From the moment my daughter learned to speak, she treated me like a romantic rival. Every time my husband and I tried to be intimate, she would burst into the room, physically wedging herself between us. “You’re such a slut, Mom! Stop trying to seduce my daddy!” Once, at dinner, my husband reached over to put a piece of steak on my plate. My daughter screamed, ran to the balcony, and climbed onto the railing of our sixteenth-floor apartment. “Unless Daddy stays away from Mom, I’m jumping right now!” Even when I sat at my vanity to put on makeup, her voice would drip with venomous mockery: “You’re just an old woman. No matter how much paint you put on that face, you’ll never be as pretty as me.” Later, when my husband cheated, I was terrified she would be mistreated by a stepmother. I fought tooth and nail for her custody, burning through my savings and my sanity. In response, my daughter looked at me with a face twisted by hysteria and threw a bottle of industrial-grade sulfuric acid at me. “You’ll never separate me from Daddy! Daddy belongs to me and me alone!” Maybe the universe took pity on the sheer agony of my death, because it gave me a second chance. I woke up back at the beginning. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I gave up custody. “From now on, I want to be as far away from that girl as possible.” … My husband, David, looked at me in genuine shock. “Naomi? Where is this coming from? You were ready to burn the world down to take her with you. Why the sudden change of heart?” Before I could answer, our ten-year-old daughter, Sophie, stormed into the living room. She didn’t just walk; she attacked, kicking and scratching at my legs. “I’m not going with you anyway!” she shrieked. “We’re both women, Mom. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re just jealous because Daddy loves me more!” She threw herself into David’s arms, clinging to his neck and throwing me a triumphant, nasty look. “Nobody can split us up. I’m going to be Daddy’s little girl forever.” Even though Sophie had treated me like an enemy since she was a toddler, she was still my own flesh and blood. In my first life, when I found out David was planning to remarry immediately, I fought him for months. I gave up half my assets just to secure her custody, thinking I was saving her. But then I remembered the sensation of my skin melting—the white-hot, bubbling scream of my own nerves being eaten away by acid. I picked up the divorce papers and signed my name with a steady hand. “I’m respecting my daughter’s wishes. She stays with you.” Sophie froze, her eyes widening in momentary confusion. I moved to finalize the documents, but she lunged forward, snatching the papers off the coffee table. “You’re a discarded wife! How dare you try to take Daddy’s money? Have you no shame?” she barked. “Daddy, you said you’d buy me all those designer dresses! Don’t give this old woman a cent.” She hugged David’s leg, her voice turning into a sugary, manipulative coo, telling him that a "failure of a woman" like me didn't deserve a settlement. She had no idea about David’s affair, nor did she care that I was legally entitled to a seven-figure payout. David didn't correct her. Instead, he leaned into the "noble father" persona he loved so much. “I’m just too kind-hearted, Sophie. I can’t bring myself to be too cruel to your mother, even if she doesn't deserve it.” He stroked her hair. “I know you’re worried about how hard I work for our money. You really are my little angel.” Watching them perform this twisted duet, I felt a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. David was the true architect of this monster. He never corrected her behavior; he fed her delusions with endless indulgence until her mind became a warped, competitive maze. David eventually managed to coax Sophie out of the room. The moment she was gone, he leaned in and whispered, “Naomi, don’t mention the remarriage to Sophie yet. I’m worried she’s too fragile to handle it right now. When the timing is right, I’ll introduce her to her new mom.” Sophie, blissfully unaware, was currently in the hallway celebrating her "victory." She had pulled our wedding photo off the wall and was jumping on my face in the picture, her heels puncturing the glass. “Yes! I finally won! The rival is gone!” Watching her, I felt a profound sense of detachment. It wasn't just heartbreak anymore; it was pity. I wondered if she’d still be smiling when she realized she was about to face a brand-new "rival"—one who didn't share my maternal instinct. Sophie caught me looking. She laughed, a shrill, mocking sound. “Are you jealous, Naomi? From today on, Daddy is all mine!” I didn't say a word. I walked into the bedroom and began packing. Since I had opted for a cash settlement instead of the house, and because David