Chapter 4: The Insurance Policy That Killed Me

It was only after my death in my previous life that I learned my mom had bought a big insurance policy on me before my brother and sister-in-law even tied the knot.

I remembered the paperwork now—the way Mom had smiled, said it was "just in case." I thought she was being practical. I had no idea she was planning for my funeral.

The reason? My brother had racked up a huge debt after getting blackmailed over a hookup while out partying with some shady friends.

He always did have a taste for trouble—late nights, fast cars, the wrong crowd. One bad night and he owed more than he’d make in a decade. Mom never blamed him, though. She just looked for ways to fix it.

In other words, from the moment my mom bought that policy, my fate was sealed. I was the backup plan, the sacrificial lamb. It didn’t matter what I did—my days were numbered the second she signed those papers.

Whether it was framing me for having thoughts about my sister-in-law or kicking me out for “peeking” at her breastfeeding, those were just ways to justify my death.

They needed a reason, a story to tell the neighbors. The insurance company wouldn’t pay out for nothing. So they painted me as the villain, made sure everyone believed it.

Getting hit with an ashtray because I “might harass her” when I went for water at night wasn’t an accident.

It was all part of the plan. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Every "accident" was just another step toward the end they wanted.

Getting shoved so I fell and smashed my back on a conveniently placed rock after touching the doorframe wasn’t an accident.

I remembered the way the rock was always there, just outside the door. I’d never noticed it before. Now, it seemed like it had been waiting for me all along.

Getting thrown out into a storm and run over by a truck wasn’t an accident either—I saw my family laughing and drinking with the truck driver afterward.

The image haunted me—the trucker raising a glass with my mother, my brother slapping him on the back. They weren’t even trying to hide it. My death was their freedom.

The trap had already snapped shut around me. If I didn’t fix things at the root, I’d never be safe.

I felt like a trapped animal, every exit blocked. I knew I had to act fast, before they found another way to finish the job.

Just as I was lost in thought, my phone buzzed.

The vibration startled me, snapping me back to the present. I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking.

A text appeared:

“Be careful of your family.”

The words glowed on the screen, stark and chilling. No sender, no context. Just a warning, as if from the universe itself.

I shuddered.

A cold sweat broke out along my spine. I glanced around, half-expecting to see someone watching from the shadows.

In this life, my brother and sister-in-law had just gotten married. Outwardly, we were still a loving, happy family.

To anyone looking in, we were picture-perfect. Smiling for photos, passing casseroles at Sunday dinner. But underneath, the rot was already spreading.

Even in my previous life, at this very moment, I still thought we all cared about each other.

I remembered hugging Mom in the kitchen, laughing with my brother over beers. I believed we were a team. I never saw the knife coming.

So why would someone warn me to be careful of my family now?

I stared at the message, trying to puzzle it out. Was it a prank? A sign? Or something more sinister?

I tried to calm myself, my hands trembling as I replied:

I forced my fingers to steady, typing out, "Who are you? What do you know?"

I hit send and waited, heart pounding. The seconds stretched on, each one heavier than the last.

But no matter how long I waited, there was no reply.

The message just sat there, mocking me. I checked my signal, refreshed the screen—nothing.

If it weren’t for the message still sitting in my inbox, I’d have thought I’d imagined it in my panic.

I read it over and over, trying to convince myself it was real. I even took a screenshot, just in case it disappeared.

Just as I was about to text again, a figure blocked my view:

I looked up, startled, as a shadow fell across my phone. My breath caught, heart skipping a beat.

“How are you still slacking off at a time like this? Come on, get up and help! See the guests out, and I’ll make your favorite fried shrimp.”

Mom’s voice was bright, almost cheerful. She smiled like nothing was wrong, like she hadn’t just orchestrated my downfall in another life.

I looked up.

Her hair was pinned back, a few stray grays escaping at her temples. She wore her favorite apron, the one with faded sunflowers. For a moment, she looked just like the mom I remembered—warm, safe, loving.

Mom was smiling at me.

It was the kind of smile that used to mean everything would be okay. Now, it just made my skin crawl.

“Why are you daydreaming? Hurry up!”

She nudged my shoulder, laughter in her voice. To anyone else, it was a mother teasing her son. But I heard the steel beneath the sweetness.

When I didn’t move, she just smiled and pushed again.

Her patience never lasted long. She snapped her fingers, eyes narrowing. "Don’t make me ask twice, AJ."

I just nodded and got up to leave, but couldn’t help glancing back.

I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror—pale, haunted, older than my years. I wondered if anyone else could see the cracks.

Dad died young. Mom worked herself to the bone raising my brother and me.

She wore her grief like armor, always reminding us how much she’d sacrificed. I used to admire her strength. Now, I wondered what price we’d all paid for it.

I couldn’t understand how she could be so cruel, willing to sacrifice one son’s life to pay off the other’s debts.

It twisted my stomach, the thought that blood could mean so little. I wanted to ask her why, to demand an answer. But I knew she wouldn’t give me one—not now, maybe not ever.

I knew I wouldn’t find an answer to that anytime soon.

Some questions just hang in the air, heavy and unanswered. I shoved the thought aside, focusing on the tasks at hand.

I forced a smile as I saw the guests out.

I shook hands, made small talk, even laughed at Uncle Ray’s tired jokes. I played the good son, the good host, all the while counting down the minutes until I could leave.

Once everyone had left, I claimed I had school business and left home without looking back.

I grabbed my backpack, mumbled something about a study group, and slipped out the door before anyone could protest. The cool night air felt like freedom.

This time, without that rumor about me crushing on my sister-in-law, everything went smoothly.

I could feel the difference already. No suspicious glances, no whispered accusations. For the first time in ages, I felt like myself again.

My job contract was already signed, just waiting for me to graduate. For now, all I had to worry about was my thesis.

I spent my days in the campus library, surrounded by stacks of books and the hum of fluorescent lights. The future looked bright, almost within reach.