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My mother did everything for her beloved brother. She sold her wedding gold set to fund his store. She sold our only apartment to pay off his gambling debts. And in the end, she took out loans in my name — nearly a million dollars — so he could play the stock market. He lost every cent. Then she and Uncle Marshall vanished overnight, leaving me alone with the debt. I was backed into a corner with no way out. The collectors said the same thing: the mother borrows, the daughter pays. So they pushed me to the edge. Literally. I climbed to the rooftop and jumped. Then I opened my eyes. The delicate clink of gold pieces knocking together filled my ears. My mother was laying out her wedding gold set on the table, piece by piece, smiling at me. "Sweetie, I'm going to sell these to help your uncle start his business. You'll support me on this, right?" Last time around, I grabbed her leg and sobbed, begging her not to do it. This time, I looked at her and smiled. "Go ahead. Sell them." Her eyes lit up with surprise. I let the moment hang, then added, nice and slow: "Oh, but Mom — the university's been on me about transferring my household registration. They need it soon. I'm going to take the family register with me." I needed to cut ties with these people. Fast. Chapter 1 The lamplight caught the wedding bangles and the gold pendant on the table, making them gleam like something precious. Because they were. My dad had saved half a lifetime of paychecks for these. When that wasn't enough, he borrowed from every relative he could find — all to put together the wedding gifts for my mom, Grace Woodley. In my last life, this was where it happened. Right here. Me on the floor, clinging to her legs, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe. "Mom, these are the last thing Dad left us. You can't take them!" And what did she say? She kicked me off. Eyes full of ice and disgust. "Stop crying! You're bad luck! Your Uncle Marshall is about to do something big with his life, and you — his own niece — won't even support him? You'd rather hold him back?" "Your father is dead! What are these things going to do, breed? Better to trade them for your uncle's future!" Every word was a knife straight to my chest. And now, Grace was looking at me with that same expression — that feverish, almost manic hope for her brother's future. Only this time, there was something else. A careful, tentative probing. "Sweetie, your Uncle Marshall has really made up his mind this time. He's got a storefront lined up. All he needs is the startup money. I was thinking, this gold is just sitting here collecting dust anyway..." I lowered my eyes to the gold pieces. Then I looked up and gave her a gentle smile. "Sure." The tentative look on Grace's face froze solid. She'd probably rehearsed a hundred arguments to fight through my tears and protests. She never expected a single word. "You... what did you say?" "I said sell them." My voice was so calm it didn't even ripple. "Uncle Marshall starting a business is a good thing. We're family. Of course we should support him." Grace's eyes lit up — a wild, disbelieving joy. She grabbed my hands. Her palms were damp with excitement. "Sweetie! You've really grown up! You're so mature now! I always knew you were the most thoughtful girl!" "Not like your deadbeat father — so small-minded, spent his whole life clinging to that pathetic paycheck!" She was already stuffing the gold into a red cloth pouch as she spoke, hands moving fast, like she was afraid I'd change my mind any second. The pieces clinked together. Sharp. Grating. I watched her in silence. The moment she cinched the pouch shut and started to stand — I spoke. "Mom." She stopped. Her eyes went wary. "My academic advisor called again yesterday about transferring my residency records for college. She said if I don't turn in the paperwork soon, it'll affect my internships and job prospects down the line. Do you know where the family register is? I can swing by the county clerk's office today and take care of it." I pulled out my phone, tapped open a blank call log screen, and flashed it in front of her. "See? That's my advisor's number right there." Next Chapter 2 Grace Woodley's brow furrowed. The family register. That was her lifeline. In my last life, she'd used that register — under my name — to take out loans on every online lending platform she could find. Nearly a million dollars' worth. "Transfer your registration? What's wrong with keeping it here? Why does your school need so much from you!" She was already irritated. "I don't know either. My academic advisor said it's required." I let just the right amount of helplessness show on my face. "Mom, why don't you just give me the register? I'll take care of it myself. I'll bring it right back." Grace's eyes filled with suspicion. Scrutiny. I held her gaze. Open. Clear-eyed. The picture of a naive college kid with a hint of urgency. "Go and come straight back. Don't you dare lose it!" We stood there for a few seconds, locked in a silent standoff. In the end, she must have decided that compared to the heavy bag of gold sitting right in front of her, letting the register out of her sight for a little while wasn't much of a risk. Reluctantly, she went into the master bedroom, to the locked drawer inside the deepest cabinet, and pulled out the dark red booklet. When she handed it to me, her fingers were still pinching one corner. She wouldn't let go. "The second you're done — the second — you bring it back. You hear me?" "I know, Mom." I took the register. My fingertips brushed the rough cover. My heart finally settled back into my chest. I didn't go to the county clerk's office. I went to the bank first. From memory, I found the one my dad had gone to most when he was alive. In my last life, I didn't know. Not even when the debt collectors chased me onto that rooftop. I never knew that my father had gone behind my mother's back to leave me a way out. It wasn't until after I died — my soul drifting somewhere above it all — that I overheard our old neighbor, Mrs. Archer, talking. "Such a shame about Franklin. He loved that girl so much. He used to secretly put money away for her. Didn't even dare keep the passbook at home — terrified that brother-obsessed wife of his would find it and drain it dry." "I know. He said it was for his daughter's college and her wedding someday. Who knows if the poor girl ever found out." I know. This time around, I know. I handed my ID to the teller and asked her to look up every account under my name. When the balance flashed on the screen — six figures — my eyes burned before I could stop them. Nearly fifty-seven thousand dollars. For a family like ours, in a time like this, that was a fortune. That quiet, unassuming man. He'd scraped it together penny by penny, skipping meals, cutting every corner, carving out a future for me from nothing. I didn't hesitate. I reset the password on the spot and transferred everything to a brand-new account. Then I slipped the old passbook into my inside pocket, close to my body. Only after all of that did I take my time walking to the county clerk's office. The transfer went through without a hitch. When I held that single page in my hands — my own page, separate, independent — I let out a long breath. Starting today, my name is Clara Caldwell. Just Clara Caldwell. By the time I got home, Grace was already back. She was sitting in the living room, on the phone with my uncle Marshall, her voice barely containing its giddiness. Fawning, almost. "Marshall! I sent you the money! A full fourteen thousand! Let me know if that's enough?" "Oh, stop — don't be polite with your big sister! Your problems are my problems!" "Clara? Oh, she was so well-behaved this time! Totally supportive! Yes, yes — she's all grown up now!" She hung up. Saw me. The smile hadn't left her face yet. "You're back? Where's the register?" She held out her hand. Like it was owed to her. I pulled the dark red booklet from my bag and placed it in her palm. She snatched it, flipped through it quickly, confirmed it was the same one. Only then did she exhale, clutching it like a treasure as she locked it back in the cabinet. She didn't notice that the most important page was gone. She was in such a good mood that she did something almost unheard of. "What do you want for dinner, sweetie? Mom will cook for you." "Whatever." I walked into my room and shut the door. Through the wall, I could still hear her humming to herself in the kitchen. How nice for her. Selling her dead husband's things to bankroll her brother. She was just so happy.

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