Blinded by rage, my husband nearly beat me to death. In the end, his parents convinced him to divorce me and kick me out of the villa with nothing.
I stumbled through the streets, bleeding and broken, until rabid strays bit me.
That was how I died.
But then—I woke up… on the very first time my daughter accused me.
——
“Mommy, I want cheese fondue tonight!”
Her sweet little voice chirped beside me. I flinched. Then I turned and met her eyes.
Cold. Calculating. Like a cat playing with a mouse already too weak to run.
And I was that mouse.
A chill ran up my spine and settled at the base of my skull.
In my last life, I said yes. I made cheese fondue that night, and that gave her the perfect opportunity to hurt herself and pin it all on me.
I could still feel it—my body torn apart by rabid strays in the street, the helpless agony. But worst of all was the heartbreak.
She was my daughter. My own child. Why would she do that to me?
Just then, Priscilla, my mother-in-law, swept in, cradling her.
“Our sweet girl wants cheese fondue? Grandma will go buy ingredients right away!”
I forced a smile and steadied my voice.