In my previous life, my husband, Arthur Vance, was sixty-two when he was diagnosed with late-stage Alzheimer’s. He transformed from a refined, cultured intellectual into a disheveled old man, prone to outbursts, prone to violent rages, yelling vile obscenities at me. At those times, only a photograph of his first love could calm him. So, our daughter, Lillian, brought Arthur’s first love, Serena Reed, home, telling me to care for her. “Dad only recognizes Aunt Serena now. Just think of it as helping him get better. They’re both so old, what could possibly happen between them?” For Arthur’s sake, I agreed. I served them, fetching their meals, cleaning up after them, bustling about like a live-in housekeeper. I endured this life for three long years, only to be told I had terminal liver cancer. I writhed in agony on my sickbed, but Lillian, busy with work, never once came to visit. In my final moments, I dragged myself home. There, I saw my grandson, Benjamin, holding a cake, shouting to Arthur’s first love, “Happy birthday, Grandma Serena!” And in the place of honor, Arthur’s eyes were clear, his gaze on Serena filled with profound adoration. He said, “I’ll marry you once Elara is gone. She’s had me for all these years, I owe her nothing. The rest of my life, I only want to make it up to you.” There was no Alzheimer’s. It was all a cruel deception, and I was merely their unwitting accomplice, their live-in maid. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Lillian brought Serena home for a grand welcome dinner. 1 On the spinning lazy Susan, five large crabs lay piled. By the time it reached my spot, they were gone. My husband, Arthur, wore an unnatural smile, his movements clumsy as he meticulously shelled a crab for Serena. My daughter, Lillian, solicitously introduced the restaurant’s signature dishes to Serena, asking if she wished for anything else. From start to finish, no one noticed the empty plate before me. No one asked what I wanted to eat. This feeling of being overlooked, of being treated as invisible, I had experienced it countless times in my previous life. Arthur and I had been married for forty years. When he was sixty-two, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I dedicated myself to caring for him, yet he frequently left me bruised and battered. My eyes were perpetually shadowed, my face swollen, the backs of my hands covered in scratches. Arthur’s hateful words during his fits of rage were like stale garbage, reeking of putrefaction. One of Alzheimer’s symptoms is memory loss. Simply put, Arthur forgot me. It was only by showing him a photograph of his first love that I could avoid his wrath. How ironic. My husband, afflicted with a disease, forgot me, his wife, but remembered another woman. Lillian suggested bringing Arthur’s first love, Serena Reed, home, ostensibly to aid his recovery. So, I found myself caring for the ailing Arthur while also serving the perfectly healthy Serena. During the most grueling period, I wasted away from a hundred and twenty pounds to a mere ninety. If I dared to complain about the hardship, Lillian would point to Arthur, who was eerily calm around Serena, and retort, “Why doesn’t Dad cry or make a fuss when Aunt Serena is around? Maybe you’re just not trying hard enough?” I endured that life for three agonizing years, through over a thousand days and nights. In the end, I withered away from disease, from terminal liver cancer, beyond all medical help. “Mom, what are you spacing out for? Hurry up and bring the dishes!” Lillian’s voice snapped me out of my memories. I looked up. The embarrassed waiter stood beside me, tray in hand, quickly saying there was no need. Lillian, however, waved him off with a dismissive air, grandly pointing at me. “She sits by the door so it’s easy for her to serve the dishes. It’s always been that way.” She then turned her gaze back to me. “Mom, hurry up! The waiter’s arms must be tired.” Suddenly, all eyes turned to me. Their expressions were normal, none of them seemed to find anything wrong with Lillian’s words. I remembered how, in my previous life, when Serena first came to live with us, Lillian’s family had not only thrown a welcome dinner but also arranged a family vacation for Serena. I had spent an entire night packing luggage for everyone. But when it was time to board the train, the tour guide informed us. Lillian had purchased five tickets, and all the activities were for five people. But there were six of us, and it was too late to buy an additional ticket. The group discussed it, and finally, they told me, “Mom, we’re going to the beach this time. It’s not good for your joints. You should stay home.” I, along with my packed luggage, was left standing at the train station entrance. This wasn’t an isolated incident. I was always the one left behind. The waiter placed a soup tureen on the lazy Susan and discreetly withdrew. Lillian, still annoyed by my earlier reaction, pressed on. “Mom, what’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you serve the dishes when I told you to? You’re sitting by the door precisely for that reason.” Without a word, I filled my small bowl with soup and flung it, with deliberate aim, at Lillian. 