His Mother, My Vengeance

Name: His Mother, My Vengeance
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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The last thing I remembered was the splintering pain as I tumbled down the stairs. My mother-in-law, Martha, stood at the top, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. "You should have just stayed in your place, Sarah. None of this had to happen." Her words were crueler than the impact that shattered my bones. My vision blurred to a dark red. The last image in my mind wasn't of her, but of my daughter, Lily, her tiny body limp in my arms. Lily was dead because of Martha. And now, so was I. My husband, Mark, would believe his mother. He always did. My death would be just another inconvenience for them. Then, a sudden, blinding light. I shot up, drenched in sweat. My room was familiar. My hands were whole. No pain. My phone buzzed. October 12th. The day Lily died. Pure terror washed over me. This had to be a dream. But the room was real. My frantic heartbeat was real. I had come back. I was given a second chance. Not for forgiveness. Not for reconciliation. A chance for revenge. The submissive Sarah was gone, shattered at the bottom of those stairs. The woman who woke up was forged in betrayal and grief. Lily was downstairs with Martha. Martha, who in a few hours, would give my peanut-allergic daughter a "special" peanut cookie. The same Martha who dismissed Lily' s deadly allergy as "just a little sensitivity." They didn' t believe me. Or they didn' t care. The result was the same. My daughter died. Not this time. I ran. The smell of sweet, nutty death filled the air. I burst into the kitchen, just as Martha offered Lily the cookies. "No!" I ripped the plate from her hand, shattering it in the sink. "You will never, ever eat Grandma's cookies," I told Lily, holding her close. "They will make you very, very sick." Martha puffed out her chest. "Peanut isn't going to kill anyone. It builds up tolerance." The same words she'd used before. The same excuses that put my daughter in a casket. But I wasn't that woman anymore. "You are a stupid, stubborn old woman," I said, cold and clear. "Your 'wisdom' is going to get someone killed." I knew all their secrets now. The game had changed. And I was making the rules.

Family Revenge Divorce Rebirth/Reborn Kickass Heroine

Chapter 10

07-04 16:50

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the splintering pain as I tumbled down the stairs. My mother-in-law, Martha, stood at the top, her face a mask of cold satisfaction.

"You should have just stayed in your place, Sarah. None of this had to happen."

Her words were crueler than the impact that shattered my bones. My vision blurred to a dark red.

The last image in my mind wasn't of her, but of my daughter, Lily, her tiny body limp in my arms. Lily was dead because of Martha. And now, so was I.

My husband, Mark, would believe his mother. He always did. My death would be just another inconvenience for them.

Then, a sudden, blinding light. I shot up, drenched in sweat.

My room was familiar. My hands were whole. No pain. My phone buzzed.

October 12th. The day Lily died.

Pure terror washed over me. This had to be a dream. But the room was real. My frantic heartbeat was real.

I had come back. I was given a second chance. Not for forgiveness. Not for reconciliation. A chance for revenge.

The submissive Sarah was gone, shattered at the bottom of those stairs. The woman who woke up was forged in betrayal and grief.

Lily was downstairs with Martha. Martha, who in a few hours, would give my peanut-allergic daughter a "special" peanut cookie. The same Martha who dismissed Lily' s deadly allergy as "just a little sensitivity."

They didn' t believe me. Or they didn' t care. The result was the same. My daughter died.

Not this time.

I ran. The smell of sweet, nutty death filled the air. I burst into the kitchen, just as Martha offered Lily the cookies.

"No!" I ripped the plate from her hand, shattering it in the sink.

"You will never, ever eat Grandma's cookies," I told Lily, holding her close. "They will make you very, very sick."

Martha puffed out her chest. "Peanut isn't going to kill anyone. It builds up tolerance." The same words she'd used before. The same excuses that put my daughter in a casket.

But I wasn't that woman anymore.

"You are a stupid, stubborn old woman," I said, cold and clear. "Your 'wisdom' is going to get someone killed."

I knew all their secrets now. The game had changed. And I was making the rules.