My husband, Tom Swift, was "blessed" with a mother, Kate Swift, whose understanding of basic human discourse seemed as fathomless as the abyss.

I had implored her, time and again, not to be excessively frugal, lest her penny-pinching led to the disastrous cutting of corners.

Yet, she continued to employ her husband, Paul Swift's old, unworn underwear as a makeshift dishcloth for washing milk bottles, a practice that reeks of both absurdity and peril.

Alas, my one-month-old daughter, Mia Swift, contracted a fungal infection as a consequence, her tender skin was marred by the insidious blight.

Enraged beyond measure, I lashed out at her, branding her a dimwit, only to be met with a stinging slap from Tom.

He vehemently asserted that I had no right to address his mother with such disrespect.

Later, during Mia's delicate fungal surgery, the doctor's repeated admonitions echoed in our ears, warning that no food should be given.

But Kate, in a covert act of defiance, surreptitiously fed my daughter a few morsels anyway.

The outcome was catastrophic.

During the surgery, Mia suffered from food reflux, and her airway was obstructed, leading to her suffocation and ultimate demise.

Consumed by a torrent of hatred, I lunged at Kate, demanding she pay for my daughter's life with her own blood.

But Tom and Paul, arriving in haste, declared that regardless of the circumstances, laying hands on an elder was beyond the pale.

They violently pulled me away, causing my body to collide with the back of my head on a fatal spot, resulting in my instant death.

In the end, they manipulated Tom's role as my husband to devour my family's assets, greedily siphoning off every last drop of our inheritance.

Upon reawakening after a rebirth, I vowed with a fiery determination to make each and every one of them pay in blood for their heinous crimes.

1

As Mia's warm, vibrant body nestled back into my arms, an undeniable certainty washed over me: I had been reborn.

In front of me, Kate was preparing a bottle of formula to feed her, and the sight stirred within me a painful nostalgia.

In my former life, I had warned Kate time and again against her excessive frugality.

I had witnessed her serve moldy frozen meat in a misguided attempt to save a few dollars, and I had shaken my head in disbelief at her habit of creeping around in the dark, turning off lights to save on electricity.

I thought her antics were merely the quirks of a penny-pincher, but in truth, she was endangering Mia's health.

Those small savings transmuted into devastatingly costly medical bills when Mia inevitably fell ill.

Yet, despite my fervent pleas, Kate never appeared to grasp the gravity of my concerns.

I had caught her using Paul's old underwear as makeshift dish rags, scrubbing Mia's bottles and pacifier with them. The anger that bubbled within me was volcanic.

Inevitably, one-month-old Mia developed a fungal infection.

I traced every possible source of the infection with the meticulousness of a detective.

When I finally discovered that the culprit was Kate, the dam of my fury broke.

I pointed a trembling finger at her and yelled, "You absolute fool!"

Instead of defending me, Tom responded with a stinging slap across my face, insisting I had no right to speak to his mother in such a manner.

The world felt surreal, an upside-down reality where the foolish were shielded and the righteous were punished.

Following that heated confrontation, I stormed out, seeking refuge at my parents' house, where I demanded a divorce.

To my astonishment, my mother, Belinda Wayne, sided with Kate, arguing that it was wrong to insult someone's mother in front of them.

Tom echoed her sentiment, asserting that Kate had endured a difficult life raising him and that I should show her some understanding.

Surrounded by what felt like a council of fools, I seethed internally.

I thought to myself, "They're just blowing hot air. But isn't living in this world all about learning to bend your head and bear it?"

So, I chose to endure.

Then came the day when Mia needed treatment.

The doctors reiterated, again and again, the critical importance of not feeding her anything before her surgery.

I locked eyes with Kate, my voice unyielding. "Did you hear that? No food for her, not even a bite."

She bowed her head, her expression wounded yet silent. Nevertheless, the instant my gaze faltered, she furtively slipped a few bites into Mia's mouth.

During the surgery, a tragic reflux of food caused a fatal blockage in Mia's airway, and she perished right there on the operating table.

I was inconsolable, tears cascading down my cheeks. Meanwhile, Kate stood aloof, deflecting culpability. "I just felt so sorry for her crying. Besides, you can't blindly trust everything the doctor says..."

I snapped. I screamed, lunging at her with primal fury, wanting to tear her apart and shouting that she had taken my daughter's life.

But Tom and Paul intervened, roughly pulling me back and reprimanding me for laying hands on an elder. Tom shoved me hard, and I stumbled backward, my head colliding with a fatal spot.

As my spirit hovered above the turmoil, I heard them label me a wicked woman, blaming me for always causing trouble for Kate.

But Kate wasn't merely a burden to me; she had dragged others down, too, and I had quietly intervened to save them from her.

Later, they used Tom's influence to strip my family of everything we had.

