My mother was hardwired to defy. She lived to contradict, to twist every instruction into its opposite. Before my final high school exams, I’d pleaded with her, countless times, not to touch my things. She’d nodded, then turned right around and stitched a cheat sheet into the lining of my jacket. The result? I was caught, accused of cheating, and expelled on the spot. My academic record, ruined. I brought the sealed envelope of my ruined future home, begging her again, please, don’t touch it. I stepped away for a moment, and by the time I was back, she’d torn open the seal, pen in hand, “editing” its contents. I confronted her, my voice raw with fury, but my dad just smiled, calling it her “good intentions,” telling me to be more understanding. The rage, the sheer helplessness, drove me to a nervous breakdown. My doctor prescribed quiet rest. But my mother, scoffing at my “fragility,” invited a gaggle of her male friends over, turning our living room into a raucous party, claiming “exercise is the only path to health.” It was there, amidst the drunken laughter and blaring music, that their leering advances and constant harassment left me feeling utterly violated, plunging me into a severe depression. I picked up a filleting knife, desperate to reclaim my dignity, but my dad and brother blocked my path. “They’re your mom’s friends,” my brother scoffed, “you only lost your innocence.” In the ensuing struggle, the knife found its way into my heart. But then, I opened my eyes again. I swore, with every fiber of my being, that my mother’s “good intentions” would, this time, bring ruin upon them all. 01 The moment my fingers closed around that folded stack of notes hidden in my jacket lining, a jolt of electrifying certainty shot through me. My entire body trembled. I was back. I was sure of it. I had been reborn. In my last life, my mother had insisted on packing my things. “Just focus on studying, sweetie,” she’d chirped, “Mom will take care of everything else.” I’d specifically told her not to touch anything for the exams. But she’d gone and sewn that cheat sheet into my coat. During the test, it had slipped out. I was caught, branded a cheater, expelled, and became the entire school’s laughingstock. Broken and reeling, I’d limped home. I’d warned her, begged her, not to touch my academic records. But the second I stepped into the bathroom, she’d torn open the sealed envelope, pen in hand, “correcting” the contents. “I told you not to touch it!” I’d shrieked, my voice cracking. “Are you deaf?! Do you hate me so much you won’t be happy until I’m dead?!” She’d looked up, her face a picture of pure innocence. “Mom didn’t know anything, darling. I just wanted to help.” Before I could say another word, my brother, Leo, had kicked me to the floor. “Your grades were always trash anyway, you wouldn’t have passed even without cheating. And you have the nerve to blame Mom? You ungrateful wretch!” Leo was allergic to dairy, but my mom, ignoring doctor’s orders, had bought him a cream cake. It had almost put him into organ failure. She’d, of course, blamed me for buying it. From that day on, Leo had hated me, constantly spitting venom, wishing me a terrible death. My dad had chimed in too. “Your mom meant well, Lily. Girls don’t need much schooling anyway. Just get married soon.” I couldn’t comprehend twelve years of grinding hard work, gone. The sheer anger had choked me, and I’d passed out. The doctor had diagnosed a nervous breakdown, prescribing complete rest. But my mom had dismissed it as me being “delicate,” then invited her male friends over for a party. “More exercise equals more health!” she’d declared. It was there, amidst the drunken revelry, that their leering advances and constant harassment left me feeling utterly violated. My condition worsened, spiraling into deep depression. I’d picked up a filleting knife, desperate for justice, for a shred of dignity. But my dad had shielded them, wrestling with me. In the chaos, the knife had plunged into my heart. Even as I lay dying, I’d heard Leo’s words: “She only lost her dignity, but they’re Mom’s friends!” “She just had bad luck. She didn’t appreciate Mom’s hard work. She deserved to die!” In that moment, I’d been consumed by regret. I should have let my mother unleash her brand of “good intentions” on them. I shouldn’t have stopped her. This time, I’d toss the cheat sheet. I’d act oblivious. And when her “good intentions” boomeranged back, hitting them square in the face, they’d only have their own bad luck to blame. 02 It wasn’t until the third day, after I’d finished the final exam, that I truly allowed myself to breathe. Walking out of the testing center, everything felt like a dream—a nightmare, thankfully, from which I had now woken. This time, everything was different. This time, I had a chance. My mom was a born contrarian. Tell her to go east, and she’d stubbornly march west. It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand words; she simply thrived on doing the exact opposite. Everyone in our family had always indulged her. I knew what I had to do: get into a college far, far away. As far from this house as possible. I’d already discarded the cheat sheet. There shouldn’t be any more screw-ups, right? Of course, against all expectations, there was a screw-up. The day college exam results were released, I went to school to fill out my applications. Before I left, my mom suddenly asked, “Results are out? Do you need Mom’s help with your applications?” I eyed her warily. “Don’t you dare pull any more stunts, or I swear, I’m done with you!” She plastered on a syrupy sweet smile. “No, no, darling, how could Mom? Mom just wants to help my Riley ease her worries.” “No worries to ease,” I said, ignoring her, and headed straight for school. I didn't know then that she’d turned around and called our relatives. “Your Aunt Carol’s husband, Frank, can you help Riley fill out her applications? I’ll text you her Social Security number.” “Just apply for a vocational school. A woman’s virtue is her lack of talent, and a good trade is fine.” The moment I finished submitting my applications at school, my uncle called. “What did you apply for, Riley? Way too risky! Good thing your mom had me re-submit everything.” “Don’t worry, Riley, just wait for your acceptance letters!” An alarm blared in my mind. I checked, and sure enough—my uncle hadn't just changed my applications; he’d changed my login password too. My whole body trembled. I’d warned her, explicitly, not to interfere. Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? Why was she so determined to ruin everything? 03 When I demanded the password from Uncle Frank, he just waved me off. “They’re all top-notch technical schools, don’t you worry. Your mom looked at them too, she wouldn’t let you get screwed over.” Don’t worry? How could I possibly relax? I knew these relatives. Every single one of them was a master of messing things up. It was because of him that my cousin Sarah, who could have gone to a proper university, ended up stuck at the worst trade school, just to be with his son. The moment I saw my new applications, my hands shook with rage. My original choices, all prestigious universities, had been replaced with applications to places like “Big Rig Technical Institute.” Thankfully, it wasn’t too late. I swallowed my fury, rushing home to confront my mom. “How could you let them mess with my college applications like that?!” “Didn’t I tell you, repeatedly, not to cause any more trouble? Will you only be happy when I’m off to college?!” She lowered her gaze, trembling as she wiped away imaginary tears, putting on her patented aggrieved act. “Your Uncle Frank and Aunt Carol, they’re not outsiders. Mom was just worried you didn’t have enough experience, so I thought they could guide you.” “When has Mom ever harmed you? Mom just didn’t want you to be jealous of others with good trade skills.” I wanted to scream, to tear my hair out. Those relatives barely finished elementary school. What “experience” did they have? Why would a good university degree not be enough? Was I some kind of masochist who wanted a lesser education? But my mom, as always, argued back, sticking to her twisted logic. Everyone else’s warnings were just hot air to her. I didn’t want to waste any more breath, so I just issued a cold warning. “From now on, don’t ask about my business, don’t interfere! It’s not your place.” “You just cause trouble. Can’t you understand plain English?!” Before I could finish, Leo rushed over and kicked me to the ground. “How dare you! How do you talk to Mom like that?!” “What do you mean Mom can’t understand English? She’s just looking out for you! With your lousy grades, what good is any application? You’ll end up at a community college anyway.” My dad chimed in, echoing him: “Exactly, Riley! Did a dog eat your conscience? Your mom cares about you so much, how can you be so ungrateful?!” I hit the hallway floor hard, a searing pain shooting through me, cold sweat beading on my forehead. No one moved to help me up. They just stood there, towering over me, judging me from their moral high ground. It took me a long moment to recover, watching their mouths move in a united front of condemnation. It was almost comical. My mom was a contrarian, someone who twisted every instruction into its opposite, but she wasn’t just doing it to me. Before, I used to clean up her messes. Now, I wouldn’t. I wanted to see how they would handle the fallout. The most important thing now was to placate them. I swallowed my anger, forcing myself to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t recognize your good intentions. You were definitely doing what’s best for me.” “You’ve lived longer than I have, Mom. You know best.” My mom graciously forgave me. Our family was a picture of harmonious happiness. Everyone was satisfied. I just hoped they’d stay stuck with my contrarian mom, forever. 04 After sorting out my applications, I started streaming from my room – which doubled as my study – to earn money. I knew my mom wouldn't give me a dime for tuition or living expenses. To avoid interruptions, I locked my door. But my mom wasn’t having it. She started banging on the door, a frantic, insistent rhythm. “Riley, want some fruit?” “No!” I shouted back. “I’m allergic!” She acted like she hadn't heard me, continuing to pound. “You’re so lucky! Your brother left some mango from breakfast, hurry and eat it.” Ha! “Left some”? She probably meant a few stringy mango pits. Did she really think I wouldn't know? I yelled through the door, “I won’t eat it! I’m allergic to mangoes! Are you trying to kill me?!” She whined back, “Mom barely got any of this mango, it’s all for Riley…” There was no reasoning with her. She just kept chattering outside my door, as if nothing was wrong. My dad, annoyed by her incessant noise, stomped over and kicked my door open. He stood there, glaring into my room. “Riley Evans! Are you going to die if you open this door? Your mom’s just trying to show she cares. Will it kill you to come out and eat a bite? Who are you hiding from?” Her caring for me? She’d be lucky if she didn’t kill me. The more I told my mom not to do something, the more energized she became. It was like some twisted obedience test for her. I scoffed, then opened the door. “Can you just leave me alone? I’m live-streaming. If I don’t make money, are you going to pay for my college?” “Me pay? I don’t have any money. My money is for your brother, don’t even think about it!” My dad scratched his head in frustration. “Your dad knows you’re stressed, but your mom went to all the trouble to get you fruit. And this is how you treat her? Your attitude is terrible.” “She ‘got it for me’? Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me.” My mom, with a saccharine voice, shoved a plate of messy mango pits towards my mouth. “Riley, hurry and eat. This mango is so sweet. Mom saved it just for you, for your nutrition.” The smell of mango filled my nostrils. It felt like my great-grandmother was beckoning me from beyond the grave. “Thanks, Mom! I love mangoes.” I forced a smile, taking the plate from her. The moment the door was shut, I dumped the entire plate, mango and all, into the trash without a second thought. I wasn’t going to suffer in silence anymore. And I wouldn’t argue with her again before leaving home. Most importantly, I had to play along, to let her twisted sense of satisfaction swell. “Ugh… she’s got wings now, can’t control her!” My mom continued to grumble outside the door because I hadn’t eaten the mango in front of her. When I didn’t come out to apologize, her face instantly darkened. She grabbed the clothes drying rack from the sofa and started banging it against my door with all her might. “Riley, open the door! It’s a good day, I’m going to air out your comforter!” I pretended not to hear her, figuring she’d stop after a while. But she didn’t. She just hit the door even harder. My patience snapped. I roared, “You bang that door one more time! See if I don’t come out there and kill you!” Silence. Complete, utter silence. It always took me losing my temper for her to stop. She was truly infuriating. 05 My mom acted as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice, squatting in the living room, her eyes welling with tears. Leo, my brother, saw her and his heart ached for her. He kicked my door open, yelling, “What are you trying to prove? Spending all day doing nothing, messing around with shady stuff.” “Mom’s still worried about you, waiting on you, and this is your attitude? If you keep this up, you can just get out!” I gave a mocking smile. No need for him to kick me out. I’d be gone once college started, never to return. In my last life, after my incident, I’d been extra cautious with my mom, protecting Leo from her schemes, ensuring he passed his exams and became a civil servant. This time, I wouldn’t intervene. I owed him nothing. How would he ever know true pain if the whip never cracked on his own back? When my acceptance letter finally came, I needed to mail my official transcript to the university. To be safe, I mailed it myself that very day. My live stream ended late, so when I groggily woke up the next morning, I saw my mom tiptoeing into my room, carefully taking a document envelope from my desk. I watched her perform her little charade, then turned over and went back to sleep. I didn’t get up until noon to ask her. “Mom, where did you put the envelope from my desk?” She gave me a fawning smile. “Mom was worried those school officials would mess up your details, so I opened it and checked it for you. You won’t blame Mom, will you?” I flared up, my voice scorching. “You can’t open official documents like that! It invalidates them! How am I supposed to mail it? How am I supposed to go to college?!” “Didn’t I tell you not to touch my things?! Are you deaf?!” She looked hurt, her voice a pathetic whine. “Mom didn’t know any of that. You didn’t tell me. Mom was just worried about you, how was I supposed to know it was so important?” She was still defending herself. “I saw it just sitting on your desk, I thought it was just a package.” And then, tears began to stream down her face. She raised her hand, as if to slap herself. “It’s all Mom’s fault, it’s all Mom’s mistake. Riley, please don’t be angry.” This was her usual trick. It’s how she’d brainwashed the other two idiots in this family. 06 Sure enough, her trick worked. The moment her hand went up, my dad’s foot connected with my side, sending me sprawling to the floor. “What’s all this racket about? It’s just a stupid envelope, what’s there to fight about?” My dad had been on a losing streak with his night fishing for days, boiling with frustration, and I was the perfect outlet for his pent-up anger. “So, one stupid envelope means you can’t go to college? Sounds like you’re just not cut out for it.” “Good thing, too. I wasn’t planning on paying for your college anyway. In a couple of years, we’ll find someone for you to marry, and that’ll help your brother with his wedding expenses.” I struggled to my feet, my gaze cold as I swept over him. Even though I’d expected it, a chill still ran through me, and unbidden tears welled in my eyes. “Riley, don’t blame your dad. It’s all Mom’s fault, every single bit of it.” My mom stood beside him, wailing and crying, but her eyes held a glimmer of victorious satisfaction. My dad shot me a disgusted look, then pulled my mom protectively behind him. “Bah! You ungrateful wretch, you dare talk back to your mom? Even a dog I raise knows how to wag its tail.” With that, he snatched the envelope from the table, tore it in half, and threw the pieces at my head. The scattered papers fell to the floor. My dad spat a few thick globs of phlegm onto them. I gripped the table, watching his performance, waiting for him to finish. “Go on, spit some more,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I got it wrong. I mailed my transcript yesterday. That one… that looks like yours, Dad. Your new job might be in trouble now.” “You absolutely can’t hold this against Mom, okay? It’s just a stupid envelope.”
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