The hurricane was on its way, but my mom insisted on opening the windows to let some air in. I told her it was dangerous and begged her not to. Yet, in the middle of the night, while I was asleep, she secretly opened the balcony doors and windows. In an instant, the glass doors shattered, and the hurricane stormed into the living room. I was asleep on the couch when the wind picked me up half a meter into the air. I begged my mom to pull me back. But she, afraid I’d drag her down with me, kicked me away. “Don’t blame your mom for being ruthless. Once you’re dead, your house and money will all belong to your brother!” The hurricane swept me out of the 18th floor, and I died instantly when I hit the ground. My mom turned to my dad and brother, cooking a pot of Maryland Blue Crabs to celebrate. She stubbornly muttered: “If she had just agreed to open the windows earlier, none of this would’ve happened.” She and Dad took all my savings, gave my house to my brother as his new wedding home, and drained me of every last bit of value. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn. Reborn three hours before the hurricane hit. My mom was already on her way, dragging the family along with their luggage, heading to me. “Sweetheart, come pick us up! The wind outside is crazy!” 0
“Come pick us up! The wind out here is wild!” On the other side of the video call, my mom stood at the entrance of the Atlanta Amtrak Station. Her voice, mixed with the howling wind, beat against my eardrums. My calf suddenly cramped, and I was drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. In my previous life, I fell to my death from the 18th floor. Back then, the hurricane hit. My mom insisted on opening the windows to air out the house and, in the middle of the night, snuck out and opened the balcony doors. The floor-to-ceiling windows shattered, and shards of glass scattered all over the living room. The hurricane, with winds up to Category 5, burst into the room. While I was asleep on the couch, completely unguarded, I was tossed half a meter into the air. My mom cowered behind the couch, staring at me in terror. Neighbors began to wake up one after another, their lights flickering on in the dark. I didn’t have time to question why, even though I had triple-checked and locked the windows before bed, they were now wide open. All I could do was cling desperately to the balcony door frame, screaming for my mom, who was hiding nearby. “Mom! Help me—!” The rain lashed against the windows, soaking my cotton pajamas, and the icy water dripped onto my eyelids, making me shiver uncontrollably. But not only did my mom not help, she kicked me away. “Get off me! Don’t drag me down with you!” I stared at her, wide-eyed in disbelief. The sharp pain radiating from my fingers hammered into my brain, reminding me that this nightmare was all too real. My mom kicked me again, venting years of pent-up anger: “You’ve only been giving us $500 a month for household expenses! Don’t think I don’t know you’re making $3,000! “Your brother needs a down payment for his house, and you refuse to help him. I didn’t raise such an ungrateful daughter!” It felt like someone had grabbed my heart and squeezed. My mom had always prided herself on treating my brother and me equally, never favoring one over the other. But now, for the first time, I was hearing her true thoughts… Lightning flashed across the sky. Her face twisted into an expression of rage I had never seen before. “You couldn’t even let your brother stay here for a few days, huh? Fine. Don’t blame me for being heartless. “If you die, your house and money will all go to your brother!” She kicked me again, this time with such force that she nearly slipped in the rain. There was a sickening crack. My fingers twisted and broke, forcing me to release my grip on the door frame. “Mom…” I was swept up by the hurricane, my white pajamas billowing in the wind, flapping like a sail. “Oh my God, she’s going to fall!” Cries of panic echoed from the building. A neighbor opened a window, reaching out to grab me, but their fingertips barely grazed the wet fabric of my clothes. “Thud—” A heavy, dull sound. My blood splattered like a web, spreading across the pavement, mixing with the rain as it flowed into the drains. The last thing I saw before everything went dark was my mom, standing on the 18th floor, looking down at me with a cold, indifferent glance. “Sweetheart?” My mom’s voice pulled me back to the present. In the blurry video call, her face, creased with wrinkles, twisted into a fake, calculating smile. “Hurry and come pick us up! The wind at the Atlanta Amtrak Station is crazy! Big cities sure are wild!” I snapped back to reality, my voice cold. “I already told you—I’m busy with work. You shouldn’t have come. “Either get back on the train or find a hotel. I’m not hosting you.” 02 I hung up the phone and immediately turned the car around. Watching the GPS show the station getting farther and farther away, I finally exhaled in relief. My brother, Emerson, had failed his exams and spent the last two years doing nothing. My parents used their connections to get him into Crestview Prep Academy in Atlanta. This time, they came to me because they wanted Emerson to live with me while he retook his exams, expecting me to take care of his meals and everything else. But I’m at a crucial stage in my career, and with Atlanta’s