The memories of my past grievances surged back, and as I gazed at Kate's face, I forced a smile through my clenched teeth.

This time, I would ensure they all pay for their transgressions.

I picked up the baby bottle with two fingers and handed it to Tom. "Hey, this feels a bit hot. Come help me try the temperature of the milk."

Tom, engrossed in his game, took the bottle without a second thought and brought it to his lips. But Kate, looking conflicted, interrupted him.

"Wait, Tom!" she exclaimed, her expression a mix of hesitation and concern.

Tom raised an eyebrow, perplexed. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't help but scoff inwardly. "So, she knows the bottle isn't sanitary after all! But why is it acceptable for Mia to drink from it while her son can't?"

Kate wanted to stop him but faltered, unable to find the right words. In the end, she could only watch helplessly as he drank from the bottle.

2

Once the last lingering echoes of footsteps faded, I found myself alone, ensconced in the stillness of the room.

Staring down at Mia's serene sleeping face, where innocence and vulnerability met peace, I whispered a solemn vow to myself, "This time, I will shield you from every harm, with all that I am."

The thought of divorce had crossed my mind, a thought as heavy as the chains that bound me here.

Yet, without a plausible reason, my journey for liberation was fraught without the support of my parents. They would neither aid in this separation nor aid in the care of Mia.

Furthermore, having relinquished my job to bring Mia into the world, I found myself bereft of income.

The blueprint to our escape was elementary: secure a livelihood first, then plot the course out of this confining house.

However, that day, the instant I crossed the threshold, a shriek like the wail of a tormented soul rent the tranquility asunder.

With my heart pounding, I flew towards the source of the chaos, fear spiraling within me. "What is going on? What had happened?"

There lay my daughter, her delicate visage suffused with the feverish flush of illness, foam bubbling at her lips as her tiny form convulsed uncontrollably.

Beside her, Kate stood transfixed, clutching a bowl of murky water, her countenance etched with terror—a witness caught in the very act of a gruesome deed.

The ghastly vision of Mia's demise flashed before my eyes, constricting my heart with an almost palpable agony.

Swooping towards her, I cradled Mia to my chest, suppressing the maelstrom of panic to keep my voice steady. "What has happened? What did you administer to her?"

Kate donned her customary mask of innocence, her pained expression seemingly unjustly accused.

"Mia had a fever, and this quack healer, one of those dumb frauds, claimed it was demonic possession. He suggested this so-called holy water would banish the sickness, so I gave it to her, thinking it would help. I never guessed it would cause such chaos!"

An inferno of rage ignited within me.

"How could she be so inexplicably heedless? No matter how oft I caution her to disregard these tricksters and to immediately contact me if Mia faces any distress, she persists, proving incapable of grasping the severity. Does she yearn for the destruction of my daughter?"

With teardrops staining my vision, I advanced and seized her by the collar, leaning in close to deliver a searing warning. "I've warned you over and over—from now on, I'm taking care of Mia myself! You're not allowed near her! If anything happens to my daughter, you have no idea what a mother will do!"

As I delivered my stern admonition, Tom stormed in, thrusting me aside and striking me with a forceful slap across the face.

I nearly lost my grasp on Mia, stumbling from the impact.

"Kristen! What the heck is wrong with you? It's just some vomiting! What's the big deal? My mom got that holy water to help Mia! Now you want to keep her away from her own granddaughter? Who do you think you are to act like this?!"

Paul followed closely, his gaze as cold as a frigid winter morning, observing me impassively. "Bravo, Tom! You have served her just deserts! When a wife disregards, she must be reminded of her place. You cannot address your elders with such disdain."

I held their gazes, a bitter smile curving my lips as I perceived their unified front—their family, a fortress against the interloper, me.

I thought, "Thusly it shall be, eh? You are all content to rally against me? Be apprised, Kate's ignorance harms not just me; it casts its shadow upon everyone."

In my mind's eye, I envisioned the cavalcade of foolish deeds Kate would perpetuate, and I couldn't suppress a fleeting anticipation of their ultimate wane.

This slap, I would not forsake.

Holding Mia protectively to my bosom, I spun on my heel and hastened towards the hospital.

3

Fortunately, the so-called "holy water" had caused no major complications, a small blessing amidst the storms.

I dialed Belinda to update her, and she remained understanding, attributing Kate's actions to the naivety of Kate's rural background and her age.

"She's just a bit superstitious, Kristen. It's all done for the sake of the child, after all," Belinda said soothingly.

Belinda offered to help me find a nanny to take care of the baby, a proposition that meant I wouldn't have to rely on Kate anymore.

"You'll teach her how to take care of the kid later," Belinda said.

Deep down, I knew Belinda still hadn't seen their true colors. I thought, "No worries, she'll figure out what this family is really like in due time."

