Toxic Calorie Counting, My Sister In Law's Nightmare

My sister-in-law, Melanie, was a fanatic when it came to calorie counting.

Even when my little niece was still on formula, Melanie would only feed her half the recommended amount.

As a professional child development specialist, I used to advise her on the importance of balanced nutritionDneither overfeeding nor starving.

Following my advice in my past life, my niece, Chloe, grew up healthy and strong.

But every time Chloe faced a minor setback, Melanie would brainwash her.

"You were meant to be a dainty, porcelain, waif-like fairy that everyone would adore," she would hiss.

"It's all your aunt's fault. She forced you to eat so much, and now you're too big for anyone to love."

Chloe grew to hate me with a passion that simmered for years.

She finally found her chance when I was walking down a long flight of stairs and gave me a violent shove.

I hit the ground head-first and died instantly.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my brother first asked for my professional opinion.

"Melanie is the mother," I said with a shrug. "The parent always knows best."

I woke up on the day of my niece's hundred-day celebration.

Melanie was cradling the baby, beaming with pride as she bragged to the guests.

She claimed that since she started the baby on a "light diet," little Chloe had become much more manageable.

"Her skin is so delicate now, and she barely cries at night," Melanie chirped.

She told everyone she had maintained a restricted diet since she was a teenager, even during her pregnancy.

That was her secret to staying as thin as a rail and looking like a fragile doll.

"Breast milk is far too fatty," she declared. "Switching the baby to unsweetened almond milk was the best move."

She planned to keep the baby on a low-fat, plant-based regimen to strictly control her intake.

The relatives whispering in the corner thought it sounded insane.

A growing child needs proper nutrients to develop physically and mentally.

"If she's starved like this, she'll never reach her full height," one aunt whispered.

Melanie just scoffed at the concern.

"That's just old-fashioned nonsense. Why would a girl need to be tall anyway?"

"A girl should be tiny and fragile. That's how you get people to feel sorry for you and take care of you."

I looked at the baby in her arms. Her face was deathly pale, without a hint of healthy color.

Even though she was three months old, she had no baby fat at all and looked completely lethargic.

"Riley, you're the expert here," Melanie said, looking at me with an expectant glint in her eyes.

"Tell them. Does a controlled, low-calorie diet really hurt a child that much?"

I snapped out of my trance, remembering how she had asked me the exact same thing in my previous life.

Back then, I had spoken the truth for the sake of the child's health.

I told her that calories were essential for brain development and physical growth.

I warned her that extreme restriction would lead to developmental delays and lifelong health issues.

Melanie's face had darkened then, but because I was the "expert," she didn't openly fight me.

With the rest of the family backing me up, they forced her to feed Chloe a normal diet.

Chloe grew up healthy, hitting every milestone perfectly.

But that act of kindness was the seed of my own murder.

Melanie spent every single day feeding Chloe the toxic "waif aesthetic" ideology.

She blamed every social rejection and every teenage insecurity on me.

When Chloe got into a fight with a boy at school or felt left out by the popular girls, Melanie would sigh.

"If you had listened to Mommy's diet, you'd be thin and pale right now. People would be falling over themselves to protect you."

The resentment built up over a decade until Chloe finally snapped.

She pushed me down those stairs, and as my life faded, I saw the janitor mention Melanie was nearby.

Melanie told everyone I was just clumsy because I didn't watch my weight.

My brother, Brandon, knew exactly what they had done, but he chose to stay silent.

Even after I died, my soul lingered at home for a while.

My parents didn't look sad at all; they were busy calculating how to use my life insurance to pay for Chloe's private school.

Brandon and Melanie moved into my house and spent my savings on luxury vacations.

Recalling all this, I swallowed the lecture I had prepared.

I looked at Melanie and gave her a supportive smile.

"Melanie has lived this way her whole life, so she has the experience. Besides, I'm just an aunt. It's not my place to interfere with how you raise your child."

