Chapter 1

My mother, Joanne, was dying. Stage four lung cancer.

Because she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my father and me behind to navigate a world without her, she decided to take us with her. She slipped crushed Ambien into our Sunday roast, sealed the windows of our suburban home, and turned on the gas.

But when my eyes opened, I wasn’t in the afterlife. I was eighteen again, back in the year I was supposed to leave for college.

There was just one catch: Joanne and I had swapped souls.

“It doesn’t matter,” Joanne whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of terror and relief as she looked at her own middle-aged reflection in the hallway mirror. “As long as we’re alive. We can start over. We can fix everything.”

She actually thought this was a second chance at her "perfect" life.

I looked down at my—her—wrinkled hands and felt a cold, sharp smile spread across my face. I wasn't going to let her have it. I was going to burn her world to the ground.

1

“6:00 AM: Drive Riley—that’s me now—to school.”

“9:00 AM: Go to your mother-in-law’s. Clean the house, do the laundry, and remember to call her ‘Ma’ with a smile.”

“12:00 PM: Bring lunch to Arthur at the office. He likes the steak medium-rare, no exceptions.”

“3:00 PM: Go to the sports bar and help your brother, Benny, with the bookkeeping. He’s struggling.”

“6:00 PM: Pilates with Meredith. She’s your best friend—don't forget that. Be supportive.”

“8:30 PM: Pick up Riley and Meredith’s daughter, Skylar, from their SAT prep. Have snacks ready in the car. Drop Skylar off at Meredith’s house afterward.”

Joanne went on and on, detailing every pathetic minute of her self-imposed martyrdom. She spoke with the frantic intensity of a woman who believed that if she just followed the schedule, if she just kept the "dignity" of the family intact, everything would be okay.

She was obsessed with appearances. Even with a second life, she couldn't let go of the mask.

“So,” I said, cutting her off. I didn’t look at her notes. I pointed at the clock on the kitchen wall. “What are you supposed to be doing right now?”

Joanne flinched, her—my—young shoulders hunching forward. “It’s 9:20 PM. I should be in my room doing a practice Calculus BC exam.”

“Then get upstairs,” I snapped. My voice, her voice, sounded like a whip crack. “What are you waiting for?”

She jumped. I wanted her to feel it—the weight of the hierarchy she had built. I wanted her to know exactly who was in charge now.

Joanne timidly pushed the notebook full of "life instructions" toward me and scurried off to my old bedroom. I didn’t even glance at the pages. I tossed the whole thing into the kitchen trash, right on top of the coffee grounds and eggshells.

I didn’t need a schedule. I didn’t need dignity. I needed to go scorched earth.

2

2

“Joanne, wake up! You have to drive me to school!”

“Come on, get up! I’m going to be late!”

Joanne was shaking my arm, trying to drag me out of bed. She was desperate to maintain the routine, desperate for me to be the mother she had been.

“You’re eighteen, not eight,” I growled, pulling the duvet over my head. “You have legs. Walk. Take the bus. I’m not your damn chauffeur.”

The room went silent for a few beats. I heard her retreating footsteps, but before she closed the door, she couldn't help herself. “Don’t forget Ma’s house... and Arthur’s lunch.”

“To hell with that!” I yelled at the ceiling. We had a cleaning service. We had money. And yet she spent ninety minutes every day driving out to the edge of the city to scrub floors for a woman who didn't even like her. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I don't know how long I slept, but the buzzing of her phone eventually pierced through my dreams. I chucked the iPhone across the room, but then the landline started screaming. It was a relentless, high-pitched demand. I finally stumbled into the kitchen to answer it.

“Where is my lunch? I’ve been in meetings all morning and I’m starving. Get down here. Now.”

Arthur didn't even wait for a response before hanging up. In this house, he was the king, and Joanne was the maid who never said no. But I wasn't Joanne, and I had never considered this man my father. He wasn't getting lunch today. He was getting a surprise.

I raided Joanne’s closet. It was a sea of beige trench coats, modest floral dresses, and sensible black flats. Everything Arthur liked. None of it suited my mood. I looked at the oversized, grey fleece pajamas I was wearing—comfortable, shapeless, and completely inappropriate. Perfect.

When I walked into the lobby of Arthur’s corporate headquarters in my pajamas, hair unbrushed and frizzy, the staff stared. I could hear the whispers starting as I passed the glass-walled offices. Whocare? I spent my whole life being told to "dress for the occasion." Today, the occasion was chaos.