Once the nanny was on board, I finally felt free to focus on my job search. I swiftly found a position that met all my criteria, and for the next few days, I diligently worked on my resume and practiced for interviews.

But on the morning of the critical interview, I was jolted awake from a deep slumber by the sound of something rustling.

An odd sensation settled over me, so I followed the noise to the balcony, only to be greeted by a shocking sight: my brand-new suit, the one I had bought specifically for the interview, was hanging there, misshapen and faded from the wash.

This suit was my only option; after giving birth, my body had changed so much that none of my old clothes fit anymore.

In an instant, my anger skyrocketed.

Kate stood there with a sheepish grin. "I saw you bought a new suit yesterday, so I thought I'd wash it. I didn't know it would come out like this!"

I replied, my voice low and tense, "You ruined my suit! What am I supposed to wear to the interview now? Didn't I tell you a million times not to touch my things?!"

I watched in weary disbelief as Kate resorted to her usual act. Her tears, like crystalline pearls, streamed down her face. "Oh, it's all my fault! I ruined your clothes, and now you'll be embarrassed. Kristen, please don't be mad at me!"

Her voice trembled, each word punctuated by a sob that seemed to resonate through the very walls of the house.

Her wailing stirred both Tom and Paul from their slumber, and she was about to fall, her fingers curling around my ankles in a theatrical display of supplication. Just then, Tom stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he took in the tableau.

"Kristen, enough already! It's just a piece of clothing! Do you really need to be this aggressive?"

He pointed a finger at me, his voice rising with each word. "I warn you, if you keep this up, you'll regret it!"

Paul, ever the observer, leaned indolently against the doorframe with a smirk. "If you were really capable, you could land an interview without that suit. So what's with the dramatics? Sounds like someone's just not up to the task."

At that moment, my fury reached its zenith, but strangely, it was as if a calm had descended upon me, a quiet resolve that tempered the storm within.

I gently lifted Kate to her feet. "Mom, you're making this into a bigger deal than it is. It's just a suit. So what if it's ruined? Why are you so worked up about it?" My voice was steady, devoid of the anger that I had felt just moments before.

I wasn't backing down; instead, I played her game, allowing her to believe that she held the upper hand.

Fortunately, there was still time. I could rush back to the boutique where I had first laid eyes on the suit.

I would find another, identical in style and size, and in doing so, reclaim a piece of my independence, my determination.

4

In the end, I managed to land the job of my dreams.

But the moment I settled into my new role, Kate's relentless presence turned my excitement into dread.

She would waltz into my office, Mia cradled in her arms, transforming what should have been a productive workspace into an arena of chaos. No matter how much the nanny pleaded with her to back off, Kate was convinced that Mia was sobbing for her mother and that only I could calm her.

During meetings, just when I thought I could finally focus, she would burst in unannounced, ignoring the receptionist's desperate attempts to keep her at bay. In front of a dozen colleagues, she'd declare that Mia wouldn't touch frozen milk, demanding I feed Mia immediately.

My stomach twisted with embarrassment and anger as I felt their curious, judgmental eyes collect every nuance of my humiliation.

"Stop coming to my workplace and interrupting me!" I said, my voice firm but barely masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"I just want to come by every noon so you can feed the baby," Kate replied, sounding so casual as if we were discussing the weather.

"Seriously, the nanny can handle it. I'll be home after work," I insisted, my patience fraying with each syllable.

"I'll have your dad drive me here. You can feed the baby and still have time to rest," Kate said, as though this was a perfectly reasonable plan.

It felt as if we were speaking entirely different languages.

I was setting clear boundaries, yet she remained lost in her whimsical world, completely disregarding my needs.

Frustration welled up within me, and I shouted, "I told you to stop coming! Just stop! Can you not understand simple instructions, or is your hearing on the fritz?"

At that moment, Tom exploded, his voice filled with indignation. "My mom is just trying to talk to you nicely! Who are you yelling at?!"

"Talk nicely? Does she even grasp what I'm saying? She's just talking in circles!" I shot back, each word sharper than the last.

It hit me then—Kate was perpetually testing my limits, pushing me to see just how far she could stretch my patience. I was done with their nonsense. With a final burst of frustration, I slammed the door to my bedroom.

Paul lingered outside, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he said, "So, you think you're special just because this is your house? Slamming doors? You clearly have no manners!"

The following morning, Kate concocted a special black sesame soup, insisting it was her apology and demanding that I take it to work with me. However, I was well aware that buried within that dark, mysterious brew was the "obedience charm" paper she had procured from a self-proclaimed exorcist.

As I pondered my next move, I silently accepted the thermos from her, concealing my true thoughts.

