Chapter 1

My daughter had a dream of dancing.

I pinched every penny and worked three jobs a day just to see her become the country's prima ballerina.

But instead of gratitude, she went on a livestream to sob about my supposed cruelty to her millions of fans.

I told her to practice and stay off her phone, but she claimed I was a tyrant stripping away her freedom.

I tried to stop her from running off with some shady online donor, and she screamed that I was destroying her chance at true love.

She told the world I treated her like a cash cow, milking her for every drop of talent she had.

When an extremist fan finally ran me over with his car, she didn't mourn.

She used my death to go viral, then tossed my ashes into the storm drain like they were common trash.

But I've been reborn.

I'm cutting off the expensive tuition and letting her do whatever the hell she wants.

Driven by her own vanity, she became a thirst-trap streamer, got played by the industry's dark side, and sold counterfeit goods until the feds hauled her away.

Her career didn't just end; it imploded.

By the time she was crawling on her knees, begging me to take her home, I had already moved on.

1.

I rubbed my temples as the world stopped spinning, just in time to hear my phone buzzing.

It was the ballet instructor from the academy.

"Mrs. Vance, is something going on with Maya lately? She's been slacking off in rehearsals and won't put her phone down. Her latest assessment was a total disaster."

"She's incredibly talented, but at this rate, she'll be laughed out of the National Ballet Competition. Please, don't let her throw her future away."

I listened to those familiar words, my mind drifting back to my previous life.

I had received this exact call before.

Back then, I confronted Maya only to find out she had started a TikTok account that was blowing up.

Her feed was filled with low-effort thirst traps and suggestive dances.

The comments section was a cesspool of creeps and predators.

Her top donor, some guy hiding behind a screen, was promising to be her boyfriend and pay her twenty thousand a month if she moved in with him.

"Why should I break my back doing ballet when people pay me just to look pretty? Pliés and pirouettes are painful and boring!" she had screamed at me.

"You're just forcing your failed dreams onto my life!"

I could only manage a bitter smile at the memory.

I remembered how she looked as a little girl, eyes wide with wonder, telling me she wanted to be a beautiful swan.

To fund that dream, I worked twelve-hour shifts at the hospital and took cleaning jobs at night.

I had no weekends, no vacations, and no new clothes for a decade just to pay her tuition.

She wasn't just throwing away years of hard work; she was leaping headfirst into a shark tank.

In my first life, I didn't let her.

I confiscated her phone, deleted her accounts, and blocked her sugar daddy.

I paid for her advanced classes and watched her like a hawk during every practice.

My effort paid off when she won the national title and became the youngest prima ballerina in history.

I was so proud as her face flashed across every news screen in the country.

But the moment she got her hands on a phone again, she started a livestream.

With tears streaming down her face, she told the world I was a monster.

She claimed I had crushed her soul, destroyed her career as an influencer, and torn her away from her soulmate.

She told her fans I was a talentless loser who used her as a human ATM.

She claimed the pressure I put on her gave her chronic depression.

The internet took her side instantly.

I became the most hated mother in America.

People doxed me, harassed me at work, and sent death threats to my door.

Eventually, a crazed fan decided to be her hero and mowed me down with his SUV.

He put the car in reverse and ran over me again just to make sure I was dead.

In the morgue, I watched her ghost-like figure look at my mangled body with nothing but disgust.

She didn't even buy a proper urn; she had me cremated and dumped the ashes in a ditch.

Then she went back on camera, weeping for the cameras about how she missed her mother.

The hashtags #JusticeForMaya and #RestInPeaceEvilMom started trending, giving her career a massive boost.

Everyone praised her for being so forgiving and kind-hearted.

The National Ballet Association made her their global ambassador and sent her to Paris for free.

Huge brands offered her multi-million dollar contracts.

World-renowned choreographers lined up to mentor her.

She reached the peak of the world while I rotted in an unmarked grave.

To me, she was my daughter; to her, I was an obstacle to be cleared.

The teacher was still talking on the phone, but I cut her off.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Miller, but I've run out of energy to manage her. Please contact her father from now on."

If she couldn't see my sacrifice, I would simply take it back.

She always talked about how much she missed her deadbeat, gambling father anyway.

Let her go live with him and see how that goes.

I'm officially resigning as her mother.