"Mom."
Three-year-old Sophie’s childlike voice was equal parts adorable and milky.
"Hmm?"
I still wasn’t used to being called that. After all, in the life I had lived before, I had no experience raising a child—much less with the little girl in front of me, the very green-tea witch who ruined my life in my previous life.
"Mom," she said again, timid but hopeful, "can I have lunch with Daddy today?"
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Little Sophie’s face flushed with happiness. Kids are so simple—their feelings written all over their faces. She was nothing like the version of her from my old life.
The elevator reached the top floor and the doors opened. A meticulously made-up woman was already waiting there.
"Claire," the woman said, "Mr. Bennett has a guest right now. Please wait here a bit."
"Got it."
I held Little Sophie’s hand as we stepped out. The woman led us to the waiting room.
She set two cups of water in front of us. As she bent, her chest was on full display. I muttered thanks and moved my gaze away, but in that instant I met Sophie’s eyes.
Those round almond eyes stared unblinking at the glamorous woman—wide, stunned—until the woman left the waiting room.
"Sophie?"
I called. It was like she woke from a trance. She snapped her head toward me, her focus slowly returning; it took her a moment to realize it was me.
"Mom!"
She smiled sweetly and gave me a little, pleasing call.
"Thirsty?" I asked.
"Mm-hmm."
She nodded hard and obediently took a sip.
Her cheeks were round. I almost wanted to pinch them to test the softness, but she wasn’t my child, so I held back.
This morning she had come into my room and reminded me it was "see-Daddy day," and only then did I remember that she had a father.
During our years as friends, she’d talked more than once about how wealthy and doting her father was, but I had never seen this rumored man.
I had seen her mother a few times, though.
If I hadn’t accidentally learned the truth about her parents’ relationship, I would never have suspected she was a child born out of wedlock and that her mother was just one of her father’s many mistresses.
I never expected my first meeting with her father would be like this—meeting him as his mistress, the other woman.
A clatter of a cup broke my thoughts. Little Sophie suddenly began to cry out, "Mom, it hurts—wah!"
Hearing her cry that she was hurt made me fumble. Her tiny hand covered her face; I didn’t dare move her. I could only ask anxiously, "Where does it hurt?"
She wailed, sobbing so hard she couldn’t speak clearly.
The woman who had brought the water hurried over and asked what happened. I could only say the child was crying that she was hurt, not knowing why.
"What’s going on?"
A man’s authoritative voice asked.
"Daddy!"
Sophie hiccupped the word and lunged around the table into the man’s legs. He paused, bent down, and rubbed her little head. "Why’s Sophie crying?"
Though his words seemed concerned, his voice held no warmth.
I stood without saying a word.
For one thing, I wasn’t sure what had happened; for another, I didn’t know how I was supposed to face this man emotionally.
"Daddy, Sophie got scalded," she said, pointing with a pudgy arm to the overturned cup.
"How could you watch the child like that!"
I blinked, then realized the rebuke was aimed at me.
"I—"
"Daddy, don’t blame Mom!"
Sophie clutched at his leg, urgent. The scene made me think of a tiny ant trying to shake a tree.
"Daddy, it was that lady—her water was scalding," Sophie added.
"Yes—I’m so sorry, Mr. Bennett! I didn’t mean to," the glamorous woman stammered, startled as she was accused.
"You can’t even do this right!" The man tossed the remark coldly, then turned to me. "Come to my office."
He stood, shrugging Sophie off.
I remained where I was, still unsettled by what had happened.
Both cups had been placed down; mine was comfortably warm. There was no reason the other should be scalding. The cup Sophie had knocked over still lay on the table.
Sophie’s little face was streaked with tears. The man turned and left without seeing her reaching out for a hug.
I stepped forward and took her hand.
The man’s office was sleek and cold. I put Sophie on the sofa and sat beside her. He, however, planted himself in the distant, elevated boss chair.
"I heard from the nanny you got drunk again a few days ago. Aren’t you afraid of scaring the child?" he said, pulling a cigar from a drawer and lighting it casually.
"No, Daddy, Mom hasn’t been drinking lately. Right, Mom? *cough cough*—" Sophie rushed in front of me to defend me.
He blew a smoke ring. "What are you here for this time?"
I was puzzled inside but kept my composure. "Sophie wanted to have lunch with you."
"Oh? That’s new."
He flicked ash and turned to Sophie. "What would Sophie like to eat?"
Hearing him finally address her, Sophie’s face brightened, voice made small and girlish. "Daddy, I want to go to that new Fawn Bistro on Redwood Avenue. I like their egg puffs. Mom likes the cheesecake."
A rare smile touched his face; his tone softened. "And what does Daddy like, does Sophie know?"
"Daddy likes steak, Mom told me."
Sophie looked at me with an ingratiating gaze. "Right, Mom?"
He seemed pleased. He punched a button. "Call the Fawn Bistro on Redwood Avenue and reserve a private room for three. Have the driver pick us up at the company."
"Yes, Mr. Bennett," the glamorous woman replied.
He seemed to think of something and added, "Actually—have Secretary Dean handle it. Don’t worry about it."
"Mr. Bennett, I—"
He cut the call off.
"Daddy promised to eat with us!" Sophie crowed. You could tell she was thrilled. I didn’t want to ruin her happiness. Even though I didn’t want to go, I nodded for her.
"Has Sophie been so happy? Not eaten out for a long time?" he asked.
"No, Mom always—always takes me to eat yummy things!" Sophie hurried to say. "I’m happy to eat with Daddy!"
"After lunch can we go to the mall?" she asked.
"Sure. Whatever you want, Daddy will buy it," he replied readily.
"I want Daddy to buy Mom a bag!" Sophie shouted.
The light, pleasant mood froze. Young Sophie’s little hand, raised overhead, stilled midair.
The man snorted, disdainful. "That’s the point?"
His contempt cut me. I snapped, "No, that’s not what I meant, I didn’t—"
Sophie sensed the shift in the room and grew tense. I saw her lower her hands and clench them, picking at her fingertips with a nervous, vicious little motion.
That gesture stabbed me. In the years I’d known her, she’d done that whenever embarrassed or frightened—picking at the base of her nails until she drew blood.
When our relationship soured, I had found the habit hateful and repulsive.
Seeing three-year-old Sophie picking at her fingers, tense all over, set a dark, hot thing flaring in my head.
I reached out and took her hand in mine, gripping it. Then I glared at the man. "I don’t care how you see me. I didn’t bring her here because I wanted to—she wanted to see you and I had no reason to stop her. But looking at you now, I regret coming!"
"Regret?" He scoffed, inhaled the cigar, then pulled something from his drawer and tossed it at me.
"Take it. There’s two hundred thousand on this card. Enough to buy a bag."
"You—"
"The restaurant’s booked. Take her yourself. I’m busy and I won’t accompany you."
Sophie’s small hand trembled in mine. Her face flushed, then went pale, fear written across it.
I was furious. I let go of her hand and picked up the card.
His contempt deepened. I snatched the card and walked to the desk. I glanced at the nameplate and flung the card back at him. "Ethan Bennett! Twenty grand to buy you an hour—take her to lunch!"
He didn’t expect that. He blinked, then asked, "And if I don’t go?"
"Then I’ll find her a new daddy who will happily take her to lunch."
02 Fawn Bistro.
Little Sophie sat at the table with the egg puffs she had said she liked placed in front of her, but she hunched her head and sat motionless, not touching them.
"Sophie, why aren’t you eating? Don’t you like these egg puffs?" I asked, confused.
At my voice, she flinched and again seemed to pull herself out of a trance. She forced a smile. "Okay, Mom."
She mechanically picked up one egg puff and, with a stiff smile, bit it. I watched, worried, guilty, annoyed.
"Not tasty?" I pressed, staring.
