I Wish My Mom Was Dead Book Novels & Stories

Better than remembering how Max used to hold me, used to whisper he loved me, used to promise we'd be together forever. "Why won't she just die?" The words came out in a whisper, but they felt like they were ripping my throat open. I looked down at my hands there was blood where my nails had cut into my palms. "The prison fire was perfect, Mom. Perfect! We planned every single detail. The timing. The locked doors. Everything! She should be dead! She should be ashes! Why is she still breathing while I'm dying inside?" Mom's high heels clicked on the floor as she walked over to me. Click. Click. Click. Like a countdown to something terrible. She always walked like that like a queen. Like someo

I moved into her and she pulled me in a hug I wrapped my hands around her as well before wiping my tears. “We have to look for the spell book, fast. Clara can't meet me here.” Mom uttered wiping her tears and going to the drawers to look for the book. I stood there knowing she didn't know. She didn't know that Clara was dead as well as my dad. “She’s dead,” I uttered, tears rolling out of my eyes. “What?” mom turned to me. “What do you mean by that?” he asked looking at me. “She died. She was the one that turned Magdon into what he is right now and he killed her.” I uttered, my lips shaking to say the next words.

"I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted him to look at me and see what he had done. I did manage to punch him once before hands dragged me away, voices shouting, the world dissolving into chaos" I fell to the floor. "From there, I watched my brother still holding our mother, refusing to let go, whispering her name like saying it enough times would bring her back". That image never left me. "My mother." "She was always there. Every day. Every moment. She filled our lives with her presence. And she died like this — suddenly, violently, without warning". "I never wished for her death. But if I ever had to wish for it, I would have wished she lived long enough to see my childre

The books I had cherished, once neatly organized, and the clothes I had carefully folded and placed in the corner, were now being sold off as if they were garbage. "What are you doing here?" Mom asked, her voice pulling me back to the present. I looked wistfully at the books tossed carelessly into burlap sacks. Then, with a heavy tone, I asked, "Where is Marianne?" "She's dead."

However, Zachary wouldn't let it go, and Ella stood by with a sneer, her tone dripping with mockery as she implied I was cheating on him. With a sigh, I turned, gripped Zachary's wrist firmly, and pulled him into the memorial hall. Inside, my mother's photo sat among the flowers. She had a gentle smile and a soft and kind expression. Teresa looked surprised as we entered. I dragged Zachary right up to my mother's memorial. "You want to know what I'm doing here? I'm here because I'm holding a funeral for my mother!" I snapped, my voice breaking. Zachary froze as if struck by lightning. He shook his head in disbelief and muttered, "That's impossible. She was on dialysis. She was fine. No one t

I sit in the middle of Zane's massive bed, our bed now, I suppose, with my knees pulled tight against my chest, arms wrapped around them like I might hold myself together through sheer physical force. My mother is dead. The words repeat in my mind, a terrible mantra I can't escape. Dead because she tried to save me. Dead because I was born a true omega in a world that treats us like breeding stock instead of people.

"Please, Richard, don't do this to our daughter…" Yet, her right hand was in Dad's blind spot, and she cleverly shielded her movements as she began removing the loose screws at the bottom of the railing at top speed. The screws were already loosened from the very beginning, and Mom was unscrewing them silently with much practised ease. In my past life, that very screw had also popped loose in this way. Why was Mom so desperate to kill me? Was I still going to have to suffer the same fate in this life too?

“Not right now.” She hums in mild disbelief. My fingers twitch. I could drag her into my bedroom, show her the map I’ve been working on, knock that little smirk right off her face. She’s not some genius I’m struggling to keep up with. I’m not some kid she’s running circles around. And I am fucking tired of being treated like I am. “I don’t know if you missed the letter, but my mother died,” I spit. “Cold and alone, fighting a losing battle in the snow. So I’m not sure she should really be your role model.”

Like a cinder that had long since burned out. A dead mark means its host has been dead for some time. A sound moved through the crowd, the sharp involuntary intake of breath that happens when something breaks the mind's ability to process what it's seeing. A few people near the front screamed outright. My mother's hands froze mid-air. The moment her eyes touched that purple-black skin and that dead mark, her face went completely still. "Jasmine." "When did you take this kind of internal damage?"

“How could you not want it? You’re right here because you want it. We’re here because it’s what you want.” “It's not! You’re dead, and you should remain dead! I don’t want you alive anymore. Mom has Danny and Noir now. They’re happy… we were happy.” I blink away the tears that had gathered in my eyes. “I was wrong to ever wish mom’s happiness away, just because I wanted the normal I was used to. This isn’t normal, and I don’t want it.” His face twists in fury. “You stupid girl! You can’t just wish us away after bringing us here. It's what you wanted, and now you’re getting it. You can't avoid what you wished for.”