Chapter 1
Mom had three daughters, but she’d tell anyone who’d listen: “My oldest never listens to a word I say, and my youngest has her head in the clouds.
Then she’d point to me with that emning little smile. “Only Rebecca—my middle girl–she’s my favorite daughter”
I believed every word. So every time, I’d be the first to rush to do the dishes before anyone asked.
I’d even transfer all my $2000 salary to Mom’s account every month.
Later, one night, Mom suddenly showed up at my place, face all puffy from crying, claiming my old sister Emma had thrown her out.
Of course I let her stay.
But I didn’t expect that she would live there for 30 years.
And there I was, pushing 60, still busting my ass taking care of my bedridden 80 years old mother.
However, what surprised me even more was that—just as I got seriously sick, Mom wouldn’t sign the consent forms for my treatment, and even asking someone pulled my oxygen tube while I was out cold.
After I died, Mom split up her stuff–leaving her $150,000 savings and MY HOUSE to my little sister Lily.
Holding both my little sisters‘ hands, tears in her eyes, she whispered, “In fact, you and Emma were always my favorites.”
“If Emma hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have been stuck
with that disappointment Rebecca all these years. You girls could’ve had so much more.”
“Also, do you really think that Rebecca’s husband and daughter died accidentally? That was all done by Mom for you two.”
The truth hit me like a truck. My soul practically exploded with rage. I wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of the woman I’d wasted my life to love.
Then I opened my eyes.
I was back to that night–the night Mom first showed up at
my door with her bags and bullshit.
I was shaking so damn hard with rage I could feel it in my bones.
Before I could even open my eyes, I heard the front door creak open, then my husband’s voice:
“Mom? What the hell are you doing here at midnight?”
Still in shock, I felt a tiny hand shaking my arm.
“Mommy, who’s here? Is it Grandma?”
I turned and saw my daughter’s sleepy little face. Still five years old with those chunky cheeks I used to kiss a hundred times a day, rubbing her eyes and talking in that baby voice that hit me right in the gut.
My daughter was alive. My husband wasn’t dead.
Which meant Emma wasn’t dead either.
My throat got all tight as I grabbed my kid and squeezed her like I’d never let go again.
Before I could answer her, more footsteps hit the living room floor. This was IT–the exact night my mother showed up and screwed us all over. I of my kid and bolted.
I didn’t even grab my slippers–just ran barefoot down the hall.
The second Mom spotted me, the fake crying started.
co Burned It All Down!
16.8%
Rebecca, your poor mother! I gave birth to three girls, and you’re the only one worth a damn.
She did that pathetic little sniff. “I busted my ass helping Emma with her kids for years, and now she’s done with me, she and that husband of her treat me like I’m garbage.”
“And Lily? Please. Your sister’s still single, so of course she doesn’t get what parents sacrifice.”
The whole time she’s talking, she’s dabbing at fake tears, dumping her bags all over my coffee table, and planting her ass on my couch like she owns the place.
Looking at her face–that face I’d spent thirty years kissing ass for-
forever.
But I couldn’t.
Because I’d gotten a do–over.
I was back to the day before everything went to hell.
And this time? I wasn’t playing by her rules.
alled was to grab her by the throat and squeeze until those lies stopped