Her voice came out dry. "Tasty. Mom, I like egg puffs the best…"
Her words puzzled me. I was about to ask what she meant when she snatched up a second egg puff and began to gobble it down with too much force. Sensing something was wrong, I reached to stop her, but then—
"Mom, I’m sorry."
"Mom, please don’t hit me."
Her voice was low and trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, but her mouth still pulled into a forced smile.
My hand hesitated before I reached out again. She shut her eyes in fear; fat tears spilled down.
She seemed terrified of me—but she didn’t pull away.
I wiped her face with a napkin from the table and said softly, “I’m sorry. It was my fault today you couldn’t have lunch with Dad.”
Her eyes opened slowly, still squinting at me. “Mom, aren’t you mad at Sophie?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Sophie made you miss the purse, and she didn’t let you get Dad’s card.”
I froze for a moment—she’d been thinking about that all along. I soothed her, “Mom isn’t mad. Look, don’t I have lots of purses?”
“And I’m not short on money!”
Well… I shouldn’t be short on money.
Earlier, after I’d thrown the card at him, Ethan still refused to have lunch with Sophie. He even said if the money wasn’t enough, he could transfer another hundred thousand into that card.
I was furious. I grabbed the cup on the table and splashed it in his face, yelling, “The kid’s been coughing from the smoke—are you blind or deaf?”
After dousing that rotten man, I scooped Sophie up and stormed out of the company.
I’d meant to go home, but the reservation had been made—might as well eat.
I reassured Little Sophie a few times. She relaxed once she saw I wasn’t angry and started eating. Still, I could tell she kept stealing glances at my expression.
Ugh, I was so stressed!
I’d never raised a child before. Somehow I’d suddenly become a mother, and the child’s parental situation was a mess.
In my last life I lived to sixty. Although I’d been hurt by Sophie—the green-tea bitch—when I was younger, the second half of my life had been calm and steady.
Who knew what went wrong this time, dragging me back into this grueling replay?
Honestly, thinking about my life being tied to Sophie again made me uneasy.
Lately I’d avoided being around her as much as possible. She’d been considerate—didn’t come to me often, ate with Martha, and mostly sat quietly watching TV in the living room.
The TV was low. She never shouted or laughed loudly.
Sometimes I’d watch her sitting there, still as a doll, and wonder—are kids this easy?
“Mom, why aren’t you eating?”
Little Sophie asked.
“Oh, me? I don’t like sweets.”
I glanced at the cheesecake in front of me—no appetite. I must’ve spaced when ordering and picked that without thinking.
She looked puzzled and buried her face, whispering, “Is it because Dad didn’t come?”
“No, it’s—well… my taste’s changed.”
She was little; a tiny fib wouldn’t register. I’d just stick to my habits.
I flagged down a server to order more.
“Do you have lamb chops?”
“Yes.”
“Pan-seared lamb chops, and add one savory pie. Open a bottle of a crisp dry red.”
Little Sophie visibly trembled when I ordered wine.
“Never mind the wine. Bring fresh squeezed juice, and a cup of warm milk.”
“Okay.”
No matter how big the problem, food first.
When the lamb chops arrived I nearly drooled.
The aroma was irresistible; the glaze shimmered golden.
I cut a small piece and popped it in my mouth—tender, juicy, unbelievably delicious. I felt almost euphoric.
“Mom.”
“Mm?”
“Is the lamb good?”
“Oh, it’s amazing—let me tell you!”
I sliced a tiny piece and put it on her plate. She obediently said, “Thanks, Mom,” then picked up her spoon and ate.
“Mom, the lamb is so good!” she praised.
“You bet!” I preened, cutting a few more bites for her.
“Do you really like lamb this much?” she asked.
“Yes!” I nodded solemnly. “It’s the favorite thing I’ve ever eaten!”
Little Sophie nodded innocently—if only she knew how, in my last days before dying, I’d lost the ability to taste. I hadn’t had such a delicious lamb chop in a long time.
We left satisfied. When I learned the bill would be charged to Ethan’s account, I ordered an extra egg tart to go.
By the time the taxi neared home, Little Sophie had fallen asleep on me.
Afternoon sun through the window traced a soft halo across her small round face.
I looked down and noticed how long and curly her lashes were when she was little. Her hair had a light color and a natural wave, but she’d straightened and dyed it dark to suit Dr. Lucas Reed’s tastes—I’d almost forgotten what it used to look like.
Daniel Lee… he’d been gone from my life for over a decade.
Thinking of him brought those young days back, the reckless, painful, tangled loves and hates tightening my chest.
If only Sophie hadn’t been around, how different things might’ve been.
A sudden “We’re here” from the driver snapped me back. I paid and moved to get out, but the child on my lap rolled and clung to me.
I sighed and carried her inside.
…No sooner had we stepped over the threshold than Martha came running out, flustered. “Claire, Mr. Bennett just called—he said…”
“What?” A bad feeling rose in my chest.
“Three days to vacate this house.”
03 “Don’t come closer!”
On the rooftop, a woman in a white gown stood on the edge, wind tossing her hair over her face.
“Get away! You all, get away!” she screamed as she put half a foot over the ledge.
“Sophie! Come down!”
The man beside me sounded frantic and terrified.
I looked at him and it took a moment to register—Daniel Lee.
And who else would be up there about to jump but Sophie in that wedding dress?
I remembered: today was supposed to be Daniel and my wedding. Earlier, when we exchanged rings, someone burst in shouting that Sophie had climbed to the top of the city’s tallest hotel and would jump unless Daniel came to her—she called it giving me a wedding present.
Everyone had gathered; all eyes were on Sophie in her gown. I felt panicked and oddly embarrassed, as if they were the happy couple and I was the one interrupting.
“Come down, we can talk,” Daniel said, his voice calmer than before.
“Promise me you’ll dump her and marry me!” Sophie shouted, her expression icy and deranged, full of hatred when she glanced at me.
“You—” Daniel ground his teeth but didn’t want to provoke her now. He hesitated and looked at me; I nodded.
Whispers and the wind made a messy roar around us.
“Come down and we’ll figure it out.”
“Marry me today or I’ll die for you!” Sophie cried, more hysterical.
“All right,” Daniel finally said. “Come down, I promise.”
I smiled bitterly. I knew it was stalling, but a hollow bleakness filled me anyway.
“Take the ring off her hand! It belongs to me!” Sophie’s voice carried a savage joy—victory—like a trumpet.
Daniel turned to me with furrowed brows. This was a life-or-death moment; I couldn’t sulk.
I reached for the ring just placed on my finger, but no matter how I tried, it wouldn’t budge.
As I wrestled with the ring, Daniel suddenly stopped me. “Don’t take it off.”
He held my hand, turned to Sophie and said quietly, “I can’t marry you.”
Sophie’s eyes widened in horror.
“I love her.”
My heart lurched. I looked up at him.
When had I last looked at his face so closely? He’d been handsome when he was young.
“No—no—no!” Sophie laughed wildly, then glared at me. “You win!”
Before anyone could react, she flung her arms and leapt.
“No—!”
I woke with a start, sitting in bed, gasping. It was a dream again.
What had happened that day hadn’t faded with time; it kept replaying clearer and clearer through my dreams.
Enough. I’d been tormented my whole life. I never wanted anything to do with her again.
I had to call Ethan.
At seven that morning I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Hello, Mr. Bennett. It’s me.”
We weren’t close, so I used the most appropriate address. He seemed amused. I heard a soft laugh on the other end. “Yes?”
His voice was languid.
“You can make me move out, but Sophie can’t be left to sleep on the street. She’s your daughter.”
“You’re trying to use her to get something from me again?”
“I want nothing. I can’t raise her.” I hesitated and added, “I have nothing to provide for her. You have money—she’d be safer with you.”
