Reborn to Put My Toxic Family on Trial

In my past life, my mother followed an AI-generated home remedy and sent my brother straight to the emergency room. My twenty-year-old brother couldn't stop hiccupping, so he immediately ran crying to our mother. Panicking, she typed "how to cure hiccups fast" into an AI search engine, and one ridiculous tip popped up: "Drink a mouthful of dish soap for instant, miraculous relief." She actually bought it. Without a second thought, she headed for the kitchen to grab the bottle of Dawn dish soap. I desperately threw myself in front of her, screaming that dish soap would burn his stomach and intestines. My mother's eyes turned red, and she shrieked at me, "You’re just jealous of your brother! You can’t stand to see him get better!" She poured the liquid soap straight into his cup. Leo winced and swallowed a huge mouthful. That night, Leo had to have his stomach pumped. The ER doctor lost his mind screaming at her: "A little more and this would’ve killed him!" Leo was ghost-pale, throwing up the entire night. Our father died early, leaving my mother with absolute authority in our house. After Leo was discharged, she showed zero remorse. Instead, she pinned the whole disaster on me: "If you hadn't delayed me with your arguing, he would’ve been fine! Your brother suffered entirely because of you!" From that day on, she despised me. Six months later, she forced me to marry the most violent thug in town. Shortly after the wedding, he beat me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn. I was right back on the day she fed my brother dish soap. I died in the dead of winter when I was twenty-one. Killed by my husband—the town's infamous drunk and wife-beater. He got wasted, dragged me out into the backyard over some petty excuse, and punched me to death, blow after brutal blow. In the final moments of my life, the person on my mind wasn't the monster killing me. It was my mother. She was the one who pushed me into that living hell. When I opened my eyes, I was back in the summer of my twentieth year. I lay on my worn-out mattress, staring up at the familiar crack on the ceiling, completely stunned. I dug my nails hard into my palm. It hurt. A sharp, vivid pain. I was really back. From the living room came Leo's loud, echoing hiccups. "Mom! Mom! I’m dying! Hic! I can't breathe!" Brenda rushed out of the kitchen, grease splattered on her apron, her face twisted in pure distress. "Oh, my poor baby, what happened?" She wrapped her arms around my twenty-year-old brother, rubbing his back with one hand while stroking his hair with the other. "Mom, I—hic!—I’m gonna die!" Leo buried his face in her chest, forcing out a few fake tears. "Stop that! Don't you dare talk about dying!" Tears welled in her eyes as she frantically pulled out her phone. "Mom will look it up. Mom will fix this!" She began searching online. In my last life, this was the exact moment she found that bizarre remedy. I had rushed out, begging her to stop, warning her that detergent was toxic. She didn't believe a word. Instead, she glared at me with bloodshot eyes and screamed, "Stella Vance! You’re just jealous of your brother! You hate seeing him well!" She hadn't listened to me at all. This time, I wouldn't lift a finger. I stayed quietly in my bedroom, listening to her thrilled voice in the living room: "Baby, I found it! Look at this, it says taking a gulp of dish soap cures it instantly!" "Mom, are you sure that’s safe?" Leo sounded slightly hesitant. "Of course it is! The AI said so, and look at all the likes!" Her voice was absolute. I heard her step into the kitchen and pop open the bottle cap. "Come on, sweetie, drink this down. One gulp and the hiccups are gone." "Mom, this smells awful..." "Just drink it! Stop whining. Drink it and I’ll make your favorite dinner." I closed my eyes and listened to the wet, swallowing sounds coming from the next room. A few seconds later, violent gagging and choking erupted across the living room. "Mom! My throat's burning!" "What’s happening? Why is this happening?" Panic crept into her voice. "Leo, don't scare Mom like this!" The living room fell into total chaos. I stood up and stepped out of my room. Leo was on his knees against the coffee table, retching hysterically. Thick white foam spilled out of his mouth, reeking of artificial lemon soap. Brenda fell to her knees beside him, clinging to his shoulders, wailing at the top of her lungs. I pulled out my phone with a trembling, hurried look and dialed 911. "Hello? Apartment 401, Sunnyvale Court. Someone ingested toxic dish soap. We need an ambulance immediately." When I hung up, my mother finally noticed me standing there. Her eyes were bloodshot, snot and tears smearing across her face. Her voice cracked into a sharp, terrifying shriek: "Stella Vance! Where the hell were you?! Your brother is dying, and you just stood there?!" She shrieked until her voice broke. She didn't ask why I hadn't stopped her—deep down, she knew she had poured the poison down her golden boy's throat herself. My voice shook slightly. "I was reading in my room." I walked over and helped steady Leo. His skin had turned ashen, his lips an unnatural shade of blue, foam continually oozing from his mouth. Brenda wept and spat