Introduction

I was dying of colon cancer in a hospice, all my $150,000 savings for retirement and my son, Ethan, almost gone.

Ethan cried, telling me his girlfriend, Chloe, stole every penny for a luxury condo. I believed him completely.

My hatred for that "gold-digger" burned hotter than my cancer. In my final hours, I called the police, determined to ruin Chloe for letting me die disgraced.

I died filled with pure, unadulterated hate.

My last thought was of her painful demise. How could she betray a dying woman so cruelly? The injustice was unbearable.

Then I gasped, not in the hospice, but in my own living room, alive and whole. The doorbell chimed-the day I first met Chloe. And as she entered, I heard her innermost thoughts: "I hope she likes this locket; Ethan said she only respects expensive brands."

My rage short-circuited. Ethan had lied. My son was the monster. I was back, with a chilling chance to make him pay.