Mom and Dad Secretly Help My Twin Sisters Go to College

"Amy, come home now! Your mom's been in a car accident!"

My dad's voice snapped me out of my daze. I stood before Yale, the university I had dreamed about for eighteen long years.

Families bustled around me—parents proudly helping their kids move in. I was the only one alone, dragging my suitcase, frozen in place.

My dad's cries echoed through the phone, but when I tried to speak, the burning pain in my throat took over, forcing me to my knees as I dry-heaved.

I had been reborn—right here, on the very day I was supposed to start my life at Yale.

In my last life, the moment I got that desperate call from my dad, I dropped everything to go home and take care of my mom. He told me he had to work, that Dakota had run off, and my bedridden mom needed full-time care. His salary was all we had to rely on.

So, I took a leave from school and spent every day nursing my mom, cooking, cleaning, and doing the dirtiest chores. Dad earned six thousand a month, but he blew most of it on eating out and drinking, only giving me six hundred for the household. The rest? Who knew where it went.

My mom and I scraped by. I hand-washed our clothes to save on electricity, never dared to turn on the air conditioning in the summer, and shivered through winters with no heat. By 9 p.m. every night, we'd turn off all the lights to cut down the bills.

I convinced myself that Dad was making sacrifices for the family, and since Mom never complained, neither did I. But when New Year came, Dakota—my long-lost sister—returned, flaunting her wealthy boyfriend.

That was when the truth came out.

My mom had never been in a car accident. They made it all up. The whole point was to get me out of the way so my twin sister, Dakota, who had flunked her exams, could take my spot at Yale.

Furious at their blatant favoritism, I confronted my parents, but they locked me in the attic for three days and nights without food. When I finally gave in and pretended to go along with their plan, they let me out.

I tried to escape the first chance I got, but they begged for forgiveness, promising to make things right if I just stayed for one last family meal. Trusting them was my biggest mistake.

Dakota poisoned me.

I died on the spot, and before I could even find peace in death, my parents helped her dismember my body and feed me to alligators. There wasn't a trace of me left.

When devotion became a weapon and morality became a cage, who would still want to play the role of the dutiful child?

Now that I've been given another chance at life, I'm living it for myself. This time, no one is going to stop me.