My sister-in-law was at a photo studio, having a fling with the photographer, when she unexpectedly miscarried.

Somehow, I ended up being framed for it.

My mother and brother conspired against me, snapped my neck, and tossed me off the balcony.

In this new life, I'm determined to make them all pay.

***

My brother, Jason, and his wife, Laura, had been trying for five years without luck.

Following the doctor's advice, they went for IVF.

Once she was pregnant, Laura was treated like royalty.

My volatile brother even cooled his jets.

Mom ditched her favorite poker nights.

Fresh out of college with no job, I became her go-to errand boy.

She was paranoid about gaining weight yet had a thing for cakes, so I was stuck fetching sugar-free ones from a shop ten miles away, every single day.

Craving sushi but skeptical about its freshness, I drove to the docks for the day's catch.

I endured it all because my brother had a quick hand and an even quicker temper.

She saw other moms' glamorous maternity shoots and insisted on having her own, ignoring the doctor's warnings about miscarriage risks.

Jason wasn't thrilled but didn't want to upset her, so he half-heartedly agreed.

Mom always avoided drama, so seeing my brother not stepping up, she was off to her card games in no time.

That left gullible me to drive Laura to the studio.

The photographer was a tall, blond hunk with flawless features, a fair complexion even paler than most women, and he carried a subtle fragrance.

It was stuffy on the third floor; the photographer, mentioning the broken AC, started to unbutton his shirt.

When his sculpted abs were revealed, Laura was visibly mesmerized.

Catching her off-guard, she looked uneasy when she noticed my presence.

"I need a cake. Fetch me one," she commanded, as if I were her servant—a routine I knew all too well.

As I headed down, I noticed the photographer cozying up to her, wrapping an album around her neck, explaining intimately.

Maybe I was seeing things, but it looked like she was reaching out to touch his abs.

The bakery was twenty miles away; it took me an hour to return.

When I walked in, people were whispering and pointing at me, then quickly looked away in fear when they saw me notice them.

I sensed something was wrong. It wasn't until I returned to the third floor and pushed open the studio door that I realized the extent of it.

Chaos met my eyes: Laura sprawled on the couch, her clothes a mess, blood everywhere.

The photographer knelt frantically, wiping up blood with his pants.

She looked up at me, pale and frail, and barely managed, "Quick, call an ambulance."

I'd never been part of a scene so grim, and it took me a moment to snap out of my shock.

I immediately dialed 911.

Just as I was about to inform my brother, Laura, mustering unexpected strength, clutched my arm.

"Please, don't tell your brother. He'd kill me," she pleaded, fear evident in her eyes.

Known for his explosive temper, Jason was not one to be trifled with. Discovering the loss of his child would likely unleash his worst to break her bones or even snap her neck.

Fearing his wrath myself, I was taken aback.

"What should we do? We can't just hide this."

Her usual haughty demeanor was gone, replaced by a desperate plea in her eyes.

"Just say I tripped at home. Even if he's furious, he might pull his punches. Please, help me this time," she begged.

Wary I might say no, she pulled up her shirt to show me her bruises.

"Look at this, from when he hit me with a pan last time. I couldn't get out of bed for a month. And this scar, from when he slashed me with a knife—needed twelve stitches. Please, feel some sympathy."

Tears streamed down her face as she fell to her knees, imploring.

She'd been suffering these abuses yet not chosen a divorce, all because of her greed.

Short-tempered as Jason is, he never shorts her money.

Despite her picking up her own path, it's hard to turn away from someone so desperate.

I hesitated, then put away my phone and took her to the hospital first.

After making sure she was settled, I called my mom and brother.

She had to stay in the hospital for a few days, so she asked me to bring some personal items from home.

But as soon as I arrived, before I could even kick off my shoes, Jason stormed in, grabbed my arm in a rage, and flung me into the aquarium.

His strength was overwhelming; I couldn't fight back.

I smashed into the tank, glass cutting into my skin, and the pain forced a scream from me.

"Damn you, you're cursed! Do you have any idea how hard we worked for this baby? And you just messed it all up! I swear, I'm going to beat you to death today!"

As he yelled, his anger surged. I tried to speak, to explain, but there was no chance.

He dragged me out of the tank, ignoring the additional cuts from the glass, and held me by my collar.

Blood was everywhere—I saw his fury, I saw my mother's disdain.

"It wasn't... it wasn't me," I managed to gasp out.

But he just tightened his grip around my throat.

Desperate, I flailed, trying to make him let go, hoping my mother would intervene.

But no help came.

As he snapped my neck, he finally stopped.

Still not satisfied, he signaled my mother to drag my body to the balcony.

As my body plummeted from the 23rd floor, that's when my second chance at life began.

"I need a nap. Drive me to the studio later."

As I awoke, I was greeted by Laura's demanding voice.

That was just a few hours ago.

None of it had happened yet.

And I was relieved.

I knew the real reason Laura miscarried.

It was because of her fling—the doctor's orders were clear, and they didn't make mistakes.

At the studio, after I left, she and the photographer were getting cozy. By the time I returned, just the two of them were there, enough said.

If she's going to blame it all on me, she's got another thing coming.

"I need to handle some internship stuff this afternoon. Can we do the shoot tomorrow?"

My refusal clearly pissed her off; she hurled whatever she could grab onto the floor.

"Every day with you! Can I count on you for anything? Can't even drive me around. Tired of babysitting me, huh? Just wait till Jason gets home—I'll tell him all about it."

Watching her strut around, all puffed up, I just smirked inwardly.

"Or maybe I should just call Jason to take you?"

