For eighteen years, my adopted son hated me. He was convinced I was the one who killed his birth mother. So, he found a homeless man, riddled with sores from a life on the streets, to destroy me. The day my husband drove me to the lake house to "end things," our son stood on the shore, watching me walk into the freezing water. His words were colder than the ice. "You know," he called out, his voice clear and sharp, "every time I had to call you 'Mom,' it made me want to vomit. Consider this a final moment of pleasure. My way of repaying you for eighteen years of pretending." Then, I blinked. And I was reborn as his short-lived, sainted mother. Looking down at my swollen belly, I turned and walked straight into the city's free clinic. "Hi," I said to the woman at the desk. "I need to schedule an abortion." This child must not be born. 01 The water seeped into my mouth and nose, gritty and freezing. My hands were bound behind my back with zip ties, the plastic cutting into my wrists with every struggle. Primal survival instinct made me arch my back, fighting to keep my head above the surface. My vision blurred, but the two figures on the shore remained horrifyingly clear. My husband and my son. They stood side-by-side, their gazes as distant and detached as if they were watching a stray piece of driftwood float by. "Why..." I managed to gasp. The foul lake water rushed in, silencing the weak cry in my throat. Why? I taught you to read, to be a good man. I poured my life into you, and in return, you hire a vagrant to defile me and destroy my name? Why? I loved and respected you, managed your home and your political campaigns, and in return, you watch me die for a crime I didn't commit? Eighteen years of a mother's devotion. Twenty years as a loving wife. It was all a sick, elaborate joke. One hated me to the bone, the other saw me as disposable trash. The despair was sharper than the winter water stabbing at my skin. If there is a God, if I get another chance... I will burn their world to the ground. ... I opened my eyes. Someone was on top of me, a warm hand sliding across my skin. To be subjected to this humiliation even in death? The rage that had been simmering in my soul erupted. I shoved the man off me with all my strength and, in the same motion, swung my hand across his face. CRACK! A sharp, stinging pain shot through my palm. I froze. This wasn't a dream? In the dim glow of a bedside lamp, I saw the man's face. It wasn't the homeless man with his vacant eyes and open sores. It was my husband, Julian Ashworth. A bright red handprint was already blooming on his left cheek. He stared at me, his expression one of pure shock. "Catherine? What's wrong? Is it the baby kicking again?" The baby? I followed his gaze down. And saw a distinctly pregnant belly. When I didn't speak, Julian’s concern deepened. "What is it? Catherine, talk to me!" His handsome face was a mask of worry. A complete one-eighty from the cold indifference he'd shown me on the lakeshore. Almost without thinking, I raised my hand again. And slapped his other cheek even harder. 02 While Julian was still stunned, I scrambled away from him. I didn't even bother with my shoes, just ran to the full-length mirror against the wall. The mirror reflected a face that was both familiar and utterly alien. A small, delicate face. Skin like porcelain, eyes misty and soft, a look of fragile vulnerability. This was the face of Catherine. The woman who, in my previous life, had existed only as a tragic, sainted memory for my husband and son. Their "white moonlight," the one that got away. I stared at her. She stared back at me. A wave of profound, hysterical absurdity washed over me. I couldn't stop the low chuckle that escaped my lips. It grew louder, wilder, until I was laughing so hard that tears streamed down my cheeks. Oh, God. You really do have a twisted sense of humor. I was reborn. And I was reborn as the origin of my own tragedy. The beloved ghost at the heart of it all. Perfect. This was just perfect. 