Chapter 1

My mom spread rumors everywhere, accusing me of stealing her money.

She dragged my name through the mud, cost me my spot in a grad program, and left me a social pariah.

Eventually, the relentless cyberbullying pushed me over the edge, and I died in a state of deep clinical depression.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day she accused me of being a thief.

My neighbors were standing on their lawns, looking at me like I was some kind of delinquent or a curse on the neighborhood.

I didn't cry this time. I pulled out my phone and called 911.

*****

"I guess it's my fault for not raising her right," my mom said, her voice shaking with emotion. "Her father passed away so young, and I've been working myself to the bone just to keep a roof over our heads. I just didn't have anything left in the tank to keep her on the right path.

"I don't even want to talk about the thirty thousand dollars anymore. It's gone, and that's that. As long as I can still pull double shifts, I'll try to earn it back somehow.

"Please, everyone, keep this between us. I don't want Florence's reputation to be ruined before she even gets a start in life."

My mom was crying her eyes out in front of the whole neighborhood, telling everyone I stole her money. I kept saying it wasn't me, but nobody cared.

She kept saying it wasn't my fault and that she was probably just overthinking things, but her "poor me" act told a completely different story.

She had spent years carefully crafting my image as a terrible daughter.

"She hates studying," she'd tell people. "I hired a tutor and she practically chased the poor guy out of the house."

The truth was that she'd hired that tutor for our neighbor Wesley Collins's daughter, and I was just supposed to sit in as a "study buddy."

When I ended up outshining her precious neighbor's kid, my mom pulled the plug on my lessons immediately.

"She's such a picky eater," she'd complain. "I spend all day cooking her favorite meals and she won't even take a bite."

In reality, every decent meal she made was packed up and sent over to Wesley's house under the pretense that I "didn't like it" and she "didn't want it to go to waste."

Thanks to her relentless gaslighting, I was the neighborhood's official cautionary tale.

The old me didn't get it. I just thought I had a difficult personality.

Even when she framed me for the theft, I spent my final days wondering what I had done to make her hate me so much.

It wasn't until I was literally dying that I realized the truth. I was just a sacrificial lamb. She needed that money to buy the affection of her secret boyfriend, and she needed a scapegoat to cover her tracks.

It played out exactly like last time. She claimed thirty thousand dollars went missing from her dresser. Aside from her, I was the only person with a key to the house.

I denied it over and over, but she didn't just "not believe me." She made sure the entire town knew.

She even played the media like a fiddle, getting a local news crew to interview her.

On camera, she was the ultimate martyr. A single mom who worked three jobs to put her daughter through school, only to have her retirement fund snatched away by her own flesh and blood.

By the end of the segment, she did a dramatic faint for the cameras.

The internet tore me apart. Total strangers sent me death threats. People would camp outside our driveway and pelt me with rotten groceries the second I stepped outside.

I finally ended the nightmare by jumping from the roof.

But now, I was back at the start. This time, I wasn't going to be anyone's victim.

While the neighbors were still busy whispering about what a "shame" I was, the distance siren of a squad car cut through the air. It got louder and louder until it pulled up right at our curb.

My mother's face went pale. She looked completely lost.

"Mom, thirty thousand dollars is a serious felony. It's better to let the professionals handle this," I said, my voice cold and steady.

Her mask slipped instantly when she heard that.

"Why the hell did you call the cops? Are you trying to play some kind of sick game here?" she snapped.

"Whether I'm a criminal or not isn't for you to decide, Mom. Let the detectives do their jobs. Theft of thirty thousand is enough to put someone behind bars for a long time. We need to find the real culprit," I shot back, my tone icy.

My sudden confidence shifted the energy in the crowd.

The neighbors started looking at each other, wondering if they'd jumped the gun.

If there was a professional thief hitting houses on our block, they were all at risk.

"If Florence wants an investigation, maybe we should let them look into it," one neighbor called out.

"Exactly! Let's get the bad guy off our streets!" another added.

My mother was spiraling. She actually tried to block the officers from entering the front door.

"Ma'am, please step aside. Do not interfere with a police investigation," the lead officer said firmly.

"Officer, really, it was my daughter. She took it. There's no need to search!" my mom blurted out, her voice pitching up an octave.

The officer looked at me, his expression grim. I didn't blink.

"If I took the money, why would I be the one calling you? That makes zero sense. I didn't do it," I said, my tone calm and unwavering.

I turned back to the officer with a helpful smile. "My mom is just overwhelmed. She's so scared of the police that she's talking in circles. I know exactly where the money was supposedly taken from. Let me show you the crime scene."

The officer nodded, clearly preferring my cooperation over my mother's hysterics. He pushed past her and followed me inside.

Mom stood on the porch, looking like she'd just seen a ghost.