real estate prices so high, there’s no way my small Midtown condo could house two people. So, I refused and told them Emerson had to stay in the dorms. But my mom started complaining, saying I wasn’t giving enough for household expenses, and accusing me of not helping Emerson buy a house for his wedding. She called me selfish and ungrateful. And so, a simple disagreement became the spark that led my mom to kill me during the hurricane. The radio in the car crackled to life: [“A super hurricane has made landfall in the Gulf Coast, with maximum winds reaching Category 5. This is the strongest fall hurricane to hit the U.S. since 1949. All citizens are urged to take precautions.”] Without hesitation, I headed straight for the Marietta Farmer’s Market. This time, my parents hadn’t given me any warning they were coming to Atlanta. In my last life, I wasn’t prepared at all. When the hurricane hit, the four of us were crammed into my tiny condo, and within two days, we had eaten through all the food I had stocked. This time, I stormed into the market, buying potatoes and cabbage that would last a while, along with frozen seafood and hot pot ingredients. I also grabbed several cases of fruit and drinks, stuffing the entire trunk of the car. Finally, I stopped by a restaurant and ordered a ton of food. “Beef brisket, spicy chicken, pork belly… hurry up and pack it all to-go!” The takeout boxes were stacked like a mountain, filling the back seat of the car. While I waited, my phone buzzed with nonstop calls from my parents. “Sweetheart, we’ve come all this way! How could you send us back?” “Ivy, we traveled across the country to see you, and this is how you treat us? Raising you was a waste!” “Yeah, Ivy, how could you be so heartless? Mom and Dad came all this way just for you. Don’t you feel guilty?” My mom sent a voice message too, sounding pitiful: “Sweetie, I brought you your favorite homemade eggs. At least let me drop them off for you. I’m not here with any bad intentions.” In the picture, the eggs were cracked, the yolk leaking through the red plastic bag. I chuckled bitterly to myself. Love is a fickle thing. Where there’s money, there’s love. Emerson does nothing at home, yet he always gets the newest iPhone every year, wears expensive sneakers, and lives better than I do. I may earn $3,000 a month from my tech job, but after taxes, my mortgage, and renovation loans, nearly $2,000 goes to the bank. And with my mom asking for $500 a month, I barely get by. I sighed, blocked all three of them on WeChat, and used the restaurant’s Wi-Fi to download TV shows and movies. I remembered the hurricane would knock out the power, and the whole Brookstone Heights Subdivision would be without electricity for days. I still had about an hour and a half before the hurricane hit. When I got home, ready to haul the groceries in with a dolly, I noticed something strange. The doormat was wet. Something wasn’t right. Sure enough. The moment I opened the door, I saw it. The room was soaked. Several umbrellas, dripping with dirty water, were scattered around the entryway. Emerson had kicked off his socks, his filthy feet sprawled across my cream-colored bed, lying carelessly beside my underwear. Dad was chain-smoking, cigarette butts littered the floor, with burn marks scorched into the carpet. And my mom was rifling through my fridge, slabs of raw beef spread across the floor next to her. When she noticed me, she turned and smiled casually. “Ivy, you’re back! I noticed you had some beef in the fridge, so I’ll cook it up for your brother later!” 03 I snapped at them, “How did you get into my house? Didn’t I tell you to go back home?” Emerson smirked and let out a small chuckle. “Mom already found out where you live. Besides, you should know what I do for a living.” I took a deep breath. For the past two years since graduating high school, Emerson had been working as a locksmith’s apprentice, so he had no trouble picking my lock and getting into my apartment. “This is illegal. I’ll call the cops!” But before I could act, my mom slammed her hand down on my phone. “We’re family! What’s with all the drama? I told you we were coming, didn’t I? Look, I even brought you some eggs from home.” She held up a few large bags with a triumphant smile, showing off the eggs, pickled vegetables, and some homemade bread that was so stale it felt like it had been sitting out for weeks. But while she was pinching pennies with homemade food, she had no problem raiding my fridge for the good stuff—salmon, beef, seafood—all gifts from friends, things I barely allowed myself to touch. The contrast was heartbreaking. My mom looked around my apartment, critiquing everything as usual. “Ivy, this pink bedspread is ridiculous. Toss it out and get something your brother can use! “And he’s staying with you for the next year, so you’d better take good care of him. “He’s still growing! Buy more salmon and seafood for him, okay?” Listening to her rambling, my fists clenched as my thoughts raced. The hurricane was coming soon. Even if I called the police, they wouldn’t make it in time. It was clear: staying here wasn’t an option. I forced a smile at the chaos around me. “Okay, Mom.” I had already given them chances. I wasn’t going to stop what was coming. After all, a couple of deaths during a hurricane was just normal, right?
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