My Mother's Love Is a Lottery I Always Lose

Something warm flowed down my neck, running through my hair and staining the floor.

The floor is dirty now, and I knew that Mom would get angry at me for that.

I wanted to wipe it off, but I suddenly felt as if I were suspended in the air.

As it turns out, I was dead.

I knew what death was. After all, Grandma had also died on the floor like this when I was seven years old.

She had been in a huge fight with Mom at that time, and she wouldn't stop calling Mom a haughty lunatic.

"Just say it if you love one daughter and not the other! What's the point of using drawing lots as a front and gaslighting Belle into thinking it was her fault? If you don't want Belle, then let her come with me! I'll bring her back to my hometown!

"If not, then get rid of that damn lottery box, and love both of them equally instead!"

Mom had then retorted with a cold laugh, saying, "How I love and treat my children is none of your business. Of course I love both of them!

"But there will always be times when favoritism plays up, and that's something I can't help. That's the only reason why I developed this system so that I could treat them both equally fair and square!

"They have to rely on their luck every time they want something. Neither their dad nor I will interfere. And it's not our fault that Isabelle can never draw the longer stick every time. She only has her bad luck to blame!"

Grandma had then gotten so mad that she collapsed to the ground and never woke up again.

Mom's lottery-based discipline only grew more severe over time.

If there were two boiled eggs for breakfast, Mom would still make me and my younger sister, Anabelle, draw lots. Usually, when I drew the shorter stick, I would always assume that Anabelle got the longer stick in the end. So, she would get to eat both eggs, and I would get none.

Mom also made us draw lots when it was time for dinner. If I got the short end of the stick, she would then cook only all of Anabelle's favorite dishes, even if I was severely allergic to all of them.

Mom would always sigh helplessly at me and say, "The rules are rules and cannot be broken. What can I say? It's your fault for always getting the short end of the stick."

Even when I was sporting a high fever at 102 degrees and came crying to Mom asking to be held, she would make me draw lots. If I got the short stick, she would turn and hug Anabelle instead.

"You really have terrible luck, Belle," Mom told me.

I spent my entire life drawing lots for everything. Even after my death, I was still thinking about it.

I remembered that the casket Grandma had been buried in was very wide and comfortable. Mom was the one who had bought it for her, and everyone praised Mom for being such a kind and understanding daughter-in-law.

I wanted Mom to be nice to me too, because the bed I'd been sleeping in for five years was so small that I couldn't even straighten my legs while sleeping in it anymore.

However, that had also been the result of drawing the shorter stick at that time.

I wanted to find Mom and beg her to let me draw lots again. If I finally got lucky and drew the long stick this time, I was sure that Mom would immediately agree to buy a large casket for me this time!

My soul floated to the door, and I suddenly heard footsteps outside.

My eyes lit up. Then, I saw Mom pushing the door open.