Emotional

When Peter, my father-in-law, suffered a heart attack and needed an urgent transplant, the hospital miraculously had a compatible heart. Helen, my mother-in-law and I were overjoyed. We thought it was a blessing from above. However, just as we were getting ready for surgery, Nate, my husband, disappeared with the compatible heart. When we finally reached him by phone, it was Camile, his first love. “Nate is busy prepping for my dad’s heart surgery. Stop distracting him!” Helen was trembling with fury. On her way to confront Nate, she got into a car accident and ended up in a critical condition. I begged Nate to come back and operate on her, but he walked into another operating room. In the end, my in-laws died. Their bodies were donated for organ transplant. It was not until later that I found out that their organs had been donated to Camile’s family.

To ensure fairness, my daughter said that she would draw lots to choose whose family to spend the New Year’s with every year. However, for the past nine years, she had spent the New Year’s with her in-laws. The latest draw was no different. On New Year’s Eve, my daughter gave me specific instructions. “Mom, we’re spending the New Year’s with my in-laws. We’ve made a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. Please help me save some money. You can just make some food at home for your dinner.” Hence, on New Year’s Eve, I ate alone while watching TV at home. When I stood up, I accidentally knocked over the raffle box. All the lots inside the box had my daughter’s handwriting. The words ‘in-laws’ were clearly written on every single one of them. For the past ten years, the lots had been fake. My daughter was willingly spending the New Year’s celebration with her in-laws, and she had never once thought of spending it with me, her biological mother, who had spent so much money on her. At the same time, I got a notification on my phone. Her mother-in-law posted something on social media. [My daughter-in-law is so lovely. She bought me so many gifts and chose to spend the New Year’s with us. It’s as if she’s our own daughter!] They smiled brightly in the video. On the table were gifts that she bought using my retirement fund. I did not sleep for the whole night. The next morning, I called the bank. “Please remove all the auto-debit accounts from my retirement account.” From then on, I would only spend my money on myself.

I've been kidnapped for ten years. When I finally get to go home, I find out that my parents have adopted a new son. In order to prevent me from bullying the adopted heir, Jake Ewing, my parents decide to enroll me in a popular transformation reality show. Every day, I have to compete with the pigs for food and a spot to sleep. Before I go to bed, an instructor will make me recite a hundred times how good my parents and Jake are. If I ever make a mistake, I'll face harsh public punishment in front of the camera. I also have to apologize repeatedly until the director is satisfied with me. Once the reality show is over, I finally transform into the perfect son and brother my family prefers. But on the day the reality show is set to air, I choose to jump off the TV station's rooftop, killing myself once and for all. That's when my parents lose their minds.

My mother-in-law, Eleanor, was having a heart attack, and my husband, Ben Dover—a heart surgeon—was the only one who could save her. Did I call him? Nope. I just stood there, watching her gasp like a fish out of water. In my last life, I'd begged Ben to come save her. He brushed me off, accusing me of interrupting his time with his mistress, Ima Schit. No matter how much I pleaded, he wouldn't come. Eleanor had died in the hospital. And when Johnny, my father-in-law, demanded answers, Ben flipped the script, saying I'd never even called. He made Eleanor's death my fault. Johnny, blinded by grief and fury, killed me. But plot twist—I woke up. Right back to the day this circus started.

First day of school, and my roommate Sharon hits me with a $50k guilt trip over some "limited-edition" suitcase. "You're blind or just too dumb to walk straight?" My boyfriend? Useless. Classmates? Total sheep. The dean? Clown. Then I really looked at Sharon. Wait a sec—wasn't she the same scholarship case my family covered?

While I'm waiting for my vasectomy to start, I see a popular question trending on a forum. "What's the best revenge for a man?" An anonymous answer is upvoted all the way to the top of the comment section. "By stealing everything he's proud of while playing the role of his best friend, of course! To be honest with you, this is how I treat my childhood friend, too. "Before he realizes it, his parents already view me as their biological son. The company has bestowed upon me a position that's superior to his. His wife even gave her virginity to me at the new home he had personally decorated and refurnished. His children are actually mine, and they are super clingy to me! "Because of something I said, his wife made him get a permanent vasectomy. He actually agreed to it. At this rate, that bastard will never be able to have his own children!" Some people are shocked, while others don't hesitate to berate the anonymous poster. But the majority of the commenters are more confused than anything. "What sort of deep-rooted grudge do you have against your childhood friend, though? Why is your revenge going this far?" That poster is surprisingly honest. "Actually, it's nothing much. This friend of mine is superior to me in any way since we were kids. But he's also a smug and arrogant one who doesn't really seem to care about anything at all. "I don't like that attitude of his, so I've come up with this scheme and stolen everything from him. Take now, for example. He's waiting for his vasectomy procedure at the hospital, while I'm hugging his wife right now. In fact, I plan on depleting this entire box of contraceptives!" The latest photo the online poster has uploaded shows a box containing 13 condoms. As for the background, it happens to be my home.

