My mother became a viral sensation because of a "Before and After" pregnancy video. She captioned it: “You see my mess today, but you forget I used to be a girl...” She used that viral fame to guilt-trip me into a life of indentured servitude. At six years old, I was responsible for the laundry, the cooking, and the cleaning. She never flinched, even when my hands were blistered from hot grease. "I was a rising star news anchor," she’d remind me. "My career was destroyed because of you. Your physical pain is nothing compared to the death of my dreams." She would break me down, then wrap me in a hug the moment the chores were done. She made me believe I owed her my life. I died on the third day of trying to hand-scrub a heavy area rug, my small heart simply giving out from exhaustion. But I woke up. I'm back. And as I watch her setting up her ring light for another "Before and After" video, I know exactly what I have to do. 1 "Look at the comments! Thousands of moms are crying with me, and the world is mourning who I used to be!" "My life ended the day I went into labor!" "If it wasn't for you, Chloe, I’d be in a corner office at the network right now!" Hearing those words again made my vision blur. I looked over at Mrs. Gable, our nanny, who was busy in the kitchen. My small fists clenched. The universe had given me a second chance. I had worked myself to death for her, and now I was back at the beginning. In my past life, today was the day Mom posted the video that broke the internet. The caption read: “You see my mess today, but you forget I used to be a girl...” The video started with her current self: disheveled, unwashed, and nearly two hundred pounds. Then, a sharp transition to her "Before" life: a slim, polished, high-achieving local news anchor. The internet ate it up. “The ultimate horror story.” “If this is what happens to your body, I’m never having kids.” “Another day of being grateful for birth control!” The pity of strangers fueled her resentment. She looked at me and saw the thief who stole her beauty. She grabbed my favorite doll and smashed it onto the floor. "If I hadn't carried you, I wouldn't be this fat! I wouldn't be this broken!" I burst into tears, which only made her angrier. "Cry! That’s all you do! Your screaming is why I don't sleep! It’s why my hair is falling out!" But I remembered. Ever since I could walk, Mrs. Gable was the one who slept in my room. Mom only started "parenting" me this month when she decided we couldn't afford the help anymore. I tried to run to Mrs. Gable for safety. I loved the smell of her fresh laundry detergent; it was the only thing that made me feel safe. But Mom wasn't done. "If it wasn't for you, I’d still be on the air! You ruined my future!" I shrunk into Mrs. Gable’s shadow. When it was time for her to go home, I tugged on her sleeve, begging her to stay. But Mom’s rage was a physical force, and Mrs. Gable, eyes full of pity, eventually had to leave. I hid in the corner, praying Dad would get home from the office early. Then Mom saw a notification on her phone—some new comment about how "brave" she was. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the laundry room. "Starting today, I’m going back to being the girl who never got her hands dirty. You’re the reason I'm in this mess, so you're going to fix it. You're doing the laundry from now on." "Mom, I don't know how..." I whispered. Her eyes flashed with hate. "Then learn. Are you stupid? You’ve seen the nanny do it a thousand times." I started to cry, and she kicked the water bucket over. "Stop being a curse on this house! Wash the clothes, or you don't eat!" I was six. I tried to hand-wash her silk nightgown and tore the delicate fabric. She went into a frenzy, grabbing Dad’s leather belt and striking me until I was curled on the floor, screaming for mercy. When Dad finally came home, they had a screaming match that shook the walls. "You hate me because I'm fat! Because I don't have a career!" Mom shrieked. "I should never have had a kid! I have nothing left! I should just die!" I sobbed under my covers, terrified. The next day, they were suddenly "fine" again. But Mrs. Gable—the woman who had raised me since I was a baby—never came back. 2 Every time I asked for Mrs. Gable, Mom would guilt-trip me. "Don't be so selfish, Chloe. You’ve already ruined my career. Do you want to kill your father with stress, too?" "Your dad works so hard. We can't afford a nanny. You're six; it's time to be a big girl. You're going to take care of this house now." Then, she’d kiss my forehead. I was so desperate for her love that I’d just nod. I spent my afternoons after kindergarten scrubbing. She wouldn't let me use the washing machine. "It ruins the clothes. Hand-washing is better," she’d say. By winter, my hands were cracked and bleeding from the cold water and harsh soap. Then came the cooking. I was terrified of the stove. One night, the oil popped, and my arm was covered in painful blisters. I wailed in pain, but Mom just scoffed. "Useless. You can't even do one simple thing right." "Do you have any idea what I sacrificed for you?" I didn't know what that meant. I just knew that when I used to fall down, Mrs. Gable would hug me. Mom just watched me bleed. When Dad came home from his business trip, I ran to him. Mom got there first, smiling sweetly. "Look at this little troublemaker! She tried to cook behind my back while I was resting!" I wanted to tell him the truth, but Mom pulled me into a hug. I breathed in her perfume and stayed silent. If working made her hug me, I’d work forever. I pushed myself to the limit for her. To clean the living room rug, I didn't sleep for three days. I collapsed in the bathroom, my heart stopping before I even hit the tile. Mom found me. She checked my pulse. When she realized I wasn't breathing, she panicked for a second—then she shoved my head into the water