Among our tenants was Martha Allen, a woman who scraped by collecting trash while raising her intellectually disabled son, Joe, all on her own. My mother, out of pity for her difficult life, had helped them out for ten years without expecting anything in return.

But as soon as I turned eighteen, Martha began pressuring my mom to make me drop out of school. She even had the audacity to suggest marrying me off to her son, asking if I could become Joe's wife. My mother, shocked and appalled, was left speechless. However, she brushed it off, thinking Martha was simply ignorant and uneducated, not worth getting upset over.

Unfortunately, Martha wasn't ready to give up. She lured me into their home and coerced her disabled son into assaulting me. After it was done, she laughed coldly at my shattered state, saying, "Well, now you're stuck with him. No turning back."

Devastated and enraged, I jumped from the top floor, unable to bear the shame and horror of what had happened. My mother, unable to cope with the loss, eventually lost her mind and drowned herself in the pond not long after.

But Joe, due to his mental condition, was deemed unfit to stand trial and was declared innocent. He walked free.

In this second life, if anyone wanted to play the saint, they could go ahead. I'm done with that.

——

"Ring, ring, ring…"

The sudden ringtone jolted me back to reality. I picked up my phone, and the name "Martha" flashed across the screen, making my eyes burn with rage.

In my past life, it was this very call that lured me to her house under the pretense of picking up some cookies. Once I was there, she coerced her idiot son, Joe, into assaulting me while she hid under the bed, ignoring my screams. Afterward, she took out her phone and snapped photos of my humiliation, using them as leverage against me.

She had the nerve to say, "You'll be a good girl and marry Joe. Give the Allen family an heir, and we'll treat you right."

When she noticed the hatred in my eyes, she waved the video in front of me. "What girl wouldn't be ashamed of this? If you don't cooperate, I'll spread these photos everywhere. Let's see how you and your mom face the world then!"

Unable to bear the agony and despair, I ended my life by jumping off the roof. Afterward, Joe was forcibly committed to a psychiatric hospital, but Martha blamed everything on me. She smashed my gravestone and tormented my already broken mother with cruel words until she finally drowned herself in a pond.

Thinking of this, I tightened my grip on the phone. I pressed the answer button, and Martha's cheery voice immediately filled the line.

"Juliana, sweetheart, I baked some cookies and set aside a batch for you and your mom. Make sure to stop by after school to pick them up."

I let out a cold laugh.

If I had been sharper in my past life, maybe I would've noticed how out of character this was. Martha Allen, who never gave anything away and had taken advantage of us for years, was suddenly offering us food? Or maybe I just couldn't imagine that someone we had helped for so long would stab us in the back so viciously.

Martha had originally been a stay-at-home mom in a rural town. Ten years ago, after her husband died in a construction accident, leaving her without a source of income, she brought her son to the city to make a living. When she begged my mom for a place to stay, my mom, out of compassion, took them in and provided free housing, helping them out as much as she could over the years.

My mom always told me that doing good deeds and helping those in need would bring blessings in return. Under her influence, I also did what I could to help Martha's family. I'd share snacks and toys with her son, Joe, and I'd save up boxes and bottles from our deliveries to give to her.

Martha would praise me for being a considerate kid in front of others, but behind my back, she'd tell the neighbors I was wasteful, that I spent money recklessly even at a young age, drank too many sodas, and would probably have trouble having kids in the future. "Who'd want to marry a girl like that when she grows up?" she'd say.

As I got older, she started to plot against me. She told my mom, "Juliana's just a girl. Why are you wasting all that money on her education? What if she runs off one day, and you've raised her for nothing? Wouldn't it be better if she quit school and married Joe? We're close enough to look out for each other…"

My mom, though upset by her ridiculous suggestion, just laughed it off. But when Martha realized she couldn't manipulate my mom, she hatched a plan to have her son assault me, leading to my tragic death and the destruction of my family.

I forced down the fury bubbling inside me and responded with a cold laugh. "Sure, thanks, Martha."

Hearing that, Martha couldn't hide the excitement in her voice. "Don't mention it. I'll be waiting for you."

After hanging up, I headed straight home.

...

The hallway on the first floor of our apartment building was always cluttered with piles of garbage and junk, all thanks to Martha Allen. In the sweltering summer heat, the stench was particularly overwhelming.

As usual, the hallway was filled with the voices of several women complaining loudly. This had been a constant issue, with many tenants having complained to my mom, asking her to do something about it. As the landlord, my mom was at a loss. Every time she tried to talk to Martha about it, Martha would shrug it off.

"There's nothing wrong with the smell. I live on the first floor, too, and I don't notice anything. These women just look down on me because I collect junk. They're trying to force me out, but you're too kind-hearted to let them bully me, aren't you, Mrs. Shields?"

After multiple failed attempts to reason with her, my mom ran out of ideas. She ended up asking the tenants to bear with it and even reduced their rent to keep the peace. However, this lack of action only emboldened Martha, making her even more arrogant and overbearing. It also caused the tenants to grow increasingly frustrated with my mom.

In the past, whenever I overheard them gossiping about my mom, I'd get angry and argue with them. But now, as I listened to their voices, a brilliant plan began to form in my mind.

"Hey, ladies, what's the topic today?"

As I approached, the group of women immediately fell silent, though their expressions remained skeptical.

"What's this about? Come to start another argument? We didn't even mention your mom today," one of them scoffed.

I smiled. "No, you've got it all wrong. I'm not here to argue. I actually wanted to discuss how we can finally deal with all this garbage piling up in the hallway."

The women exchanged surprised looks.

"Haven't you always been close with Martha Allen? Your mom gives her all sorts of food. Why are you suddenly on our side?" Mrs. Rogers asked, her voice laced with distrust.

I sighed and shook my head. "It's not like that. My mom would love to resolve this issue, but she's too soft-hearted to handle someone as difficult as Martha. We need everyone's help to sort this out.

"I was wrong to argue with you all before, and I'm sorry for that." I bowed deeply to show my sincerity.

Seeing my genuine attitude, the women's expressions softened. Mrs. Clark was the first to step forward, speaking earnestly. "Juliana, I don't want to sound harsh, but Martha Allen is nothing but trouble. Everyone knows how much your family has helped her, but you don't know what she says about you behind your back. You can't trust someone like that."

Mrs. Price, a tall and thin woman, chimed in, "Exactly. We've never blamed your mom. We just can't stand Martha. You've been too good to her, but she doesn't appreciate it. People like that are best kept at a distance."

"That's right, that's right," the others echoed, growing more indignant by the second.

I felt a wave of emotion. If only my mom and I had seen Martha's true colors earlier, we wouldn't have ended up the way we did.

Clenching my fists, I said, "I appreciate your advice. That's why I'm here—to ask you all to join me in confronting her. Today, we're going to make sure she clears out all that junk!"

The women were quick to agree.

"Absolutely, I've wanted to do this for a long time," Mrs. Clark said, rolling up her sleeves while the others nodded in support.

With that, I led a group of determined women as we marched toward Martha Allen's unit.