After the SAT, my son—whom I raised for eighteen years—joined forces with my sister to kill me. When I was lying on the ground covered with blood, struggling for my life, my son struck me in the eye with an axe, saying, “Stop staring at me. Go to hell.” Meanwhile, my younger sister, Nancy Kennan, was gleefully counting my wealth. When I was reborn, Nancy begged me, tears streaming down her face. “Zenobia, I’m sorry, but the child is innocent!” I nodded seriously. “Yes, he is innocent, so you must raise him well.”
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