Sackboy Emotions

My sister-in-law, Sabrina Linskey, never hides her hatred for me. Yet, on my daughter Elena Satchwell's birthday, she does something I can never imagine. She gives Elena a dress, claiming she had sewn it by hand. She calls it a blessing for Elena's health and safety. I let her ease the dress onto Elena, relief washing over me as I convince myself that Sabrina finally understands the importance of upholding peace in the family. But Elena's skin begins to fester, until even the lightest touch makes her flinch in pain. That's when I realize Elena's fate has been swapped with Sabrina's son's. Mom and Dad, along with my brother, know all about it. Elena, beyond saying, eventually dies. I, too, am killed the moment I uncover the truth. But when I open my eyes again, I return to the day Sabrina arrives with that dress for Elena's birthday.

From as far back as I can remember, I knew my mom hated me. She gives me sleeping pills when I'm three. When I'm five, she tries pesticide instead. But I'm hard to get rid of. By the time I'm seven, I've already learned how to fight back. If she refuses to give me food, I flip the table so no one can eat either. If she beats me up until I'm on the ground, writhing in pain, I go after her beloved son the same way, leaving him bruised and bawling. That's how we stay locked in battle until I turn 12. Everything changes when my youngest sister is born. I'm clumsily trying to help with her wet diaper when Mom suddenly shoves me against the wall. The look in her eyes holds both disgust and fear. "What were you trying to do to my daughter? I knew it. You take after that monster of a father. Why didn't you just die with him?" I hold my aching head. For the first time, I don't fight back. I believe she's right. My existence is a mistake. I should never have been alive.

My daughter was violated and killed, yet her death was ruled a suicide. After seven failed appeals, I kidnapped the chief prosecutor’s daughter. I tied the chief prosecutor’s daughter to an autopsy table and publicly addressed the prosecutor’s office in a live stream. “I performed the autopsy myself. My daughter didn’t kill herself. She was murdered. “I’ll give you seven chances. Release the actual evidence and name the murderer publicly. Each time a chance runs out, I’ll remove one of her body parts.” The chief prosecutor and his wife knelt on the floor. They begged me desperately to spare their daughter. “The evidence proves your daughter took her own life. Stop this madness now and let my daughter go. She’s innocent.” Viewers in the live stream called me insane. They said I had lost my mind with grief and was taking it out on an innocent person. I ignored their contempt. With a sneer, I picked up a scalpel and pressed it against the judge’s daughter’s abdomen. “The clock is ticking. Hurry up and reveal the true murderer now.” I knew perfectly well the real murderer was watching the stream at that very moment.

Habang brutal akong pinapaslang ng kriminal, ang dad ko, ang head ng Criminal Investigation Division, at ang mom ko, ang Chief Forensic Pathologist, ay nanonood sa laban ng kapatid kong si Lily Lambert. Bilang paghihiganti, ang kriminal, na dating nahuli ng dad ko, ay pinutol ang dila ko at ginamit ang phone ko upang tawagan siya. Isang bagay lang ang sinabi ng dad ko bago niya binaba ang tawag. “Anuman ang nangyayari, ang laban ni Lily ang pangunahing prayoridad ngayong araw!” Ngumisi ang kriminal, “Mukhang maling tao ang dinukot ko. Akala ko mas mahal nila ang tunay nilang anak!” Sa pinangyarihan ng krimen, nagulat ang mga magulang ko sa brutal na kalagayan ng bangkay at kinasuklaman nila ang kawalan ng awa ng killer. Subalit, hindi nila napagtanto na ang gula-gulanit na bangkay na iyon ay ang sarili nilang anak.

