Novelas y relatos de I Wish My Mom Was Dead Book

I beg, “Why isn’t my power working?” “You can’t bring the dead back.” Deana sadly tells me. My world comes tumbling down around me in that second. The realization that my mom was gone. I screamed out, “No, she can’t be gone!” I cried the hardest I have ever cried in my life. “I am going to kill that bastard. I am going to blow a hole right through his stomach and make him watch. Then I am going to blow his head right off his shoulders.” I told Deana. I looked at my mom one more time. Closing her eyelids. I don’t want her to see what I am about to do. But first I have to catch him.

"But my step mom still insisted to the extent that she moved in with me. My step mom even turned me to her driver, just to make me change my mind, but I made a vow not to ever marry her, even at my last breath. She's not my type at all. "Then suddenly, something happened the day she asked me to take her for shopping, which I clearly declined. I asked her to tell her driver to take her there, because I had better things to do than taking her shopping. She stormed out of my room and told my step mom everything I said. I hated her presence a lot. my step mom said if anything happened to her in future, I will be held responsible for it. I was very broken that even if I disliked her, I will never

I muttered heading to my car. "Alright Madam, shall I book a session to a psychiatrist concerning your psychosis episodes?" The voice question. "I'm fine, there's no need." I muttered. "Then, if that will be all..." "Oh right, look into Emmette Nash's mother." "But Emmette Nash doesn't have a mother, he's an orphan?" The voice said. "That's what I thought too, but a woman who looked exactly like Emmette came to funeral. Find out what you can about her and report back to me." I muttered, immediately ending the call as I looked back at the funeral home.

“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.”

My mother was always a pacifist. Fine. I would play their game, but one day soon, they would learn that they were playing within my much bigger one—a game where I would be the victor, and they would all be dead. There is no hope for any of us now. ©COPYRIGHT 2025/T.MURPHY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

“Why am I alive? If this is the life you gave me, then why did you bring me into this world at all? Why am I alive if I can’t even be happy? Why? What did I ever do wrong?. My voice cracked as it rose in frustration. “Why are you letting me live like this? Why did you let him die?! Why are you so cruel? You couldn’t even protect him. You took the one person my mother loved most. And now, even though I know she wants to be with him on the other side, I can’t let her go. I know I’m selfish… I know I couldn’t even fulfill her dying wish.” I muttered under my breath, my voice a whisper as I remembered the last words my mother said to me before she lost consciousness that day.

When I died, would you be my mommy again? It didn't take long before I got my answer from her own mouth. "As for that cursed soul, I hope I never have anything to do with him in this life or any life after! If I hadn't carried him for nine months, and if it wasn't for propriety, I really, really wish I could…" Mommy never finished that sentence, but I already knew what she meant. She wished she could kill me with her own hands. Was that right, Mommy?

Anything I so much as glanced at, they bought immediately. But I didn't want any of it. My body gradually improved, but my mental state worsened. The longer I stayed in that house, the more restless I felt. The things I once longed for—gifts, my parents' attention—now felt like burdens. On New Year's Eve, my mother made my favorite dishes. But after a few bites, I started to vomit. My mother's eyes reddened with guilt. "I… I didn't put too much oil. Is it still too greasy?"

Mom rubbed her temples and offhandedly asked what I'd wished for. "I wished for you to be happy, Mom," I said. It wasn't exactly a lie. As long as I died, that wish would come true. However, that one sentence made Mom lose it. She smashed the cake in my face and screamed, "I worked so hard to land this project presentation, and you just had to spike a fever right now!" The commotion drew the other patients in the ward over.