curses at the same time: "This is all your fault! If you had come out sooner, would I have given him that?!" "You just want your brother dead!" I didn't utter a single protest. In the distance, the wailing sirens grew closer.In the hospital hallway, the stench of antiseptic made my stomach churn. Leo was wheeled into the ER to have his stomach pumped. Brenda's eyes were swollen from crying. She glared up at me with raw, venomous hatred. "Stella Vance, if anything happens to your brother, I will never forgive you." Her voice was raspy. I sat on the bench opposite her, saying nothing. The ER light clicked off, and the doctor walked out, fury blazing in his eyes before he even pulled down his mask. "Who are the family members?" "Me! I’m his mother!" She lunged forward. The doctor yanked off his mask and barked at her: "What kind of parent are you? Giving your own kid dish soap to drink?!" Brenda trembled under the scolding, fresh tears spilling over. "I... I didn't mean to... I saw it online from an AI home remedy..." "A home remedy?!" The doctor’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "You believe whatever an AI tells you? Your son is twenty years old, not a toddler!" "What on earth is wrong with you?" Brenda couldn't form a coherent word. Her legs gave out, and she slid slowly down against the wall. Then, she raised her bloodshot eyes toward me. "Why didn't you stop me? If you had just come out of your room and stopped me, would this have happened?" "I knew it! You resent your brother! You hate me for loving him! You want him dead, and you want this family destroyed!" Her shrill voice echoed down the corridor, drawing curious and judgmental looks from nurses and other patients. People glanced our way, their expressions mixed with pity and disbelief. I ignored them completely. A woman nearby whispered, "Some mothers are completely out of their minds..." She didn't finish her sentence. But it was enough. Brenda had already secured the role she craved most—the poor, heartbroken "victim." Hearing the whispers, Brenda doubled down. She grabbed a young nurse's hand and began sobbing hysterically: "You be the judge! My daughter was right in the next room! If she had just spoken up, would I have made this mistake?" "She did this on purpose!" The nurse awkwardly pulled her hand away, glancing at me with deep discomfort, unsure of what to say. This time around, I wasn't going to cry, drop to my knees, or beg for forgiveness. I knew that in my mother’s eyes, breathing was my first mistake. After filing Leo's admission paperwork, the doctor called us into his office. "The patient is out of immediate danger, but there is chemical burning along his esophagus and gastric lining. He needs to stay for at least a week of strict observation." "Liquid diet only for the next week. No solid or irritating foods." Brenda nodded over and over, weeping. "Doctor, will he have permanent damage?" "That depends on his recovery," the doctor replied coldly. "Let me be very clear. This incident will be officially documented in his medical records." "If there is any suspicion of domestic endangerment, we are legally required to report it." Brenda’s face drained of color. "No, no! It was an accident! I was just foolish and trusted some stupid internet tip!" She flailed her hands in a frantic panic. The doctor didn't waste any more breath on her. "Go pay the admission fees." Brenda dug through her purse, her expression souring by the second. "I didn't bring enough cash... Stella, pay it for now." I looked directly into her eyes. "How much is it?" "The deposit is three thousand, plus emergency rescue and stomach pumping—it's fifty-two hundred dollars in total." I pulled out my phone, unlocked my banking app, and held the screen in front of her. "I have eight hundred dollars left. That's my living expenses for the month." Her face dropped instantly. "What about the money from your tutoring job?" "I wired last month’s pay to you. You said Leo needed it for his driving school tuition." She choked on her words. "Then... what are we supposed to do?! Your brother is lying in a hospital bed!" she snapped. "I can borrow it," I said flatly. "But whoever borrows it has to pay it back." "Pay back who?! I’m your mother!" "Even so. Money doesn't fall from the sky." Brenda glared at me, her lips trembling with rage, but she couldn't come up with a retort. I walked over to the billing counter and swiped my card for fifty-two hundred dollars. When I stepped into the room, Leo was already awake. He lay on the bed, pale as a sheet, lips cracked, an oxygen tube in his nose and an IV needle in his arm. The moment he saw me, his eyes reddened with spite. "It’s all your fault!" His voice was a harsh, scratchy rasp. "If you had stopped her, would I have swallowed that crap? You did this on purpose! You wanted me dead!" Brenda rushed over and gathered him into her arms. "Hush, baby, don't talk. The doctor said you'll ruin your throat." Then she shot me an icy glare. "Get out. Stop upsetting your brother." I stood by the doorway, watching the mother-son duo. One playing the helpless victim, the other wiping away crocodile tears. I turned around and walked out. In my past life, it was the exact same script: Leo got sick, Brenda blamed me, and