Chapter 5: History Repeats

On the way home from the graduation party, Natalie sat in the back seat and told me she was going to a friend’s house for a couple of days and wouldn’t be home.

Her backpack was slung carelessly on the seat next to her, earbuds in, scrolling through TikTok like the world outside didn’t matter. I watched her in the rearview, already bracing for a fight.

I wasn’t surprised, because the male lead in her life was about to show up—a little punk named Caleb Foster.

At this point, she was planning to accept Caleb’s invitation to stay at his big house for two days.

In my previous life, it was because I tried so hard to keep her away from that punk that she started to resent me.

In her first year of high school, her grades suddenly plummeted. She secretly got a tattoo and started smoking.

After asking her classmates, I found out she was dating a rich kid named Caleb Foster.

Once I figured out what was going on, I started watching her closely and warned Caleb to stay away from my daughter.

Because I knew someone like Caleb would never marry a girl from a remarried, divorced family like ours. The wealthy care about family background and connections.

I didn’t want Natalie to become his plaything.

I also advised Natalie to give up and focus on her studies.

Unexpectedly, three months later, Caleb went abroad.

Natalie thought I had forced him to leave.

Later, after I hired expensive tutors, her grades gradually got back on track.

But after she secured her spot at Stanford, the first person she wanted to get rid of was me.

After being hit by a car, just before I died, I kept wondering: Where had I failed her, for her to hate me so much?

Now, I finally understand. Some people are just ungrateful wolves—you can never raise them right.

But right now, Natalie is still a minor. As her guardian, I still have to look out for her safety.

Even though I knew in my last life she spent the night at Caleb’s house, I still asked, "Where are you going, and with whom?"

She replied impatiently, "Why do you care? You’re not even my real mom. I told you—I’m with a friend."

Her tone was sharp, dismissive. She kept her eyes glued to her phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

I pressed further: "Friends can be boys or girls. Are you going to a boyfriend’s house or a girlfriend’s house?"

I kept my voice steady, but my fingers drummed nervously against the steering wheel. The road ahead blurred as I tried to read her reaction in the mirror.

Seeing me push, she suddenly changed her story:

"Actually, I want to go to my mom’s for a couple of days before school starts. I was afraid you wouldn’t let me, so I lied."

She sounded almost convincing, but her eyes darted sideways, betraying her nervousness.

"Then have her message me: when you’re going, how long you’ll stay, when she’ll bring you back—have her write it all down."

I wasn’t asking—I was laying down the law, the way every mom in this town does when their kid starts getting slippery. I just didn’t want her father and grandmother to blame me if something happened to her.

This was standard CYA—cover your ass—parenting. In Maple Heights, people gossiped about every little thing, and I’d learned the hard way to keep receipts for everything.

Natalie sent messages on her phone, muttering under her breath, "So annoying. Can’t have her own kid, just controls me every day…"

I bit back a retort, grinding my teeth so hard my jaw ached. Part of me wanted to pull over and scream, but I just gripped the wheel tighter and stared at the yellow lines rolling by.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw Natalie’s face twisted in annoyance.

She tapped out a message, rolling her eyes at every word. I caught my own reflection, tired and drawn, and wondered when I’d started looking so old.

I was so angry I could explode. I really wanted to tell her, if it weren’t for my legal obligations, I wouldn’t care if she went to the moon.

But I swallowed it down. This wasn’t about her; it was about surviving, one day at a time.