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The Day I Was Reborn

The Day I Was Reborn

Gavin

5.0
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On the day my son died, I was reborn. The morning light of Chicago streamed through the blinds, just like before, a painful echo of a day I never wanted to live again. My son, Leo, was supposed to have his scholarship interview at Northwestern today, a full ride, his entire future. In my previous life, that future ended with the sound of his body hitting the pavement. Then they came for me. My husband, Mark, told the cameras I was a monster, a controlling mother who drove her son to suicide. My best friend, Chloe, Leo' s godmother, provided the proof, a doctored video of me ranting, shoving papers, painting me as crazed. The police found "abusive" scratches on Leo's arm matching a gardening accident on my hands. My career, my name, my entire life were destroyed by their fabricated narrative. I ended it all in a cold, empty apartment, the media' s condemnation a constant ringing in my ears. To my dying breath, I couldn't comprehend the depth of their betrayal, swallowed by an unjust accusation from the people I loved most. But now, I was back, sitting up in bed, my heart a steady, cold drum. Everything was the same, except for me. This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would expose every single one of their monstrous lies.

Introduction

On the day my son died, I was reborn.

The morning light of Chicago streamed through the blinds, just like before, a painful echo of a day I never wanted to live again.

My son, Leo, was supposed to have his scholarship interview at Northwestern today, a full ride, his entire future.

In my previous life, that future ended with the sound of his body hitting the pavement.

Then they came for me.

My husband, Mark, told the cameras I was a monster, a controlling mother who drove her son to suicide.

My best friend, Chloe, Leo' s godmother, provided the proof, a doctored video of me ranting, shoving papers, painting me as crazed.

The police found "abusive" scratches on Leo's arm matching a gardening accident on my hands.

My career, my name, my entire life were destroyed by their fabricated narrative.

I ended it all in a cold, empty apartment, the media' s condemnation a constant ringing in my ears.

To my dying breath, I couldn't comprehend the depth of their betrayal, swallowed by an unjust accusation from the people I loved most.

But now, I was back, sitting up in bed, my heart a steady, cold drum.

Everything was the same, except for me.

This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would expose every single one of their monstrous lies.

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The Unwilling Wife

The Unwilling Wife

Short stories

5.0

The organ music swelled, painting my white wedding dress in shades of blood red. I was marrying Julian Thorne, a man who despised me, believing the lies that had ruined my reputation. This wasn't a marriage; it was a sentence, orchestrated perfectly by my stepsister, Sophia, who had always wanted Julian for herself. Everyone saw Eleanor Vance, the brilliant architect, as the luckiest woman alive, but my heart was a cold stone. As the word "I do" escaped my lips-a whispered surrender-a blinding white light engulfed me. I woke up in my old bedroom, the floral wallpaper still on the walls. My phone read October 12, 2014-ten years ago, the day of my first wedding, the one that never happened. Relief surged through me; I wasn't Julian Thorne's wife. But then dread set in as Sophia's text buzzed on my smaller, older phone: "Julian's family is coming for dinner tonight, you have to make a good impression!" It was all starting tonight, the very dinner where Sophia would introduce me to the Thornes, setting off the chain of events that would lead to my forced marriage. The contempt in Julian's eyes was already there, seeing me as a social climber, exactly the image Sophia had carefully crafted. I was trapped again, a ghost in my own life, burdened by a future I knew was coming: the Thorne family's imminent financial ruin, and my own career sacrificed to support them. But this time, I wasn't the naive girl to be manipulated. I knew all their secrets, and I would not spend another ten years as Eleanor Thorne. I would fight.

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