When I came back to life, the first thing I did was order fifty pounds of ground meat and gather my family to make ravioli.

I did this because, in my last life, my stepmother, Brenda, had an affair and got pregnant by another man.

To hide her betrayal from my father, she orchestrated a public spectacle. She went to a chaotic Black Friday sale, intentionally got into the scrum for a discounted coffee machine, and let herself be knocked to the ground, inducing a miscarriage.

When she came home, she collapsed into my father’s arms, sobbing. “It was Mia,” she cried. “She’s so cheap, she insisted we go fight for that stupid sale. If she hadn’t dragged me there, I wouldn’t have fallen. I wouldn’t have lost our son…”

I tried to explain, but my own fiancé, Caleb, stepped forward to drive the nail into my coffin.

“Mia, I am so disappointed in you,” he said, his face a mask of disgust. “I’ve tolerated your cheapness—scamming free meals, shoplifting snacks from the bulk bins—but this? Forcing your stepmother into a dangerous crowd just to save a few bucks, causing her to lose a child? I can’t do this anymore. The engagement is off.”

My father exploded. He chased me through the house, his rage a storm of slaps and curses.

Afterward, he had me committed to a corrupt psychiatric facility upstate. I was locked away, mistreated, and left to die from a septic infection after a botched medical procedure.

It was only after I died that I learned the truth. Caleb had been sleeping with my stepmother all along. Our engagement was just a convenient cover for their affair.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the morning of the day Brenda went to the Black Friday sale.

1

I was curled up in bed, tears soaking my pillow, when the phone rang.

I answered it instinctively. It was Brenda. “Morning, sweetie,” she chirped. “It’s Christmas Eve, so I’m going to do a little shopping, treat myself. I won’t be home to cook today, so you can handle the housework and make dinner for your dad and grandparents, okay?”

She said it not as a request, but as a statement of fact, giving me no room to refuse.

“And don’t tell your dad where I am. You know how he hovers. A girl needs her breathing room.” Her voice was syrupy sweet. “You’re such a good girl, Mia. You’re my little helper. I’ll bring you back something nice!”

Then she hung up.

I tried calling her back—five, six times. Every call went straight to voicemail. She’d already blocked my number. The repeated dial tone shocked me back to the present, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin.

I was back. I had been given a second chance.

In my last life, Brenda had married my father thinking he was wealthy. She was sorely disappointed to find out he was just a retired tradesman with no pension. All the nice things he’d shown off during their courtship—the car, the apartment—were actually mine. She felt trapped, but she stayed, her resentment simmering just beneath the surface.

Last time, on Christmas Eve, she had made the same call. I’d agreed to her request, but then got called into the office to handle a crisis. I worked all day, only getting home late for dinner. I walked into a house thick with a terrifying silence. My father stood in the living room, his face a thundercloud, while Brenda wept at his side.

“Mia, it’s all your fault,” she’d sobbed. “If you hadn’t been so cheap, if you hadn’t dragged me to that horrible sale, I wouldn’t have been pushed. I wouldn’t have lost the baby.”

I was floored. “What are you talking about? I was at work all day. I have timestamps, emails…”

Before I could pull out my phone, Caleb snatched it from my hand, threw it to the floor, and stomped on it.

“I can’t believe you,” he’d spat. “I’m done. We’re done.”

His betrayal was all the proof my father needed. He saw the loss of his unborn son as the ultimate failure, and I was the one to blame. He dragged me out of the house that night.

I now knew the child she’d lost wasn’t my father’s. It was Caleb’s. They’d been careless, and this elaborate, cruel performance was their way of erasing the evidence.

Brilliant, really. Utterly monstrous, but brilliant.

This time, things would be different. A cold smile touched my lips. I wasn’t going anywhere. I ordered fifty pounds of ground meat for delivery. Then I sent a text to my boss. Family emergency. Requesting to work from home for the holiday.

I was the backbone of my company. My boss trusted me implicitly. The reply came back in minutes: Approved. Take care of things.

With my alibi established, I got up and took a long, hot shower. By the time I was sitting at the breakfast table, the doorbell rang. The butcher delivered the meat.

My father and grandparents stared at the massive containers in disbelief. “Where on earth did all this come from?” my grandmother asked.

I passed the buck to my boss. “A client defaulted on a payment, so they paid the company in product. They’re a meat distributor.” I shrugged. “So, instead of a cash bonus this year, my boss just gave us all a share of the meat. Said we should all go home and make ravioli for Christmas.”

“Fifty pounds?” my grandma gasped. “We’ll be making ravioli until New Year’s!”

“Well, there go my plans for chess with the guys,” my grandfather sighed.

I turned to my father. “Dad, we can’t let all this meat go to waste. Grandma and Grandpa are in. You’re not going to sit this out, are you? Go wash your hands.”

Muttering curses about my boss under his breath, my father rolled up his sleeves and started chopping onions and garlic, soon sweating with the effort.