“If she needs money, ask me and I’ll give it. If she’s a burden, just drop her at a shelter.” He said it lazily, and hung up without letting me reply.
I glared at my phone and tossed it aside.
At that moment, something flickered at the doorway in my peripheral vision.
I went outside and scanned the place—nothing. Then I tiptoed to Sophie’s room and pushed the door. It wasn’t locked. She was asleep in the crib.
Martha didn’t start until eight. Maybe I’d imagined it.
I sat in the living room and seriously analyzed the situation.
Sophie’s mother was Claire Bennett—on her ID she was only twenty-seven, and Sophie was three. That meant Claire had slept with Ethan almost before she’d graduated college.
Right now, with Ethan Bennett valuing money more than decency, he not only wants to ditch the mistress he’s probably already tired of—he even wants nothing to do with his own daughter. Emotionally, I technically have no obligation to take care of Sophie Bennett. But my identity is awkward right now; I’m wearing this skin, and even if I didn’t want to, I can’t just walk away.
Besides, she’s still a child.
No matter what, the most important thing at the moment is to survive.
By the time Martha arrived, I’d shoved a bunch of stuff into bags. While I was telling her I was going out for a while, Sophie came out of her room. Seeing me carrying so many things, she froze for a moment and asked in a small voice, “Mom, where are you going?”
I slid my foot into a shoe and hurriedly said, “I’m going out for a bit. Be good at home, okay? There’s a pack of egg pastries in the fridge—ask Martha to warm one up for you.”
I waved at her, turned, and walked out the door. From inside came her small voice:
“Bye, Mom.”
For some reason, I thought I heard a quiver in her voice. TV dramas always make scenes of a parent leaving and a child wailing into tearful melodrama—but this wasn’t like that.
Maybe it was just my imagination.
I hailed a cab and headed straight to Redwood Avenue.
Redwood Avenue was the kind of place wealthy people frequented—prime real estate with lots of designer shops. If you searched carefully, you’d always find stores that buy and resell luxury goods.
Sure enough, after walking down almost every side street off Kensington Way, I found one.
I threw all thirteen bags of purses onto the counter.
The owner liked what he saw—there were even two limited editions. I told him I had more like this at home and said if he gave me a good price, I wouldn’t bother going to other shops.
I left the store in a good mood. Money really does buy peace of mind.
With cash in hand, I went straight to the bank.
I’d upended the apartment the last two days and only found two bank cards. I planned to withdraw everything, open a new account, and put the money somewhere safe.
For some reason, it just felt safer.
By the time everything was done it was past two in the afternoon.
I was tired and hungry and wanted to find someplace to eat. For the first time in a long while, I felt a little at ease.
I picked a random restaurant and ordered. While waiting, I found myself calculating how much Claire Bennett’s wall of shoes could fetch.
My phone rang just as my food came. The screen showed it was the house.
“Hello?”
“Claire, where are you? Sophie has a high fever.”
When I arrived, Sophie was already asleep on the hospital bed. Thankfully the children’s hospital was close, and Martha said Sophie had always come here—there was a medical record and a few familiar nurses and doctors.
Martha couldn’t explain why Sophie had a fever. I felt restless and told Martha to watch her, then went to find the doctor.
Near the nurses’ station I overheard two young nurses chatting. “That little girl’s back again. Fever, of course.”
“Wait and see—her mother’ll call the dad for money using this as an excuse.”
“That woman’s really cold. For a man’s money, she can even do this to her kid.”
“Hmph. If someone’s willing to sell themselves for money, what’s a kid to them?”
Eavesdropping isn’t exactly noble, but my gut told me their words were about me. I stood quietly and listened.
“That kid’s always getting fevers and hospital stays, but this time seems serious—her temp was 39, and her mom wasn’t here.”
“That mom is always teaching her tricks. Don’t she worry the kid will grow up twisted?”
“Who cares—maybe she’s glad. Makes money while lying there. She’d be thrilled if her daughter followed in her footsteps!”
“Heh, your mouth is vicious—but you do have a point.”
“What I think is—”
“Cough, cough!”
A man’s cough behind me made me jump. I turned and saw a doctor—tall, a clean, decisive jawline catching my eye first.
The two nurses stopped mid-chat and straightened up, greeting him: “Dr. Lucas Reed.”
Then they noticed me and their voices went dry. “Claire, you’re here too.”
Their faces flushed as if afraid I might explode.
“I want to speak with the doctor treating Sophie,” I said calmly. I had no interest in bringing up their gossip.
I wasn’t the original woman, after all. And I’d lived a life—seen too much—to waste energy defending against idle slander.
“That’s Dr. Reed,” one nurse said quickly.
“Dr. Reed, hi. I want to know why Sophie suddenly has a fever.”
“Come into my office,” Dr. Reed said, giving me a brief once-over.
The office had a desk, a bed, two filing cabinets—nothing special. A photo on the desk, though, caught my eye.
Four people in it—Dr. Reed, a man and a woman, and a baby in the woman’s arms. For some reason the couple looked vaguely familiar. I searched my mind and came up blank. I’m not one to dig on everything any more.
“Doctor, I just want to know why Sophie’s fever came on so suddenly. She was fine this morning.”
“Miss Claire, did anything…unpleasant happen between you and the child this morning?” He paused, choosing his word carefully. “Any argument?”
“Unpleasant? No—she’d just woken up when I left. Could it have been food poisoning?” I was puzzled.
He looked me over, as if searching for answers, then answered steadily, “I asked Martha—Sophie didn’t eat this morning.”
I frowned.
“Martha said after you left Sophie went back to her room. At first she thought Sophie had fallen asleep. Later, when she went to call her for lunch, she found her lying in bed crying. She cried herself to sleep.”
He spoke calmly, but something in me flinched.
“She didn’t have lunch either. Martha only noticed the fever in the afternoon. I ran the necessary tests and found nothing abnormal.”
He fixed his gaze on me and said, “The child had an inflammatory state, her immunity dropped, and she developed a sudden high fever. Can you think of anything that might have upset her?”
I didn’t answer, but a shadow from this morning flashed across my mind—the silhouette I’d seen through the door… and that choked, tearful goodbye when I left.
“Miss Claire, a child is like a sapling. How you raise it is how it will grow.”
Leaving Dr. Reed’s office and walking back to the ward, my emotions were tangled.
Do I hate Sophie? Not exactly. Pity is more like it.
While she was alive, Dr. Lucas Reed occasionally mentioned things about her to me. After she died she became a raw wound for both Lucas and me. We never spoke her name again, but her presence never really left us.
I suddenly remembered how classmates and friends had hinted back then—Sophie wasn’t simple. Some even bluntly called her a manipulative girl, craving men and affection.
I Woke in Her Life and Took Everything
But after learning about her family, I felt a flicker of pity. I thought her behavior came from an unhappy home.
“She turns out like her mother raised her.” I told myself you can’t blame it all on the child.
Youth made me simple-minded, always searching for tidy explanations. Fate must have been mocking me. Like: you’re so resourceful—now raise her yourself.
What was I to do?
When I returned to the ward Sophie had just woken. Her big eyes blinked in confusion, then brightened when they found me.
“Mom!” She tried to sit up. I quickly moved to stop her. “Don’t move. Lie down.”
She froze and stared at me like she was afraid I would disappear. I fluffed her pillow to make her more comfortable.
“Are you hurting anywhere?” I touched her forehead—warm.
“I’m hungry,” she whimpered.
“I’ll go get you something to eat.”
She hurried to change her mind. “No—I’m not hungry! Don’t go, Mommy.”
I paused, looked at her, then told Martha a few instructions and handed her some money before heading out.
Once Martha left, it was just Sophie and me in the room. I told her to nap until the IV was done and I’d call her, but she refused to sleep.
