I Shielded Mom, But She Called Me Disgusting Instead Chapter 2

“You’ve grown up, Savannah.”

Yeah, I used to argue with her. Plead with her to stop sacrificing herself for Felicity.

But now? I felt nothing.

I slowly dressed, stepped out, and walked past my mom into the kitchen.

It's time to make some pancakes for myself.

It was funny. My birthday was the same as my real-life one.

We could celebrate.

My mom followed me, hesitated, then spoke.

“Careful not to burn yourself.”

I nodded indifferently.

I was here because of a car accident. The Taskkeeper Program told me if I completed my mission, I could wake up again.

I couldn’t bear losing my real family, so I agreed.

When I arrived, Savannah Harper was seven years old.

Even then, she knew how to cook and clean like it was muscle memory—skills that passed on to me.

I went from the pampered Gabrielle Hackett to Savannah, who could chop vegetables blindfolded and endure beatings without crying.

But that simple “be careful”…

That was the first time I’d heard those words from her in over a decade.

My mom left in a hurry, forgetting her purse. When she came back and saw me eating, she froze.

Ignoring her, I continued.

She finally spoke through gritted teeth.

“I spoke to your teacher. For Felicity, a tutoring program might help. About your paycheck…”

I looked up.

I’d lost count of how many times this had happened.

At first, she’d made excuses, promising to save the money for me. But it always turned into new dresses for Felicity.

Later, she stopped pretending, demanding I hand it over outright.

And so I did—rent, groceries, even trash bags.

I came home from a late shift, splashed cold water on my face more nights than I could count, and headed straight to school.

Half the time, I’d fall asleep in class, earning detention notices my mom ignored.

The day she told my teacher, “I don’t care about that kid. Do whatever you want with her,” I copied lines until 4 a.m.

That shift cost me my third job.

Returning home, the fridge was empty as always. Not even leftovers.

Every dollar I handed over ended up on Felicity—her new shoes, her shiny hair clips.

At first, I protested. Now, I was numb.

“Because you have his blood!” she’d scream.

“Everything you do, you owe me!”

I stood, staring into her tired, lined face.

Before she could speak, I pulled out a small bundle from my pocket—all the money I had left.

It didn’t matter. I couldn’t take it back to the real world anyway.

I washed my dishes and left her stunned in the kitchen, unsure what to do.