Chapter 2

I slammed the door shut and locked it, pressing my ear against it to catch every sound from the other side.

First, I heard my mom cursing. Then, the screams started.

After a while, the man's screams joined hers. My mom was fighting back.

That’s when Caroline burst out of the bedroom, her face pale with fear. She pointed at me and shrieked, “Why are you still here? Why didn’t you go out there?”

I smirked. “Why wouldn’t it be me?”

I crossed my arms and sneered. “After all, my mom isn’t pregnant. Just one life. Seems like a fair trade, don’t you think?”

Caroline’s eyes widened, and she shot back in a shrill voice, “You heartless monster! What if your mom dies out there? Go save her! Go now!”

Oh, right. My mom owns three very expensive houses. If she dies, how would Caroline ever get her hands on them?

I smiled coldly. “You’re right. You should have a chance to prove yourself.”

Before she could react, I shoved her toward the door. But instead of going out to help, she spun on her heel and bolted back into the bedroom.

“I’m pregnant with your mom’s grandson, and you expect me to go out there?” she screeched.

See? The whip only stings when it cracks on your own back.

Outside, the noise died down. All I could hear now was my mom’s faint cries for help.

Peeking through the peephole, I saw her lying on the ground, covered in blood. But the man was gone.

I sighed, taking a moment to compose myself before slowly opening the door.

“Mom? Oh no, Mom! What happened to you?” I walked over, feigning panic. “Are you… are you dying?”

She only had two or three shallow cuts, none of them life-threatening. Honestly, she got off easy.

But as I stood over her, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. Why had I given her the shovel to defend herself?

Wouldn’t it have been better if the curtain had closed on this little drama for good?

Caroline suddenly charged out of the bedroom, her inner drama queen fully activated. She wailed hysterically, throwing herself to the ground next to my mom as though she might faint from grief.

“Call 911!” my mom groaned, her face twisted in pain.

I pulled out my phone—not to call for help, but to snap photos.

“Hold on,” I said, snapping a few shots. “Gotta document this for evidence.”

“You little brat!” my mom hissed through gritted teeth. “You ungrateful, heartless—”

I stopped what I was doing and gave her a sidelong glance.

“Really? You’re still complaining? It’s just a couple of scratches. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You…”

Her face turned red, and she gasped for air before her eyes rolled back, and she passed out.

In my last life, I was shoved out that door without warning. I was stabbed dozens of times and left to die, bleeding out as I clawed at the door for help.

And what was my mom doing then?

She was inside the house, making soup for Caroline.

So forgive me if I wasn’t exactly moved by her fainting spell now.