What Happens At The End Of 'Manic: A Memoir'?

I died the day my husband forced the doctors to take our baby from my womb. I thought I’d never love again after losing my ex-boyfriend to a heart attack. But fate gave me a second chance. I married the man I adored, a billionaire named Maxwell. Just when I was about to share the joyful news of my pregnancy, I caught him getting cozy with my best friend, Morgana. Worse, he believed her lies: I was a drug addict. The truth? I was battling a severe mental illness triggered by my ex’s death. I needed medication to cope, but Maxwell never cared to understand. He refused to believe a word I said. They locked me away in a private rehab clinic. But that place wasn’t for healing, it was a trap. Morgana used it to cut me off from Maxwell and torment me without consequence. And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse… Maxwell signed off on a surgery to take my baby. I lay on that cold operating table, tears streaming down my face, and died in the fire that followed—broken, betrayed, and alone. But I never expected to wake up again. This time, I have a new life. A new family. And even one of my children survived. Maxwell, Morgana—this time, I’m coming back. And you’re both going to pay.

In my previous life, the fake daughter Linda Veil wanted the billionaire family all to herself. She manipulated my adopted brother Jason with her two-faced act, sabotaging me at every turn. All I ever wanted was family. Instead, they came to despise me, and shipped me off to the African savannah to fend for myself. Before the plane even landed, Mom and Dad threw me out from low altitude, hatred written all over their faces. "Stay out there and learn your lesson. Let's see if you ever dare hurt your sister again!" "We'll come get you once you've straightened up." Both my legs shattered on impact. I lay in the grass, sobbing that I was sorry, begging them to believe me. But the sun cracked my skin open and wild animals stripped me to the bone. They never came back for me. Right before I died, I finally learned the truth. Sending me to the savannah had been Linda's idea all along. She'd spent three hundred million commissioning a lifelike robot to replace my dead body. Mom and Dad watched the cameras every day, seeing a lively, healthy "robot me" going about life. They had no idea I was already gone. And Linda? She married my adopted brother, poisoned my parents slowly, and inherited every last penny of the Veil fortune, handing it all to her human-trafficking birth parents. Then I opened my eyes again. I'd been reborn, back to the day the billionaire family first took me home. This time around, I'd worked ten jobs at once to survive and developed a serious mental illness. Whoever messed with me got the full crazy treatment.

Mom always says that depression is nothing more than an illness born of idleness. People who are truly busy studying don't have time to be depressed. So, during my senior year of high school, I lie awake through countless nights, my hair falling out in clumps as I tremble over endless mock papers. Mom only slides another mock exam booklet in front of me. "Finish this booklet, and you won't have time to wallow in self-pity." At family gatherings, my relatives notice that I keep my head down and barely speak. They ask Mom, "Why has she gotten so quiet?" Mom's face darkens at once. "It's because she's guilty about something, duh. Go on. Tell everyone what you've done wrong this time." Later, even my homeroom teacher calls to say I don't seem like myself anymore. The moment Mom hangs up, she rounds on me. "So, now, you've started tattling to your teacher?" It isn't until I collapse before a mock exam that she finally listens to the doctor's advice and brings home a tiny orange tabby. Through the darkest days of my life, that cat becomes my only reason to keep going. Eventually, I make it into college. When I come home for the Independence Day holiday, I step through the door and call out instinctively for him. "Tangy?" No answering meow. Even the cat bed on the balcony is gone. "Stop calling," Mom said flatly. "I dumped him back where I found him the day you left." I stand there, frozen for several seconds before turning and darting outside, only to realize I have no idea where to go. The sounds around me become muffled, as though separated by a pane of glass, drifting farther and farther away. At that moment, my last connection to the world quietly snaps.

I had always known my family hated me. Or maybe more accurately—they hated me for taking their real daughter’s place for so long. When they finally found Lily, their real daughter and sister, Matteo, the brother I grew up with, told me to disappear. Father, Don Kane, never looked at me twice again, no matter how hard I tried. Mother treated me like I was invisible. But they never let me leave. They made me stay and suffer. One day, Lily did something horrible, and they threw all the blame onto me. I was locked away in an asylum. When I was finally released two years later, the Kane came looking for me again, smiling as they called me their real daughter after all. A little too late for that, don’t they think?

In my fifth year of marriage to Dominic, I'd become the woman all of Chicago knew as the crazy one — the mental case. Jealousy gnawed at me constantly, and my temper frayed easily, my emotions sharp and unsteady, unravelling more with each passing day. So it only made sense when he slid a divorce agreement across the table. "Vivian's pregnant. A Harrington heir can't be born illegitimate, and Mrs. Harrington can't be a lunatic." "Once she's had the baby, I’ll marry you again, and you'll still be Mrs. Harrington." I was forced to sign my name, then locked away in a private sanatorium a hundred miles from the city. The first year, I waited with desperate hope for him to come take me home. Instead, he handed me an ultrasound report. "Twins — a boy and a girl. Vivian's pregnant again. Just wait a little longer." The second year, he had electric fencing installed around the sanatorium grounds. "Harrington Corp is going public. We can't afford any slip-ups right now." By the fifth year, he simply called to tell me to wait one more year. He must have expected me to scream and lose control the way I always did. But this time, I just nodded calmly. "Alright. However long it takes." After all. I didn't have much time left anyway.

When my wife's childhood friend's depression flared up again, she handed me divorce papers. I signed them without a fuss and told her I was leaving the country. She looked surprised, then seemed to figure it out. "So you're finally behaving? Realized your little tantrums won't work, so now you're trying something new to get me back? Fine. Go abroad. Stay out of Asher's sight so you don't trigger him. When he gets better, I'll come get you." I slipped off my wedding ring and handed it to her. My gaze fell to the jagged scar on my wrist. "No need," I said. "Let's just let each other go. Stop holding on."