bucket. She waited ten minutes before calling 911. When Dad got home, she was a wreck, slapping herself and screaming. "I should have stayed awake! If I hadn't been napping, she wouldn't have been playing in the water!" "Chloe, you've broken my heart! Why were you playing with the bucket..." I wanted to scream the truth, but I was a ghost. She turned my death into a viral story about "The Grief of a Mother." She made a fortune off the tragedy. Eventually, Dad found out the truth. He was devastated and tried to drag her to the police station. To save her career as an influencer, she caused a car accident that killed him, too. I hated her. Dad was the only one who actually tried. He’d hired help, paid for her therapy, bought her postpartum recovery classes. He took the night shifts so she could sleep. And she killed him. I snapped back to the present. It was the day of the viral video. If Mom thinks I'm a burden... then this time, I’m going to be a heavy one. 3 "Chloe! Are you deaf? I'm talking to you!" I blinked, looking up at her with the most innocent, wide-eyed expression I could manage. "Mom... why don't you just go back to work?" "I mean, Mrs. Gable does everything anyway, right? You don't really do anything here." She froze. Then, she stepped forward and slapped me twice. Hard. "You ungrateful brat! Am I in your way? Is that it?" "I deserve a break! Don't come crying to me when you're sick or need a field trip chaperone!" I felt a cold smile forming inside. Go ahead, try the 'working' excuse. She hadn't been to a single school event in my last life anyway. Mrs. Gable rushed over and pulled me into a hug. "Chloe, apologize to your mother!" I didn't cry. I looked at Mom with a spark of defiance she didn't recognize. "I'm sorry, Mom," I said, slipping down from Mrs. Gable’s lap and kneeling. "I said the wrong thing. Please punish me." They both looked stunned. I looked at the clock. Dad would be home soon. I ran to the laundry room and grabbed a dirty shirt. "Since Mom is so tired, I’ll help. I’ll do the laundry from now on!" Mrs. Gable tried to stop me, but I insisted. "I want to be a 'Big Girl,' Mrs. Gable. I need to practice." Mom sneered. "Fine. She's six. She can wash her own clothes." I didn't tell her that I already knew how to do everything. I just waited. When the time was right, I took her favorite $300 silk dress—the only one that still fit her comfortably—and I shredded it against the washboard. I walked out to the dining room, holding the ruined dress, looking terrified. "Mom... I'm sorry. I broke it." She saw the dress and her eyes turned red. She lunged at me, kicking me into the wall. "You useless brat! Do you know how much this cost?!" I shivered, sobbing for real this time. "I'm sorry, Mommy! I'll do better!" She grabbed Dad’s belt, just like before. I checked the door. Click. The smart lock turned. Perfect timing. 4 "Vanessa! What the hell are you doing?!" Dad burst through the door just as the belt swung down. Mom froze. "Are you blind? I'm disciplining her!" "She insisted on doing laundry and ruined my $300 silk dress! Do you know how hard it is for me to find clothes that fit right now?!" I crawled to Mom’s feet, trembling. "I'm sorry, Mommy! Please give me another chance! I promise I'll wash the rest perfectly!" I lifted my head just enough so Dad could see the red handprints on my face. Dad’s voice was low and dangerous. "Vanessa... who hit her face?" I cut in before she could lie. "Dad, please don't be mad at Mom! I'll work harder! I'll do all the chores so Mom can rest!" Mom looked triumphant for a second. But Dad snatched the belt from her hand. "She’s six, Vanessa! You beat her like an animal because of a dress?" "Is the washing machine broken? Or are you just too lazy to use it?" I sobbed harder. "Dad, don't fight. It's my fault for being a burden... I'll do everything, I promise." Dad didn't comfort her that night. He took me to the guest room, cleaned my face, and slept there with the door locked. The wedge was driven. Now, I just had to keep pushing. 5 The next morning, Mom tried to play the martyr. "Fine. Since I’m such a monster, I’m going out to find a job." Dad frowned, about to say something, but I shoved a piece of toast into his mouth. "You can do it, Mom! I’ll stay home with Mrs. Gable and be a good girl!" Mom waited for Dad to beg her to stay. He didn't. She slammed the door so hard the pictures rattled. Because I made it clear I "needed" Mrs. Gable, Dad didn't fire her. Mom spent her days "job hunting," but after seven years out of the industry, no one wanted her. She was bitter and out of touch. She’d come home and take it out on me. "I can't find anything because I have a seven-year gap on my resume because of you!" "Even the receptionists look at me like I'm a joke!" "Why don't you just disappear? If it wasn't for you, I’d still be someone!" I hid in Dad’s arms. "Why is Mom so mean?" Dad’s patience was gone. "She's not mean because of you, Chloe. She’s mean because she’s lazy. I paid for a nanny, I paid for her trainers, I did the night shifts—she chose to stay on the couch." "Vanessa," Dad said, his voice cold. "I want a divorce." Mom froze. Then she started screaming. "You just want a younger, thinner woman! You're abandoning me after I gave you a child!" "I'm leaving because you're a monster to our daughter," Dad said. "And I'm taking Chloe. You never cared for her anyway." Mom lunged at me. "Chloe, tell him! You want to stay with Mommy, right? I gave you life!" I looked at Dad. "I want to stay with Daddy. I'm scared of Mom." Mom’s face twisted. "You ungrateful little bitch! I should have strangled you the day you were born!" The divorce was quick. Dad gave her the house and a settlement just to get us away from her. We moved into a cozy apartment near his office. I thought we were safe. But Mom wasn't done.
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