Chapter 1

I collapsed in the grocery store on the seventh day of my liquid diet. My husband, Robert, had complained about my thick waist, and my son, Dylan, had been embarrassed by me at parent-teacher conferences.

Before I was reborn, Dylan pushed me into a wall, and a sharp nail pierced my head. In my dying moments, I saw a family portrait of them and the other woman.

“Mom, my new mom is a hundred times prettier than you,” Dylan giggled, his blood-stained hands still innocent.

Now, staring at my swollen face in the mirror, I spat out the last bit of sour water from my stomach.

“Perfect. They’re all still breathing.”

This time, I’ll make their lives a living hell.

My last few minutes before rebirth stretched into an agonizing eternity.

I lay on the floor as my son, Dylan Vance, stomped on my face.

Eighteen years old, yet his face was twisted into a demonic mask.

I gritted my teeth, too weak to scream.

Dylan grabbed my hair, yanked me up, then let me fall back down like a rag doll.

“You old hag, still trying to fight back?!”

“Look at you, you fat cow!”

“So what if Dad cheated? It’s all *your* fault!”

“You’re nothing but a parasite, a useless waste of space who only knows how to do housework!”

“That’s what you get for always lecturing me! For running your mouth!”

“How dare you even show up and demand answers!”

“I’ve wanted a new mom for ages!”

He yanked me again, smashing my head against the wall twice more.

My vision blurred, smeared with blood, leaving only vague shapes and flashing lights.

Not far from me, meticulously framed, was a family portrait.

In the picture, Robert Vance—my husband—smiled, his arm around a young woman’s waist.

My son, Dylan Vance, stood between them, cutting a wedding cake.

And I, a gaping hole in my forehead from a wall nail, lay on the floor like a discarded mop.

I struggled to see the woman’s face in the photo, but my breath hitched, and I died before I could.

* * *

Under a blinding white light, my eyes snapped open.

A short, sharp gasp escaped my throat, like a drowning person breaking the surface.

My vision was a kaleidoscope of swirling, overlapping light spots.

I was lying on the floor, sweat soaking my cheap cotton T-shirt.

My gaze slowly focused, sweeping over scattered oranges, an overturned shopping basket.

A grocery store… the produce section… May 7th, 2022. Six months before my death.

I slowly sat up, memory fragments clicking into place.

Robert had called me a pig, Dylan said I disgusted him. In a fit of despair, I’d driven myself to the brink.

A liquid diet… seven days with nothing in my stomach, until my blood sugar crashed, and I passed out in the grocery store.

“Help! Someone’s fallen here!” a woman’s voice cried out.

Chaotic footsteps rapidly approached as staff rushed to help me up.

“Maybe… we should call your family to pick you up?” A staff member pulled out their phone.

Family? Ha.

Robert was probably being interviewed for some “Successful Entrepreneur” magazine, and Dylan was skipping class to play video games. Neither would care.

Call them? So they could see my foolish, starved self, all for a sliver of their approval?

I shook my head, rising and shuffling over to a customer rest bench.

As I plopped down, the bench groaned under my weight.

I felt a pang of embarrassment. In my previous life, I really had been too heavy.

Looking at my reflection in the glass—an unkempt “old hag” drained of all her feminine charm by life.

No wonder people found me disgusting.

A woman who doesn’t love herself never gets a happy ending.