Guess Who Wins, Again

"Ruth, I thought your remarks at the orphanage were just childish nonsense. I didn't take them to heart and even felt bad for you being stuck with that butcher, so I bought you clothes and snacks.

"But now? Now I see you're just a cruel, nasty kid.

"Don't contact me again."

The line went dead. Ruth stared at her phone, her fingers scrambling to type a message.

The screen glowed faintly in the dim room, a greenish hue washing over her face.

Each message she sent came back with a "Message Failed" notification.

Miriam had blocked her.

***

When I got home, Miriam was all smiles, meeting me at the door with a steaming bowl of chochoyotes.

Benjamin sat on the couch, pretending to read the newspaper. For once, he actually looked... relaxed when he glanced my way.

After I polished off the bowl, Benjamin cleared his throat. "Suri, why don't you visit my company this weekend? You've mentioned wanting to see it.

"When you graduate, I'll make sure there's a spot for you—anything below manager, your choice."

It took me a moment to look up from my bowl. Smiling brightly, I replied, "Appreciate it, Dad, but I'm busy this weekend."

Whether his company thrived or crashed? Not my problem.

***

Back at school, Ruth looked like a thunderstorm about to hit, her glare burning into the back of my head.

I didn't flinch. Didn't turn around. I kept my chin up and stayed locked on my notes.

In my last life, school had been ripped away from me the second Jeremy adopted me. He forced me to quit and work at his butcher shop.

I tried to fight it—once. A few hard slaps knocked the fight out of me.

After that, it was all pig pens and slaughterhouses. Days picking livestock and inspecting carcasses, nights crawling into bed smelling like filth and defeat.

Meanwhile, Ruth's social media was a nonstop parade of everything I couldn't have: designer bags, fancy dinners, beaches halfway across the world. She was living in color while I was stuck in dirt and gray.

Back then, I envied her so much it hurt.

Now, sitting here with a textbook in my hands, the smell of paper and ink hit me, and I had to blink fast to keep the tears from falling.

***

After class, Ruth was already surrounded by her crew—a bunch of girls rocking heavy eyeliner, ripped jeans, and that classic grunge, don't-care vibe. Same hooligan squad she rolled with in our last life. Somehow, she'd found them again, like clockwork.

Not my problem. I kept walking.

The lecture had left me lightheaded, so I made a beeline for the restroom.

I stayed in the stall longer than usual, waiting for my head to stop spinning. When things outside got quiet, I figured it was safe to leave.

Wrong move.

At the sink, washing my hands, I caught the reflection of Ruth's posse in the mirror. Arms crossed, eyes cold, blocking the hall like they owned it.

Before I could even think, a kick slammed me against the wall.

They pounced—punches, kicks, all of it. No hesitation. No mercy.

Time blurred into a painful eternity before someone shouted, "Stop!"

Ruth strolled in, slow and smug. She yanked a fistful of my hair, jerking my head up so I had to look at her.

"Tell me. How did Jeremy get rich in our last life? What happened? Spill, or I'll have them keep going."

Despite the bruises throbbing on my face, a strange calm washed over me.

She'd only been living with Jeremy for a month, and she was already cracking under the pressure. That's why she'd stooped to this—trying to beat the answers out of me.

"Fine," I said. "I'll tell you.

"Next month, on the 15th, at midnight, Jeremy will walk through the alley behind the school after drinking.

"If you follow him, you'll find out how he got rich."

Ruth frowned. "Drinking? He never drinks around me."

"Really?"

"Yes," she snapped. "He gets off work at nine every night, makes me a late-night snack, heats up milk, and tells me to go to bed early."

Huh. In my last life, Jeremy was a mean drunk. When he wasn't yelling, he was hitting, and when he wasn't hitting, he was forcing me to drop out of school and work like a mule. Every second in his house felt like a prison sentence.

Looking at Ruth now—radiant, spoiled, living her best life—I couldn't help but ask, "He treats you that well, and you're still not satisfied?"

The slap came fast. "Shut up! What if he doesn't go out that night?"

Whatever tiny shred of warmth I had left for her disappeared right then and there.

"Then get him drunk and drag him there yourself," I said, my voice ice-cold. "That way, you'll hit the jackpot right alongside him."