I used to believe that love could survive anything. Pain. Poverty. Loneliness. Even betrayal. I clung to the idea like a drowning woman to driftwood, because what else did I have left? I was a wife who had forgotten how to dream, a mother whose heart beat for her child, and a sister who foolishly believed blood meant loyalty. But all of that changed the night I died. It was raining heavily that evening. The kind of rain that drenched you to the bone in seconds.
I remember standing outside the grand gates of the mansion I once called home, umbrella long since abandoned, my heels in one hand, and a bag of my son's favorite dumplings in the other. I had left work early, a surprise planned. My boss had let me go after seeing the exhaustion in my eyes. I told myself I'd take a long bath, eat dinner with my husband and son, and maybe—just maybe—find a moment of peace. I should have known peace wasn't made for women like me.
As I stepped inside, everything was quiet. The staff was nowhere to be seen—strange. Normally, someone greeted me at the door.
I set the bag on the kitchen counter and took the marble stairs slowly. Each step echoed like a countdown. I didn't know I was walking toward my grave. The master bedroom door was wide open. Soft moans drifted through the crack. My fingers clenched the doorknob. No. No, no, no. I pushed it open.
And there they were. My husband—my perfect, charming, career-obsessed husband—and my sister, my gentle, smiling, always-there-for-me little sister. Together.
Naked. Covered in my bedsheets, like a scene from a cheap drama. Her head was tilted back in pleasure. His hands were all over her. And both of their faces went pale the moment they saw me. I stood there, the rainwater dripping from my soaked clothes onto the floor. I didn't scream. I didn't throw the dumplings. I think something inside me just cracked.
"Why?" I whispered. My voice came out hollow. Shaky. He pulled away from her with a groan, as if I was an annoying interruption. "You should've knocked."
Knocked? My lips trembled. My heart was racing, but my feet felt frozen to the floor. "You. you're my husband. And she's—she's my sister…"
My sister rose from the bed with all the grace of a woman who wasn't the least bit ashamed. She didn't even bother covering herself.
"You always were too naïve," she said sweetly. "Look at you. Standing there like some tragic heroine. Honestly, we were doing you a favor."
A favor.My nails dug into my palms.
"You're my family…" I choked. "I gave up everything for you. For him. My job. My life. My self-respect. I stood by you both for years—!"
"You stood in the way," she cut in sharply, eyes narrowing. "He should've been mine from the start. Everyone knew it. But you just had to play the dutiful wife."
My knees gave out. I collapsed to the floor.
All I could think of was my son.
Our son. His small smile. The way he loved bedtime stories. The way he called me "Mama" like I was his entire world.
"Where is he?" I asked, suddenly terrified.
Neither of them answered. Then came the sound of a door creaking behind me. My son's voice.
"Mom?" He stood there, rubbing his eyes, holding his favorite stuffed rabbit. He took one look at the scene and started to cry.
My husband stood, walking past me as though I wasn't even there. He crouched in front of our son and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"I told you to stay in your room."
"I'm scared…" he whimpered. "Why is Mom crying?" I tried to get up. To reach for him.
But then, I felt it. A sharp pain in my back.
And a warmth spreading across my stomach. I looked down. Blood. A knife.
I stumbled forward, turning in horror. My sister stood behind me, still nude, a kitchen knife in her hand. She looked serene. Unbothered.
"It's time we clean up this mess," she said coldly. "You were never supposed to last this long anyway." I collapsed. My son screamed. "Mom!" His small hands tried to grab mine, but my husband pulled him away.
"Throw her out," he barked at someone behind him. "And take the boy too. He's no use to me now." Two men in black suits entered. My vision was blurring, the world spinning, but I saw them. Heard them.
"Leave him on the streets. Somewhere far. Make sure he doesn't find his way back."
"No!!" I cried, blood choking my voice. "Don't touch him! Don't—" But they didn't listen.
They dragged my son away, kicking and screaming.
"Mom! Mom, wake up! Don't let them take me!" His voice faded as darkness closed in.
The last thing I saw was my sister smirking, wiping the blood from her hands like it was a regular thing for her. And then, I died.
Just like that. Alone. Betrayed. Bleeding. But death was not the end.
I woke up with a sharp gasp. My chest heaved. My hands clutched at my throat. Sweat soaked my sheets. I sat up, wild-eyed. The room was clean. Pristine. Familiar. My dresser. My bookshelf. The pink flower vase that had broken years ago. The teddy bear my son used to sleep with was sitting right there on the bed beside me. My heart thundered. No. It wasn't possible.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the phone on my nightstand. The screen lit up.
July 3rd. 5:45 a.m.
Five years ago.
I scrambled out of bed and ran to the mirror.
I saw myself but not the broken woman who died with blood on her lips. I saw a younger version. Full cheeks. Smooth skin. No shadows under the eyes. No scar on the shoulder from the night I was pushed down the stairs by.. A knock interrupted my thoughts. Then the door opened.
"Big sis! You're not dressed yet?" My sister poked her head in, smiling sweetly. "Don't forget! Today's your husband's big promotion party! You need to look perfect."
She walked in like it was just another day. Like she hadn't stabbed me. Like she hadn't stolen everything. I froze.
"Are you okay?" she asked, tilting her head.
I stared at her. Her smile. That voice. That knife. It was all back. Everything. I knew what she would do. What he would do. I knew every move they would make before they even made it. And I was alive again.
This time, I wasn't a weak little wife. I wasn't the blind sister. I wasn't the disposable woman they left in a pool of her own blood.
This time? I was their nightmare. I turned toward the mirror and smiled coldly, sharp, unrecognizable. They wanted war. They just didn't know I'd come back from the dead to win it.