On our wedding day, Carter Hall's father took his own life in our new home. He left a suicide note, blaming me for his death. From that day forward, Carter despised me to the core. He said, "Lindsey Thomson, you deserve to rot in hell, atoning for your sins for the rest of your life." Eventually, just as he wished, I wandered the streets, mute and half-insane, living a life worse than a stray dog. But then, he regretted it.

When my husband told me to go bungee jumping, I did not scream. I did not cause a scene. I just nodded and said, "Okay." Keep in mind, I was eight months pregnant. I only agreed because I had already lived through this nightmare once before. In my past life, his precious childhood best friend, Lily Lane, had been feeling down. My husband, desperate to be her hero, told her he would make her one wish come true. Her wish? She wanted a partner to go bungee jumping with. My husband was terrified of heights, so he could not do it himself. Instead, he volunteered me. I refused on the spot, obviously. I told them I was not going to strap a harness over a baby bump and jump off a bridge. Lily got upset because I would not go. She went to a bar to drown her sorrows, and things went terribly wrong. Someone spiked her drink, and she was assaulted. She could not handle the trauma. She left a suicide note for my husband that read: "If I hadn't gone to the bar that night, would everything be different?" When my husband read that note, he snapped. He wrapped his hands around my throat. "Why didn't you just go with her?" he screamed, squeezing tighter. "Would it have killed you to just say yes?" He strangled me until everything went black. My unborn baby died with me. However, then, my eyes snapped open. I was back. I was standing right there in the moment my husband was asking me to jump.

My mother-in-law, Barbara Morris, insisted that a load-bearing wall was blocking our home's good energy. She even hired someone to tear it down for a panoramic floor-to-ceiling window. The contractor, Peter Stone, kept refusing. "Ma'am, we really can't do this. If we take this wall down, the whole building will collapse." In my past life, I fought desperately to stop them, even getting on my knees and begging them not to touch this wall that held the entire building together. My husband, Tom Williams, thought I was embarrassing him. He slapped me so hard that my left ear went deaf, and he forced them to demolish the wall anyway. That night, the entire building suffered a catastrophic structural failure. I was trapped under the rubble for seven days and nights with ruptured internal organs. Right before I died, I heard Tom shouting at the rescue team. "Save my mom first! That other woman has insurance. If she dies, we'll get the payout and buy a new place!" At that moment, the resentment inside me hardened. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment when the construction crew had just arrived. Looking at that thick load-bearing wall and Tom's hand about to rise up and strike me, I smiled and handed him the eighty-pound sledgehammer nearby. I said, "Mom's absolutely right. Once we knock down this wall, our place will turn into a luxurious river-view apartment. Anyone who tries to stop us is a complete idiot."

I died on the day I won the Global Medical Doctorate Award. Fresh from celebrating the sixteenth birthday of my younger sister, my parents, brother, and my fiancé finally returned home, but it was three hours after my death. My family photos were beaming with happiness on social media, while I laid in the suffocating basement drenched in blood. Before I died, I had struggled to slide my tongue across my phone screen in a desperate attempt to call for help. My parents and brother had blocked my number. Only my fiancé answered my call. The moment his voice came through, he snapped, "Winona, Winnie's sixteenth birthday is important. Stop trying to hijack attention with your pathetic excuses. Enough with the theatrics!" It murdered my last spark of survival. In that electronic death rattle, my heart flatlined. The 100th time they chose her. The 100th time they abandoned me for her. But it was also the last time. They thought I had ran way to get their attention again, and that if they taught me a harsh lesson, I would come crawling back pathetically. But not this time. Because I didn't leave home. I had been lying in the basement of my house.