The neighbors praised me as a saint and marveled at how sensible my son was. I only smiled. They didn't know the truth: my son and I had both been reborn.
In my previous life, Justin's blatant favoritism toward Brooklyn and Tommy drove me to divorce him. Shortly after I left, Carter was diagnosed with leukemia. Desperate, I swallowed my pride and begged Justin for money, begged him to find a bone marrow match.
He accused me of faking the illness to extort him and kicked me out.
In this life, I no longer hoped for his love. I didn't want his heart. I only wanted him to fulfill his duty as a father—to secure the resources my son deserved. To ensure Carter survived.
——
When Carter finally stumbled through the door, slush filled his shoes and his clothes were soaked through. His small face was flushed crimson, his skin burning—just like before.
Yet he forced the corners of his mouth up. "I'm fine, Mom. Don't worry."
My chest tightened. Tears pricked my eyes as I peeled the wet clothes from his shivering body and fed him fever reducers. Memories of our past life crashed over me.