I have no patience for power struggles with kids, so I let her be. I felt restless and kept peeking at the drip.
“Mom, where did you go?” Sophie asked quietly, as if she’d mustered up courage.
“I went to get us some money.” I decided to be honest.
“Money?” She looked puzzled. “To see Daddy?”
“No.” I denied that quickly. “Remember all those bags I was carrying when I left? I sold them and turned them into cash.”
Her little head bobbed on the pillow—she didn’t fully understand. “Mom doesn’t like them anymore?”
“No, not exactly.” I thought for a moment. “We just need money more right now.”
She nodded, still half-confused—just a kid, after all.
She fell silent, and I glanced at the IV again. When I looked back she was picking at the skin around her fingernails. I reached out and took one of her small hands.
“Would you sell Sophie when you need money?” she asked in a small, trembling voice, head bent, tears already clinging to her lashes.
I sighed inside and whispered comfort, “No. I would never. Because you’re Mommy’s baby, cough, cough…”
I felt guilty saying it, even a little sick to my stomach, but looking at the little one’s delighted face, I cleared my throat and said, “I’m selling my bags because I have too many. But Sophie only has one!
If I sell the bags, Sophie and I can have a good life.
Do you understand what I mean?”
She nodded hard, then reached out that empty little hand and hooked her pudgy index finger at me. I had no choice but to lean in.
She wrapped that tiny hand around my head and in a baby voice said, “Mommy is Sophie’s treasure too, ooo.”
Then, “smooch.”
She kissed my cheek.
My face flushed instantly. After all these years alive, I’d never heard such a blatant confession. It was embarrassingly sweet.
Luckily, Aunt Martha came back just then. After she arrived, I asked her to feed Sophie a little, then got the phone number for the real estate agent she’d found outside.
I explained what I needed to the agent and quickly set an appointment to see apartments the next day.
We only had three days. Of course Sophie caught a fever on top of everything—exhausting.
Single motherhood is no joke.
Thankfully Sophie’s fever wasn’t serious and it broke quickly. After one night in the hospital, we were discharged early the next morning.
I planned to have her stay home with Aunt Martha so I could move faster, but she refused to leave me. So I had no choice but to take her with me to look at apartments, leaving Aunt Martha at home to pack.
The agent was a young guy named Zach.
Seeing I had a child, he brought a scooter equipped with a baby seat. When I looked surprised, he laughed and explained they had a woman in the office—“Supermom”—who brought her kid to work when she couldn’t find childcare; that’s why they kept a baby seat on hand.
I buckled Sophie into the baby seat and followed Zach on my bike. I hadn’t ridden one of these in ages; my whole body felt stiff.
“Mom, you’re so good at riding this,” Sophie said from the seat, her voice bright and clear, drawing glances from passersby.
“Ah…thanks,” I answered awkwardly, eyes fixed on Zach ahead, afraid of getting lost.
“You ride it so well!” she gushed, sounding thrilled.
“Do you like sitting on this scooter?” I asked, trying to distract her.
“Yes!” she shouted. “This is better than a car!”
I couldn’t help smiling, remembering that old joke—better to cry in a BMW than laugh on a bike. Watching Sophie bounce happily, I thought, kids are just kids.
That morning we saw six apartments. Only one appealed to me: a three-bedroom not far from where we were living, with a nearby preschool and decent neighborhood amenities. It was a little pricey, though.
Back in the agency’s meeting room, I replayed what we’d seen and discussed rental details with Zach.
He could see I hesitated and brought up a different two-bedroom. That place was fine—but soon I’d have to get a job and couldn’t always watch Sophie. Aunt Martha couldn't be dismissed, and psychologically I wasn’t ready to suddenly accept being perfectly inseparable as mother and daughter.
So the three-bedroom felt more ideal.
“Can the price be lowered?” I asked. In my last life I’d never worried about a place to live. Who knew I’d be going through this now.
As soon as Sophie was part of my life, everything felt like a new struggle.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Claire,” Zach began. “That unit is excellent in layout, renovation, location, and community. The preschool nearby is famous—many wealthy families send their kids there. If you live there, your little princess will be in a great school and pick-up will be convenient. The price…it’s really not expensive for what you get.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but it is a bit high. I noticed some dust on the coffee table in the showing—means it’s been empty for a while, right? Leaving it sitting empty is a loss for you guys. If you take a bit less, I’ll sign.”
Zach looked unsure.
“Uncle, I’ll give you a kiss if you give Mommy a discount, okay?” Sophie suddenly walked over and said.
Zach froze, then smiled. “I’ll talk to my manager.”
I hadn’t expected that. For a second I was speechless. When Zach turned to leave, I blurted, “Wait!”
He looked back, confused. I didn’t bother explaining. “Don’t bother applying. I’ll rent it—no discount needed. Go draft the contract.”
As soon as Zach left the room, I pulled Sophie close. She was perceptive—she’d noticed the tension—and now her little face had gone pale, staring at me blankly.
Honestly, I was a little angry. I hadn’t expected such words from a child. Did she really understand what she’d said?
I swallowed my emotions. Ever since Dr. Lucas Reed passed, I hadn’t been this riled up. For years I’d thought getting older would dampen my feelings. Maybe this was just this twenty-seven-year-old body talking.
“Sophie, why did you say that to the man?” I asked.
“I wanted to help Mommy…” Her voice trembled thinly.
“I know you want to help, but we can’t rely on—” I swallowed hard and held back the four words “selling our looks,” and instead said, “We have to use our intelligence, our skills, and our hard work to get what we want.”
She nodded, half understanding.
“Kisses and hugs are things between family or between lovers. You can’t go kissing strangers, okay?” She nodded again.
“And you can’t use those things as a transaction…do you know what a transaction is?” She nodded and then shook her head, a little face full of confusion. “When Mommy and Daddy asked for the card…that was like that.”
I choked on it and forced myself to explain, “That was because Mommy and Daddy were lovers…that won’t happen anymore.”
I added firmly, “And you’re not allowed to do that either, okay?”
She nodded and, in her baby voice, agreed.
After signing the lease, I asked Zach to arrange movers and took Sophie home to finish packing. In the afternoon I had the owner of a luxury consignment shop come by to buy the bags, shoes, and clothes Aunt Martha had laid out.
Having cash in hand calmed me a little.
I wasn’t about to leave these things for Ethan; consider it child support for raising his daughter.
Watching Sophie’s little back, I started making plans for the future.
On the third day, when Zach and the moving crew arrived, everyone dove into work.
Sophie was fascinated and a bit overwhelmed. She’d never experienced moving; it was all new to her.
I kept reminding the movers of things, and she mimicked me, often flashing me a thumbs-up. I couldn’t tell what she meant, so I just smiled.
During a break I decided it was time to “talk.”
“Sophie.” I set her on the couch and chose my words carefully. “From now on, you, me, and Aunt Martha are going to live somewhere else. Daddy might not come see you. Is that okay?”
Her dark eyes blinked, and she solemnly said, “It’s okay, Mommy. We can go see Daddy.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I answered stiffly. Honestly, if I could, I never wanted to see that man again. Being the other woman is too humiliating.
“If—if—we didn’t have Daddy anymore and it was just you and me living together, would you be willing?” She nodded earnestly: “Sophie is happy with Mommy.”
She seemed almost unbothered; normally I’d expect a kid her age to cry and demand both parents.
I wasn’t sure how or when to tell her we’d been abandoned by Ethan. Maybe I’d wait until she was older. I was still weighing that when the phone rang.
“Three days already. How are you holding up?” It was Ethan’s voice.
“Huh?” I felt odd.
“I’m at the office waiting for you. Bring Sophie by this afternoon so we can have dinner together. I’ll buy you some bags.” There was a note of contrition in his voice that made me annoyed.
