Chapter 1
My dad never gave a damn about me.
Even after I got into a top-tier college, he paid tuition for the neighbor's girl instead.
After I died, I discovered his secret—one he'd been hiding for nearly twenty years.
When I opened my eyes again, I was five years old.
Without wasting a second, I ran to the town square, sobbing, and exposed his secret with the entire neighborhood watching.
*****
The moment I traveled back in time, the first thing I did was toss aside the glass marbles in my hand and sprint home.
Pushing the door open and catching the voices from the back room, I had to force myself to tamp down the fury rising inside me.
Everything was happening exactly as I'd expected.
In my previous life, every few days, my dad, Richard Carter, would make me stay outside and play for two hours after school before I could come home.
That was how I ended up getting kidnapped, and I spent eight whole years in captivity before I got saved.
And when I finally came home, my dad didn't feel bad at all. If anything, he resented me for coming back.
I never figured out why, not until years after I died.
He was scared I'd catch him with his mistress.
Fine, I wouldn't hold back this time.
I pinched the soft skin on my inner thigh hard, and instantly, tears burst out.
Then I spun around, bolted out the door, and ran to the town square.
"My dad had a heart attack and passed out!" I cried my heart out. "What should I do? Somebody, help me please."
A wave of commotion swept through the square.
People didn't hesitate to jump in and help.
The old guys even tossed aside their playing cards.
"Let's go help this kid out."
"Quick, call an ambulance."
"Younger folks, come help."
A big crowd followed after me, like a parade storming through the neighborhood.
When I opened the bedroom door, everyone was stunned by what they saw inside.
My dad, his face streaked red, shielded Linda Evans behind him, looking both startled and furious.
"What are you all doing here? You're breaking into my home!" he shouted.
Everyone turned to look at me.
I hiccupped through my tears, barely able to get a word out.
Finally, I began, "I just got home and heard someone yelling for help. I thought you had a heart attack, Dad, so I ran out for help. Your health's always been shaky, and I was so scared."
Everyone realized it was all just a misunderstanding.
But Maria Brown, one of the neighbors, couldn't stand it anymore. She stepped forward, frowning hard as she glared at my dad and Linda.
"What's going on between you two?" she demanded.
Whispers erupted through the gathered crowd.
"So that's why Richard never lets Emily come home early? Isn't he afraid karma's gonna come for him?"
"Yeah, I've seen Emily left outside even after dark all the time. It's downright dangerous. But Richard didn't seem to care."
My dad was blushing with a mix of anger and shame, unable to defend himself.
He could only shout, "Get out, all of you!"
But these folks were total gossip magnets. No way they'd let themselves miss out on drama like this.
Someone in the crowd couldn't hold back.
He spat, "Sure, your wife died young, but we didn't expect you to mess around with the neighbor. What a scumbag."
Under the crowd's scornful glares, Linda burned with shame, her quiet sobs barely contained.
My dad couldn't bear to see the woman he cared about getting shamed like that. Gripped by rage, he grabbed the broom and lunged at the crowd.
"What nonsense are you spouting? Shut your damn mouths!" he shouted.
Seeing the unhinged look in my dad's eyes, the crowd finally backed off, though not without lingering stares and reluctant steps, worried things might turn violent.
As soon as the crowd exited, my dad's eyes snapped to me, his glare downright murderous.
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?" he shot at me.
I was certain that if I confessed, he'd throw me off the balcony in a heartbeat.
I'd learned a long time ago how ruthless he could be.
In my previous life, those eight years after I was kidnapped were pure hell—scraping by with barely any food or clothes, working to the bone like I was nothing but a slave.
I got chronic stomach problems way too young, but even after I finally made it home, my dad never gave a damn about me.
He couldn't stand my facial scars and my smell, so he strictly forbade me from joining the family at mealtime.
I could only scavenge leftovers after they finished eating. My stomach kept getting worse; sometimes I'd even puke blood.
All he ever did was give me that look—like I was just some stray dog he wished would drop dead already.
Crying my heart out, I asked him, "Aren't I your daughter? Why do you treat me like this?"
His disgust deepened. "You don't deserve it."
I figured maybe he just thought I wasn't good enough, so I studied like a maniac, desperate to earn his approval.
But when I got accepted to a top university, he still acted like I was nothing.
Instead, he treated Linda's daughter, Sophie—who only made it into a vocational college—like his own flesh and blood, even promised to pay for her tuition.
Clutching my acceptance letter, I finally plucked up the courage and asked, "Dad, what about me?"
He just slammed his foot into my chest.
"I've done my part raising you till eighteen. You wanna keep leeching off me?" he snarled.
That same day, he kicked me out of the house.
Later, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. The pain became so severe I couldn't even manage part-time work.
Rent had already eaten up most of my savings, and I couldn't even afford painkillers.
After struggling with myself for ages, I bit the bullet and went to him, asking for a small loan.
He spat right in my face, his eyes full of disgust. "Get lost! Don't let me see your face again."
After I died, some part of me still hoped he might feel even a shred of guilt.
But he didn't, not for decades, not even as my spirit slowly faded out of existence.
Only David, Linda's husband, would bring me flowers, year after year, on the anniversary of my death.