2 The scalding soup made Lillian shriek. She sprang to her feet, frantically shaking her clothes. “What are you doing! Are you insane?!” Everyone was stunned by the scene, staring at me in disbelief. I calmly sat back down, watching her hysterical reaction. “I’m educating a disloyal daughter. What’s the matter?” Lillian started to retort, but my son-in-law tugged her arm, making her sit. Serena spoke, her voice laced with disapproval. “Elara, there’s no need for such clear boundaries between family. Why quarrel with a child?” Arthur, who had been eerily quiet, suddenly began to hurl rice at me. It splattered all over me, the soup-soaked grains leaving ugly stains on my clothes. One, two, three times. I abruptly stood up, dumped the remaining rice into the hot soup, and placed the tureen directly in front of Arthur. “You like playing, don’t you? Play with this. It’s even more fun with water.” Arthur’s motion to throw something else visibly froze, his eyes wide with fear. The atmosphere grew silent once more. Serena immediately shielded Arthur. “Elara, that soup is scalding! What if you scalded Arthur?” Lillian pushed me away, clearly terrified I might do something else. “Yes, Mom! You scared Dad!” I looked impassively at Arthur’s feigned dementia. In truth, his acting was terrible. Yet, in my previous life, how had I been fooled for so long? “His condition fluctuates. The medication he’s on must not be effective. I’ll make an appointment with the chief physician at the city’s top hospital to get him re-evaluated.” “I object!” Lillian blurted out without thinking. “Dad’s already so old. Constantly moving him around for different doctors isn’t good for his health.” “I’ve made my decision. No one’s objection will change it.” I looked at my panicked daughter, at the subtly uneasy Serena, and at Arthur, who was still feigning confusion beside her. So, they were afraid. After Arthur was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I had resolved to care for him for the rest of my life. Even when he lashed out with fists and feet, I never flinched. I saw him as my responsibility. But it was only at the last moment of my life that I discovered it had all been a lie. I was the sole prey in their cruel game. My daughter, Lillian, knew everything, yet shamelessly helped them deceive me. Only I remained in the dark, living tirelessly for their benefit, like a mere servant. This time, I’d watch them struggle to keep up their act! The welcome dinner ended in disarray. Back at home, Lillian poured water for Serena, then for Arthur, but none for me. She glanced towards the guest room. “Mom, what’s going on? Didn’t I tell you to clean it earlier? Aunt Serena is moving in today.” I replied, my voice cool. “Whoever invited her cleans it. Lillian, I am not a housekeeper.” Lillian choked on her words. Beside her, Serena offered a serene smile. “Lillian, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t look dirty at all. It’s perfectly habitable.” I patted my knees and stood up, offering Lillian a smirk. “See? It’s perfectly habitable. You’re just making a mountain out of a molehill.” I turned and walked into the master bedroom. This small, eighty-eight-square-meter apartment was assigned to me by the factory where I worked. Arthur’s university had allotted him a much larger apartment, which he had instead given to Serena. Our old apartment had three rooms. Arthur and I each had one, and the third was a guest room. In my previous life, when Serena moved in, Lillian had demanded I clean the master bedroom thoroughly. I had complied. But Serena insisted the bed frame be dismantled and washed piece by piece. The cabinets had to be wiped with a damp cloth, then again with a dry one. The new curtains, the drinking glasses, the bathmat by the bathroom door—if anything wasn’t to her liking, it had to be replaced. I cleaned and cleaned, again and again, yet no one ever asked if I was tired. The next day, I was woken by the sounds of crashing. Arthur, in a “fit,” had thrown pots and pans all over the kitchen. Dark liquid splattered the walls, and the smell of soy sauce permeated the air. The entire living room was almost impassable. Serena, standing in the only