When I head over to my daughter, Hannah Westfield's place for dinner during Christmas Eve, I specifically wear a wool coat for the occasion. Unexpectedly, when Hannah sees me, she pushes me out of the front door instantly. "Mom, why must you buy the same coat as my mother-in-law did? Don't you know that she hates it when others imitate her? Hurry up and take off the coat before she sees you!" Meanwhile, my son-in-law, Thomas Clifford, digs out an old coat and puts it on me. "Mom, there are many relatives visiting our house today. Please spare my mom her pride and don't steal her thunder, okay?" Seeing how sincere Thomas looks, I decide to yield. But as soon as I take my seat, Giselle Johnson chortles in amusement as she stares at the old coat I'm wearing. "Oh Fiona, if you like my clothes, you could've just said so, and I'd give it to you. It's bad if you just steal my old coat from me and wear it, you know? Besides, don't you know that those who imitate always do a bad job at it?" Furious, I'm about to up and leave when Giselle grabs the coat and blocks my way. "I placed two money envelopes in the coat pockets a few days ago. There are 20 thousand dollars in there. Why are they gone after you've worn it? "I don't mind you wearing my coat behind my back, but you must return the money to me right now!"

To take care of my mother after she fell and injured herself, I turned down a promotion and took a week off work to stay by her side. On the day she was discharged from the hospital, she smiled and handed me a small envelope. “Suzy, you’ve worked hard these past few days. This is just a little something from me. Go treat yourself to something good.” I wiped my hands, a quiet warmth spreading through my chest. When I opened the envelope, I froze for a moment. Inside was $2. Still, I told myself it didn’t matter. The amount wasn’t important. What mattered was the thought behind it. But the very next day, while scrolling through social media, I came across a post from my younger brother, the one who hadn’t shown his face at the hospital even once. Nine photos filled the post, all of them showing off a sprawling luxury mansion. In the center was a photo of the purchase contract. The caption read: “Officially the owner of a $2 million riverfront house. Big thanks to Mom for the support!”

After my beloved boyfriend dies in a fire, my sister marries a rich man. So, I marry her husband, Jason Grant's father. We go from being sisters to being mother and daughter-in-law. We're still a family, aren't we? Later, Jason pins me to a corner while breathing heavily. "Money is all you want, right? I can give you everything he can. Wouldn't it be much better for you to be with me than with a paralyzed old man?" Oh, he's got this all wrong. Money isn't what I want. His life is what I want.

My wife went viral by copying someone else. After some netizens shamed her looks, she became obsessed with plastic surgery. Eventually, an illegal clinic tricked her into spending thirty thousand dollars, claiming they could make her into a celebrity. She even forced me to fund her dream by feeding our daughter pesticides. However, I knew that the clinic used implants from stolen corpses. Before long, her face would start to rot. I spent ages convincing her to choose a professional cosmetic hospital instead, saving her life. Later, though, her best friend became an internet star after undergoing plastic surgery. In comparison, my wife’s appearance had only improved slightly after the cosmetic treatment. In a fit of jealousy, she burned my daughter and me alive. “It’s your fault I couldn’t make it big! You deserve to die!” When I next opened my eyes, I returned to the day my wife asked me for money.

I was in a car accident on my way to my son, Nathan’s piano competition. Ignoring my injuries, I limped to the venue just in time for the awards ceremony. Nathan won the gold medal. With excitement shining in his eyes, he ran toward me. But as I smiled at him, he turned and placed the medal around the neck of my husband’s first love, Janine Beck. My husband of ten years, Christopher Frost, looked at me with irritation. “Look at what you’re wearing! You’re filthy, like a beggar,” he said cruelly. “Don’t come to Nathan’s celebration dinner tonight—he’s embarrassed by you!” I stayed silent and went alone to the hospital to have my injuries checked. Later, I returned to the villa, drenched in the rain, only to find the doors locked against me. I knocked on the door in the pouring rain for the entire night. At dawn, when the first light broke across the sky, I sent Christopher a message: [Let’s get a divorce. As you wish, I will no longer be an eyesore in your lives.]

My sister-in-law keeps calling me a deadbeat, swearing I just drift around in slides with an iced drink glued to my hand. She's always stirring things up at home, running her mouth about me to my wife day after day. What she doesn't get is that this is just how landlords in Galanor roll.