Melanie beamed and lifted the baby up like a trophy.

"Exactly! A child's diet should be up to the parents. My baby is going to be a classic beauty."

I watched her, thinking to myself, "Fine. Let's see what kind of 'beauty' you actually raise."

After the party, Brandon pulled me aside with two bottles of cheap wine.

"Riley, you've got the city connections. You should start sending back the best organic, low-cal supplements for Chloe."

I looked at his fake, oily smile.

In my last life, I paid for Chloe's daycare, her clothes, and her tuition.

Whenever I asked them to chip in, Melanie would pull the guilt trip.

"You're the one who insisted she eat so much. It's only fair you help cover the costs of the lifestyle you chose for her."

My mother would always back them up, claiming my money belonged to the "family."

That "family" logic cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars and, eventually, my life.

In my past life, I was too stupid to see they were just leeches waiting to bleed me dry.

This time around, I refuse to be their ATM.

"Brandon, Melanie is very particular about Chloe's diet. If I send the wrong thing, she'll just get upset."

"I wouldn't want to overstep. You clearly trust her methods more than mine, anyway."

The smile on Brandon's face froze. He glanced at his wife and didn't know how to push further.

He tried to thrust the opened bottles of wine into my hands, but I stepped back.

"Keep those for Melanie's parents. I'm far too young to start drinking that heavy stuff."

Two weeks later, my phone started screaming in the middle of the night.

It was Brandon calling, over and over again.

I finished my soda and turned off my Netflix show before finally picking up.

"What is it, Brandon? I just got back from the office."

"Why the hell didn't you pick up sooner?" his voice was laced with irritation.

"Chloe is unconscious. You need to get over here and tell us what to do."

In the old timeline, they treated me like a 911 dispatcher for every minor sniffle.

They would relax on the couch while I rushed Chloe to the ER and dealt with the doctors.

"I'm swamped with files, Brandon. I can't leave."

"Your niece is literally passed out! Are you a robot? How can you be so cold-blooded?"

That was their favorite weaponDaccusing me of being heartless whenever I didn't obey.

In the past, I would have panicked and spent the night at the hospital just to prove I cared.

Now, I just leaned back and smiled.

"Melanie has been cutting her calories in half, right? She's probably just hungry. Stop yelling at me and go give her a snack."

Brandon paused, as if a lightbulb finally went off.

I heard him scream at Melanie in the background, calling her a useless mother and a dog.

Melanie started sobbing, claiming the baby was just "sleeping deeply" and would wake up fine.

One parent was a deadbeat, and the other was a delusional narcissist.

A match made in hell.

As long as the kid didn't actually die, they didn't really care about her suffering.

They ended up forcing some formula down the baby's throat, and she eventually woke up.

In my previous life, I would have insisted on a full neurological workup.

And for all that effort, Melanie would just mock me behind my back.

"She just wants to waste money at the hospital to feel important. No man will ever marry a spendthrift like her."

This time, I just laughed it off.

Neglecting a child's health is a dangerous game. Malnutrition leads to brain damage and stunted development.

But a child's fate is often tied to the wisdom of their parents.

If I interfere, I'm the one who ends up paying the price.

I've learned to respect the natural course of someone else's destiny and drop the savior complex.

A few days later, Melanie posted a photo of Chloe on social media.

The baby's limbs were like toothpicks, and her face was sunken.

"My little princess is getting so slim and elegant. She's going to be the most precious, delicate soul."

She even posted her own weightDonly 75 pounds at five-foot-three. She looked like a walking skeleton.

Her toxic friends flooded the comments with heart emojis.

"So tiny! Such goals!"

"I wish my baby was that dainty. Being a petite girl is such a flex."

I scrolled past, feeling a wave of disgust. Trash really does gather in the same pile.

Time blurred by. The next time I saw Chloe, she was nine years old.

She looked nothing like the girl I remembered.

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