Reborn to Raise a Spoiled Monster - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
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I packed up my life and moved into the company dorm. That first paycheck couldn't come fast enough—soon as I got it, I rented my own tiny apartment.
A month later, I nearly dropped my coffee when I saw Greta making a scene at the company entrance. She was waving my photo around like some wanted poster, shouting to anyone who'd listen: "Look at this woman! Abandoned her husband and kid! Fake lawyer with no real skills—don't trust her!"
"She can't even handle her own divorce but thinks she can help others? Selfish! Heartless! Shouldn't be allowed to practice law!"
My coworkers lost it. "After all you've done? Midnight homework sessions? School pickups? This kid's got no gratitude."
Watching Greta's tantrum, I felt... nothing. This was her true colors showing—just like her father. Some flaws run too deep to fix.
I remembered the doctor's warning during my pregnancy: "Defective genes usually get weeded out by nature. Modern medicine keeps them alive, but the kids... they might not be all there upstairs."
Security dragged her away, but next day, my phone rang. "Ms. Jones? Your daughter got into a fight at school. We need you down at the station."
I tried calling Phillip—five times, straight to voicemail. No choice but to go.
At the precinct, Greta sat slumped in a chair, face all scratched up. Since both kids were under 13 and equally at fault, I settled things with the other parents and took her home.
In the car, she mumbled, "I... I forgive you. You can come home now."
Seriously? I'd expected months of drama, not this pathetic surrender after two weeks. "Say that again?" I asked, just to watch her squirm.
Her face turned beet red. "Apologize to me, and I'll forgive you. You can come back."
Something smelled off. "Did your dad put you up to this?"
Greta exploded. "He's THRILLED you're gone! Brought some woman home THE NIGHT YOU LEFT!"
I smirked. "Oh really?"
Phillip was handing me evidence on a silver platter. I'd been wondering how to nail him in the divorce—now he'd done my work for me. No guilt about playing dirty now.
Back at the apartment, the elevator doors opened to Rose and Frank camped outside like nervous sentries. "B-Blanca?" Rose stammered. "What are you—"
I hit record on my phone and pushed past them. Squeaking noises from the master bedroom. Door flung open—there's Phillip and some redhead going at it like rabbits.
The woman shrieked and grabbed the sheets. Phillip just smirked. "Come crawling back? Too late, sweetheart."
I saved the video straight to cloud storage. "This evidence is going to the judge. Expect divorce papers soon."
His face dropped. "Blanca, wait—I messed up, okay? I'm sorry!" After years together, he knew exactly how screwed he was.
I waved my phone. "Little late for apologies, don't you think?"
The mask slipped. "God, I HATE how you always scheme everything!"
SMACK. Years of housework gave me serious arm strength. The slap sent him sprawling across the bed.
Rubbing my stinging palm: "I'm 'selfish' because I won't let you walk over me. I'm 'stubborn' because I won't be controlled. Phillip, not everyone's as stupid as you."
As I turned to leave, Greta moved to follow—until Rose yanked her back. "She dumped you! You'll get a new mom who actually listens."
And just like that, Greta's chin went up. "Apologize to Dad now or he'll remarry. You'll regret it."
I actually laughed. "Sweetheart, when that happens, pray she doesn't get pregnant." The kid had no clue what was coming.
Knowing Phillip? He'd trade her in for a son in a heartbeat.
Greta shot the redhead a murderous look that made the woman shrink under the sheets.
Rose tried damage control: "She didn't mean it! Don't—"
I cut her off. "This is exactly what you wanted, isn't it? Poisoned her against me. Well, congratulations—she's all yours now."
Rose gulped under Greta's sudden glare.
I sent the video to my lawyer and every gossip blog in town. Let Phillip enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame.
A month later, I nearly dropped my coffee when I saw Greta making a scene at the company entrance. She was waving my photo around like some wanted poster, shouting to anyone who'd listen: "Look at this woman! Abandoned her husband and kid! Fake lawyer with no real skills—don't trust her!"
"She can't even handle her own divorce but thinks she can help others? Selfish! Heartless! Shouldn't be allowed to practice law!"
My coworkers lost it. "After all you've done? Midnight homework sessions? School pickups? This kid's got no gratitude."
Watching Greta's tantrum, I felt... nothing. This was her true colors showing—just like her father. Some flaws run too deep to fix.
I remembered the doctor's warning during my pregnancy: "Defective genes usually get weeded out by nature. Modern medicine keeps them alive, but the kids... they might not be all there upstairs."
Security dragged her away, but next day, my phone rang. "Ms. Jones? Your daughter got into a fight at school. We need you down at the station."
I tried calling Phillip—five times, straight to voicemail. No choice but to go.
At the precinct, Greta sat slumped in a chair, face all scratched up. Since both kids were under 13 and equally at fault, I settled things with the other parents and took her home.
In the car, she mumbled, "I... I forgive you. You can come home now."
Seriously? I'd expected months of drama, not this pathetic surrender after two weeks. "Say that again?" I asked, just to watch her squirm.
Her face turned beet red. "Apologize to me, and I'll forgive you. You can come back."
Something smelled off. "Did your dad put you up to this?"
Greta exploded. "He's THRILLED you're gone! Brought some woman home THE NIGHT YOU LEFT!"
I smirked. "Oh really?"
Phillip was handing me evidence on a silver platter. I'd been wondering how to nail him in the divorce—now he'd done my work for me. No guilt about playing dirty now.
Back at the apartment, the elevator doors opened to Rose and Frank camped outside like nervous sentries. "B-Blanca?" Rose stammered. "What are you—"
I hit record on my phone and pushed past them. Squeaking noises from the master bedroom. Door flung open—there's Phillip and some redhead going at it like rabbits.
The woman shrieked and grabbed the sheets. Phillip just smirked. "Come crawling back? Too late, sweetheart."
I saved the video straight to cloud storage. "This evidence is going to the judge. Expect divorce papers soon."
His face dropped. "Blanca, wait—I messed up, okay? I'm sorry!" After years together, he knew exactly how screwed he was.
I waved my phone. "Little late for apologies, don't you think?"
The mask slipped. "God, I HATE how you always scheme everything!"
SMACK. Years of housework gave me serious arm strength. The slap sent him sprawling across the bed.
Rubbing my stinging palm: "I'm 'selfish' because I won't let you walk over me. I'm 'stubborn' because I won't be controlled. Phillip, not everyone's as stupid as you."
As I turned to leave, Greta moved to follow—until Rose yanked her back. "She dumped you! You'll get a new mom who actually listens."
And just like that, Greta's chin went up. "Apologize to Dad now or he'll remarry. You'll regret it."
I actually laughed. "Sweetheart, when that happens, pray she doesn't get pregnant." The kid had no clue what was coming.
Knowing Phillip? He'd trade her in for a son in a heartbeat.
Greta shot the redhead a murderous look that made the woman shrink under the sheets.
Rose tried damage control: "She didn't mean it! Don't—"
I cut her off. "This is exactly what you wanted, isn't it? Poisoned her against me. Well, congratulations—she's all yours now."
Rose gulped under Greta's sudden glare.
I sent the video to my lawyer and every gossip blog in town. Let Phillip enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame.
End of Reborn to Raise a Spoiled Monster Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to Reborn to Raise a Spoiled Monster book page.