“No thanks. I’m busy moving,” I snapped.
“Moving? Who said you could move?” He raised his voice, shocked.
I thought: Didn’t you evict us? Are you split-personality now?
I said nothing more. He barked an order: “Wait at home. I’ll be there.”
When Ethan arrived, I was eating takeout with Sophie. The stuff was mostly moved out; I’d had Aunt Martha go ahead with the movers while I stayed to wait for him.
He walked straight in, slamming the door behind him like an announcement.
He scanned the place and then looked at Sophie and me.
“What are you doing?” he asked. His face didn’t show much, but his voice carried anger.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and stood. “Moving. You said so.”
He looked me over and then said something I didn’t expect. “Are you seeing someone?”
I shot back, “What nonsense! The child’s right here!”
Sophie, being a child, was unbothered and focused on her noodles, determinedly battling them with her spoon.
“Come with me!” Ethan grabbed my hand and led me toward the bedroom. He closed the door behind us. I yanked my hand free and twisted my wrist—painful, and it made me flare up. “Don’t do that—don’t be rough with an old woman!” I snapped.
His footsteps faltered, and then his tone softened. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.
Even for someone jaded, the sudden syrupy concern sent shivers down my spine. I felt goosebumps rise all over.
I felt like a sixty-year-old woman—safe in my own skin—but his single word of concern snapped me back: to everyone else out there, I was just a twenty-seven-year-old, and this man in front of me was the young woman's patron.
A lone man and a lone woman in the same room, the air already charged—if I didn’t do something, it would be indefensible.
Ethan moved closer. Behind me was a big bed. Not great. I slid aside without making a scene and put on a businesslike tone. “If there’s something to say, say it.”
His softened expression froze, then cooled as he repeated the question he’d just asked. “Do you have someone else?”
“No.”
I answered flatly.
“Then why are you insisting on leaving? Is this some kind of stunt to make a scene?”
“I want to be independent. I want to be able to support myself and Sophie. Is that a problem?”
“Independent?”
He tasted the word, then snorted. “With what? Have you ever worked? Do you know how much people make a month out there? With you, even a year of working wouldn’t buy one of the bags you walk around with. Can you handle that?”
What he said was true—for the old Claire. But that Claire wasn’t me anymore.
Still, there was no point arguing.
“All done? Anything else? Since you came by, take a good look—house is intact, keys are on the rack by the door. No more business here. I’m taking Sophie.”
Before I finished, Ethan suddenly advanced. I jumped and stepped aside, slipping past him toward the bedroom door. I wasn’t so naive after decades of living—when danger’s in the air, you run.
I grabbed the doorknob and turned. The lock clicked open and I exhaled without thinking. I cracked the door and a strong hand yanked my shoulder. Before I could react, he slammed me against the door.
Bang!
The entryway door slammed shut behind us.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
His voice dropped—pressed out between clenched teeth. I could tell he was furious, but at what? Wasn’t unloading a burden onto him the better option? And earlier he didn’t seem too concerned about Sophie’s mom, either.
“I want freedom.”
I kept my voice steady.
“Freedom?”
He echoed.
Pinned in the corner, I scrambled for words. Pissing him off right now would be stupid.
He was so close I could feel his breath. I tried to make myself small, shrink away, anything to get another inch between us.
When I stayed silent, he reached up and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. Oh—this was familiar: the so-called “wall slam” move that used to be so vogue back when I was younger.
The door pressed hard into my back, uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the point—the point was that he looked like he was about to kiss me.
His face was inches from mine. I was about to lift my knee to give him a shock when a commotion erupted outside, cutting him off.
“Waaaa—Mom—Mom—”
Sophie’s crying.
Ethan sighed, leaned in close to my ear and spat, “Ungrateful,” then opened the door and walked out.
Sophie was still bawling. I, still shaking, hurried out after him.
She was sitting on the floor; her lunchbox had been flung to the ground and some broth had splashed onto her calves. Her little hands covered her face as she cried.
Ethan moved toward her as if to pick her up, but stopped when he got close. He looked up at me with a complicated expression, then said, “I’ve taken care of the private preschool you liked. Classes start next week. You just bring her. For other matters, my secretary will contact you.”
With that he left without another word.
I scooped Sophie into my arms, brushed the food off her legs and asked, “Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Are you burned?”
Her crying stopped mid-sob. The little hands that had hidden her face parted slightly and she peered out, voice tentative: “Mom, did Daddy leave?”
She wasn’t taking her hands down—maybe broth splashed near her eyes.
“He left. Are you alright? Are your eyes okay?”
At my question, her hands flew open like two tiny doors. Her big, dark, grape-like eyes blinked at me—no tears. She’d only been faking it.
No wonder Ethan had looked at me the way he did—probably thought I taught her to fake it.
Then it clicked: she’d deliberately created the distraction to get me out of there. She’d saved me.
Her hands closed again and she burst into that adorable little laugh. “Mom, my eyes are fine. Look, sesame opens the door!”
She opened her hands once more, those big eyes looking at me in a pleading, pleasing way. How could I scold her for scaring me? I gave her a resigned smile, and she relaxed into giggles.
The broth on her wasn’t hot—just messy. She hadn’t fallen hard; she wasn’t hurt.
I set her on the sink to wash her calves and tiny feet, my cheeks flushing as I replayed the earlier scene in my head.
“Why are you blushing, Mom? Do you have a fever?” she asked, cocking her head.
“No.” I said, “I’m just older—can’t handle that stuff as well.”
She peered up at me. “Is Mom very old?”
I glared at her, thinking, My age isn’t that old—but my real age isn’t small either.
Settling into the new place went smoothly. Martha and I worked nonstop for days, but I didn’t feel tired. After years bedridden, my new, healthy body welcomed sweat and tired limbs as proof that I was alive.
On Monday I gave Martha two days off and took Sophie to register at preschool myself.
The school Ethan had arranged was the exact one I’d liked when we were apartment hunting. I’d worried enrollment would be a hassle—broker Jake said it was hard to get in—but Ethan had handled it, saving me a lot of trouble.
When we arrived, many parents were already waiting with their kids. We were early. Parents chatted; some kids were already left in the play area to acclimate. I nudged Sophie to go meet other children.
Watching her reluctantly let go of my hand to join the play area—glancing back at me anxiously—I felt an odd pang in my chest. She was a child, I reminded myself. Not because she was Sophie Bennett. Just a child.
As she turned away, I drifted into thought about my last life—Daniel Lee and I hadn’t had children, never worried about kids. Now I understood: children are a sweet kind of burden.
Lost in daydreams, something bumped my shin. A little boy in a baseball cap had tumbled in front of me. I crouched and helped him up; he wore a mask.
I dusted dirt off his knee and asked if he was okay. He gave me a cool nod. “I’m fine. Thanks, ma’am.”
He looked around, then asked, “Ma’am, where’s the teacher?”
Just then a teacher in uniform came out smiling. “Hello to our new families and children! Classroom Seven is ready. Please join us for the opening ceremony.”
The kids in the play area ran to their parents. Sophie returned to me with a flushed little face and a sheen of sweat. I wiped her brow—and noticed the little boy in the cap had vanished. He’d probably followed his parents into the classroom.
We all filed into the room. After a short flurry, the parents spread around the edges of the classroom. I picked a spot at the back. Sophie sat down, and I scanned the room. The little boy was there—sitting very still while everyone else fidgeted, looking around at parents. He was oddly composed and I smiled—he was kind of cool.
After the director and teachers finished welcoming us and explaining things, they started some interactive games. A teacher handed each child a small daisy. Then she announced that each child should introduce themselves and then give their flower to a child they liked, asking, “Can I be your friend?”
It was a cute idea. I admit I worried—what if Sophie didn’t get a flower?