everyone pointed fingers at my cruelty. I was kicked around like garbage in that house until they finally sold my life away for thirty grand. That pain was carved deep into my bones. I pulled out my phone, opened my notes app, and began documenting everything that happened today— Time, place, people, and exact words spoken.On Leo’s third day in the hospital, my uncle Greg showed up. Wearing a faded polo shirt, he walked in with a scowl on his face. "Stella, come out here. We need to talk." He dragged me into the stairwell and shut the heavy fire door behind us. "Your mom called me. What’s this nonsense about you picking fights with your brother?" He tried to sound calm, but the irritation underneath was palpable. "Uncle Greg, nobody picked a fight. Mom poured dish soap down Leo's throat, and he ended up in the hospital." "I know, I know," Greg waved his hand dismissively. "Your mom explained it to me. She was naive and trusted some silly internet trick." "She had good intentions. She just wanted to cure his hiccups." He looked at me with an air of patronizing wisdom. "Stella, you’re the older sister. It hasn't been easy for your mother raising two kids by herself." "Your dad died young. You saw how hard she had to work all these years." "This was just an accident. You can’t blame your mother for this." I listened quietly, without offering a single word of debate. "Your uncle is right." Aunt Sarah appeared out of nowhere, stepping up behind Greg. "Stella, you know your mother. She’s tough on the outside but soft-hearted. She didn't mean to do it. You're her flesh and blood—are you really going to hold a grudge against your own mother?" "Besides, look at the state your brother is in. Your mother is suffering more than anyone right now." "Don't give her a hard time. Help where you can, pay what needs paying. Family doesn't keep score." Looking at Sarah’s hypocritical smile, I felt a wave of icy amusement. In my last life, when my husband beat me within an inch of my life, I called Greg and Sarah begging for help. Neither of them ever answered my desperate pleas. Yet now, they arrived lightning fast to lecture me. "Uncle Greg, Aunt Sarah, I understand," I said, lowering my gaze in apparent submission. "I’ll speak to Mom gently." They patted my shoulder, satisfied, and left. Over the next few days, Brenda dumped all her frustration and rage onto me, running me ragged with endless errands. I did every single chore without a word of complaint. On the seventh day, the doctor inspected Leo and said his recovery was stable enough for discharge, though he still needed a liquid diet and had to avoid irritants for a month. Brenda showered the medical staff with thanks and helped Leo hobble home. That evening, Brenda cooked an entire feast, claiming she needed to "nourish her baby boy." Braised pork ribs, sweet-and-sour pork chops, steamed sea bass—every single dish was Leo's favorite. In front of me sat only a bowl of plain rice and a few limp greens. "Mom, can I have some pork chops?" "You think you deserve meat? Your brother just got out of the hospital; he needs nutrients. What kind of grown adult fights an invalid for food?" I didn't utter another word. After dinner, Brenda called me over to the living room couch. "Stella, you’re twenty now, and college is wrapping up soon. Let's talk about your future." She sat back on the sofa, her voice unusually sweet. I knew the main act had finally arrived. "What is it?" "Your uncle found you a match. A decent guy who owns an auto repair shop in town. Hardworking, owns two houses, very stable." "When are you free to meet him?" My heart plummeted into an icy void. Word for word, the exact same script as my past life. "Mom, I’m still in school. I’m not interested in getting married right now." "School? What good is that second-rate degree going to do you? A woman settling down with a solid man is what matters." Her tone was beginning to harden. "Mom, I don't want to go." "You don't have a choice!" She slammed her palm against the coffee table and rose to her feet. "He’s such a great catch! What right do you have to be picky? Who do you think you are?!" "I said no, Mom." "Stella Vance!" She thrust a finger into my face. "Think you’re all grown up now? I’m telling you, this isn't up for debate!" "Your uncle already set the date. Next Saturday. You're going whether you want to or not!" I looked at her flushed face, twisted with irrational fury. It mirrored the past life perfectly. In my past life, I had fallen to my knees, sobbing, begging her to let me finish my degree. She had kicked me away, yelling, "What does studying put on the table?! Can you eat books? Your brother needs money to buy a house and find a wife someday! Consider this helping your family!" And so, she sold me to that violent alcoholic. Thirty thousand dollars bought my death warrant. This time, I was never dropping to my knees again. "Fine. I’ll go," I said calmly. Brenda paused, caught off guard by my immediate surrender. "Then... that settles it," she muttered, a smirk of smug triumph flashing across her face. I walked back into my room, locked the door, and pulled out my phone. My notes app already had dozens of entries. I reached deep under the bottom of my drawer and retrieved an old, yellowed