When Mom Married Rich

After my mother clawed her way into a wealthy family, she took me along as her baggage.

My stepfather was a gentle man who treated me as his own, yet my mother constantly whispered in my ear, "His affection for little girls isn't pure." She deliberately forced a wedge of suspicion between us, making me recoil from his kindness.

My stepbrother was an energetic teenager who tried to love me like a real sister. My mother responded by hiding his intimate clothing in my room and staging a discovery, creating a misunderstanding that convinced him I was a depraved child trying to seduce him to secure my status.

The Harrington grandparents were reasonable, dignified people. They felt sorry for my meager upbringing and bought me designer clothes and jewelry. My mother would secretly shred the fabrics and break the clasps. When the elders discovered the ruined gifts, she would sigh with feigned disappointment, claiming that I had destroyed them deliberately because I looked down on anything "too cheap."

In my past life, I never understood why she was so obsessed with sabotaging my relationships. It wasn't until after I died that I realized the truth. She wanted to be part of that high-society world, but she wanted me—the "drag" from her shameful past—to die quietly somewhere out of sight.

Having been reborn, I didn't wait for her to hypocritically drag me to the Harrington family estate. Instead, I took the initiative to request a spot in an orphanage.

But to my surprise, the Harrington grandparents, my stepbrother, and my stepfather all came looking for me.

...

"Emily, is your stuff packed yet? When you see the Harringtons later, try to be sharp. Don't look so pathetic and penniless. Don't you dare embarrass me."

My mother, Karen Blackwell, gave these orders without looking up, focused entirely on applying a layer of expensive lipstick in the vanity mirror.

In the reflection, she looked glamorous and striking, her eyes sparkling with the triumph of a woman about to marry into old money. The mirror also captured me: thin, pale, and wearing a faded old T-shirt. I looked like a miserable creature crushed by the weight of life.

This scene was an exact replica of the day she took me to the Harrington family's mansion in my previous life. That was where it all began—the moment I stepped into the hell she had meticulously woven for me.

She didn't bring me into that marriage out of maternal love. She brought me because Richard Harrington, a man of genuine character, felt sorry for me. He insisted on a clause in the prenuptial agreement, stating that I must be brought along and promised to treat me as his own daughter. Karen couldn't refuse, so she swallowed her resentment and agreed.

To her, I was a stain on her new life as a refined socialite—a constant reminder of a Bridgeport past she wanted to bury.

She used every tactic imaginable to ensure every member of the Harrington family hated and isolated me.

Richard was a true gentleman who bought me beautiful dresses and offered to read me bedtime stories. Karen would hiss in my ear, "A grown man being that nice to you? He has dark intentions. Stay away from him."

I believed her. I began to shun Richard, and I can still remember the look of utter confusion and hurt in his eyes.

Matthew, my stepbrother, was a cheerful boy who tried to teach me sports and offered me his limited-edition game consoles. Karen waited until I was out, stuffed Matthew's worn gym shirts under my pillow, and then "accidentally" let him find them. From then on, Matthew looked at me with nothing but loathing and disgust.

Even Edward and Margaret, the kind grandparents, weren't spared. The jewelry they gifted me would be snipped apart by Karen in the middle of the night. She would then frame me, telling them that I had lost my temper and destroyed the pieces because I thought they were "budget" items.

Eventually, I became the most despised person in the Harrington family.

Finally, on a rainy night, Karen "tripped" into me at the top of the stairs. I tumbled down the flight and broke my neck. She didn't even bother to keep up the act then. She knelt beside my broken body and whispered in a voice only I could hear, "Emily, you should have died a long time ago. Don't blame Mom for being heartless."

As my soul drifted above, I watched her collapse over my corpse, sobbing as if her heart were breaking. I watched the Harringtons, who disliked me but still felt the tragedy of a young life lost, mourn my passing.

In that moment, I understood completely. She never wanted a daughter. I was just a jagged stone she was desperate to throw away.

Now, given a second chance, I had returned to the eve of our departure for the Harrington family estate.

"Did you hear me?" Karen prompted impatiently.

I looked up, meeting her scrutinizing gaze, and spoke calmly. "I'm not going to the Harrington family's house."

The hand holding her lipstick froze. She looked at me as if I'd just told a ridiculous joke. "What did you say?"

"I said, I'm not going with you."

"I hope you and Richard are happy together. But I don't want to intrude on your new life. I've already contacted Mrs. Wilson from the community center. I asked her to help me apply for a spot at the youth services center in Bridgeport."

In my last life, I held onto unrealistic fantasies that my mother might actually love me. In this lifetime, I only wanted to be far away from her.

Karen's face instantly turned a sickly shade of red. She lunged forward, grabbing my arm with enough force to crush the bone.

"Emily! Have you lost your mind? Do you even know what kind of places those are? You're my daughter! Do you think I'd just abandon you?" She lowered her voice, her tone dripping with venomous threats. "I'm warning you—don't play games with me, or you'll regret it!"

Pain flared through my arm, and tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

"You're the one who told me the Harringtons don't want a 'drag' around. I don't want to be a burden to you."

I threw her own words from the previous life back at her, verbatim.

Karen's expression shifted from anger to embarrassed shock. She clearly hadn't expected me to use her own rhetoric against her. She opened her mouth to snap back, but the doorbell rang.

"Who is it?" she barked toward the door.

A gentle, slightly anxious voice drifted from the hallway. "Hello? We're from the Stamford community services office. We're looking for Emily Hart."

I wrenched my arm from Karen's grip and ran to open the door.

Standing there was Evelyn Wilson, the social worker, accompanied by two aides. When Mrs. Wilson saw the angry red marks blooming on my arm, her brow furrowed instantly.

Karen's "perfect mother" mask snapped back into place. She forced a bright, tender smile. "Oh, Evelyn! Please, come in. This child is just having a little tantrum... Children don't always know what's best for them..."

I ignored her completely and looked straight at Mrs. Wilson. "Mrs. Wilson, my mother is getting remarried. I don't want to be her burden. Please, I want to go to the shelter."

"Emily! Stop this nonsense right now!" my mother shrieked, her composure fracturing.