She Stopped Faking Crazy After I Died,So I Came Back for Revenge

My mother-in-law went insane the day I married into the family.

She couldn't even use a toilet. She'd grab a washbasin and squat over it right there in the room.

The neighbors all said I was the one who drove her mad. I looked at the babbling wreck of a woman and swallowed it down. Fed her every meal. Bathed her. Waited on her hand and foot for thirty years.

Eventually, the years of exhaustion caught up with me. Cancer. My body wasn't what it used to be, and my husband wanted to take over caring for her.

Dolores Abbott threw a fit. Screamed and thrashed until I was the one at her bedside again. Only me. No one else.

In the end, the disease took me. But my soul lingered.

And what I saw made my blood run cold.

The woman who had been "insane" for thirty years stood over my coffin, perfectly lucid, a grin spreading across her face.

"You cursed little wretch," she said. "I finally wore you into the ground."

But heaven has a way of settling scores.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Reborn. Before the cancer. Before the diagnosis. Before the end.

I looked at the raving old woman in front of me and let out a cold laugh.

This time, it's my turn.

——

Dolores Abbott was tearing apart my son's books.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, gleefully ripping pages from his workbooks and folding them into little paper flowers, humming to herself. My son was frantic.

"Grandma! Those are my practice books! I need those! Why would you rip them up?"

Dolores didn't spare him a glance. She kept folding, kept humming, as if he hadn't said a word.

My son sank to the floor, all the fight draining out of him.

"What am I supposed to do now? The SATs are two months away..."

Dolores couldn't have cared less about her own grandson's future. She tore through the books faster, as if she wouldn't be satisfied until every last page was confetti.

He begged her through tears.

"Grandma, please stop!"

Watching her torment her own flesh and blood was more than I could take. I stormed across the room and shoved her to the ground.

"You crazy old hag! Your grandson has the SATs coming up. Are you trying to ruin his life?"

Dolores froze. She stared up at me, eyes wide and blank.

She hadn't expected me to lay a hand on her.

My son grabbed my arm, pulling me back gently. "Mom, don't bother reasoning with Grandma. It's no use. She's out of her mind. She doesn't understand."

I scoffed.

Doesn't understand? She was sharper than anyone in this house. Thirty years of playing crazy, thirty years of making the whole family wait on her. She'd ground me down until the exhaustion ate me alive. When my husband tried to step in, tried to let me rest, she'd thrown such violent fits that no one in the house could eat or sleep until I gave in and crawled back to her side.

I watched my son kneel on the floor, piecing the shredded pages together scrap by scrap.

My heart clenched.

I walked over, pulled him to his feet, and kicked the half-assembled pile apart.

"Stop. You don't need to piece those back together."

He stared at me, confused. "Mom, Grandma destroyed my books! The SATs are coming. How am I supposed to study without books?"

I turned to face him.

"You'll have your books. I'm buying you new ones."

His shoulders sagged. "With what money? We're already paying for Grandma's medication out of pocket. That stuff costs a fortune."

I smiled, walked into Dolores's bedroom, picked up her pillow, and cut it open with a pair of scissors. Over twenty hundred-dollar bills spilled onto the bed.

My son's jaw dropped.

"Grandma had all this money? We had no idea!"

I peeled off a bill and pressed it into his hand.

"Go. Buy whatever books you need."

Dolores's face went white. She scrambled to her feet and charged at me, clawing at my hands. A shriek tore from her throat, and her palm cracked across my cheek. She jabbed a finger at my nose, eyes rolling, spittle flying, every inch the raving lunatic.

"Thief! Linda Murray is a thief!"

My son flinched at the outburst, fear flickering across his face.

"Mom, Grandma's having an episode. Maybe we shouldn't take her money."

"It's her stuff. Of course she'd be upset."