envelope. My father had slipped it to me secretly a month before he passed away, while Brenda was out of the room. He had been emaciated, his arms covered in puncture bruises from IVs, yet he gripped my hand with everything he had left. "Stella... wait until I’m gone before you open this." I had never opened it. In my past life, it wasn't until right before my death that I learned about the will from one of my father’s old army buddies. I tore the envelope open. Inside were two pieces of paper. The first was my father's letter, his handwriting shaky and uneven: "Stella, Daddy is sick, and the doctors can't save me. Once I’m gone, life won't be easy for your mother raising both of you. I put away fifty thousand dollars for you. Your mother has the bank book, but she doesn't know it’s mine. When I pass, demand it from her—tell her it’s the dowry I set aside for you. As for our apartment, your grandparents left it to us. By law, it belongs fifty-fifty to you and Leo. I had an official will drafted and left it with my buddy, Jim. He’s a brother to me, completely trustworthy. When the time comes, go find him." The second sheet was a certified copy of the will. It stated in black and white: Apartment 401, Sunnyvale Court belongs equally to Stella Vance and Leo Vance, fifty percent each. Holding that paper, my fingers trembled violently. In my past life, Brenda used this very home as leverage to force me down the aisle. "If you don't marry him, I’ll sign the entire apartment over to your brother! You won't get a single dime!" Back then, I believed she held all the cards. I believed I truly deserved nothing. I was wrong. My father had planned for my safety all along. I carefully tucked the will into a secure hiding spot that only I knew about. Then, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a number I had saved three days ago. During a break between classes and work, I had visited the Legal Aid Center and consulted an attorney named Ethan Davis. I had asked him, "If I want to legally break away from my family, what evidence do I need?" He had given me a checklist. Now, it was time to put that checklist to work. I hit dial. "Hello, Mr. Davis? This is Stella Vance. We spoke earlier this week." "I’d like to know: if I want to press charges and file a lawsuit against someone, what materials should I prepare?" Attorney Davis's steady, professional voice came through the receiver. I picked up a pen and jotted down every single instruction.Three days passed after Leo was discharged. Life moved faster than I anticipated, but every hour felt like wading through fire. Brenda constantly brought up the blind date. "Stella, the man asked for a picture of you first." "Give me that nice passport photo of yours so I can text it to your uncle." "Stella, his name is Gary Miller. He’s eight years older than you." "Doesn't smoke, doesn't drink, owns his own business. A real catch." "Stella, your uncle said their family is willing to put down thirty thousand dollars in cash as an upfront arrangement." "Thirty grand! What other girl in this town gets that kind of money offered for her hand?" I listened to her with a polite, vacant smile on my face, counting down the days in my head. Eleven days until next Saturday. "I know, Mom. I’ll be there." I repeated the exact same line every time. Convinced I had yielded, Brenda flashed satisfied, predatory smiles. She had no idea that my "I’ll be there" didn't mean showing up for a date. By day, I attended my college lectures. In the evening, I tutored, and on weekends, I worked long shifts at the boba shop. Nobody knew what I was assembling in the shadows. I was gathering hard evidence. The receipt for the dish soap—Brenda bought it at the corner convenience store, and I had the transaction screenshot from her shared account. The 911 audio log—the recording of me reporting the address and symptoms, proving how critical the situation was. The doctor's diagnosis—stating "chemical burn to esophagus caused by accidental ingestion of toxic detergent." And most crucially—the audio file of Brenda urging Leo to drink the dish soap. I sorted every piece of evidence, printed clean copies, and sealed them into a manila folder. On the front, I wrote one word: Evidence. One night, I returned from my shift at the boba shop around ten o'clock. The living room lights were blazing. Brenda sat on the couch, several photographs spread out on the glass table. "You're back," she said, her tone cold and stiff. "Come sit down." I walked over and sat across from her. The photo on top showed a burly man standing in front of a sedan, wearing a forced, greasy grin. "This is Gary Miller. I told you about him," she said, sliding the picture toward me. "He said he’s very pleased with your photos. He wants to meet this weekend instead." "Mom, didn't we agree on next Saturday?" "He can't wait that long," she snapped, her eyes boring into mine. "He said if things look good, he wants the wedding papers signed next month." I paused. "Mom, I’m only twenty, and I haven't graduated yet. Getting married next month is insane." "Insane? When I was twenty, you were already two years old!" Her tone hardened instantly. "Mom, I said I’d meet him, but marriage is off the table until after I graduate." "Graduate, graduate! What