was terrified I’d change my mind during the mandatory thirty-day "cooling-off" period required by our state’s laws, we had an agreement. I would stay in the guest room for the month while I finalized my new apartment. When Sophie saw me moving my things into the small room instead of leaving the house entirely, she flipped. “Why aren't you taking your suitcases out? Are you trying to stay here and rot?” she screamed. “You shameless bitch! I knew you wouldn't give up that easily!” She began grabbing my clothes and throwing them into the kitchen trash can. Then she ran to David, sobbing. “Daddy, why is she still here? I hate her! Make her leave!” David tried to explain the legal cooling-off period, but she wouldn't hear it. “I came out of her stomach, Daddy. I know her better than anyone,” Sophie hissed. “She’s trying to stay here to seduce you. She’s playing hard to get so you’ll take her back. She doesn't want the divorce; she’s just tricking you!” Even with the papers signed, her hostility had only intensified. The "quiet moment" I needed to process my grief was shattered by her screeching. I had reached my limit. I stepped forward and slapped her—hard. “Shut up,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “You don't get to call me Mom anymore. And you sure as hell don't get to talk to me like that. We are almost strangers, Sophie. Don't expect me to tolerate your bullshit for one second longer.” In my previous life, I had worshipped her. Even when she was at her worst, I couldn't bring myself to be firm. Sophie had never seen this version of me. She went pale, then burst into a theatrical wail, burying her face in David’s chest. “See, Daddy? The mask finally slipped! This is how she treats me when you’re not looking! She’s always been jealous of us. She abuses me because she can't stand how much you love me!” This wasn't new. Since she was four, she had been a master of the "smear campaign," weaving elaborate lies to turn David against me. In her narrative, I was a violent, unstable shrew. And David always believed her. “She’s just a child, Naomi. Why would she lie about something like that?” Back then, I couldn't believe my own daughter was "competing" with me for her father’s heart. By the time I accepted the truth, it was too late. Looking at her now, I just smirked. “You’re ten years old, Sophie, and you’re already a better actress than anyone in Hollywood. Save your breath. Fighting me is a waste of time. You should worry about your dad’s—” Before I could finish, David grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the hallway. “Naomi! What are you doing? I told you to keep the remarriage a secret! If you drop that on her now, she’ll have a nervous breakdown.” Watching him pretend to be the "concerned father" made me want to retch. “You didn't care about her breakdown when you were screwing that girl in our bed, David. You don't care about Sophie; you just care about your image. But whatever. I’m done being the villain in your little soap opera.” Sophie would find out the truth eventually. I decided I’d have a front-row seat for the fallout. I underestimated Sophie’s dedication. To ensure there was no chance of a reconciliation, she spent the next few days going door-to-door in our gated community. “My mom was having an affair,” she told the neighbors, her eyes brimming with fake tears. “My dad is divorcing her, but she refuses to leave. She’s obsessed with him. Please, can you help us get her out?” By the weekend, the neighbors were whispering as I walked to my car. “I never would have guessed,” I heard Mrs. Higgins say from across the street. “She looked so respectable, but she was out there sleeping around. Even her own daughter can’t stand to look at her.” In their eyes, I was the ultimate failure. A cheating wife, a hated mother—a woman whose life had collapsed under the weight of her own sins. David, worried I might snap and blow his cover, finally tried to play peacemaker. “It’s just a misunderstanding, everyone. Don't listen to a child’s rambling. We’re handling our private business.” Sophie was livid. “Daddy! Why are you defending her? I’m doing this for you!” She turned to me, her face contorting. Since I told her she didn't get to call me "Mom," she started using my first name like a slur. “Listen up, Naomi. This divorce is happening. I’m going to make sure you never have the chance to crawl back!” David, finally pushed by the social embarrassment, snapped at her. “Enough! This is adult business. Go to your room and stay there!” Sophie’s eyes filled with real tears this time. But she didn't blame David for yelling. She pivoted her rage right back to me. “It’s all your fault! If I didn't have such a pathetic mother, Daddy would never be this stressed! You’re trying to come between us, but it won't work!” I