03 In my past life, I died on what should have been the happiest day of my life. The wedding of my son, Leo, the boy I had raised as my own. When he and his new bride knelt before me during the reception, I felt that eighteen years of thankless, painstaking love had finally come to fruition. I was giddy with joy. I had a few too many glasses of champagne. Soon, the world was a pleasant blur. My assistant helped me back to my room to lie down. When I woke up again, I was naked, my body covered in disgusting bruises. The homeless man from the city shelter, reeking of sickness and filth, was on top of me. My mind went blank. Before I could even scream, the door was kicked open. My husband Julian, and my son Leo, stood there, leading a crowd of wedding guests behind them. I tried to explain, my words tumbling out in a panicked mess. "No... it's not what it looks like! I was drugged... I was framed..." "Mom!" Leo's voice cut through mine, thick with theatrical pain. His eyes were wide with disappointment. "How can you still be lying? Months ago, I saw you talking to this man behind the service entrance. I warned you then, I begged you to stop, for the sake of our family. I thought you would see sense, but instead, you do this? On my wedding day? You bring this filth into our home and shame our entire family!" His words were my death sentence. I had no defense. Amidst a storm of whispers and accusations, I was quietly driven to our remote lake house and "convinced" to end my own life to prevent the scandal from destroying Julian's political career. But the story didn't end there. Perhaps my rage was too powerful to simply dissipate. My spirit lingered, a ghost in the Ashworth mansion. Three months later, Julian remarried. His new wife not only looked startlingly like Catherine, but she also came with a son of her own. A boy named Ethan, who was the spitting image of a younger Julian. It was obvious who the real father was. Julian officially adopted him, announcing him as his true firstborn son and heir. Just like that, Leo went from being the sole heir to an afterthought. His stepmother whispered poison into Julian's ear day and night. Slowly, Julian began to despise him. The household staff, masters of sensing a shift in power, started to cut Leo's allowance and sideline his allies. Even the trust fund I had set up for him was cleverly rerouted by the new wife to her own son. It was only then that Leo seemed to remember the mother who had loved him unconditionally. A year after my death, he got blackout drunk. He stumbled into his stepmother's bedroom, collapsed at her feet, and sobbed "Mom," clutching at her legs. She immediately tore her nightgown and screamed that he was trying to assault her. Julian, in a fury, disowned him and threw him out of the house. The once-golden boy of the Ashworth family ended up freezing to death in an alley, his body ravaged by stray dogs before anyone found him. 04 I snapped back to the present. I looked at Julian, whose face was now impressively, symmetrically swollen. The hatred in my soul churned again. I couldn't help it. I lunged at him and slapped him one more time for good measure. "Catherine! Have you lost your mind? Do you think I won't do something about this?" Julian's mask of gentle concern finally shattered. He clutched his face, his voice a low growl, his eyes flashing with a suppressed violence. Crazy? Fine. I'll give you crazy. I threw myself at him, beating my fists against his chest, and let out a blood-curdling scream. "Yes! I am crazy! You drove me crazy!" Tears of pure rage streamed down my face. I dug my nails into his arms. "I'm pregnant with your child, but I'm still your dirty little secret, hidden away in this apartment without even a ring on my finger! Tell me, Julian! What's the difference between me and some prostitute you keep on retainer?" He grabbed my wrists, his grip so tight I thought the bones would snap. He stared into my eyes, a complex storm of emotions swirling in his. Then, the most incredible thing happened. He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to my bruised wrist. "Catherine, your hands must hurt from hitting me." He pulled my trembling body into his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head and letting out a long sigh. "So this is what this is about. You're angry about not moving into the mansion. Sweetheart, we've already been over this." His voice was a low, hypnotic murmur. "As soon as the baby is born safely, I will throw the biggest party this city has ever seen. I'll introduce you as my fiancée. We'll get married. You'll be my wife, equal to Eleanor in every way." I shoved him away. "Why do we have to wait? Why not now?" "Because Eleanor is a vindictive bitch!" he hissed, his expression turning serious and protective. "Her family has their claws in everything in D.C. If she found out about you and this baby right now, she would stop at nothing to destroy you both. Catherine, I've already lost you once. I can't risk it again!" He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze intense. "You can resent me, hate me, hit me all you want. But my absolute first priority is keeping you and our child safe. