Echoes of a Stolen Life

onversation I knew was coming. The university scholarship, a white rectangle of hope, lay on the table-a trap. My mother, S

heir blatant, cruel favoritism. But then, the cold memory washed over me. In my last life, I had screamed. I had fought. They expelled me

overty and despair. I died at thirty, watching his business success on TV, consumed by

not fight them. Not here, not now. I looked up, a mask of dejection on my face, and whispered, "Okay." They expe