My worry was unnecessary. Not long into the game, Sophie had already received two daisies. She waved her three flowers at me, delighted.
Well then—someone else would miss out. I mentally noted the game’s flaw.
Then it was the baseball-capped boy’s turn.
He stood and spoke softly, “Hello, my name is Daniel Lee.”
He walked between the desks to the back of the class and stopped in front of me. He raised his daisy and asked, in a small voice, “Can I be your friend?”
Daniel Lee—three years old—asking me that.
I stared at him, frozen, forgetting to take the flower. A teacher gently reminded him, “You’re supposed to give it to a classmate.” But he seemed not to hear, just held the daisy straight up.
Yes. It was him. Not a namesake. Not a dream. It was Daniel.
A sharp shout cut through the room: “You can’t steal my mom!”
I snapped back to reality. Sophie had barreled over and shoved Daniel.
The sudden scene flustered everyone, but the teachers quickly steadied Daniel. I pulled Sophie back and told her hitting was wrong.
I made Sophie apologize to Daniel. She puffed her lips and tears filled her eyes. “It’s his fault—he tried to take my mom!”
Daniel looked at her calmly, still holding the flower out to me.
My hand moved almost of its own accord to take it, when a teacher intervened: “Look, Sophie’s crying. Why don’t you give the flower to her and be her friend?”
Daniel shook his head, insisting he didn’t want it.
The room froze. The teacher looked helplessly at me, hoping I’d say something. I stared at the two children and felt my chest tighten.
“Sorry I’m late.”
A man’s voice came from the classroom doorway, and everyone’s attention turned.
He looked a little disheveled—hair messy—and from a distance he seemed vaguely familiar.
He scanned the room and, talking to himself as he walked in, introduced, “I’m Daniel’s guardian. Is he here? Oh, there you are!”
He made his way toward the back of the room, bewildered by all the stares. When he reached Daniel, he asked the teacher, “Did Daniel get into trouble?”
The teacher explained what had happened. Daniel tucked the little daisy back into his chest. Sophie clung to my finger so tight it hurt, glaring at Daniel every so often.
No one knew the earthquake of emotions raging inside me.
Not to mention I recognized the man—it was Dr. Lucas Reed, the doctor I’d seen at the hospital just a few days ago.
Daniel’s presence alone shocked me to the core. I never imagined Dr. Lucas Reed would be his guardian.
Then who was he?
After the teacher finished, Dr. Reed thought for a moment and asked Daniel, “The rule is that prizes are to be given to other kids. Do you understand?”
Daniel nodded.
“Would you consider giving it to this little girl? Make up with her, be her friend?”
Daniel lowered his head for a moment, then looked up at me. I forced a smile at him. As if making a decision, he shoved the daisy into my other hand and walked back to his seat without looking back.
The teacher and Dr. Reed exchanged glances. The director was the first to react, steering the activity forward. Fortunately, the kids weren’t too disrupted and the enrollment ceremony finished smoothly.
Parents began to leave the preschool. Sophie kept begging me to promise I’d pick her up before dismissal. Not far away, Dr. Reed was talking to Daniel—I couldn’t help but strain to listen.
“Why didn’t you wake me this morning?” Dr. Reed asked.
“You were sleeping,” Daniel answered.
“So you should have woken me!” Dr. Reed said.
Daniel said nothing. I stole a glance at him but caught his eyes looking back. I quickly dropped mine, hushed Sophie with a few words, and we left the preschool.
We hadn’t walked far when someone called from behind, “Miss Claire.”
I turned. It was him.
“Dr. Reed, hello.”
He came forward, scratched his head, and apologized sheepishly, “Sorry for the trouble.”
“It’s okay.”
I sized him up. Not only was his hair messy, his stubble was noticeable—so different from the neat, serious man at the hospital. I pointed, “Your T-shirt’s on backwards.”
He hurriedly looked down and grinned, “I was in a rush. I pulled an all-nighter yesterday on call and was groggy this morning.”
I was silent for a moment, then couldn’t help asking, “You’re Daniel’s…?”
“Uncle. My name’s Lucas Reed.”
A grief like a physical blow hit me. My eyes burned, but I clung to a thread of hope and hesitated before asking, “Where are his parents?”
He was quiet for a beat, then gave me the answer I’d feared: “Car crash. They passed away.”
I bowed my head and the tears came.
“You okay? You…uh—I…paper—” He fumbled in his pockets, flustered, finding nothing to offer.
I knew I must have looked bizarre to a stranger, but the sorrow was too much. The photo I’d seen on Lucas’s desk flashed in my mind—the young couple standing next to him, the baby in their arms was Daniel.
In my previous life, Daniel’s parents had died when he was very young. He was raised by his uncle, who later left for abroad heartbroken the year Daniel got into university and never returned—dying in a foreign land. This uncle I’d never met before was standing right in front of me now, awkward and unsure.
And Daniel—he’d already lived through the loss of his parents. Seeing him again now, his life hadn’t softened.
Lucas insisted on walking me home. During the walk he chatted away, telling me their home was nearby and didn’t press why I’d been crying. “That kid clung to you this morning probably because of your dress,” he said. “His mom liked dresses like that.”
It clicked. In my previous life, Lucas loved buying me skirts—plaids, chiffons—and I’d grown fond of that style. No wonder Daniel had been drawn to it.
Even after years living together in that life, there were still things I hadn’t known about him.
At home, I collapsed on the couch, feeling like my spine had been hollowed out. I closed my eyes and memories rolled over me like waves.
Daniel and I met in college.
Back then he kept people at arm’s length. Handsome and top of his class, he attracted a lot of attention. Sophie was always around him, so everyone assumed they were a couple—until a girl confessed and got rejected and learned Sophie had just been his childhood friend.
Word spread. More girls tried to win him over. Rumors sprang up that Sophie was manipulative—always clinging to Daniel, pretending to be his official girlfriend to mess with his other admirers.
I’d ignored it as irrelevant gossip—until Daniel and I grew close and I saw Sophie’s two-faced behavior for myself.
Luckily Daniel stayed true. We had our misunderstandings, but he chose me in the end.
Even when Sophie used her life to try to ruin our marriage, we held on to each other. Poor Daniel—his life read like a book of suffering. Fate seemed to always toy with him.
His parents died when he was two. Seeing him go to preschool alone today, quietly speak to the teacher by himself, sitting unmoving at his desk—it wasn’t coolness; it was knowing there was no one there for him.
I’d only known Sophie and Daniel had been friends from an early age, but I never imagined they’d met in preschool.
In college, her presence made me jealous. I regretted not being part of Daniel’s childhood, not meeting him before her. Who’d have thought I’d get a second chance to be in his childhood—but of all forms, as Sophie’s mother.
And Lucas?
That young, lively face—I couldn’t connect him to the uncle who’d later been heartbroken and died abroad.
Wait.
Lucas never married in his life. What if I introduced him to someone? If I tried to help him find a wife, could his future change? If his future altered, maybe other things could, too.
Now I’m Sophie’s mom. As long as I don’t raise her like she originally was, maybe she won’t cling to Daniel so obsessively. Maybe she won’t do those extreme things.
But they’d already had a falling out on their first day of meeting—maybe my presence had already severed their bond.
If so, fine. Let them be enemies. Better she hate him than love him and never have him, right?
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, motionless. If fate had revived me to fix things, couldn’t the heavens at least give me a hint—like flashing the words “Correct!” on the ceiling?
The ceiling stayed stubbornly unchanged. The room was eerily quiet.
Ding-ding-ding—
A sudden, urgent phone ring yanked me from my reverie and startled me. I answered. A frantic voice asked, “Is this Sophie Bennett’s mother?”
“Yes, this is her.”
“Please come back to the preschool. Sophie and Daniel got into a fight.”
