Chapter 3

In my last life, I chose Mom.

Dad left heartbroken, taking almost nothing—just his livestream equipment and a few clothes.

That fifty thousand? Mom transferred it to my uncle that same day.

My uncle opened a "café"—fancy décor, eighty-eight dollars for a cup of coffee.

It went bankrupt in two months.

After it closed, my uncle's family naturally moved into our place—the run-down house near Mom's university.

At first, they just made Mom give up the master bedroom because my uncle's wife, Patricia, was pregnant and needed quiet.

Then they made me go to the grocery store after school every day, then come home and cook.

I was preparing for my SATs at the time, trying to get into a good college. I was busy.

So I refused to do their chores.

But Mom said: "Family helps each other. Don't be cold like your father."

Gradually, buying new clothes became "wasteful."

Wanting to eat at a restaurant with friends became "consumerism."

I couldn't even buy decent tampons during my period.

Seeing I had zero autonomy, my uncle's family let their son take over my desk.

When I tried to get my desk back to do homework, Mom said:

"Why are you acting just like your father!"

In that moment, I felt frozen to the bone.

I wasn't spending recklessly. I just wanted basic study conditions and a shred of dignity. But in her mouth, that made me selfish.

Meanwhile, my uncle blew through our money, failed at every investment, and ended up buried in debt.

When he hit rock bottom, he listened to some shady broker and tried to "marry" me off to some rich old man in a remote rural area.

I knelt before Mom, crying until I couldn't breathe.

She just frowned: "Your uncle has no other options. If you can help him, that's your value."

In the end, I was tied up and stuffed into a van, sold into the mountains.

The night I tried to escape, it was pouring rain. The road was slippery. I missed my footing and fell off the cliff.

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Dad really was an influencer—the insanely lucky kind.

He used to be an ordinary office worker. After getting laid off, he tried making funny short videos. Somehow, a "immersive supermarket free sample tasting" video went viral.

Then he started livestream selling and made some money.

Mom was an associate professor of English Literature. Deep down, she looked down on Dad's job—thought he was playing a clown on screen. Embarrassing.

After Dad made money, the first thing he wanted was to move out of our old house. Mom refused.

Dad wanted to sign me up for a good dance class. Mom objected—she said the costumes were too sexy, that it was dancing to please men.

I knew Dad was under a lot of pressure with his livestreams. The industry was cutthroat. He never went to college, so he had to rack his brain to entertain his followers just to keep them.

But competition was fierce, and his numbers really were declining.

After Mom left, I went to clean her room.

The irony.

On her desk sat a luxury fountain pen—several thousand dollars for just one.

Her closet held several dresses made of expensive fabric.

In her vanity drawer: unopened high-end perfume.

She was the one who loved luxury goods, yet she constantly called Dad tacky and me vain.

This time, without Dad's financial support, I wanted to see how she'd maintain that elegance and superiority.

Just as I was thinking this, someone pounded loudly on my door.

I went downstairs. My uncle had already barged in, pointing at Dad's face and cursing.

"That fifty thousand was a gift from my sister! She already wrote up a gift agreement! Now, right when my café just went under—my hardest time—you want the money back? Are you even human?"

"Your daughter doesn't need fifty thousand for college! What's the point of her reading so many books? She's just going to get married anyway!"

His shameless attitude—exactly the same as my last life.

The difference was, this time, Dad stood straight in front of me.