Detail your condition, the storage requirements of the medication, fill it out, and submit it to Facilities. They will forward it to administration for procurement."

Her roommate, Maddie, a loud and self-righteous girl, frowned. "That sounds incredibly tedious. Won't that take forever? Amy has diabetes. She needs insulin shots before every meal, right, Amy?"

Exactly. Amy had never actually stated what her illness was. The diabetes rumor started because people saw her giving herself injections, and she simply let the rumor run wild without ever correcting anyone. Just like how she had never explicitly asked me to buy the fridge. In my past life, her roommates and I had made that decision for her.

In my previous life, when her parents protested at the gates and made the evening news, the internet came for my throat. My parents, both respected high school teachers on the verge of a proud retirement, were forced into early resignation because of the scandal. Stripped of their pensions and forced to support me, they hid their own failing health from me to spare me the worry. Within a few years, they both passed away.

I knew that even in death, my name would remain dragged through the mud. And the heroes of that story would be the four young ladies standing before me. Amy was the delicate princess, and the other three were her loyal handmaidens, eager to charge into battle on her behalf.

In my past life, they were the ones who posted online, fabricated testimonies, and painted me as a creepy predator who bought the fridge to hit on his student. This time, I was going to sit back and watch who got burned.

"The bureaucracy is what it is," I said, gathering my lecture materials. "If you have any questions, take it up with your academic advisor." I turned and walked away, feeling lighter than I had in a decade.

I hadn't even cleared the hallway before Amy's whimpering voice drifted after me. "What's wrong with Mr. Mercer today? He was so cold."

Maddie scoffed, comforting her. "Just dodging responsibilities. He's just a green intern who can't make a real decision to save his life. Don't worry, babe, I'll handle this."

I was just a teaching assistant, barely two months into my internship. Aside from teaching, I was burdened with every scrap of administrative grunt work, and I didn't even have my own desk. Back in my dorm, I pulled up the resignation portal, but my finger hovered over the submit button.

First, my mentor had gone out of his way to secure this position for me to build my resume, and I hated to throw his kindness back in his face. Second, in my past life, I had tried to resign, but the university HR rejected the immediate release. By contract, even if I quit, I had to give a thirty-day notice. A month was more than enough time for everything to go to hell.

If I couldn't quit gracefully, I would have to get myself fired.

Right then, my phone buzzed with a message in the family group chat. My uncle wrote: "Your grandmother hasn't been feeling well. Her blood pressure spiked to 200 today, and the doctor is admitting her."

I had chosen this college because it was barely sixty miles from my hometown. I was about to reply that I would drive back tonight, but my cousin Mike, who worked as a doctor in the city, messaged back: "I'm heading home in a bit. Silas, someone gifted me two crates of fresh lychees. I'll drop them off at your campus on my way out."

An idea sparked in my mind. I hurried back to my room, threw off my cheap teaching clothes, and changed into a high-end designer outfit that accentuated my height and sharp jawline. I looked ten times sharper than usual.

My roommate, noticing the upgrade, raised an eyebrow. "Who's the hot date? Is your girl coming to town?" I just smirked, offering no explanation.

In my past life, when the walls closed in on me, not a single colleague spoke up for me, including this roommate. After all, we were both interns competing for the same permanent slot. I grabbed a designer leather bag worth thousands, the prominent luxury logo practically blinding him. His jaw dropped. "Silas, since when are you loaded?"

Ignoring him, I swept out of the dorm and strode toward the campus gates like a peacock in full display, turning heads all along the way.

From a distance, I spotted Mike's luxury SUV. I stood at an even six feet, but he was taller, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and exuding an effortless, scholarly charm. He was dressed in a similar style. In fact, most of my nice clothes were gifts from him, and the bag I held was one of his hand-me-downs. It was perfectly normal for an older, established cousin to help dress his younger, broke relative, right?

Mike stepped out and popped the trunk to haul out the crates of lychees. Without warning, I threw myself onto his back, wrapping my arms around his shoulders just like we used to do when we were kids. He nearly stumbled into the trunk under my weight, but he caught himself, hooking his hands under my thighs to support me. "You absolute menace! You're not ten years old anymore. You weigh a hundred and sixty pounds, you're going to snap my spine!"

