My Final Gift To My Mom Novel by AvaXox25 _ Novel





My Final Gift To My Mom Chapter 01

My mom faked cancer to control me. She made me quit my job. Forced me into marriage.
Even drugged me and sent me to another man.
I stayed quiet. Because I thought she was dying.
Yet, last night, I overheard her proudly offering her "parenting advice" to our relatives.
"I did it for her own good. If I didn't fake being sick and push her to the edge, she would never have gone along with it.
"It was a bit cruel, I admit. But she'll be set for life. One day, she'll be thanking me for all the effort I put in."
That was the moment I finally understood what her so-called "effort" really meant.
So when the officiant asked if I was willing to marry Anthony, I met her expectant gaze, smiled, and coughed up a mouthful of black blood.
"Mom, you got what you wanted," I said.
--
At 5:00 a.m., the sky outside had just started to lighten, but the clamor of voices drifted up from downstairs.
Relatives who came early to help with the wedding were louder than anything, eager for this so-called wealthy marriage.
I locked the bathroom door from the inside.
From the gap beneath the sink, I pulled out the green plastic bottle I had hidden there long ago.
It was paraquat.
It smelled pungent. Without mixing it with something, no one could swallow it.
But looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, I took a deep breath, tilted my head back, and drank it in one go without hesitation.
In less than three seconds, it felt like molten lava was poured down my throat, burning all the way into my stomach, raw and agonizing.
I clamped my mouth shut, afraid to make a sound as tears streamed down from pure physical pain.
It hurt so much.
It felt like something with barbed claws was tearing through my stomach.
But I couldn't stop myself from curling my lips into a smile. It was the first real smile I'd had in six months.
Finally, it was over.
No more being trapped in this house, listening to all that "it's for your own good" nonsense.
No more having to serve that sleazy man who was 15 years older than me.
This bottle was my last way out.
"Zaniyah, why aren't you out yet?"
It was Mom.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto my face, forcing down the urge to vomit.
"Coming."
The moment I opened the door, the strong smell of hairspray hit me.
She stood there holding the wedding dress I was supposed to wear for the ceremony.
Her face was glowing with definite excitement and delight, cheeks flushed. She was full of energy. Even the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes seemed sharp and lively.
She didn't look like someone who had been told she had only three months left to live due to late-stage stomach cancer at all.
"What's taking you so long?"
She grabbed my hand hard. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
"Hurry up. The makeup artist's been waiting downstairs.
"It's your big day, so wipe that look off your face. Don't ruin the mood."
She shoved me down in front of the vanity, picked up a comb, and started yanking it through my hair.
I watched her in the mirror.
For the wedding, she had dyed her hair brown, looking even more energetic than me.
As she brushed, her expression suddenly softened. She even forced out a couple of tears.
She'd been doing this kind of performance for six months. She was perfect at it now.
"Zaniyah, don't blame me for being harsh."
She sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder, her voice full of fake concern.
"Anthony might be older and divorced, but we know his background. His family's rich.
"You'll live like a rich wife after you marry him. A life of luxury—it's something countless people can only dream of."
My stomach twisted, cold sweat forming on my forehead.
She didn't notice and kept going.
"To give you a proper wedding, I even skipped my chemo this week.
"The doctor said my body can't take much more. I should be in the hospital, but I thought, as long as I can see you marry into a good family, I can die without regrets."
She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, even though there were no real tears.
If this had been six months ago, I would've already dropped to my knees, crying, begging her to go back to treatment.
Because of that fake diagnosis, I quit my newly promoted director position in New York and paid a 30 thousand dollars penalty for breaching my contract.
I let her puppet me around, swallowing my disgust and forcing myself through blind dates.
Even on that rainy night, I endured it when she drugged me and let Anthony into my room.
The bitter, corroding taste rose back up my throat again.
I clenched my teeth and forced it down.
"Mom, your illness is fake, but the poison I drank is real," I thought.

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