Chapter 4

"How was the blind date today? Mrs. Johnson said that young man's family is in the clothing business, should be making at least six figures. I'm telling you, you better not let this one slip away."

I kept my head down, eating. I still hadn't figured out how to tell Mom about the date.

I was so shocked at the time that I forgot to record a video.

If I told her Lucas was a pervert, she'd never believe me.

"Are you listening, you brat?"

"Yes, yes, okay..."

"Ding dong~ Ding dong~"

The urgent doorbell interrupted our cozy mother-daughter dinner.

It was Mrs. Johnson, the matchmaker.

She stormed in with her phone, demanding to know if the woman in the video was me, and why I'd said such things to embarrass Lucas.

Apparently someone at the cafe had posted the gossip online.

It should have been a minor incident, but because Lucas was so handsome, the stark contrast made his alleged bad breath go viral.

Of course, some people said I must be Lucas's obsessed fan, slandering him because I couldn't have him.

I was slandering him alright, but because I had already had him.

Mom looked confused. After watching the video, her face turned pale with anger.

"Is this you? Tell me this isn't you! Where did you get these clothes?! And what's with this red hair?!"

"Emma Carter!"

Mom was having another episode. She'd always had a bad temper and was extremely domineering.

That's why my dad divorced her when I was ten.

Mom rushed into my bedroom, searching every nook and cranny where I liked to hide things.

Finally, she laid out the black leather outfit and red wig in front of me.

Her eyes were bloodshot, her normally immaculate hair in disarray.

That hysterical look took me back to that cold night.

Mom had the same crazed expression.

Holding my mangled body, she cried hoarsely:

"Mommy was wrong, Emma. I shouldn't have pressured you, shouldn't have made you go on that date. It's all my fault... Please come back."

My soul stood by her side, watching as my strong, capable mother turned into a babbling madwoman.

For 100 days after my death, Mom went to the nearest intersection to our home every day to wait for me.

It was on my usual route home from work.

In my memory, Mom was always a beautiful, well-dressed woman who cared about appearances.

But during those 100 days, her clothes were filthy and tattered. She even lost control of her bodily functions in public.

She called every passing woman in her 20s her daughter.

Or as others put it, she harassed them all.

Mom, this time I won't be so foolish.