He was a gym rat with solid muscle beneath his shirt, so I wasn't worried. Instead of climbing down, I clung tighter. "Is Grandma going to be okay?"

Mike sighed, adjusting his grip. "Don't listen to my dad. Her blood pressure was fine when I checked her last week. He's just using her as bait to drag me home for a blind date."

"Oh, I see." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed several students slowing down, whispering and pointing their phone cameras at us. I finally slid off his back, but immediately looped my arm snugly through his elbow.

Mike handed me the crates, then reached over to ruffle my hair affectionately. "How's the new gig? Colleagues treating you well? Are the kids behaving?"

I flashed him a bright smile. "Everything is perfect. Don't worry about me."

After his car disappeared down the avenue, I stood there waving for a long moment before carrying the crates back to my room. The moment I walked in, my roommate met me with a bizarre, loaded look.

"What?" I asked.

He let out a strained, awkward chuckle. "Oh, wow. Lychees this early in the season? Those are my absolute favorite." Usually, he would have helped himself without asking. But this time, I pointedly loaded them into my personal locker and clicked the padlock shut. "Sorry, these are special. None for you."

His expression shifted from awkward to outright disgusted. He grabbed a box of tissues he had previously borrowed and slid it back over to his side of the desk, clearly trying to draw a line between us.

I opened the campus forum on my laptop. Sure enough, several threads had already popped up featuring "intimate" photos of Mike and me at the gate. I systematically saved every single screenshot.

That afternoon, during roll call, the whispers followed me. Rumors that I was keeping a sugar daddy and showing off his wealth spread like wildfire. I didn't offer a single word of defense, letting the gossip mutate. That was when I saw Amy and her entourage again.

Maddie rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Mr. Mercer, we went to Facilities during lunch. They said the university doesn't buy individual appliances for students. We have to file a petition with administration. In the meantime, they suggested using the cafeteria freezer, but the kitchen staff told us it violates health codes and turned us away. Then we tried to buy a mini-fridge for the dorm, but the resident advisor threatened to write us up for a fire hazard!"

I shrugged indifferently. "Well, looks like you're out of options."

Amy looked up, her eyes wide and watery. "Mr. Mercer, could we keep a small one in your office? Or maybe your dorm room?"

I shook my head. "I don't have an office, and my dorm has the same strict utility policy."

Tears welled up in Amy's eyes, trembling right on the edge of her eyelashes. Maddie, fiercely protective, patted her on the back. "Don't cry, babe. I'll buy one myself and put it in the student lounge. We'll put a lock on it. It'll be fine."

Yet Amy didn't look comforted. Her gaze remained locked on me. Honestly, she was beautiful in a fragile, tragic way that naturally triggered people's protective instincts. In my past life, I had gone out of my way to help her out of professional duty, never realizing it would feed a dark, twisted obsession.

Maddie sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "Some educator you are. Dressing up like a runway model while ignoring a sick student in need. You don't deserve this job. I'm filing a formal complaint against you today!"

I rolled my eyes right back at her. "Oh, heavens, I'm absolutely trembling. Please, go right ahead. If you don't file it by five, you're a coward." The four girls froze, utterly stunned.

As an intern, I had always been desperate for a good evaluation, catering to every student whim. I was famous for being a pushover. This sudden hostility was completely out of character.

Once they recovered from the shock, they aggressively whipped out their phones to draft emails to the dean. Instead of panic, I let out a dry laugh. "Look at you, acting like entitled toddlers. You think the universe revolves around you just because you're pathetic? Do you ever look in a mirror?"

Amy burst into tears. The other two roommates looked close to crying too, while Maddie stared at me like a raging bull. "You're going to regret this," she spat.

I crossed my arms. "I'll be right here. Give it your best shot."

Trembling with rage, Maddie jabbed a manicured nail in my direction. "Fine! Enjoy getting fired!"

I believed her. These girls were failing students and terrible human beings, but when it came to character assassination and online harassment, they were absolute professionals.

By that evening, dozens of complaints flooded the dean's inbox. The accusations were a wild, colorful mix: homosexuality, flaunting wealth, unprofessional conduct, and emotional abuse of students.

The next morning, the department head called me into his office. He sat behind his mahogany desk, the campus forum pulled up on his monitor. On the screen was the photo of me clinging to Mike's back, a bright smile on my face.

