The Truth Behind My Brother’s Death Chapter 1

My stepmother loathed me.

As a child, I’d left our yard gate open while playing at a friend’s house. My younger brother wandered out, was hit by a car, and died.

My father, who adored him, shattered with grief and accused me of leaving the gate open on purpose. He locked me in the basement and raised me like an animal.

Years later, starving after days without food, I crept upstairs and overheard my stepmother with her lover. “If you hadn’t left the gate open,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t fear my husband learning we killed Michael.”

It was them all along.

She saw me, panicked, and threw me down the stairs.

I woke up again on the day my brother died.

This time, I pointed upstairs and sweetly told my father, “Daddy, I did close the gate. The man in Mommy’s bedroom left it open.”

* * *

"Lily, did you really see a man leave the gate open?!"

My father stood just outside the yard, his bloodshot eyes boring into me.

A cold sneer formed in my mind.

Look at him. So broken up over his precious son.

In my last life, I explained over and over that I’d closed the gate, but he only listened to the venom my stepmother whispered in his ear. He was utterly convinced that I had murdered his only son.

My own mother died bringing me into this world. Before her memorial was even over, he brought my stepmother—already pregnant—into our home. That woman, Charlotte, secured her position as the lady of the house with a premature baby boy, a birth that ruined her body and left her unable to have any more children.

So Michael became the center of my father's universe.

After Michael died, Dad treated me like a dog. I ate from a dog bowl, slept in a cage, and was forced to bark to appease his impotent rage and his guilt towards Charlotte.

This time, I wouldn't be so stupid.

I would use his masculine pride, his all-consuming love for his son, to drag that wretched pair through the mud.

So the first thing I did after being reborn was to head straight home to catch my stepmother in the act. But I never made it. As I turned back, I saw him—Michael, standing right in the middle of the road.

In the distance, my father’s face was a mask of horror. I was closer. Wanting to make a good impression this time, I lunged forward and pulled Michael back just as the car screeched past. I saved him, but not entirely. He didn't die instantly like before, but the tires crushed his legs, leaving him crippled.

"Honey!" Charlotte's shriek tore through the air. She scrambled over, snot and tears streaming down her face, and clung to my father's arm. "Don't listen to this little bitch's lies! Her mother died, and she's always hated us! She opened the gate on purpose! She wanted to kill Michael!"

Before Dad could react, I scurried over on my little legs and threw my arms around his thighs. I tilted my grimy face up, looking at him with the purest, most innocent eyes I could muster.

"No, Daddy, I didn't!" My voice was small and thick with tears, overflowing with injustice. "I want a mommy to love me too, but she doesn't. I thought… I thought if I was nice to Michael, you would both love me…"

I squeezed out a few fat tears as I spoke, my little hand pointing towards my brother, who was wailing in pain from his shattered legs.

"I give Michael my milk every day, and I let him play with my favorite teddy bear… Just now, if I hadn't pulled him back, he would have flown up to heaven and couldn't play with me anymore. My teacher says we have to be kind and look after the young. I did that, Lily is a good girl. You have to believe me, Daddy."

Since I had always acted sweet to Michael to please my father, the words flowed from my lips without a hint of shame.

I hugged his leg tighter, clinging to him with all the desperate strength a child could possess. Then, I cast my line.

"If you don't believe me, you can go upstairs right now and find that man! I bet he hasn't even left yet!"