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771words2026-01-26 11:21

My little sister,who'd always acted so sweet and obedient, got pregnant before marriage and gave birth on the very same day as me.
I poured my heart into raising my son, while her son was abused daily by her, until he eventually died at the hands of a violent criminal.
Twenty years later, my son conspired with my sister to drown me in the sea.

"Sis, you've been Vincent's mom all these years. Now it's time to make way for his real mother."
Before I could even process what was happening, a blinding white light sent me back to the day I gave birth.
"Keep your voice down! What if Vanessa wakes up?"
"Relax, she's weak from childbirth. She won't wake up for at least an hour or two. Hurry up and swap the babies. So annoying! If only Vanessa hadn't insisted on using her own swaddle for the kid, we wouldn't have to go through all this trouble."
The suffocating feeling of seawater from my previous death still clung to me as I struggled to open my eyes. Tough the haze, I saw two shadowy figures hovering over my son's bassinet.
I struggled to open my eyes, desperate to see their faces. Finally recognizing them, I fell back into a deep sleep.

When I woke again, the first thing I did was check my baby's foot.
Seeing the smooth sole of his right foot, and recalling my sister Amber's words before I died, my heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
Holding onto a sliver of hope, I went to the bassinet holding Amber's child and unwrapped the swaddle.
The moment I saw the birthmark on the sole of his right foot, I covered my mouth, tears falling silently.

So it wasn't a hallucination. What I heard the nurse say in the delivery room before I passed out was real.
My child really did have a black mole on the sole of his right foot, just like a storybook child marked by fate.
In my past life, the child I raised wasn't my own, but Amber's son, whose father was never known.
While my father and, my husband Chris, were off registering the births, and Amber was still sleeping weak from her C-section, I quickly swapped the babies back.
They'd chosen a shared room for convenience, and now, it worked in my favor.
Once my real son was back in my arms, I ignored my own exhaustion and brought my son into my bed to sleep with me. Then I took out my phone and called my secretary, instructing her to find me a new postnatal care facility.
I couldn't trust my father, my husband Chris, or the postnatal center and nanny they arranged. Not a single one!
Just as I finished these arrangements, both babies started crying.
I clumsily fed my son, and he fell asleep after drinking his fill. But Amber's son kept wailing.
"Cry, cry, cry! Is that all you know how to do? So annoying! I'll pinch you to death if you don't stop, I swear."
With my father and husband gone, Amber hissed and pinched the child through his clothes.
She glanced at me while she cursed, seemingly checking for my reaction.
Too bad. I pretended not to notice.
After all, it wasn't my son being abused.
Finally, a nurse from the station heard the noise and came to carry the child.
"Ms. Collins, the baby is hungry. You should feed him."
"What?" Amber shrieked. "Feed this little bastard? No way."
"Do you have formula and a bottle prepared then? The baby will have problems if he starves. He might end up in the NICU. If you're not able to prepare it yourself, I can take him to the nursing station, feed him, and bring him back."
"We don't have any of that. Just take this little bastard away. All he does is cry; it's driving me crazy. If you don't take him, I'll pinch him to death!"
Amber's face was vicious. The nurse, truly afraid she might kill the child right there in the hospital, took the baby and left.
As she walked away, I heard her mutter, "What kind of mother is that? Calling her own child a bastard, unwilling to feed him when he's crying like that. She's insane."
The nurse's words almost made me laugh.
Amber wasn't insane; she just thought that wasn't her child and enjoyed the abuse.
In my past life, she'd visited my home every day, caring diligently for the boy she believed was hers.
I wonder what expression she'll have when she finds out the truth.