Karma Served Cold: The Billionaire's Mother

Gavin

Modern | Completed

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The cold garage floor seeped through my thin jeans as I lay hidden, listening. This wasn't a memory; it was a horrifying déjà vu, a second chance at the day that had once destroyed me. Inside, I heard my husband Kevin' s bitter voice, dismissing me as "simple," "always tired," and "smelling like the diner." His mother, Helen, chimed in, labeling me an "anchor, dragging him down" from his imagined football star glory. Then came the chilling words from my own twelve-year-old son, Justin. He openly wished Aunt Tiffany, the "friend" I'd helped through her divorce, was his mom, because her house didn' t smell like "fried onions." Tiffany' s smooth voice, dripping with fake concern, endorsed their narrative, twisting my double shifts into "neglect." I knew their entire sinister plot, every humiliating detail: Justin' s fake "runaway" act, Kevin' s performative call to the police and Child Protective Services, framing me as an unfit mother. They planned to file for emergency custody, force a divorce, and escape with Justin to a new "perfect" life with Tiffany, leaving me utterly ruined. In my first life, I was blindsided. I fought desperately, screamed, cried, and ultimately lost everything-my son, my home, my reputation. I truly died a broken woman, my soul consumed by an unbearable grief. But somehow, I was back. The crushing grief was gone, replaced by a terrifying calm and an ice-cold resolve. They still believed I was simple, weak. They were about to discover the monstrous mistake they had made.

Betrayal Revenge Divorce Rebirth/Reborn Kickass Heroine

Chapter 10

11-03 14:58

Introduction

The cold garage floor seeped through my thin jeans as I lay hidden, listening. This wasn't a memory; it was a horrifying déjà vu, a second chance at the day that had once destroyed me.

Inside, I heard my husband Kevin' s bitter voice, dismissing me as "simple," "always tired," and "smelling like the diner." His mother, Helen, chimed in, labeling me an "anchor, dragging him down" from his imagined football star glory.

Then came the chilling words from my own twelve-year-old son, Justin.

He openly wished Aunt Tiffany, the "friend" I'd helped through her divorce, was his mom, because her house didn' t smell like "fried onions." Tiffany' s smooth voice, dripping with fake concern, endorsed their narrative, twisting my double shifts into "neglect."

I knew their entire sinister plot, every humiliating detail: Justin' s fake "runaway" act, Kevin' s performative call to the police and Child Protective Services, framing me as an unfit mother.

They planned to file for emergency custody, force a divorce, and escape with Justin to a new "perfect" life with Tiffany, leaving me utterly ruined. In my first life, I was blindsided.

I fought desperately, screamed, cried, and ultimately lost everything-my son, my home, my reputation. I truly died a broken woman, my soul consumed by an unbearable grief. But somehow, I was back.

The crushing grief was gone, replaced by a terrifying calm and an ice-cold resolve. They still believed I was simple, weak. They were about to discover the monstrous mistake they had made.