Second Life Starts at My Own Murder Scene Chapter 02

Second Life Starts at My Own Murder Scene Chapter 02

Because Lydia was Dad’s biological sister—my real aunt—she said it with complete confidence.

Naturally, Mom didn’t think much of it. I felt her arms begin to loosen around me.

Now was the moment.

“WAAAAAH!”

My cry ripped through the entire ballroom like an explosion.

I cried, kicked, arched my back, and coughed. I was like a baby seal no one could hold down, a flailing mess of nothing but tears.

And the closer Lydia got, the harder I cried.

The whole room fell silent in an instant.

Every eye turned toward us.

Dad dragged Grandpa over, frantic and at a total loss. “Why is she crying again?”

He gently tugged Mom two steps back.

“Lydia, sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into Evie today. She only wants her mom. The second anyone else holds her, she starts crying. Even Dad and I couldn’t do it.”

Grandpa nodded and backed him up. “That’s right. Evie’s especially shy today.”

Lydia’s expression darkened for a split second, then shifted into wounded disappointment so fast it was almost impossible to catch.

“I see,” she said with a dry laugh, but she still refused to give up. “Still, Megan, I’ve always heard that the more people hold a baby, the more blessings they soak up. I’m Evie’s aunt. Just let me hold her once. I’ve missed her like crazy.”

Dad’s expression eased. There really was a saying like that.

He hesitated, reached toward Mom, and slid his hands under my arms.

I didn’t cry.

Then he picked me up and transferred me into Grandpa’s arms.

I still didn’t cry.

He let out a breath of relief and prepared to hand me over to Lydia.

The instant her hands touched me, I let out an even louder, shriller, more desperate cry.

“WAAAAAH! WAAAAAH! WAAAAAH!”

If the earlier rounds had been acting, this time I was using every ounce of strength I had.

Because I remembered the agony of that silver needle being driven into my fontanelle in my last life.

I remembered the vicious curl of Lydia’s mouth.

And even more than that, I remembered being trafficked into that mountain backwater and the days there that were worse than death.

I remembered those eighty years in the underworld too, when I threw daily tantrums and shamelessly begged the Judge of the Dead to send me home.

In an instant, all the hatred and hurt came rushing back.

I cried with everything I had, cried like my heart was being ripped out, cried hard enough to tear the roof off the place.

Dad looked at my tear-flushed face, then at Lydia, whose eyes were still bright with expectation.

His expression darkened.

“Do you have something hidden on you?”

Lydia’s whole body went rigid.