Chapter 10: My Mother's Promise

My mother insisted on staying with me that night.

I didn't argue.

She made soup in my tiny apartment kitchen while I sat at the table with my schoolwork spread out in front of me.

The scene was painfully ordinary.

That made it precious.

In my previous life, there had been a night almost exactly like this.

She had stood at the stove making soup while pretending not to notice that I had been crying.

I had pretended everything was fine.

Neither of us had told the truth.

Three days later, I was dead.

I watched her stir the pot.

“Mom.”

“Hmm?”

“If something happens to me, don't blame yourself.”

The spoon stopped.

She turned around slowly.

“Why would you say that?”

I immediately regretted it.

“I just mean—”

“Imogen.”

She put the spoon down.

“Come here.”

I stayed seated.

She walked over instead.

“You're scaring me.”

My eyes burned.

I couldn't tell her I remembered dying.

I couldn't tell her I remembered her hanging from the oak tree.

But I could change what happened.

“I was really scared this week.”

Her expression softened.

“I know.”

“And I kept thinking that if everything got worse, you'd suffer because of me.”

My mother crouched beside my chair.

“Look at me.”

I did.

“Nothing you go through makes my life worthless.”

My throat closed.

She continued.

“If you're hurting, we get help. If people mistreat you, we fight it properly. If school becomes unbearable, we find another school. If money becomes a problem, we figure it out.”

Her hand covered mine.

“But you never decide that disappearing will make my life better. Understand?”

Tears spilled down my cheeks.

I nodded.

She squeezed my fingers.

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

I suddenly hugged her.

She nearly fell backward.

“Careful with your stitches!”

I laughed through my tears.

For the first time since waking up again, the hatred inside me loosened.

Just a little.

I had thought rebirth meant revenge.

Maybe part of it did.

But sitting there with my mother alive in front of me, I realized revenge wasn't the most important thing I'd been given.

I had been given another chance to save what mattered.

The next morning, the school investigation produced its first official result.

Principal Warren called.

Security footage had identified the student who wrote on my desk.

Brooke Ellis.

She admitted doing it after being shown the video.

She had also admitted helping fabricate Greer's visitor document.

My mother put the call on speaker.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Brooke has been suspended pending a disciplinary hearing,” Principal Warren said.

“And Greer?”

“The investigation is ongoing.”

I wasn't surprised.

Greer's family had influence.

They would fight.

That was fine.

I had patience now.

After the call, I checked the forum.

The top post wasn't about my supposed abortion anymore.

It was titled:

“Timeline of the Greer Pierce Situation.”

Someone had compiled everything.

Her original photograph.

My reply.

Her fake hospital form.

Patrick Pierce's public posts showing he had been at St. Vincent.

The fabricated messages.

The school's notice about coordinated harassment.

The comments were brutal.

Some were too brutal.

I didn't enjoy them as much as I thought I would.

One person wrote:

“Greer should just disappear.”

I stared at the sentence.

Then I reported it.

My mother noticed.

“Why?”

“Because I know what it feels like when a crowd decides someone doesn't deserve to exist.”

She studied me for a long moment.

Then she kissed the top of my head.

My phone buzzed again.

This time it was an email.

From Principal Warren.

Subject:

“Urgent: Additional Evidence.”

I opened it.

The police had identified the phone number used to send one of the anonymous threats.

It belonged to a prepaid device.

But security footage from a convenience store showed who had purchased it.

Mason Cole.

I leaned back in my chair.

The school gate from my previous life flashed through my mind.

Mason laughing.

Mason calling me a slut.

Mason standing with his friends while I tried to walk away.

This time, he wasn't waiting at the gate.

This time, someone was waiting for him.

The police.