Midway through the morning, Kate called, her voice brimming with urgency. "Hey, Kristen! We're almost there. Hurry down and feed the baby!" Her request was laden with the expectation that I would continue to play the dutiful woman, a role I had long grown weary of.

Yet, as I considered her demand, I decided to switch tactics. With a mirthless chuckle, I responded sweetly, "Sure thing, Mom! I'd love to see the baby every day. I'll be right down!"

My sudden shift to sweetness seemed to catch her off guard. Her voice, usually tinged with impatience, now carried an excited lilt. "Oh, great!"

As I descended to the car, I went through the motions mechanically—feeding the baby, soothing her with gentle coos, and indulging in the nutritious meals Kate had meticulously prepared.

I complied with everything, and my actions were a careful mimicry of the obedient woman she desired. Kate's eyes sparkled with surprise at my unexpected behavior, while Paul was even taken aback, asking Kate why I was so agreeable today.

With a smug smile, Kate claimed she had her "secret methods."

Feigning sleep, I pretended not to hear their conversation, but inside, I knew Kate was convinced that the charm was working, her mind easily swayed by my altered behavior.

For someone so desperate to prove her worth and conquer the family dynamics, how could she resist holding onto such a "powerful tool"?

As for the charlatan she believed in, I had no faith in whatever mystical wisdom he purported to possess. Who in their right mind would give someone a potion like that? It was clearly a scam, and I was just waiting for Kate to realize she'd been duped, left with nothing but her dignity in tatters.

5

Recently, Paul finally had his investment product mature.

This was a huge moment for him—years of saving and planning had culminated in what he envisioned as his retirement fund.

He'd been itching to withdraw the money, but Kate had kept him busy with a never-ending list of chores around the house.

Sinking into the couch, Paul puffed out his chest like a proud rooster, looking to impress Tom. "Once I get my hands on that cash, I might just buy you a house!"

He shot me a pointed look, adding, "Living in her place is like living in hell! Doors slamming all day! It's not rocket science to buy a house. What's all the fuss about?"

Tom rubbed his hands together, his face lighting up with anticipation. "No, Dad, don't bother with a house! Just get me a car! I've been crammed in the subway every day for work. I could really use some wheels!"

"Consider it done, son! You want a Mercedes or a BMW?" Paul replied, already giddy at the thought of splurging.

Tom's eyes sparkled at the mention of luxury cars.

The two of them fell into a playful back-and-forth, their dreams weaving a tapestry of fast cars and shiny new toys, completely lost in their fantasies.

Finally, the long-awaited day to retrieve the money arrived. Paul was up early, buzzing with excitement and bright-eyed, ready to seize the day.

After Tom waved him off with a grin, he sank back into the couch, daydreaming about the moment his dad would return with a fat stack of cash.

"What would it be? A Mercedes? A BMW? Maybe even a Land Rover, the pinnacle of urban off-road dreams?"

The possibilities swirled in his mind, making him giddy with anticipation.

Finally, the moment of triumph arrived. Tom hopped off the couch, eager and full of energy, grabbing his phone to invite a few buddies over, ready to flaunt the upcoming windfall.

But all that excitement quickly evaporated when Paul returned home, drenched in cold sweat and looking utterly defeated.

He cast a menacing gaze around the room, finally locking eyes with me. "Did you touch my bank card?!" he barked, his voice low and dangerously strained.

"Who even touched your card? Stop throwing accusations around!" I shot back, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Then where did the 300 thousand dollars go?! When I checked my balance, all that was left was thirty-four cents! Who else in this house would mess with my money?!" Paul shouted, slamming his bag against the floor in a fit of rage.

Kate quickly jumped in, trying to mediate the storm brewing in their living room. "Hey, calm down, old man! The young ones can be a bit vain, splurging on fancy clothes and bags. Kristen must've just made a mistake and swiped your card by accident."

Her words were a clumsy attempt to diffuse the tension, but they only seemed to ignite it further.

"Kristen, you didn't spend it all, did you? How much is left? Come on, return it! None of us wants a family feud, right?" Kate implored, her voice straining to sound conciliatory like a gardener trying to coax a stubborn rose to bloom.

I nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. I thought, "So this is how you're pinning it on me? And talking about family harmony? Is she threatening me?"

I scoffed, saying, "Why on earth would I want your money? If you think I did something, why not just call the cops?"

Paul glared at me, his eyes red with fury, like coals ready to burst into flames. "You think I won't? Just wait! I'll have the police lock you up for years, and don't think for a second I'll go easy on you!"

His words sent a wave of panic through Kate, who made attempts to intervene. But Paul pushed her aside, dramatically reaching for his phone as if ready to dial 911, his fingers trembling with rage.

That was when the floodgates opened for Kate. With tears streaming down her face, she finally confessed, "No, wait! Don't call the police! It was me! I took it!"