Chapter 3: The Price of Being Mom

I forced a smile, pretending to be helpless:

"You’re already sixteen and still so childish. When I married your father, your biological mom already had another kid running around."

I let my voice trail off, as if I were just stating facts, even though my hands trembled beneath the table. My heart thudded, slow and heavy, but my face was all practiced calm.

My husband’s younger sister’s lips twitched.

She looked like she’d just bitten into a lemon. Her eyes darted toward the kitchen, as if searching for backup.

"Now that you’re grown, I have to respect your wishes. Don’t worry, I won’t be your study buddy. Let’s make a vow right now, okay?"

I tried my best to look at her with gentle affection.

It was the hardest performance of my life—tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, even as my chest burned. "You have my word," I said, voice soft, making sure the whole table heard.

Natalie, thinking she’d won, looked pleased. "That’s more like it. But you have to keep your word."

Her lips curled in a tiny smirk, her eyes flicking to her friends as if to say, See? I always win.

"Of course, of course. All these relatives and friends can be our witnesses."

I gestured grandly to the room, letting everyone see the boundary she’d just drawn.

Just a few simple words, and everyone could see how little standing I had in the Parker family.

I could feel the room’s energy shift. Some guests smiled, relieved they didn’t have to get involved. Others just looked away, not wanting to choose sides.

My husband’s sister grew anxious when she heard me promise not to accompany Natalie:

"Lisa, Natalie’s just a kid. She doesn’t understand—do you really have to go along with her nonsense…"

I cut her off: "Today is Natalie’s graduation party. Let’s do as she wishes. Come on, everyone, let’s raise a glass to celebrate Natalie taking first place in the state!"

The room quickly recovered. Glasses clinked, and for a moment the tension lifted. Someone started singing the first line of “Happy Days Are Here Again,” and a few others joined in, off-key but enthusiastic.

What does it mean to accompany a high school student?

It means waking up before dawn and going to bed after midnight. You have to drive her to endless tutoring sessions, carefully prepare nutritious meals, and put up with Natalie’s constant sarcasm.

It’s like running a marathon every single day, except the finish line never comes. You become a taxi driver, a short-order cook, and a verbal punching bag all rolled into one.

In my previous life, I accompanied her for three years and aged ten.

She did get her guaranteed place at Stanford, but I was left with chronic insomnia and shattered nerves.

Now they want me to be her free nanny again?

The thought was almost comical. I pressed my palm against my thigh under the table to ground myself, reminding myself this time would be different.

Dream on—especially after dying because of her in my last life.