The first thing I did after being reborn was switch my newborn daughter with another baby. I know how it sounds, but in my last life, that decision would’ve saved me. Days after my daughter was born, a blood test showed she was type AB. The problem? I’m type B, and my husband Joel is type O. Genetically, we couldn’t have an AB child. Joel exploded. He demanded a paternity test. The results were a nightmare: the baby was mine, but not his. He slapped me, his voice trembling with a pain worse than the hit. "I gave you everything, Eve. I loved only you. Is this how you repay me?" His mother’s wails filled the hall, accusing me of cheating, tricking her son, planting a bastard to steal their fortune. My world collapsed. I was completely lost. I knew Joel had to be the father. It couldn’t be anyone else. Instantly, I was branded a cheater, a whore. Joel divorced me and took his story online, playing the heartbroken victim. Strangers attacked me with poisonous words. With a baby and nowhere to go, I fell into depression and jumped. Until the end, I never understood what went wrong. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back in the hospital, the day my daughter was born. … 1 “Eve, you did so well. You must be exhausted,” Joel’s voice, soft and gentle, washed over me. He was cradling our daughter, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated love. “Why don’t I take her for her check-up?” A jolt, electric and sharp, shot through me. I was back. It was real. There was no time to think, only to act. “No,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “I’ll take her. You said you had that big project at work, didn’t you? You don’t need to stay here.” Joel paused, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Are you sure? You just gave birth…” The more he hesitated, the more a frantic urgency clawed at my throat. I held out my arms. “I’ve rested all day. I’m fine. I want to take her myself.” Last time, it was after this very check-up that the AB blood type was discovered. It was Joel who had brought me the news, his face a storm of fury, his accusations already formed. He’d demanded the paternity test, seasoning his demand with cruel insinuations that poisoned everyone against me before the results even came back. He’d driven me from our home, penniless, and smeared my name until I had nothing left. The memory of his lies still sent a chill down my spine. Before Joel could hand the baby over, his mother, who was standing beside him, let out a sharp, derisive snort. “Some people pop out a girl and think they’re the queen of the world,” she said, her voice dripping with acid. “Making my son run around like a servant when he should be at work. All you do is eat and sleep. You couldn't even give the family a boy. You’re nothing but bad luck.” Ever since Joel and I had married, his mother had treated me with relentless contempt. I had always tolerated it for Joel’s sake—he was a devoted son—but my patience only seemed to fuel her arrogance. She spoke as if the hospital room were her private living room, her venomous words echoing in the shared space. The other new mothers in the room exchanged uncomfortable glances. “What kind of thing is that to say? Of course a father should help with his own child,” one of them finally piped up. “You’re a mother, you know how hard it is,” another added, frowning at her. “How can you talk to your own daughter-in-law like that?” “Seriously, it’s the 21st century. That whole ‘must have a boy’ thing is just toxic.” Used to being the unchallenged matriarch at home, Joel’s mother’s face flushed a blotchy, angry red. Joel quickly stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Mom, please. Eve is my wife. It’s my job to take care of her and our daughter,” he said smoothly. Then he turned to me, his expression a perfect blend of loving concern and apologetic frustration. “Honey, Mom and I will go home and make you some chicken soup to help you get your strength back. We’ll be right back.” He was so good at it—playing the poor guy caught in the middle, trying to please everyone. The sympathetic looks from the other patients returned. I just watched him, my face a cold, unreadable mask, as I finally took my daughter into my arms. I saw the tiny mole on her finger and my heart clenched with certainty. This was her. This was my child. So far, nothing had changed. Joel hadn't swapped the baby. He wasn't insisting on taking her for the check-up himself. So where did the AB blood type come from? And that damning paternity test? My mind raced. Filled with a cold dread and a flicker of a plan, I called my parents and asked them to come. When they arrived, I handed my daughter to them. A short while later, after making a quiet inquiry, I learned of a baby girl abandoned at the hospital earlier that day. A baby with type O blood. I arranged a temporary foster placement, and just before the check-up, I carefully slipped my daughter's hospital bracelet onto the other infant’s tiny wrist. This time, I thought, a bitter smile touching my lips, let's see how you frame me now, Joel. 2 When I returned to the room with the baby, it wasn't long before Joel and his mother reappeared, carrying a thermal container. “Eve, I made your favorite chicken soup myself,” Joel announced, his voice booming with affection as he opened the container, releasing a fragrant cloud of steam. He handed me a bowl of rice. “If you like it, I’ll bring it every day. Don’t ever worry about a thing. My paycheck goes straight to you, remember? Buy whatever you want.” He