Chapter 2

I stared quietly at my own body, twisted up weirdly from all the pain before I died.

I didn't really feel sad about it as I faced my own death.

Instead, I was actually relieved that I'd died, just as my parents had hoped.

Now, Mom and Dad wouldn't have to fight over me anymore. They could finally live their own lives and be happy.

Before I could even process what was happening, a powerful force yanked me straight to Mom.

She was at the mall, patiently picking out a present. She spent two whole hours before finally choosing a cute plushie.

She also grabbed a few thick cotton-padded jackets and even made sure to get some cotton socks.

I glanced down at myself, still stuck in that flimsy jacket. My pants were so short that my ankles were out in the cold.

That's when it hit me that Mom hadn't bought me any new clothes in two years.

Once, I spotted a princess dress and begged her to buy it for me.

But the moment she saw the price tag, she slapped me right there in the store and snapped that I was just jealous of other kids.

And now, here she was, picking out winter clothes for someone else's kid, making sure that kid had more than enough.

It felt like a thousand needles were stabbing into my heart, the pain crawling all over me.

I followed Mom to a house. She entered the door code with practiced ease, like she'd done it a hundred times before, so natural that it was as if she truly belonged here.

As soon as the door opened, I saw how spotless and organized everything was. My eyes were immediately drawn to a beautifully decorated princess room, clearly put together with so much care.

Mom gently set the gift she'd brought on the bed. She even tied a pink ribbon around the box.

I'd seen this scene in my dreams more times than I could count.

Now that it was actually unfolding before my eyes, I was so moved that I couldn't hold back the tears.

Even though I knew none of this was ever meant for me, I still peeked at a happiness that wasn't mine, like a thief watching someone else's jewelry from the shadows.

Mom was busy in the kitchen, whipping up a feast in no time.

Soon after, a man walked in, hand in hand with a little girl.

Mom greeted them with a bright smile, taking the man's coat and helping the girl out of her shoes.

The man was Michael Grant, Mom's unattainable love. The little girl was eight years old. Her name was Winter Grant, Mom's precious one.

"Julia, thank you for cooking for me. I love your popcorn chicken the most. It's even better than the ones at restaurants," Winter said, her eyes sparkling with delight.

As she spoke, she reached out and grabbed a piece, popping it into her mouth.

"Go wash your hands. They're dirty," Mom chided, but the affection in her eyes was unmistakable.

This was the first time I'd ever seen Mom be so gentle.

In my memories, she always had that cold, hard look on her face, calling me worthless, calling me a burden.

Whenever she was in a bad mood, she'd lash out, hitting me, cursing me out, and telling me over and over to just die.

I used to think that was what motherly love was supposed to be, something that hurt, something full of thorns.

But now I realized that real love wasn't supposed to hurt. It was supposed to make me feel safe and warm.

It was just that I never got to feel that, not even once, not even before I died.

Tears welled up again, and my heart twisted with a sour, aching pain.

Mom, Michael, and Winter sat together, savoring the delicious dinner.

As the clock struck midnight, Mom pulled out a princess cake like she was performing a magic trick and lit the candles. "Winter, this is your Christmas cake. Come on, make a wish."

Winter's eyes sparkled as she pressed her hands together and made her first wish for Christmas.

"I wish Julia would always love only me," Winter whispered, her voice full of hope.

Mom gently patted her head and replied softly, "Your wish will definitely come true."

But as soon as Mom finished speaking, Winter's eyes dimmed, and she pouted, looking a little sulky, "Julia, you're lying. You said you loved me the most, but you won't even give me Yasmin's kitten."

Winter had this messed-up thing for hurting animals. She'd hurt or even killed stray cats and dogs around here. There's no way Mom didn't know.

I dropped to my knees in front of Mom, begging her not to give my cat, Mittens, to Winter.

Mittens was the only gift my grandma ever gave me when she was still alive.

Mittens had been my family for four years straight, and the only thing I had to hold onto in this world.

But Mom couldn't see my desperate begging, or maybe she just didn't give a damn about me.

She barely hesitated before picking up the phone and telling the pet shop to send Mittens, who was still at the vet, over to Winter.

Mittens was already sick and freaked out by the unfamiliar surroundings, and ended up scratching Winter's arm by accident.

Winter totally lost it. She grabbed a rope, tied up all its legs, and yanked it tight around its neck.

I was spinning around in panic, begging Mom on my knees, and trying everything to get Winter's hands off Mittens.

But it was all for nothing.

I had to watch Mittens die right in front of me, in the worst, most painful way imaginable.

The despair in Mittens' eyes as it died mirrored the way I'd huddled in agony and died alone at home just a day before.

I stared coldly at Mom, who stood there completely indifferent, as if nothing had happened. For the first time in my life, hatred flooded my heart.

Suddenly, I couldn't help but wonder when Mom found out that before I died, I'd suffered through the same agony and desperation, if she would ever feel any guilt for what she did to me?

Would she end up spending the rest of her life haunted by pain and regret?