He tapped the glass. "Silas, is this you?"

"Yes."

"And who is this man?"

"A friend."

The department head paused, adjusting his glasses. "Are you gay, Silas?"

"That is personal, and it has no bearing on my job."

His expression hardened. "I asked you a direct question. I expect a proper answer."

"And I gave you one. It is irrelevant to my work."

The door clicked open, and the dean strolled in. My roommate trailed behind him like a loyal lapdog, casting a smug, victorious look my way. If I got booted, he would secure the permanent position automatically. Sometimes, this world feels like a cheap theater production run by amateurs. In my past life, I let people like this ruin me. It was pathetic. Let them burn.

The dean looked down his nose at me. "Silas, I will ask you one more time. Are you homosexual?"

"No comment."

"Then explain these photos."

"I am under no obligation to do so."

He let out a cold, humorless chuckle. "Who do you think you are? You haven't even finished your internship, and you're carrying this attitude?" I scoffed.

He glared at me. "One final time. Are you gay?"

"Are you discriminating against sexual orientation?"

"That's enough," the dean interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "His roommate already told us everything we need to know. We can't have someone like you corrupting our students." He straightened his tie. "You're fired."

He delivered the verdict as if he were a medieval king handing down an execution. Yet his eyes betrayed his pettiness, lingering greedily on the designer logo of my bag.

I spun on my heel and walked out. Minutes later, an official termination email from HR popped up on my phone. According to my contract, a termination without cause entitled me to a month's severance. But HR claimed I wasn't getting a dime, not even my final paycheck. An intern's monthly pay was barely a few hundred dollars, which normally wouldn't be worth fighting over. But wage theft is a sin, and I fully intended to make them beg me to take it later.

For the first time in ten years, I was completely free.

Before leaving, I went to the student lounge. I ripped out the water dispenser, the surge protectors, and the water jugs I had purchased with my own money, smashing them and throwing them into the dumpster.

"Mr. Mercer, you took the water cooler! What are we supposed to drink?" a student complained.

I stomped hard on the plastic jug, cracking it in half. "I bought this with my own money, and you've been freeloading off me for months. If some lunatic decides to poison the water and blame me, I'd rather smash it now."

As I tossed the last piece into the bin, I turned around to find Amy standing a few yards away, biting her lip and staring at me with tear-filled eyes. Every hair on my body stood on end. She didn't look like a fragile young girl; she looked like a venomous viper ready to strike. I took an involuntary step back.

It wasn't cowardice; it was the sheer trauma of my past life screaming in my ears. She stepped closer, her eyes glittering with an obsessive, unsettling intensity. It wasn't the look of a student for her teacher, or even a woman for a man. It was a spider sizing up a fat fly caught in its web.

"Mr. Mercer," she whispered.

My stomach turned, and I spun to run.

"Don't go!" she cried out.

I stopped and slowly looked back. The hatred inside me burned so hot my bones ached. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my hands around her neck. But I couldn't. I had fought too hard for this second chance, and a bright future lay ahead.

She closed the distance, tears cascading down her pale face in the dim corridor light. "I'll talk to Maddie. I'll make her withdraw the complaint. Everything will go back to normal. Please, don't leave. If you stay, I'll do whatever you want."

Her voice was soft, but her words carried a heavy, desperate weight, as if she were offering a sacred vow.

I remembered my past life. During my second year of caring for her, she had taken my hand in the dead of night, dragging it onto her blanket, whispering, "Mr. Mercer, marry me. I'll be so good to you." At the time, I thought it was just dependency, a drowning girl grasping at her only lifeline, or perhaps a mind warped by chronic pain. I never realized that she had been spinning this web from the very beginning, and I had walked right into it.

"Amy," I said, dropping any pretense of professionalism, "you absolutely disgust me."

She froze, tears still wet on her cheeks. Slowly, her innocent mask melted away into a chillingly confident grin. "Oh, Mr. Mercer," she giggled softly. "You'll be back. I know you will."

I smiled right back. "I'll be back, alright. For your funeral."

Leaving her standing there, I went back to my room, packed my bags, and checked out. I didn't waste a single second escaping the place that had been my living hell for half a lifetime.