“Hello, is this Mr. Johnson? Yes, this is Grace Miller. My mother has a house she needs to sell urgently. We’re willing to go slightly below market price, but it has to be a full cash payment and the transfer of ownership needs to happen as soon as possible. The paperwork… the faster, the better.”
After hanging up with the realtor, I dialed my mother’s number.
When I heard her gentle, loving voice say, “Sweetheart?” my nose stung sharply, but I quickly pushed it down and switched to a light, almost playful tone:
“Mom, nothing’s wrong. I just missed you. I wanted to tell you something—I recently found this amazing investment opportunity, guaranteed profit! But I’d need to move down to Texas to do it.”
“You should come with me. Oh, and I’ll need a bit of start-up capital. You see… the retirement savings you’ve got, and maybe we could sell the house and you could lend me the money for now? I promise, within three months I’ll pay you back with interest—better than the bank’s rates!”
“Oh, honey, my money is your money. What’s this talk about borrowing? If you need it, just take it! I’ll go find the deed right now.”
There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her voice—only complete trust and support for her daughter.
Hearing her agree without hesitation felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my heart, tight with both ache and pain.
In my last life, it was this same unconditional trust that pushed her into the abyss.
But this time, they won’t get a single penny from my mom.
Then I dialed Michael Carter’s number.
“Michael… I just got a call from the clinic. Mom, she… Mom…”
“What are you crying for? What’s going on?” Michael replied impatiently.
“She’s been diagnosed with stomach cancer.”
“Stomach cancer? What’s that got to do with me? If she’s sick, take her to the hospital. Why are you telling me?”
“But… Mom, she—” I continued playing the part of the fragile, helpless wife.
“No buts!” he cut me off harshly. “I’m busy right now. I don’t have time to listen to you sob! If she’s sick, get her treated; if there’s no money, then she waits. I’m hanging up!”
Beep… beep… beep…
The cold, rapid tone echoed in my ear.
In my past life, for the sake of his so-called “mom,” his whole family could self-righteously force my own mother to sell her home to save her life, lecturing me about “what’s more important, money or life.”
But when my mother needed life-saving money, “mom” suddenly became “your mom,” and I was told to “find a way yourself.” She became “someone else,” a stranger to them.
What a bitter irony.
When I pushed open the door, the shoes at the entryway were tossed in a messy pile.
Robert and Helen Carter lounged on the sofa, cracking peanuts and leaving shells all over the floor.
Emily Carter sat with her phone, watching videos at ear-splitting volume.
When they heard the door, all three looked up—not a hint of concern in their eyes, only the entitled impatience of people waiting to be served.
“Back already? Took you long enough. Don’t you know everyone’s waiting for dinner?” Helen spoke first, nudging the peanut bowl toward the center of the coffee table.
“Michael already told us about your mom’s situation… well, it’s bad luck, but Grace, you need to get your priorities straight. You’re a Carter now—don’t side with your family against us.”
Emily glanced up from her phone with a smirk. “Exactly. Your mom being sick is your side of the family’s problem. You can’t expect all of us to worry about it. Do you know how hard my brother works to provide for this family? Don’t bother him with this again.”
I froze mid-step as I changed my shoes. Michael had just gotten home from work. “Go make dinner—we’re all hungry.”
I ignored him. Instead, I stepped back, opened the door wide, and dropped to my knees, bursting into tears.
“Oh, my poor mother! My father passed early, and she raised me all alone—getting up before dawn to sell vegetables so I could go to school, her hands cracked and bleeding, oozing pus in the winter…”