gazed at me with such adoration, such tender concern. The other women in the room sighed with envy. “You’re so lucky. It’s rare to find a man who dotes on his wife like that.” “A man who’s a good provider and a family man? You hit the jackpot.” I glanced at Joel, his eyes shining with sincerity. He was playing the part of the perfect, doting husband flawlessly. This was how he’d done it last time, crafting this image of a blameless, devoted man so that when the time came, everyone would believe him without question. I slammed my chopsticks down on the bedside table. “Cut the crap, Joel,” I said, my voice cold and sharp. The room fell silent. “You talk a good game, but you ordered this soup from a restaurant using my hospital meal card. You act so generous, giving me your credit card, but you interrogate me like a criminal over every single charge. You wanted a line-item report for a two-dollar coffee last week. And every time your mother starts in on me, you just tell me to ‘be patient’ and ‘let it go.’ You’ve never once actually cared about me, have you?” Every eye in the room swiveled to Joel, their expressions shifting from envy to suspicion. He looked completely blindsided, his jaw slack. “Eve… honey, what are you talking about?” he stammered, his performance crumbling. Just then, a nurse bustled into the room, holding a clipboard with several test reports. Joel looked as though he’d been thrown a lifeline. “Oh, the results! Here, I’ll take those,” he said, practically leaping to intercept her. His mother crowded in right behind him, their bodies forming a subtle barrier, shutting me out. Watching their eagerness, a pit of ice formed in my stomach. A terrible premonition washed over me. A second later, Joel’s eyes went wide. “What is this? Why is the baby’s blood type AB? That’s impossible!” His mother let out a piercing shriek. “My son is type O! How could he have a type AB daughter?” She whirled on me, her finger pointing like a dagger. “Eve! What have you done? This child isn’t a part of the Collins family!” A doctor, drawn by the commotion, entered the room with a stern frown. “Ma’am, please, this is a hospital. Keep your voice down.” This only fueled her fire. She grabbed his white coat, her face contorting into a mask of theatrical grief. “Doctor, you have to help us! The mother is type B, the father is type O, but the baby is type AB! How is that possible?” The doctor’s frown deepened. “Well, typically a B and O pairing cannot produce an AB child, but there are extremely rare exceptions—” “I knew it!” his mother screeched, slapping her thigh for emphasis and cutting him off. “It’s all her fault! That cheating bitch!” Joel, ever the actor, let his face fall into an expression of devastated disbelief. “No, Mom, it can’t be. I trust Eve. There must have been a mix-up. They must have given us the wrong baby!” The nurse who had brought the results chimed in immediately. “That’s impossible. Our hospital has very strict protocols. Every baby is tagged with a bracelet at birth. There are no mix-ups.” It was a perfectly rehearsed play. The three of them, in a few short lines, had already declared my guilt. Joel’s mother glared at me, her eyes filled with venom, and began to wail. “What a cruel joke! To let a woman like this into our family! Sleeping around with some stranger and passing off his bastard child as ours! The shame of it all!” The room buzzed with shocked whispers. Joel turned to me, his face a thunderous mask of righteous anger. “Eve,” he demanded, his voice shaking. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Why would you betray me?” 3 I just stared at him, speechless for a moment. We had been married for years, and I had waited for this child with so much hope, so much love. Now, I was watching him shatter that beautiful dream with his own hands, forcing me to see that the dream had only ever been mine. Seeing my silence, a flicker of triumph flashed in Joel’s eyes. His mother, emboldened, continued her tirade, her words already cementing the narrative. “I knew you were trouble from the start! Always prancing around the house, trying to catch someone’s eye. And all those male doctors in the delivery room! Shameless! No wonder you weren’t embarrassed—you’re used to being passed around!” she shrieked. “We are not letting some outsider steal our family’s money!” Her voice was a shrill drill boring into my skull. I ignored her, my eyes locked on Joel. “Is that what you believe, too?” His expression was cold, unforgiving. “Even though you’re my wife, this is something I cannot accept,” he declared, his voice ringing with false piety. “I have given you everything. I have catered to your every whim during this pregnancy. You took my love and threw it in the dirt. I will not be made a fool of!” He spoke with such passion, as if he were the one suffering an unbearable injustice. I finally let my own performance begin. I covered my face, my voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “You’re condemning me based on a blood test? After all these years… I was so wrong about you, Joel. Why? Why are you doing this to me?” The other patients and their families, having witnessed his mother’s vulgar display and now seeing Joel’s cold condemnation, began to rally to my side. Their belief in his ‘perfect husband’ act was shattered. “A blood type isn’t proof of anything. Accusing her of cheating like this is just cruel.” “You should double-check before you say something that could destroy your marriage.” “I thought you were so in love with your wife. Turns out you’re