Chapter 1: A Second Chance, A Familiar Betrayal

After the economic boom of the late '90s, Dad decided to leave his steady county job behind to chase his dream of starting his own business. That decision set off a messy, painful divorce with Mom, who worked as an accountant at the local manufacturing plant.

It was the kind of small-town drama that gave the neighbors something to gossip about over their morning coffee—Dad, always restless and chasing after some new scheme; Mom, practical to a fault, gripping her purse and her ledger like they were life preservers. The house felt tense, heavy with the scent of burnt toast and unspoken arguments that hung in the air. For a moment, all I could do was listen to the silence, the bitterness almost thick enough to taste.

Before either of them could make a final decision, my younger brother made a beeline for Dad, running straight into his arms.

The move was so sudden, everyone went silent, the tension snapping like a rubber band. He didn’t even glance at Mom—just sprinted for Dad like he was racing for home plate in a backyard ballgame, desperate to land on the winning team.

"A woman who can’t keep up with the times will never make a dime. She’s just gonna keep her family broke forever."

His voice was high and proud, echoing off the cheap wood paneling. It sounded like he’d practiced the line in his head for days. The words hit like broken glass.

I hesitated, then quietly walked over and took Mom’s hand.

Her palm was trembling, cold and dry—so unlike the warm, steady grip I remembered from when I was little. It hurt to feel her like this. I squeezed gently, hoping she’d feel just a little less alone in that moment.

Even before all this, I’d sensed something different. In my last life, my brother was too scared to take risks, so he stayed with Mom for security. But when the plant shut down, Mom lost her job, and she and my brother barely scraped by. Dad, on the other hand, became a successful entrepreneur, and I ended up one of the first rich kids in our little Ohio town after the boom.

Our town was the kind of place where everybody knew your business, and a new truck in the driveway was enough to make folks jealous for months. I remembered the thrill of new sneakers, the envy of classmates, the taste of real pizza on Friday nights. Money changed everything—and nothing, all at once.

After my brother got kicked out of Dad’s house for asking for money, he saw how well-off I was and started hating me. In the end, he crashed a pickup truck into me, and took us both out. I can still remember the rain that night, the fear, the way it all ended.

The memory still haunted me—headlights cutting through the rain, the screech of tires, the sickening jolt. Sometimes, late at night, I’d wake up sweating, heart pounding, the ghost of that impact echoing in my bones.

Sometimes I wondered if the universe really did give us second chances. Now, given a second shot, he picked Dad without even thinking about it.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even look back at Mom. It was like he’d already mapped out his future, convinced the grass was finally greener on Dad’s side. But he was wrong.

But what he doesn’t get is, when you sign up for a stepmom, you get a stepdad too. That’s just how it works.

That’s the thing nobody tells you as a kid: every family split comes with a whole new cast of characters. And sometimes, the strangers you get stuck with are worse than the ones you left behind.

Compared to my mom—who didn’t have much but loved me, kept me in school, and made sure I could take the SATs—my cold, heartless dad was the real nightmare.

Mom might’ve clipped coupons and counted every penny, but she never once made me feel like a burden. Dad, on the other hand, measured love in dollars and obedience. That’s all that mattered to him.

Watching my brother choose Dad so fast, I realized in a flash—he must’ve brought his memories from our last life too. Or maybe he was just desperate enough to try anything.

There was a flicker in his eyes, something too old for a kid his age. Like he already knew how the story ended, and thought he could rewrite it this time around. It sent a chill down my spine.

Right now, my brother’s eyes were shining, his young face barely hiding his excitement as he clung to Dad’s arm, like he was scared I’d steal the good fortune he thought was coming. But when he talked to Mom, who loved him more than anyone, his words were cold and sharp.

It was almost chilling to see—a little boy with a grown man’s ambition, clutching Dad’s sleeve like it was a winning lottery ticket. The way he looked at Mom, you’d think she was the one who’d ruined his life. For a second, I wondered if he even remembered who she was.

"A woman who can’t keep up with the times will never make a dime. She’s just gonna keep her family broke forever."

He repeated it, louder this time, as if daring her to argue. The words sliced through the room, leaving silence in their wake. For a moment, the air felt frozen. I wanted to shout at him, shake him, but all I could do was stand there, helpless.

At my brother’s words, Mom’s whole body went rigid. Hearing that kind of scorn from her own son tore her up inside—her breath coming in short, ragged bursts, her hands trembling even harder.

She looked like she’d been punched in the gut—her lips pressed tight, shoulders hunched, eyes shining with unshed tears. It was the kind of hurt that didn’t heal, the kind that left scars. Some wounds never fade.

So I gently squeezed Mom’s hand, trying to show her how much I cared.

"Mom, you’ve still got me. No matter what happens, I’ll always stick by your side."

My voice was soft but steady. I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, not now, not ever. In that moment, I would’ve done anything to take her pain away. I silently promised myself I’d never let her down.

My brother scoffed, a wild, contemptuous grin on his face. I could see he was already plotting—ditch Mom, latch onto Dad, and finally escape poverty for good. Meanwhile, he figured I’d be the one stuck struggling below the poverty line, just like he was last time. The thought made my stomach twist.

He looked at me like I was a fool, like I’d just volunteered for a lifetime of hand-me-downs and government cheese. The gleam in his eyes was almost feral—a kid hungry for something he thought he deserved. I wondered if he’d ever see things differently.

I never understood why my brother hated me so much. All my life, I tried to be a good big brother, looking out for him and letting him have his way. I knew Mom, a single woman with two kids, never had enough money. After Dad got rich, whenever I had a little extra, I’d secretly send it home so Mom and my brother wouldn’t go without. Still, it never seemed like enough.

I used to stash twenty-dollar bills in birthday cards, slip grocery money into Mom’s purse when she wasn’t looking. I thought I was helping, but maybe I just made things worse.

But he never appreciated it. He even snapped at me more than once, complaining I didn’t give him enough. The truth was, Dad was so tightfisted after growing up poor that he barely gave me any allowance. My brother just assumed I was living large, enjoying all the perks of Dad’s new wealth.

It stung every time he accused me—like I was hoarding treasure instead of scraping by. He never saw the hand-me-down clothes, the empty fridge, the nights I went to bed hungry just like him. Sometimes I’d lie awake, wishing he could understand.

He had no idea. After Dad struck it rich, he remarried fast. After that, life at home got a whole lot harder. I had to walk on eggshells around my stepmom. She hated me, called me a nobody, and even hit me. Whenever I went to Dad in tears, he’d either ignore me or join in, threatening to throw me out if I didn’t behave. The bruises faded, but the fear never really left.

I learned to tiptoe around the house, memorizing every creak in the floorboards, praying I wouldn’t set her off. Dad’s love was a loaded gun. I never knew when it might go off.

But my brother knew nothing about what I went through. In the end, jealousy drove him to destroy me. Did he ever wonder if things could have been different?

It was like he’d built a whole story in his head—one where I was the villain, and he was the hero who’d been cheated out of his happy ending. He never saw the real me.

The sad part is, right up until I died, all I wanted was to escape Dad, make some money, and go live with Mom and my brother. He’s the one who ruined what could’ve been a good life for all of us.

Even now, thinking about it, my chest ached. We could’ve had something good—a little apartment, cheap takeout, movie nights on the couch.

But he threw it all away.