When I returned to the preschool, Lucas was already waiting in the office. I nodded at him—a brief greeting.
My eyes immediately went to Daniel. His hat and mask were off; his head and face were fine, his clothes intact. He had a sterile bandage on his knee.
Heat rose in me. I turned to Sophie, but saw her eyes swollen and rimmed with tears. My anger deflated a bit.
“Teacher, excuse me—what happened between the two kids?” I asked, keeping my temper in check.
The teacher explained, “During recess at the sink, for reasons we don’t know, Sophie pushed Daniel and he fell, scraping his knee—however…”
She hesitated, glanced toward Sophie, who ducked behind my legs.
“Sophie says Daniel splashed water on her first, and she accidentally bumped into him trying to avoid it.”
I looked at Daniel again, worry cutting through me. “Besides his knee, is he hurt anywhere else? Did he twist an ankle?”
Daniel met my gaze calmly and shook his head.
“Is that it? A bandage on the knee—will that be enough? Should we take an X-ray to make sure he didn’t hurt anything else?” I blurted, anxious, and turned to Lucas. He’d been studying Daniel, and my question made him awkward; he quickly waved his hand, “No, no. Kids roughhouse all the time. It’s just a scrape…”
“That’s not okay. Even a scrape can be dangerous—tetanus, infections…” I kept glancing at Daniel, itching to scoop him up and rush to the hospital. Sophie whimpered “Mom” from behind me, but I paid no attention.
“Cough—Sophie’s mom.”
The teacher cleared her throat, cutting off my rapid-fire questions. "The issue now is that, as the school, we have to make sure the kids are safe. For now we need to resolve the conflict between the two children so something like this doesn't happen again. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, yes, of course, teacher, you're right."
"Sophie, apologize to Daniel right now!"
I pulled Sophie out from behind me and ordered her sharply.
"Mom, it's not—"
Sophie looked crushed, big tears already rolling down her cheeks.
"Don't you dare," I snapped, my voice suddenly sharp. "Daniel's knee is injured. If he were badly hurt, I—"
"Ah—Ms. Bennett, Ms. Bennett!"
Thomas couldn't stand it and interrupted my scolding. "They're just kids with a fight. Just talk it through—don't frighten her…"
When he said that, I realized Sophie looked even more upset. She clutched my leg with one arm and kept wiping her face with the other. "Mom, Mom, it's not my fault. He splashed water at me—I didn't mean to—Mom, wahhh…"
I glanced over at Daniel again, concerned. He spoke up then: "Auntie, I'm fine. She didn't do it on purpose."
I froze, then nodded and lowered my tone. "Sophie, even though Daniel says you didn't mean to, he got hurt, and that's because of you. You need to apologize, understand?"
Sophie hiccupped and stopped crying. She looked up at me, saw my resolute face, and reluctantly nodded.
I bent to separate her from my leg. She still clung to my hand, then finally looked at Daniel and whispered, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
Daniel replied calmly.
"Daniel's uncle, is there anything else you'd like us to address? Both parents are here. If you have any requests, please tell us."
The teacher turned to Thomas, who had seemed dazed the whole time.
"No, we don't have any demands," he said, glancing at Daniel. Daniel shook his head.
"Alright, then…" The teacher exhaled, relieved. "Both children can go back to class. Mr. Reed, thank you for coming. We'll be in touch if anything else comes up."
Thomas nodded, exchanged a few polite words, and left the office following Daniel.
"Ms. Bennett."
Once the office was empty, the teacher addressed me and I responded quickly.
"The other parent isn't pursuing this, but I do want to talk with you further about what happened. Regarding the kids' scuffle—Sophie says he splashed water and she fell trying to get away, but actually…" She paused, scanning my face like she was choosing her words. "Don't be angry with me for saying this."
I nodded.
"Daniel didn't splash water on her. She pushed him from behind while he wasn't looking. Our custodian saw everything and told us."
"Although Sophie cried a lot and there might be things we don't know, she did intentionally push Daniel."
The teacher sounded worried I wouldn't believe them or would accuse the school of framing Sophie. Little did she know I believed it—because it fit Sophie perfectly. I inwardly wanted to grab the teacher and lecture her on all the manipulative things Sophie had done, to pour out the bitter history of how I'd been duped and cried over it.
But I held back. For now, my identity was Sophie's mother, and the priority was hearing what the teacher had to say.
"I understand. I'll give her a stern talking-to when we get home," I promised solemnly.
"Good. I believe you will." The teacher looked surprised by my indignation, but also concerned. "Kids are young and don't always understand the consequences. Plus, we saw what happened this morning. Maybe Sophie sees Daniel as some kind of imaginary rival—that's possible too. What you need to do is guide her and stop those kinds of thoughts and behaviors. Right?"
I nodded vigorously.
Before I left, the teacher handed me a thin pamphlet about communicating with your child as a mother. I opened it and saw eight big characters on the cover: 'Mom and I Are Best Friends.'
The idea of being friends with Sophie made me shiver.
We left the classroom building and headed toward the kindergarten gate. From a distance I saw Thomas standing there.
"Hi. I thought they'd locked you in the teacher's dungeon and you were plotting a rescue," I joked and laughed. "Why is your T-shirt inside out?"
He scratched his head, embarrassed. "I fell asleep on the way home and forgot to flip it."
"About today, I'm sorry. I'll have a serious talk with Sophie."
"No, no—don't. Kids fight sometimes. It's just a fall. No need to make a big deal." He smiled and thanked me.
We stood there awkwardly for a bit. I wanted to break the silence. "I'm going to the grocery store to pick up dinner ingredients. I'll go on ahead."
"Oh?" Thomas scratched his head again. "Oh—I'm going to get groceries too."
Without another word, he followed.
On the walk he complained now and then about how kids are treated like fragile treasures now and how when we were kids we were tougher—unless you came home with a gash, teachers didn't care. Then he asked, "Were your teachers like that?"
I glanced at him. Yes—he was careful like that. He had no idea that three-year-old me was only just starting kindergarten now.
He kept talking about how tiring but rewarding looking after kids can be, not noticing I’d drifted away in my thoughts. Lately I’d been wondering: where exactly am I right now, in this life? What about Mom and Dad—young and living somewhere—how are they doing? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember where my family lived when I was three or what our phone number was. I hadn't been to this city until college. Memories before that were hazy, almost gone. All I kept was that I had a tall, handsome father and a gentle, elegant mother. Where were they now? Could I ever see them again?
In the supermarket, Thomas trailed behind and tossed things into his cart so you couldn't tell what he was cooking. "Buying cookies? You look very focused."
I held up three different boxes, reading the ingredient lists. "Yeah. Need peanut-free ones."
After a little comparing I put two boxes back. At the frozen foods I picked some dumplings. Thomas grabbed instant noodles and threw them in his cart.
"Done?" he asked.
"Yeah—these." I pulled a few bags of shrimp dumplings from the case.
"All shrimp ones?"
"Yeah."
At checkout I asked for two shopping bags and sorted our groceries. Thomas insisted on carrying one bag for me. I handed him a bag, and when we parted he handed it back with a shrug. I smiled at him. "This is for Daniel. Consider it Sophie's apology."
He peered into the bag and muttered, "All his favorite stuff." Then he gave me a look of surprise. "You seem to know Daniel pretty well."
I blinked and answered softly, "Do I?"
"My husband likes the same things," he said.
08
When I came to pick Sophie up from kindergarten later, I watched from a distance as she followed the teacher out of the classroom. She stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to look out, little brows knitting as if she had something on her mind. The moment she saw me she broke into a big smile.
I waved. My eyes scanned over the tops of the children's heads until I spotted Daniel at the back of the line, wearing a baseball cap and mask, head down.