useless dream are you chasing with that worthless degree?!" She slammed her hand down and shot up from the sofa. "I’m telling you, Stella, this isn't up to you!" "Your brother's health is ruined right now. He has to rest at home and can't work!" "Your uncle confirmed that Gary is offering thirty thousand dollars in cash, plus he’s buying Leo a brand-new electric scooter!" "Where on earth are you ever going to find an offer this generous?!" I looked at her enraged face and asked quietly, "So... you're selling me off just to buy my brother a scooter?" Brenda’s cheeks flushed crimson. "What do you mean 'selling'?! That’s getting married! Isn't that how every woman lives?!" "I put food on your plate! I put clothes on your back! When did I ever treat you wrong?!" She grew louder and more hysterical with every breath. "I’m exhausted, Mom. I’m going to bed." I stood up and headed for my room. "Stop right there!" she screamed behind me. I didn't slow down. "Stella Vance! You think you're grown now?!" "I’m telling you right now: you will see Gary this weekend! If you don't, don't you dare step foot in this house again!" I halted and turned around. "Are you being serious, Mom?" "Do I sound like I'm joking?!" "If I don't go on this date, you're kicking me out?" Brenda’s eyes flickered with brief hesitation, quickly replaced by vicious resolve. "If you don't obey me, get the hell out! This house doesn't harbor ungrateful leeches!" I smiled. "Fine." Brenda froze, utterly stunned by my reaction. Without giving her time to process, I turned back into my bedroom and began packing. Clothes, textbooks, my ID, bank cards, and the manila envelope packed with evidence. I shoved everything into an old carry-on suitcase. Brenda stormed into my room. Seeing the open suitcase, her jaw dropped. "What... what do you think you’re doing?!" "Didn't you say it yourself? If I don't obey, get the hell out. So, I’m getting out." "You... you dare?!" Her voice began to shake. "If you walk out that door tonight, don't you ever come back!" I didn't answer. I zipped the bag and rolled it out. As I passed the living room, Leo was sprawled on the sofa playing mobile games. He glanced up at me, a petty, gloating smirk spreading across his lips. "Come on, Stella, just apologize to Mom. You really think she’s kicking you out?" I looked at him once, said nothing, and reached for the front door. As the heavy door swung shut behind me, Brenda’s muffled screech echoed through the hallway: "Let her leave! Let’s see how far she gets! She’ll come crawling back on her knees crying within three days!" The elevator arrived. I stepped in. As the doors closed, I leaned my head against the cold steel wall and let out a long, trembling breath. In my past life, I was kicked out countless times. Every single time, I came back sobbing, begging on my knees for her mercy. Not this time. I was never coming back. Reaching the lobby, I stepped out into the pouring rain. Standing under the downpour, I pulled out my phone and dialed. "Hello, Mr. Davis? It’s Stella Vance." "Ms. Vance? It’s late, is something wrong?" "I want to know: if I go to the police right now, what is the exact legal procedure?" The line went silent for a few seconds. "Ms. Vance, are you certain about this?" "Completely certain." "Understood. I will accompany you to the precinct tomorrow morning." "Also, regarding your father's will—I verified it. His old comrade, Jim, indeed holds the original copy, and we can summon it as legal evidence anytime." "Thank you, Mr. Davis." "One more thing," Davis added solemnly. "You paid your brother's medical bills out of pocket, correct? Do you have the transaction records?" "Yes. Banking statements, payment receipts—everything is saved." "Excellent. Those will all serve as proof of coercion and extortion." Hanging up, I stood in the rain, staring back at the fourth floor of the building where I had lived for twenty years. The living room light was still on. That was the place I once thought I would never escape. Now, I had walked out on my own two feet. The rain beat down harder, soaking through my jacket. I checked my maps app for the nearest cheap motel. The lowest rate was $120 a night. I only had three thousand dollars left in my account. Between food, tuition, and basic survival, I couldn't afford to burn through it on hotels. Dragging my suitcase through the downpour, I finally huddled under a bus stop awning. Just wait until the rain lets up, I told myself. Then I'll figure something out. I wrapped my arms around my suitcase and curled into a ball against the bench. My phone buzzed. A text from Brenda: If you don't come home tomorrow, don't ever come back. Your brother needs someone to care for him. How can you be this selfish? I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keys. After a long moment, I hit delete. Then I opened my notes app and typed: June 10th, 10:00 PM. Mother attempted to coerce me into an arranged marriage for financial gain and threatened to cast me out. I left the household voluntarily. Finished, I leaned back against the wet bench and shut my eyes. Sometime later, the steady sound of rain was broken by the hum of an engine. Headlights cut through the dark. A patrol car pulled up slowly in front of the bus stop.