Chapter 2

2

In my past life, I was too stupid to see they were just leeches waiting to bleed me dry.

This time around, I refuse to be their ATM.

"Brandon, Melanie is very particular about Chloe's diet. If I send the wrong thing, she'll just get upset."

"I wouldn't want to overstep. You clearly trust her methods more than mine, anyway."

The smile on Brandon's face froze. He glanced at his wife and didn't know how to push further.

He tried to thrust the opened bottles of wine into my hands, but I stepped back.

"Keep those for Melanie's parents. I'm far too young to start drinking that heavy stuff."

Two weeks later, my phone started screaming in the middle of the night.

It was Brandon calling, over and over again.

I finished my soda and turned off my Netflix show before finally picking up.

"What is it, Brandon? I just got back from the office."

"Why the hell didn't you pick up sooner?" his voice was laced with irritation.

"Chloe is unconscious. You need to get over here and tell us what to do."

In the old timeline, they treated me like a 911 dispatcher for every minor sniffle.

They would relax on the couch while I rushed Chloe to the ER and dealt with the doctors.

"I'm swamped with files, Brandon. I can't leave."

"Your niece is literally passed out! Are you a robot? How can you be so cold-blooded?"

That was their favorite weapon―accusing me of being heartless whenever I didn't obey.

In the past, I would have panicked and spent the night at the hospital just to prove I cared.

Now, I just leaned back and smiled.

"Melanie has been cutting her calories in half, right? She's probably just hungry. Stop yelling at me and go give her a snack."

Brandon paused, as if a lightbulb finally went off.

I heard him scream at Melanie in the background, calling her a useless mother and a dog.

Melanie started sobbing, claiming the baby was just "sleeping deeply" and would wake up fine.

One parent was a deadbeat, and the other was a delusional narcissist.

A match made in hell.

As long as the kid didn't actually die, they didn't really care about her suffering.

They ended up forcing some formula down the baby's throat, and she eventually woke up.

In my previous life, I would have insisted on a full neurological workup.

And for all that effort, Melanie would just mock me behind my back.

"She just wants to waste money at the hospital to feel important. No man will ever marry a spendthrift like her."

This time, I just laughed it off.

Neglecting a child's health is a dangerous game. Malnutrition leads to brain damage and stunted development.

But a child's fate is often tied to the wisdom of their parents.

If I interfere, I'm the one who ends up paying the price.

I've learned to respect the natural course of someone else's destiny and drop the savior complex.

A few days later, Melanie posted a photo of Chloe on social media.

The baby's limbs were like toothpicks, and her face was sunken.

"My little princess is getting so slim and elegant. She's going to be the most precious, delicate soul."

She even posted her own weight―only 75 pounds at five-foot-three. She looked like a walking skeleton.

Her toxic friends flooded the comments with heart emojis.

"So tiny! Such goals!"

"I wish my baby was that dainty. Being a petite girl is such a flex."

I scrolled past, feeling a wave of disgust. Trash really does gather in the same pile.

Time blurred by. The next time I saw Chloe, she was nine years old.

She looked nothing like the girl I remembered.

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