His secretary intercepted me halfway down the hall. She looked at me with a mix of pity and professional disdain, her hand hovering near my pocket as if checking for a weapon. She was loyal to a fault—Arthur’s little soldier.

She pulled a set of black keys out of my pocket, her expression flickering with a brief, sharp panic before she shoved them back in and pushed me into the executive suite.

Arthur was sitting behind his mahogany desk, rubbing his temples. He didn't even look up. “Fine. What is it this time? What do you want?”

“A divorce,” I said, tossing the papers I’d prepared onto his desk.

Arthur let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He finally looked at me, his eyes scanning my pajamas with disgust. “Joanne, have you finally lost your mind? You married me to pay off Benny’s gambling debts. You still owe me for that. You think you can just walk away with half my assets? You’re dreaming.”

He crumpled the papers and tossed them toward the wastebasket. Then he stood up, taking his jacket off the rack. He started wrapping the sleeves around his fist as he walked toward me. He grabbed me by the collar, his knuckles white, his fist pulled back toward my stomach.

He expected me to cower. He didn't expect the paring knife I’d slipped from the kitchen to be at his throat before his punch could land.

The blade rested right against his carotid artery. I watched his Adam's apple jump as he swallowed. He was terrified, but he tried to bluff. “You do this, and the 'dignity' you've spent twenty years building is gone. Everyone will know you’re a psycho. Riley will be the daughter of a murderer. Think about her.”

“Really?” I smiled, pressing the steel a little firmer against his skin. “When you're fighting for your life, who gives a damn about your reputation? And don't you dare mention Riley. What she thinks of us is none of your business. This is about you and me.”

“All those years you hit me? Five or six holes in your gut wouldn't even begin to even the score.” I pulled the knife back, feinting a lunge toward his stomach.

Arthur screamed, throwing his hands over his head and cowering against the window. He looked pathetic. All that corporate power, all that "dignity," evaporated in a second of pure, unadulterated cowardice.

“Stop it! Joanne!”

The door burst open. Meredith, dressed in a designer suit and smelling of expensive perfume, rushed in. She grabbed my arm, her eyes welling with crocodile tears.

Right on cue. The guest of honor had arrived.

3

3

“Joanne, don’t do this! You’ll ruin your life!”

“Whatever you want, just say it. I’ll make sure Arthur gives it to you. Anything!”

They were so perfect for each other. Even their pleas were laced with that manipulative, gaslighting undertone they’d used on Joanne for decades.

“Fine,” I said, stepping back. “Make him sign the divorce papers. Then you two can have the grand, lavish wedding you’ve always wanted. Oh, and one more thing. You’ll put out a public statement acknowledging your eighteen-year-old daughter, Skylar. Give her the family name. Let her move into the estate so she can take care of her bedridden grandmother. It’ll be a beautiful, happy ending for everyone.”

Meredith froze. She looked at Arthur, then back at me, her face turning ashen. “How... how long have you known?”

“How long?”

I tilted my head, memories of being ten years old flooding back. I remembered Joanne bringing Skylar home, telling me she was Meredith’s daughter and that she’d be staying with us while Meredith "worked late."

Joanne would always praise Skylar—how smart she was, how well-behaved, how I should be more like her. But the moment Skylar was picked up, Joanne’s face would collapse. She’d lock herself in her room with a bottle of wine. Late at night, she’d drag me out of bed, drunk and weeping, forcing me to do extra homework. She’d curse Arthur for having no heart, for making her raise his mistress’s child while Meredith lived the high life.

As a kid, I didn't understand. I just cried. But Joanne couldn't stand my tears. She’d hit my palms with a wooden spoon, telling me to remember the humiliation the family brought her. She told me to study, to be better than Skylar, to take everything that belonged to this family.

Then, the next morning, she’d wake up and act like nothing happened. She’d drive us to school, smile at Meredith, and play the loyal wife, only to cry at the foot of my bed every night. I spent twelve years pretending to be asleep just so I wouldn't have to hear her heart break.

...

“You didn’t have to raise the kid. You didn’t have to deal with the husband or the mother-in-law. You just got to go shopping and get facials while Joanne did the heavy lifting. You’re the 'best friend' who never wanted the title, just the perks,” I said, pointing the knife at Meredith. “But you don't get to have it both ways anymore. You love Arthur so much? He’s all yours. I’m taking my half and getting out of this toxic triangle.”

