“Matthew, don't bite Mommy!”
“She's not my mommy!”
Matthew thrashed wildly, grabbed the ceramic cup from the table, and hurled it straight at me.
I raised my hand to block it on instinct.
The cup smashed against my wrist and shattered.
The jade bracelet fell with the broken shards, hitting the floor and splitting in two.
I stood frozen, staring at the wreckage scattered across the ground, every drop of blood in my body turning to ice.
Sara rushed over with a tissue to wipe my hand：
“Vivian, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. Please don't be upset. Matthew's still little, he doesn't know any better.”
I lifted my head and looked at her, my gaze cold：
“He doesn't know any better. What's your excuse?”
“Sara, you stole my husband. You stole my son. And now you're taking the only thing my mother left me. Are you really that desperate for a man and a child?”
Her eyes reddened instantly, tears spilling down her cheeks like beads from a broken string：
“I didn't……”
“Vivian, I really didn't mean for any of this……”
Oliver walked in. The second he saw Sara crying, he strode over and pulled her behind him.
He pointed at me, voice a snarl：
“Vivian, what the hell is wrong with you now? Sara came here out of kindness to see Matthew, and you're screaming at her?”
I pointed at the broken bracelet on the floor. My voice shook no matter how hard I tried to steady it：
“So what if I yelled at her?”
“Oliver, open your eyes! This is the only thing my mother ever left me! And your son just smashed it to pieces!”
Oliver frowned, his face tight with impatience.
“It's just a bracelet. It's broken, so what? I'll buy you a better one tomorrow. Is that really worth making such a scene and reducing Sara to tears?”
I laughed. Laughed until tears ran down my face：
“In your eyes, my mother's keepsake is just a bracelet?”
“What else would it be?”
“A dead person's junk. Keeping it around is bad luck.”
He picked up Matthew, wrapped his arm around Sara's waist, and walked out without looking back.
At the doorway, Matthew turned and stuck his tongue out at me：
“Bad mommy! Serves you right!”
The door slammed shut with a “bang.”
History was repeating itself.
Every line of this life was tracing over the last one, perfectly aligned.
I crouched on the floor and picked up the shards of the bracelet, piece by piece.
A sharp edge sliced my finger. Blood dripped onto the floor, blooming like tiny roses.
For the first time, I felt it: a helplessness against fate that reached all the way to my bones.
That night at eight, my stomach started to hurt.
At first it was just a dull, distant ache.
I figured it was my old condition flaring up, so I dug through the medicine cabinet, found the antacids, and swallowed two with cold water.
But the pain didn't ease. It got worse.
Cold sweat rolled down my forehead, soaking through my pajamas in minutes.
I curled up on the couch, shaking from the pain.
I knew. Acute gastric perforation, same as before.
Exactly like my last life.
I dragged myself off the couch and tried to reach my phone to call an ambulance.
Two steps in, my legs buckled and I hit the floor hard.
The pain peaked in a single white-hot instant.
I clenched my teeth, pressed my palms flat against the floor, and inched toward the coffee table.
Every movement felt like something inside me was being torn loose.
Finally, my fingers found the phone.
I thought of my last life, left alone in this house by Oliver to die.
I took a deep breath and dialed 911.
I gave them the address. Then my grip gave out. The phone slipped from my hand and landed silently on the carpet.
The minutes crawled.
I lay on the floor, consciousness fraying at the edges.
Some stretch of time later, the wail of an ambulance siren cut through the silence outside the door.
I bit down hard and used the very last of my strength to pull myself up from the floor.
