Chapter 1Killed by My Own Son, I Get a Second Chance

My son was prone to rage, a violent bully.

Even as I lay dying, he was hitting me: "You old hag, who the hell do you think you are, trying to tell me what to do?"

My young daughter threw herself over me, but it didn’t stop his fists: "Get off, you useless brat! Move, or I'll beat you too!"

Then I opened my eyes. I was back, one year earlier.

I gently reminded my husband, "Remember to just give him whatever he wants, indulge his every whim. Otherwise, he might actually kill you, you know."

* * *

The moment I opened my eyes, I saw my son frantically smashing things.

As he wrecked the room, he screamed, "You old hag, if you don't buy me that new PlayStation, get the hell out of my house!"

My daughter was terrified, sobbing loudly.

"Shut up or I'll choke you!" he shrieked, grabbing a vase and hurling it. I quickly shielded my daughter. Ceramic shards hit my forehead, and blood instantly welled up.

He didn't even notice, just kept throwing things at me.

I wiped away the blood, numbly cleaning up the mess.

Then, I looked him straight in the eye and refused sternly: "No. I'm not buying it."

He blinked, stunned that I’d contradicted him for the first time, then exploded with rage: "Damn you, why won't you buy it for me? Why the hell not!"

I looked at my son's face, twisted with hatred, murder flashing in his eyes, and my heart went cold.

He was my firstborn, the Jones family's golden boy, showered with affection since birth. My in-laws treated him like a precious jewel, spoiling him rotten. As a result, he grew up arrogant and aggressive.

Every time I tried to set boundaries, my in-laws and my husband shut me down.

"He's just a kid," they'd say. "He'll grow out of it."

But if the roots are rotten, can the tree grow straight?

In my past life, my own stupidity led to my miserable end.

How could I have been so naive, believing he would magically change as he got older?

How could I have believed my husband when he said every family needs someone to sacrifice, convincing me to become a stay-at-home mom?

Letting his whole family treat me like the Jones's maid. Even the child knew I deserved no respect.

And now, this fifteen-year-old boy, already tall and strong, wanted to hit me again…

Thinking of this, I dodged his incoming fist and slapped him hard across the face.

"Because I'm your mother! You're a student, you can't be obsessed with video games!"

He was stunned, frozen for a moment. Then he lunged at me, fists flying. "I'm gonna kill you today!"

Quick as lightning, I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. "If I can't control you, maybe we should both just end it!"

He swallowed hard, fear flickering in his eyes. Pointing a shaking finger at me, he backed away towards the door. "Fine! Just fine! You wait! I'll have my dad deal with you when he gets back!"

He slammed the door behind him. I finally let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

My daughter ran to me, crying. "Mommy, are you okay?"

Her chubby little hands touched my bruised cheek, trying to soothe the sting. "Mommy, does it hurt?"

Tears welled up in my eyes. "When Lily kisses it better, it doesn't hurt anymore."

In my past life, after my son killed me, my daughter's life was hell.

Grandparents ignored her, Dad didn't care, her brother bullied her relentlessly. She ended up an orphan, unwanted by everyone.

This time, I wouldn't let history repeat itself.