On Christmas Eve, while other families were decorating trees and wrapping presents, ours was an assembly line of misery. My father, the strongest among us, chopped, mixed, and kneaded dough until he was panting like a dog.

By noon, everyone was starving. My father remembered his absent wife. “It’s twelve-thirty. Where’s your stepmother? Why isn’t she here making lunch?”

I feigned innocence. “I don’t know. I tried calling her this morning, but I think she blocked me.” I put on a worried expression. “Do you think she’s mad at me? Maybe you should try calling her, Dad.”

He frowned and dialed Brenda’s number. He tried three times. No answer.

His temper flared. “Did you two have a fight? Why isn’t she answering my calls?” He glared at me. “You’re twenty-five years old, Mia. Stop acting like a child and provoking your mother.”

I put on my best wounded expression and played the call recording from that morning.

“Dad, you’re blaming me again. But this time, you’re the reason she’s not home.”

The whole family listened as Brenda’s cheerful voice filled the room, ending with the line about needing “breathing room” from my hovering father. His face went dark. He lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter in silence.

While my grandparents tried to soothe him, I ordered four large pizzas. “Mom’s not here and we’re busy,” I said brightly. “Let’s just get takeout.”

My grandparents praised me for being so thoughtful. My father just sat there, stewing in a black mood that lasted the rest of the day.

By evening, all fifty pounds of meat had been turned into countless trays of ravioli. Our hands were cramping. My dad went out for another pack of cigarettes while my grandparents started boiling the water for dinner.

I sat on the sofa, scrolling through my phone, and allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. I hadn’t left the house. I had been with my family all day. There was no way Brenda could pin her “miscarriage” on me this time.

Just as I thought that, the front door burst open.

Caleb was supporting a pale, weeping Brenda. The moment she saw me, she let out a wail.

“Mia! You monster! After I treated you like my own daughter, how could you do this to me?”

Before I could even speak, Caleb joined in. “I can’t believe your cruelty, Mia. You are a heartless snake. I am so disappointed in you. We are through!”

I looked at them, my face a mask of pure confusion. “What are you talking about? Brenda, you were pregnant? When did this happen? Why didn’t I know?”

My feigned ignorance only made Brenda cry harder. “So this is how it is! All those times you were sweet to me, it was all an act! You’ve hated me all along!” She pointed a shaking finger at me. “I told you the good news last night, and what do you do? You drag me to that sale this morning, you push me into that crowd, and you get me trampled!”

Her voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “I barely survived, and you stand there acting like you know nothing? How could you be so cruel?”

Our old house was in a tight-knit courtyard community. On Christmas Eve, the shared yard was full of neighbors building snowmen and lighting firecrackers. Hearing the commotion, they all started to gather at our doorway. Brenda, ever the performer, made sure to stand right on the threshold, her voice carrying across the entire courtyard.

The neighbors began to murmur, their eyes turning on me.

“I can’t believe it. Mia seems so sweet, but she intentionally caused her stepmother to have a miscarriage?”

“You never know what’s in a person’s heart. We watched her grow up, and this is what she becomes?”

One woman shook her head. “I’m telling my son to stay away from her. Who knows what she’s capable of.”

The murmurs grew into a chorus of condemnation.

I felt tears welling in my eyes. But this time, they weren't tears of helplessness. They were tears of pure, unadulterated excitement. The show was about to begin.

Seeing my tears, Brenda thought she had me cornered. She doubled down, regaling the neighbors with more fabricated details of my cruelty.

Caleb, meanwhile, grabbed me by the shoulders and tried to force me to my knees. “Children are meant to respect their parents! You will get on your knees and you will apologize to Brenda for the child you murdered!” He tightened his grip. “As your fiancé, it’s my job to teach you some discipline!”

He shoved my head down, forcing me to bow again and again until my forehead was scraped and bleeding.

“That’s not enough,” he declared. “An apology can’t bring back a child. You need to compensate her.” He looked at me, his eyes cold and greedy. “Give Brenda your year-end bonus so she can buy supplements. And sign over your new apartment to her, so she has a quiet place to recover. That is the only way to show you are truly sorry.”

I almost laughed out loud. It was so absurd, so brazen. And suddenly, it all made sense. This wasn't just about covering up their affair. It was about getting rid of me and taking everything I had. No wonder Caleb had suddenly started pursuing me so intensely, right after Brenda realized my father wasn’t her ticket to a life of luxury.

I looked up at Caleb and spit directly in his face.

“You want my bonus and my apartment for a bastard child you knocked up? In your dreams.”

They were both stunned, then furious.

“Caleb, don’t,” Brenda sobbed, playing the victim. “She’s never liked me. It’s no use.” She turned dramatically. “A stepmother is never welcome. The world hates me, my own family tries to kill me… I might as well be dead!”

She made a show of running towards a tree as if to bash her head against it. Caleb rushed to stop her. “Don’t worry, Brenda. I’ve already called Frank. He’s on his way. He’ll make this right.”