Chapter 2 · I Locked Her Out

Barry tried to push the door open and step inside.

I braced my hand against the doorframe, refusing to let him pass.

He stopped, frowning. "Juliet, are you done throwing a tantrum? My mom came all this way, and you won't even let her in? What's wrong with you?"

Mabel stood behind him, her eyes red and lips trembling.

She said, "Barry, I never thought your wife would dislike me."

I knew this act all too well.

In my previous life, this was always how it went. She would cry, Barry would yell at me, and I would soften and give in.

And it went on like that for three whole years.

"Barry, you make three thousand dollars a month," I said, taking my hand off the doorframe but still blocking his way. "Can you really support your mom on that?"

Barry's jaw clenched.

That was the one thing he hated hearing about.

"What are you trying to say? Just spit it out and don't get all passive-aggressive on me," he snapped.

"I'm not being passive-aggressive. I'm laying out the numbers for you," I replied.

I leaned against the doorframe, counting off on my fingers.

I said, "I pay the mortgage, cover the property management fees, and take care of the water, electricity, and gas.

"I checked your bank card balance last month. You had 240 dollars left. How are you going to support your mom living in my house with that?"

Mabel stopped crying.

She shot Barry a look.

I knew that look all too well.

It wasn't sadness. She was scheming.

Barry clenched his fist and lowered his voice.

He said, "Juliet, let's talk about family matters behind closed doors. If you act like this, what will the neighbors think?"

"Barry," I said, locking eyes with him. "You care about what the neighbors think, but not what your wife thinks?"

He was left speechless.

Mabel stepped forward, grabbed my arm, and put on a kind expression.

"Juliet, I know how hard you work. I'm not here to stay for free. Once I'm here, I'll help with cooking and cleaning. You focus on running your shop, and we'll work together as a family," she said.

Her fingers wrapped around my forearm, her grip firm on the softest part of my arm.

This was the same hand that held my shoulders down and forced soup laced with sleeping pills down my throat in my previous life.

I glanced down at her hand.

I pried her fingers off one by one.

I said, "Mabel, I changed my bank card password today. The property deed's locked in the safe, and I changed that code too.

"From tomorrow on, my accountant's taking over all the shop's finances. You can come in, but I make the rules in this house."

Mabel's hand hovered in midair.

Her gaze shifted.

The shrewd, fake kindness vanished, replaced by anger at being exposed.

But in an instant, she slapped her smile right back on.

"You're right. This is your house; you make the rules. I'm dropping by for a couple of days, then I'll be out of your hair," she said.

A couple of days? That was what she said in my previous life, too. She stayed for three years.

"Alright, two days it is," I said, stepping aside to let her in. "You can have the guest room. But Barry, you're covering your mom's airfare."

Barry walked in, jaw clenched.

He bumped my shoulder with his as he passed.

It was on purpose.

I didn't move.

He did this all the time in my previous life. He would bump my shoulder, glare at me, and use the silent treatment to make me think everything was my fault.

But this time, he was running into a brick wall.

*****

It was eight at night. Mabel was in the kitchen cooking, while Barry was glued to his phone in the living room.

I sat in the bedroom and pulled up the shop's security feed on my phone.

There were four cameras, covering the front hall, the kitchen, the storage room, and the office desk.

Delilah had copied the recipes in August of my previous life. She used the computer on my desk on the day I went to the hospital.

That "illness" had been caused by an overdose of sleeping pills Mabel put in my soup. I got dizzy and threw up and was taken to the hospital for tests.

The tests found nothing wrong, and the doctor said it was from overwork.

When I got back, the recipes were gone from the computer.

I opened the cloud storage settings for the security cameras.

The default setting saved footage for thirty days.

I changed it to one year.

Then I opened the voice recorder app on my phone and did a test. The recording quality was clear, and it could run in the background.

From the living room, Mabel called out for dinner.

She called out, "Juliet, dinner's ready! I made a pot of clam chowder for you."

I kept my eyes glued to my phone screen.

I remembered exactly what had been in that clam chowder in my previous life.

I stepped out of the bedroom.

Three dishes and a soup were set on the table, the clam chowder in the middle, still steaming.

Mabel, all smiles, ladled me a bowl.

"Juliet, you haven't been looking so well lately. Drink up, this soup will help you feel better," she said.

I took the bowl.

I glanced down at it.

I said, "Mabel, my stomach hasn't been feeling great lately, so I'll skip the soup."

I slid the bowl back to her.

Then I grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and sat down.

Mabel's smile faltered for half a second.

Barry stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and looked up at me.

I drank my milk with a blank face.

Mabel could keep making the soup. I'd never take a single sip this time.

After dinner, I went back to my bedroom and locked the door.

I took out the piece of paper I had written on earlier today and added a line after the first one: [Mabel: soup.]

My phone buzzed.

Delilah sent me a WhatsApp message.

Delilah: [Juliet, are you coming to the shop tomorrow? I have a big order I want to discuss with you.]

She tacked on three smiley faces at the end.

I stared at her profile picture. A round face with dimples, looking harmless.

In my previous life, I treated her like a sister.

She slept with my husband for two years behind my back.

I replied: [See you tomorrow.]

I set my phone down.

I closed my eyes.

The 123 tiles on the ceiling of the psychiatric ward flashed through my mind one by one, then faded away.

And then they disappeared.

I murmured, "Don't rush, Delilah. You're next."