When Sophie yelled "Mom!" and ran toward me, I thought I saw him glance our way. But by the time I steadied Sophie and looked back, he had already walked off by himself.
I asked the teacher if Daniel's family wasn't coming to pick him up. She sighed. "He only has his uncle. He called earlier from the hospital and said he couldn't leave work. He told the child to walk home himself. I told Daniel to call me as soon as he got home to let me know he's okay."
I said goodbye to the teacher and deliberately took Sophie on a detour until I saw Daniel enter an apartment building. Only then did I relax and head home.
I changed Sophie into comfy clothes. She obediently washed her hands and face and came out still with water droplets on her cheeks, proud of herself. I dried her off and put her in her high chair, setting a bowl of pumpkin purée as a snack. I sat opposite her, listening to her talk about her first day at kindergarten while I thought about how to begin the conversation I needed to have.
Alone I had a lot to think about. I had no parenting experience. Could I shoulder this responsibility? Also, Sophie wasn't biologically mine—did I have the right to influence her life? But thinking it through, if fate had brought us together, even a tangled fate was fate. This was reality I had to face.
"Mom, kindergarten is so fun!" she said, waving her arms, shoving a spoonful of pumpkin into her mouth.
"Sophie."
"Yes?"
"Can you tell me about what happened at school today with the other kids?"
The moment I brought it up, the lively little girl from just moments ago deflated like a wilted eggplant. Her chin practically drooped into her bowl.
I reached out and patted her cheek, speaking calmly. "I'm not asking to scold you. I just want you to remember what happened, because the teacher might not know the whole story. If she misunderstands and starts to dislike you because of it, what would we do?"
Her head lifted a little; I caught her big eyes sneaking a glance at me.
"The teacher said she saw you shove Daniel Lee. Is that true?"
At the name Daniel Lee, Sophie's mouth tightened. She hesitated, then nodded.
"So you pushed him because he upset you, right?"
She nodded again.
"What did he do to upset you? Did he splash water on you?"
This time she didn't nod so readily. She pressed her lips together tighter.
"The teacher said she didn't see Daniel splash water on you. Did the teacher get it wrong, Sophie?"
Her shoulders trembled for a beat, like she was suppressing a sob. Then she slowly shook her head. I pressed on, "No? The teacher didn't see it?"
This time she finally lifted her head a bit more. I leaned down and saw tears pooling in her big eyes. My chest tightened for no reason. In a tiny voice she mumbled, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I lied. Boo hoo—I'm sorry—"
She raised her face and burst into tears, still with a mouthful of pumpkin puree and clutching her spoon. It was both pitiful and a little ridiculous. I couldn't help but hand her a tissue and wipe her cheeks while I soothed her.
"Don't cry, don't cry. I know, I know. It's okay, sweetheart—"
Maybe because I didn't scold her, she relaxed bit by bit. Between hiccups she still chewed, and I was about to tell her to spit it out, when she swallowed and, between sobs, flattered me: "Mommy, your pumpkin puree is so good, boo hoo…"
I bit back a laugh. Who knew Sophie could be such a foodie? But I didn't forget why I was asking. "Can you tell me why you pushed Daniel?"
Each sniff made her little head bob, and she answered in fits and starts, "I don't like him taking Mommy away from me—"
After she said it, she seemed to feel a huge grievance and cried even harder, hiccupping.
I jumped up, went behind her and patted her back while I comforted her. It took a long time to calm her down. Only after I promised I wouldn't be mad did she quiet, and she kept checking to make sure I truly wasn't angry.
That night after her bath, I told her the story of Pinocchio. When I mentioned a lie making Pinocchio's nose grow, she instinctively covered her own nose.
I found it amusing, but the tactic worked, so I finished the story.
Sophie scrambled out of bed and fixed me with a serious look. "Mom, will you turn into a wooden puppet if you lie?"
I was going to nod yes, but as I looked at her I remembered the day she died in my previous life, and instead the words on my tongue became, "If it's a white lie… it won't."
"What are white lies?"
"White lies are… lies that don't hurt people. Do you understand?"
Her big eyes blinked; she nodded, confused but accepting. I knew she didn't really grasp it, but the goal for the day had been met, so I added, "But it's okay to lie to bad people."
Her little brow furrowed deeper, more puzzled. She tried so hard to understand, and just as I was about to say "you'll get it when you're older," she suddenly threw her arms around my neck.
"I'll never lie to Mommy again."
Her little arms were surprisingly strong. She hugged me so tight I felt a little breathless and, inexplicably, a flush creep up my neck.
"Will you always love me, Mommy?"
I froze.
After a long moment, I nodded.
—After the first-day scuffle at kindergarten, Soph and I made three rules: no lying, don't be friends with Daniel, and no fighting with Daniel. My demands were modest—just don't cause Daniel trouble.
She was delighted I didn't punish her for the incident and agreed without hesitation.
Life at kindergarten settled into a quiet routine. Habits are powerful; I found myself becoming used to the busy days that revolved around a small child.
Every morning we'd eat together, I'd take her to school, pick her up, do crafts with her. Even Martha laughed and said I'd "suddenly become a mother."
I was puzzled and asked her if I had been awful with kids before.
Martha shook her head. "Not awful, just distant. Kids were scared of you. But now Soph looks for you as soon as she opens her eyes."
"Before—wasn't it like this?" I asked.
"Oh, you're so soft-hearted now." Martha trimmed the ends off the green beans into a basin and sighed. "When you lived at Mr. Bennett's place, you drank five days out of seven and disappeared the other two. How could you care for her?"
I kept my eyes on the beans and said nothing.
Martha kept talking as she worked. "Soph ate alone, watched TV alone, played by herself. Every time I saw her talk to her doll, my heart just hurt. But now we've moved, and you're completely different. This is good—for her and for you."
Martha was in her fifties, widowed. She'd taken the nanny job to keep busy and earn a little extra money without living with her son and daughter-in-law. She was industrious, quick with chores, and I liked her company. When we had spare time we'd sit and prep vegetables or go shopping together. We were more like friends, though in her eyes I was still a kid—like her own son's age—and she constantly worried about me.
"But you're young," she'd say. "You need something steady. Kids keep growing and costs add up. Holding your hand out for money isn't a stable plan."
She meant Mr. Bennett. I nodded in agreement. She smiled, relieved.
I had thought about it too. Even with the advantage of having knowledge from a previous life—buying property and stocks helped—I'd been out of the workforce so long I had no clear plan. I sold some bags, shoes, and clothes, consolidated accounts; it helped. But living off savings forever isn't wise. Money matters.
I was staring into space when my phone buzzed—the pickup time.
By the time I reached the kindergarten, kids were trickling out. There are four classes in the little group; Sophie was in Class Two. I waited at the gate and soon saw them come out.
Sophie spotted me from across the yard and waved, hopping and telling the teacher, "My mom's here! My mom's here!" The teacher glanced at me and released her.
I fussed with Sophie's coat and backpack while she complained she was hungry. I also kept sneaking glances for Daniel.
He came out at the tail end of the line. He'd only walked a few steps when a young woman called his name from the sidewalk.
She was pretty, wearing a cream floral dress, her long hair falling neatly past her shoulders. Daniel walked over and they spoke for a bit. The crowd at the kindergarten entrance was noisy; I couldn't hear what they said.
I hesitated whether to approach. The woman smiled and reached out to Daniel, but he shook his head. I breathed a small sigh of relief—then he unexpectedly followed her.
No teacher seemed to notice. A cold spike went through me.
I grabbed Sophie's hand to follow when a figure slid between us and blocked my way.
"Ms. Bennett."
I stared at the woman, puzzled.
"My son goes to this kindergarten too," she said, pausing. "Ethan wouldn't have told you, would he?"
Her smile was half polite, half sharp. She looked me up and down, then let her gaze rest on Sophie.
