My Mother Hated Me For Twenty Years and I'm Dead

For twenty years, my mom hated me.

She’d always say I was just like my dad, a useless loser, and that it would be better if I were dead.

On my 20th birthday, I begged her to see me one last time.

She sounded cold, “You're not dead yet, and the funeral home’s busy. Stop bothering me.”

I hung up, laughing bitterly.

On social media, just ten minutes earlier, she posted photos of herself at an amusement park with my stepsister.

Later, I actually did die.

She was the one who put me in the cremator, watched me burn to ash, and tossed me into a trash can.