just shook my head. “David, this is the monster you raised. When your little mistress moves in, I hope you’re ready for the life you’ve built.” I didn't give David a chance to respond. I pulled out my phone and sent a blast message to the neighborhood Facebook group. I laid it all out: the affair, the proof, the reason for the divorce. I told them that anyone spreading Sophie’s lies would be hearing from my lawyer for defamation. David panicked, trying to grab my phone to delete the post, but I was already out the door. “Naomi, wait! You can't leave! If you disappear, how do I know you’ll show up to sign the final papers in three weeks?” I shook him off with a look of pure disgust. “Trust me, David. Nobody wants that piece of paper more than I do.” I checked into a hotel. Within an hour, a text from Sophie popped up: Don't even think about sneaking back to seduce him. I’m watching you. She followed it with a video. She had gathered every photo of me in the house—my graduation pictures, my portraits—and was burning them in a metal trash can, cheering as my face turned to ash. I didn't reply. I just blocked her number. In my last life, I spent months agonizing over the divorce, trying to "win" a child who hated me. This time, I felt light. I spent the next three weeks at a luxury spa, hit the gym, and hosted a "Freedom Party" for my closest friends. By the time the cooling-off period ended and we met at the lawyer's office, I looked radiant. Sophie glared at me, scanning my face. “You really went all out to try and win him back, didn't you? Botox? New hair? Give it up, Naomi. He’s never coming back. From now on, I’m the only girl in his life.” She clung to David’s arm like a trophy wife. I didn't say a word. I picked up my copy of the divorce decree, kissed the seal, and walked out. I bought a new condo across town and started my life. But a week after moving in, there was a pounding on my door at 2:00 AM. It was the police. “Ms. Jackson? We found your daughter wandering the streets. Why is she out alone at this hour?” Before I could process the question, Sophie pushed past the officer and stormed into my living room, her eyes darting around wildly. “Is he here? Is Daddy here? He didn't come home tonight, so you must have hidden him!” She started ripping open my closet doors, tossing my newly organized clothes onto the floor. A familiar, hot rage flared in my chest. I grabbed her by her ponytail and shoved her toward the police officer. “Nobody wants your father, Sophie. He isn't here. Get out of my house!” Sophie flinched, then immediately squeezed out a sob. “Officer, look! See? This is how she always treats me...” The cop frowned at me. “Ma’am, she’s your daughter. There’s no need for that.” I forced myself to breathe. “Officer, I am divorced. Her father has sole custody. She didn't ‘get lost’—she’s here to harass me. Call her father. I’ll give you his number.” Sophie didn't believe me. “Who else would he be with? You’re the only one who would keep him out all night!” I almost told her the truth—that David was likely in a hotel bed with his "new mom"—but I knew she wouldn't believe it. She’d just find a way to blame me. I gave the police David’s address and told them to take her home. The next day, an officer called to follow up. He told me Sophie claimed she couldn't reach her dad and was scared to be alone. She said she only came to me because she was "lonely," but I had blocked her. The cop, clearly moved by her "sad little girl" act, lectured me. “She just misses her mother. There’s no grudge that should come between a parent and a child. You need to do better.” I stayed silent. There was no point in explaining the Electra complex or the psychological warfare to a stranger. Instead, I sent David a one-sentence email: Bring your new wife home already. I’m done being the scapegoat. Peace lasted for three days. Then, Sophie’s school counselor called. “Sophie is locked in the bathroom. she won't come out unless you’re the one to pick her up. Naomi, regardless of the custody agreement, you have a moral responsibility here. This child is traumatized by the divorce. You can't just abandon her.” The counselor hinted that if I didn't show up, they might involve social services or "community advocates" (meaning: local gossip blogs). I went. I had to protect my professional reputation. To my surprise, Sophie was perfectly sweet at the school. She hugged me, calling me "Mommy" in front of the counselor, playing the part of the grieving child to perfection. I played along, my skin crawling, and drove her back to David’s house. I dropped her bag in the foyer and turned to leave. Sophie’s face dropped. The "sweet child" mask dissolved, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated malice.
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