“In your dreams!” Arthur lunged at me, trying to grab the knife, but I stepped aside. He crashed into his desk, sending his coffee flying. “I’m not putting out a statement. I’m not giving you a dime. And Meredith and I are none of your business. You want a divorce? Fine. Take Riley and get out. I have Skylar. She’s the only child I need.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “For a father, you’re remarkably cold. I guess there’s nothing left to say.”

I tucked the knife away and turned toward the door. A crowd of employees was huddled in the hallway, eavesdropping.

“The CEO is sleeping with his wife’s best friend!” I shouted as I pushed through them. “And his wife has been raising his secret daughter for eighteen years! If you don't want to get screwed over by a man this soulless, I’d find a new job!”

Behind me, I could hear Meredith’s panicked voice. “It’s not true! She’s sick! She’s having a breakdown! Everyone get back to work!”

Work? I was about to make sure there was no work left to do.

4

4

I went straight to a 24-hour internet cafe and pulled a digital recorder out of my pocket. Joanne’s submissiveness had one advantage: nobody ever suspected she was listening.

I hacked into the company’s website and posted a "Public Apology from Arthur to Joanne," attaching the audio clip of him saying: “I’m not putting out a statement. I’m not giving you a dime... Take Riley and get out. I have Skylar. She’s the only child I need.”

But that wasn't enough. I contacted every tabloid in the city and several of Arthur’s biggest competitors. I sent them the full, unedited recordings. Arthur’s company wasn't the biggest in the state, but it was high-profile. A scandal like this, fueled by corporate rivals, wouldn't just hurt him—it would bury him.

I was glad I’d majored in Computer Science. It felt like fate, as if I’d been trained specifically to dismantle my father’s life.

I felt lighter than I had in years. I sat at a greasy diner and ate two orders of pancakes, savoring every bite. But before I could finish, my phone—Joanne’s phone—started screaming.

“What have you done?!” Joanne’s voice was hysterical. “You’ve ruined me! You’ve destroyed everything!”

I checked the time. “Shouldn't you be in AP English? Are you really throwing away your 'good student' image to call me?”

She went silent for a few seconds. She realized I was playing her own game against her. Her voice dropped to a cold, flat tone. “I took a leave of absence. I’m at the house. We need to talk.”

“Sure,” I said, wiping syrup from my lip. “I could use some exercise anyway.”

When I got to the house, Joanne was sitting on the sofa, trembling. A sheet of paper was on the coffee table. I picked it up. “Fast work. They got to you already? They want you to film a retraction video to save their skins? Are you going to do it, sweetie?”

Joanne looked at me as if I were a monster. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “Why... why did it have to be like this? Why couldn't we just play the hand we were dealt? Why did you have to tear it all down?”

“Because I wasn't happy! Because I haven't had a normal day since I was ten years old!” I ripped the retraction statement into confetti and threw it in her face.

“You wanted to preserve your 'love,' your 'friendships,' your 'family,' your 'dignity.' Fine! But why did you take out all your resentment on me?!”

“You forced me to study until I bled. You forced me to be perfect for people you hated. In public, you were the saintly wife and the loyal friend. In private, you told me they were all vultures who deserved to die. If you hated them so much, why didn't you just leave? Why did you turn yourself into a martyr and then turn me into your project?!”

Slap.

The sound echoed through the living room. Joanne’s hand was shaking. “Because you’re my daughter!” she sobbed. “I did it for you! I endured the abuse and the humiliation so you would have a home! So you’d have a father with power to back you up! So when you got married, no one would dare look down on you! I played the fool, I served them all, I let Meredith mock me and Arthur hit me... do you think I liked it? If it wasn't for you, I would have ended it a long time ago!”

“Then you should have!” I screamed back.

Joanne raised her hand again, but I didn't flinch. I glared at her. “I knew what you were doing that night with the sleeping pills and the gas. I felt it coming. And I didn't say a word. I didn't try to stop you. Because I agreed with you—death was better than the life you gave me!”

“You... you...” Joanne collapsed into the sofa, burying her face in her hands. “It’s a curse. This whole life is a curse. What else do you want? The family is gone. What else?”

“You have a brother,” I said coldly. “The one who bleeds you dry.”

“Everything is going to burn, Joanne. And I’m starting with him.”