clean corner, looked at me, her gaze pleading. “Elara, Arthur is having a fit. I can’t control him… I’ll take him to Lillian’s house later. Can you clean up the apartment?” In my previous life, I would have rushed forward to soothe Arthur and calm his “fit.” But now, I calmly watched Arthur’s performance, making no move. “The cleaning service’s number is on the table. If you’re not too busy, just call them. They’ll be here soon.” I refused without hesitation and went to the bathroom to wash up. When I emerged, Arthur and Serena had already left, leaving behind a chaotic mess. I was unconcerned. I grabbed my bag and left, heading straight for the hospital. In my previous life, during Arthur’s third year of feigned illness, I had collapsed at home from severe back pain. After being rushed to the hospital, I was told I had terminal liver cancer and only a month left to live. Now, reborn, how could I allow my body to deteriorate like that again? After receiving my lab results, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was only mild hepatitis. This time, I would not die such a miserable death as I had in my previous life. 3 Lillian called me over a dozen times. I didn’t answer. After leaving the hospital, I immediately rushed to another location, to find a suitable place for Arthur’s future. As dusk settled, I returned home. The once chaotic living room was spotless, the air filled with a fresh lemon scent. That saying was indeed true: housework is always the job of those who can’t stand the mess. Arthur sat on the sofa, holding Benjamin, watching television. Lillian, peeling peanuts for Serena, laughed and chatted animatedly. A perfect picture of a happy, harmonious family. I averted my gaze and calmly walked towards my bedroom. Lillian called out to me, her tone displeased. “Mom, I called you so many times, why didn’t you answer? You ran out without even cleaning up the house. What old woman is as idle as you?” She then added, “Serena and I took Dad for a check-up today. The report is here. The doctor said all of Dad’s changes are normal; it’s just how the disease is. You just need to have more patience.” I glanced at the medical report. The doctor’s signature at the bottom made it look legitimate. If I hadn’t already known their deception from my previous life, I might not have been able to tell the truth from the lie. I threw the report onto the table. “Ignoring a top-tier hospital, dragging your father around to various clinics—what were you thinking?” Before Lillian could speak, I pushed open my bedroom door and entered. I instinctively glanced at the wardrobe, noticing that it had clearly been disturbed. My heart sank. Something was missing. I stormed out of the room and confronted Arthur. “Give me back what you took!” “Mom, what are you doing? Benny wants to watch TV. Get out of the way!” Lillian frowned, yelling loudly. I ignored her, my gaze fixed on Arthur and Serena. In my previous life, when I was gravely ill and immobile, Serena wore my lost family heirloom, claiming it was her own family treasure. She became an online sensation through it, scamming people out of huge sums of money. I had pointed to the pin, insisting it was mine. But no one believed me. I knew Arthur had taken it; he had given it to Serena. The first thing I did after being reborn was contact a local historical society. Tomorrow was our scheduled meeting. But I never imagined they would act so quickly. I forced myself to remain calm. “Arthur Vance, give me back my property, or I’ll call the police right now.” Arthur clutched his ears, hiding behind Serena, muttering incoherently. “Tiger woman hitting people! Tiger woman hitting people!” Anyone could see he was terrified of me. Serena, her eyes filled with feigned concern, hugged him tightly. Lillian, meanwhile, glared at me, infuriated. “Mom, is this how you usually treat Dad? Look how scared you’ve made him!” “Shut up!” I roared, unable to contain myself. Lillian stared at me, stunned. “Arthur Vance!” I yelled. “I’m not joking with you. If you don’t give it back, I’ll call the police immediately!” Serena’s heavily made-up face visibly paled. “Elara, let’s not involve the police before we understand the situation, alright?” I pulled out my phone and, right in front of them, dialed the emergency number. But before the call connected, a sharp pain shot through my forehead. Blood blurred my phone screen, and the glass I had been holding shattered on the floor. I clutched my head and stumbled to the ground, vaguely seeing Arthur’s motion as he threw the glass. Lillian, clutching Benjamin, hid to the side, shouting from a distance, “Mom, Mom, are you alright?”
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