Chapter 2

Barry tried to push the door open and step inside.

I braced my hand against the doorframe, refusing to let him pass.

He stopped, frowning. "Juliet, are you done throwing a tantrum? My mom came all this way, and you won't even let her in? What's wrong with you?"

Mabel stood behind him, her eyes red and lips trembling.

She said, "Barry, I never thought your wife would dislike me."

I knew this act all too well.

In my previous life, this was always how it went. She would cry, Barry would yell at me, and I would soften and give in.

And it went on like that for three whole years.

"Barry, you make three thousand dollars a month," I said, taking my hand off the doorframe but still blocking his way. "Can you really support your mom on that?"

Barry's jaw clenched.

That was the one thing he hated hearing about.

"What are you trying to say? Just spit it out and don't get all passive-aggressive on me," he snapped.

"I'm not being passive-aggressive. I'm laying out the numbers for you," I replied.

I leaned against the doorframe, counting off on my fingers.

I said, "I pay the mortgage, cover the property management fees, and take care of the water, electricity, and gas.

"I checked your bank card balance last month. You had 240 dollars left. How are you going to support your mom living in my house with that?"

Mabel stopped crying.

She shot Barry a look.

I knew that look all too well.

It wasn't sadness. She was scheming.

Barry clenched his fist and lowered his voice.

He said, "Juliet, let's talk about family matters behind closed doors. If you act like this, what will the neighbors think?"

"Barry," I said, locking eyes with him. "You care about what the neighbors think, but not what your wife thinks?"

He was left speechless.

Mabel stepped forward, grabbed my arm, and put on a kind expression.

"Juliet, I know how hard you work. I'm not here to stay for free. Once I'm here, I'll help with cooking and cleaning. You focus on running your shop, and we'll work together as a family," she said.

Her fingers wrapped around my forearm, her grip firm on the softest part of my arm.

This was the same hand that held my shoulders down and forced soup laced with sleeping pills down my throat in my previous life.

I glanced down at her hand.

I pried her fingers off one by one.

I said, "Mabel, I changed my bank card password today. The property deed's locked in the safe, and I changed that code too.

"From tomorrow on, my accountant's taking over all the shop's finances. You can come in, but I make the rules in this house."

Mabel's hand hovered in midair.

Her gaze shifted.

The shrewd, fake kindness vanished, replaced by anger at being exposed.

But in an instant, she slapped her smile right back on.

"You're right. This is your house; you make the rules. I'm dropping by for a couple of days, then I'll be out of your hair," she said.

A couple of days? That was what she said in my previous life, too. She stayed for three years.

"Alright, two days it is," I said, stepping aside to let her in. "You can have the guest room. But Barry, you're covering your mom's airfare."

Barry walked in, jaw clenched.

He bumped my shoulder with his as he passed.

It was on purpose.

I didn't move.

He did this all the time in my previous life. He would bump my shoulder, glare at me, and use the silent treatment to make me think everything was my fault.

But this time, he was running into a brick wall.

*****

It was eight at night. Mabel was in the kitchen cooking, while Barry was glued to his phone in the living room.

I sat in the bedroom and pulled up the shop's security feed on my phone.

There were four cameras, covering the front hall, the kitchen, the storage room, and the office desk.

Delilah had copied the recipes in August of my previous life. She used the computer on my desk on the day I went to the hospital.

That "illness" had been caused by an overdose of sleeping pills Mabel put in my soup. I got dizzy and threw up and was taken to the hospital for tests.

The tests found nothing wrong, and the doctor said it was from overwork.

When I got back, the recipes were gone from the computer.

I opened the cloud storage settings for the security cameras.

The default setting saved footage for thirty days.

I changed it to one year.

Then I opened the voice recorder app on my phone and did a test. The recording quality was clear, and it could run in the background.

From the living room, Mabel called out for dinner.

She called out, "Juliet, dinner's ready! I made a pot of clam chowder for you."

I kept my eyes glued to my phone screen.

I remembered exactly what had been in that clam chowder in my previous life.

I stepped out of the bedroom.

Three dishes and a soup were set on the table, the clam chowder in the middle, still steaming.

Mabel, all smiles, ladled me a bowl.

"Juliet, you haven't been looking so well lately. Drink up, this soup will help you feel better," she said.

I took the bowl.

I glanced down at it.

I said, "Mabel, my stomach hasn't been feeling great lately, so I'll skip the soup."

I slid the bowl back to her.

Then I grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and sat down.

Mabel's smile faltered for half a second.

Barry stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and looked up at me.

I drank my milk with a blank face.

Mabel could keep making the soup. I'd never take a single sip this time.

After dinner, I went back to my bedroom and locked the door.

I took out the piece of paper I had written on earlier today and added a line after the first one: [Mabel: soup.]

My phone buzzed.

Delilah sent me a WhatsApp message.

Delilah: [Juliet, are you coming to the shop tomorrow? I have a big order I want to discuss with you.]

She tacked on three smiley faces at the end.

I stared at her profile picture. A round face with dimples, looking harmless.

In my previous life, I treated her like a sister.

She slept with my husband for two years behind my back.

I replied: [See you tomorrow.]

I set my phone down.

I closed my eyes.

The 123 tiles on the ceiling of the psychiatric ward flashed through my mind one by one, then faded away.

And then they disappeared.

I murmured, "Don't rush, Delilah. You're next."