just a mama’s boy with zero trust in her.” Joel didn’t flinch at their criticism. In fact, a glint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. He seized the opportunity they’d given him. “Fine,” he announced, his voice booming. “Then we’ll get a paternity test. If the blood type isn’t enough, a DNA test will prove once and for all whether or not this is my daughter!” He turned his fiery gaze on me. “And when the results come back, I want you out of my house with nothing. Do you dare?” A cold smile touched my lips. “Who’s the one who should be scared? Let’s do it right now. And if it turns out you’re wrong, you’re the one who leaves with nothing.” Joel’s face was a canvas of smug triumph, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a plan perfectly executed. We went to the testing center that very same day to give our samples. Along the way, Joel was already on his phone, broadcasting the story. He posted multiple videos, tearfully recounting his tale of love and betrayal, and his posts quickly went viral. Calls from relatives started pouring in. Reporters, catching wind of the drama, followed us from the hospital to the clinic. Joel welcomed the attention, playing the part of the tragic hero to a captivated audience. I watched it all unfold, my mind racing. I knew for a fact that the baby I had taken for the check-up was type O. For the test to come back as AB, something had to have happened during the testing process itself. And yet, Joel was completely unafraid of a paternity test. What gave him that confidence? Suddenly, a theory, wild and terrifying, sparked in my mind. I quickly pulled out my phone and sent a discreet text to my parents. As we walked out of the testing center, Joel looked like a conquering king. “You’re going to pay for this, Eve,” he sneered. “You brought this all on yourself.” I met his gaze, my expression serene. He was so certain of his victory. He had no idea. This time, no matter what the results said, he wasn't going to get what he wanted. 4 While we waited for the results, I moved out of our house and hired a lawyer to prepare for the divorce. When Joel found out, he laughed. “You should save the money you’re spending on a lawyer for living expenses. You’re going to need it when you’re out on the street.” He was glowing, energized by the outpouring of online sympathy. In just a few days, he had cultivated a loyal army of followers. He hosted live streams, weeping about his betrayal, and his audience ate it up. A few people questioned why he was so certain of the outcome before the results were even in, suggesting it was all for show. But they were quickly drowned out by his defenders. 【What do you know? A man can feel when his wife has cheated. He’s probably known for a long time but couldn’t take raising another man’s child anymore.】 【He wouldn’t be airing his dirty laundry in public unless he was pushed to the absolute limit!】 【The blood type is all the proof you need! Cheaters deserve to be thrown out with nothing!】 My own social media accounts became a cesspool of curses and threats from these self-proclaimed warriors of justice. I didn’t respond. Instead, I had my lawyer quietly gather evidence. I was preparing to settle the score. Last time, these were the people who had hounded me, who had found my address, sent threatening packages, and vandalized my door until I broke. This time, I wouldn’t let a single one of them get away with it. The day the paternity results arrived, Joel set up a live stream to open the envelope. The viewership was massive; everyone was waiting for the final verdict. When I appeared on camera, the comment section exploded with hate. 【Go to hell, you cheating bitch! How could you do that to a man who loved you so much!】 【Just sign the papers and go be with your secret lover! Our boy Joel deserves so much better!】 【You wanted to use a bastard child to steal his family’s money! You’re disgusting!】 Joel’s eyes shone with manic excitement. “It’s too late for apologies now, Eve,” he said, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “Just you wait.” His mother stood behind him, preening for the camera. “That’s right! My son is a famous influencer now. He’s way too good for the likes of you. Today, everyone will see you for what you are, and you’ll leave with nothing. And we want all the jewelry back, too! Every penny you spent over the years!” Even the nurse from the hospital was there, adding her own sanctimonious commentary. “We all saw how devoted Mr. Collins was to his wife. It’s such a tragedy he gave his heart to the wrong person. I can personally vouch for the accuracy of the blood test, and I’m sure the paternity test will be just as conclusive!” Beaming with triumph, Joel ripped open the first envelope. The report inside was stark, printed in black and white. It stated that he and the child shared no biological relationship. He held the paper up to the camera, his face a mask of fury. “Here it is! The proof that Eve cheated! This child is not mine!” The chat erupted. A tidal wave of vitriol washed over me, a digital mob calling for my head. Joel struggled to contain his glee, masking it with a performance of heartbroken rage as he tore open the second envelope—the one with my results. “And now, family, you’ll see… when you put these two results together, it’s just…” His words choked in his throat. He stared at the newly opened report, his bravado instantly evaporating. He froze, his face draining of all color, becoming a ghastly, pale white.
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