Chapter 3

On Leo’s third day in the hospital, my uncle Greg showed up.

Wearing a faded polo shirt, he walked in with a scowl on his face.

"Stella, come out here. We need to talk."

He dragged me into the stairwell and shut the heavy fire door behind us.

"Your mom called me. What’s this nonsense about you picking fights with your brother?"

He tried to sound calm, but the irritation underneath was palpable.

"Uncle Greg, nobody picked a fight. Mom poured dish soap down Leo's throat, and he ended up in the hospital."

"I know, I know," Greg waved his hand dismissively.

"Your mom explained it to me. She was naive and trusted some silly internet trick."

"She had good intentions. She just wanted to cure his hiccups."

He looked at me with an air of patronizing wisdom. "Stella, you’re the older sister. It hasn't been easy for your mother raising two kids by herself."

"Your dad died young. You saw how hard she had to work all these years."

"This was just an accident. You can’t blame your mother for this."

I listened quietly, without offering a single word of debate.

"Your uncle is right." Aunt Sarah appeared out of nowhere, stepping up behind Greg.

"Stella, you know your mother. She’s tough on the outside but soft-hearted. She didn't mean to do it. You're her flesh and blood—are you really going to hold a grudge against your own mother?"

"Besides, look at the state your brother is in. Your mother is suffering more than anyone right now."

"Don't give her a hard time. Help where you can, pay what needs paying. Family doesn't keep score."

Looking at Sarah’s hypocritical smile, I felt a wave of icy amusement.

In my last life, when my husband beat me within an inch of my life, I called Greg and Sarah begging for help.

Neither of them ever answered my desperate pleas.

Yet now, they arrived lightning fast to lecture me.

"Uncle Greg, Aunt Sarah, I understand," I said, lowering my gaze in apparent submission.

"I’ll speak to Mom gently."

They patted my shoulder, satisfied, and left.

Over the next few days, Brenda dumped all her frustration and rage onto me, running me ragged with endless errands.

I did every single chore without a word of complaint.

On the seventh day, the doctor inspected Leo and said his recovery was stable enough for discharge, though he still needed a liquid diet and had to avoid irritants for a month.

Brenda showered the medical staff with thanks and helped Leo hobble home.

That evening, Brenda cooked an entire feast, claiming she needed to "nourish her baby boy."

Braised pork ribs, sweet-and-sour pork chops, steamed sea bass—every single dish was Leo's favorite.

In front of me sat only a bowl of plain rice and a few limp greens.

"Mom, can I have some pork chops?"

"You think you deserve meat? Your brother just got out of the hospital; he needs nutrients. What kind of grown adult fights an invalid for food?"

I didn't utter another word.

After dinner, Brenda called me over to the living room couch.

"Stella, you’re twenty now, and college is wrapping up soon. Let's talk about your future."

She sat back on the sofa, her voice unusually sweet.

I knew the main act had finally arrived.

"What is it?"

"Your uncle found you a match. A decent guy who owns an auto repair shop in town. Hardworking, owns two houses, very stable."

"When are you free to meet him?"

My heart plummeted into an icy void.

Word for word, the exact same script as my past life.

"Mom, I’m still in school. I’m not interested in getting married right now."

"School? What good is that second-rate degree going to do you? A woman settling down with a solid man is what matters."

Her tone was beginning to harden.

"Mom, I don't want to go."

"You don't have a choice!" She slammed her palm against the coffee table and rose to her feet.

"He’s such a great catch! What right do you have to be picky? Who do you think you are?!"

"I said no, Mom."

"Stella Vance!" She thrust a finger into my face.

"Think you’re all grown up now? I’m telling you, this isn't up for debate!"

"Your uncle already set the date. Next Saturday. You're going whether you want to or not!"

I looked at her flushed face, twisted with irrational fury.

It mirrored the past life perfectly.

In my past life, I had fallen to my knees, sobbing, begging her to let me finish my degree.

She had kicked me away, yelling, "What does studying put on the table?! Can you eat books? Your brother needs money to buy a house and find a wife someday! Consider this helping your family!"

And so, she sold me to that violent alcoholic.

Thirty thousand dollars bought my death warrant.

This time, I was never dropping to my knees again.

"Fine. I’ll go," I said calmly.

Brenda paused, caught off guard by my immediate surrender.

"Then... that settles it," she muttered, a smirk of smug triumph flashing across her face.

I walked back into my room, locked the door, and pulled out my phone.

My notes app already had dozens of entries.

I reached deep under the bottom of my drawer and retrieved an old, yellowed envelope.

My father had slipped it to me secretly a month before he passed away, while Brenda was out of the room.

He had been emaciated, his arms covered in puncture bruises from IVs, yet he gripped my hand with everything he had left.

"Stella... wait until I’m gone before you open this."

I had never opened it.

In my past life, it wasn't until right before my death that I learned about the will from one of my father’s old army buddies.

I tore the envelope open. Inside were two pieces of paper.

The first was my father's letter, his handwriting shaky and uneven:

"Stella, Daddy is sick, and the doctors can't save me.

Once I’m gone, life won't be easy for your mother raising both of you.

I put away fifty thousand dollars for you. Your mother has the bank book, but she doesn't know it’s mine. When I pass, demand it from her—tell her it’s the dowry I set aside for you.

As for our apartment, your grandparents left it to us. By law, it belongs fifty-fifty to you and Leo.

I had an official will drafted and left it with my buddy, Jim. He’s a brother to me, completely trustworthy.

When the time comes, go find him."

The second sheet was a certified copy of the will.

It stated in black and white: Apartment 401, Sunnyvale Court belongs equally to Stella Vance and Leo Vance, fifty percent each.

Holding that paper, my fingers trembled violently.

In my past life, Brenda used this very home as leverage to force me down the aisle.

"If you don't marry him, I’ll sign the entire apartment over to your brother! You won't get a single dime!"

Back then, I believed she held all the cards.

I believed I truly deserved nothing.

I was wrong.

My father had planned for my safety all along.

I carefully tucked the will into a secure hiding spot that only I knew about.

Then, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a number I had saved three days ago.

During a break between classes and work, I had visited the Legal Aid Center and consulted an attorney named Ethan Davis.

I had asked him, "If I want to legally break away from my family, what evidence do I need?"

He had given me a checklist.

Now, it was time to put that checklist to work.

I hit dial.

"Hello, Mr. Davis? This is Stella Vance. We spoke earlier this week."

"I’d like to know: if I want to press charges and file a lawsuit against someone, what materials should I prepare?"

Attorney Davis's steady, professional voice came through the receiver.

I picked up a pen and jotted down every single instruction.