I taunted her, flashing my phone with a grin.

Just bringing up the photoshoot had darkened Jason's mood earlier.

If she thought sneaking off was risky, asking Jason to drive her was outright suicidal.

She knew all too well what his temper was like.

Otherwise, in my past life, she wouldn't have been desperately pleading with me after losing the baby, nearly breaking down.

"You dare sass me? I'm calling Jason right now to deal with you!"

Laura threatened, reaching for her phone.

She'd often used this tactic to bully me.

My fear of Jason was deep-seated, a remnant from childhood that wasn't going away anytime soon.

Even though death had lost its sting for me, that ingrained fear was stubborn.

Despite my internal panic, I kept my cool outwardly.

I leisurely finished my soup, looked her straight in the eye, and said, "Go ahead, make the call. I'm heading out after."

I caught the surprise on her face; she hesitated, and seeing this, I grabbed my bag and left.

I knew Laura's determination; if she decided to go today, she would.

My task now was to figure out how to expose her.

If I involved Jason and his temper flared up, I'd likely get dragged into the fallout.

That left one option: Mom.

Afraid of getting caught in the drama, Mom had dipped out after lunch.

In my previous life, she had coldly watched everything Jason did to me.

This time around, if I didn't drag her into this mess, I wouldn't be her daughter.

Since she'd slipped out, she wouldn't answer her phone. The only way was to confront her in person.

With no time to waste, I headed straight for the community's card room.

Upon arrival, Mom was there, puffing on a cigarette and shuffling the poker cards, looking quite pleased—probably on a winning streak.

"Mom, quit playing. You haven't eaten all day. Let me treat you to something nice!"

My sudden appearance surprised her.

"What? Eat? Sounds like you're burning money. Hand it over—now."

She grabbed my arm, her tone dripping with displeasure.

I brushed off her grip, still smiling.

"Let's go, Mom. It's my friend's place, and he said we'd get half off."

Mom's stinginess was legendary, matched only by her love for a good deal.

Her two greatest passions: playing cards and snagging bargains.

She loved exploiting deals, and if she lost a game, she'd refuse to pay; if she won, she'd even chase down others to collect.

This tendency has led to numerous altercations over the years.

At the mention of a 50% discount, she tossed her bad hand and got up to leave.

"Cheaper than groceries, and I'm starving. Let's move!"

I apologized to the others at the table and hurried after her.

I had chosen a place right across from the studio, a barbecue restaurant, and secured a window seat ahead of time.

After stashing the car in a back alley, I returned to find Mom had ordered an entire table of barbecue.

She ordered everything on the menu.

She never hesitated to spend my money, always more the merrier.

She had commandeered every dime of my scholarship for the past three years with one excuse or another.

Complaints on my part were always met with a barrage of insults.

Either accusations of ingratitude, labeling me an ungrateful child, or feigned anger to extort more from me.

Mom dug in with gusto, shoveling the barely cooked meat into her mouth as if in a race.

Meanwhile, I kept a vigilant watch out the window.

Roughly thirty minutes later, a flashy pink Mini Cooper parked below.

That was definitely her best friend's car—no one else would choose that color.

Her friend was well-known for being the life of the party. Jason had forbidden Laura from seeing her, and they hadn't met for a long time.

Laura had brought her here not just for the photos but also to frame me.

Jason's main worry about the photo shoot was the risk to the baby. If everything turned out okay, he wouldn't have much to complain about.

When he'd ask about it later, she could easily pin it on me, claiming she had no choice but to call her friend since I refused to drive her.

What awaited me then would be at least a couple of slaps and a few days grounded.

When it comes to schemes and malice, no one in this house could top Laura.

Holding a cup of juice, I glanced towards the photo studio across the street.

"Mom, Aunt Linda's photoshoot looked fabulous, and you'd definitely outshine her. The studio's right across. How about we get you a session after lunch? My treat."

Mom paused with her fork in the air, glanced at the studio, then self-consciously patted her belly, her face showing a flicker of annoyance.

"Why on earth didn't you say so sooner? If I'd known we were doing photos today, I wouldn't have pigged out!"

"And stop comparing me to that blimp, Linda. Do those photos even look like her? She's built like a tank but looks like a princess in them. Modern tech is just too much."

Mom had been harboring resentment over Linda's glamorous photos for some time now.

She would have gone for a shoot herself if Jason hadn't banned Laura from going, fearing Laura would use it as an excuse to create drama.

"Waiter, we haven't touched these two steaks. Please take them back and refund the cash directly to me."

Normally, you can't return food once served, but Mom's not your typical diner. Two decades ago, she could hustle her way through anything.

Arguments were a daily routine for her; a restaurant that didn't comply would seriously regret it.

Recognizing they were dealing with a formidable character, the staff reluctantly refunded the money.

Mom pocketed the cash, a look of triumph spreading across her face.

It wasn't just about scaring off the restaurant; it was about prying a few extra dollars from my wallet.

Entering the studio, I made a beeline for the restroom, using it as an excuse to sneak upstairs.

I intended to quietly check on Laura's activities, but right as I reached the third floor, I bumped into two makeup artists coming down.

"Can you believe it? Openly flirting right in front of us, and with three of them? How's he managing that?"

"He's playing with fire; we'd better be careful not to get dragged down with him."

They clammed up when they saw me on the stairs.

I overheard their whispers as they continued down—salacious and thrilling.

It seemed Laura and her friend had ramped up the stakes this time around.

I sneaked into a nearby room, aiming to secretly record them.

But when I pulled back the curtain, I was gobsmacked.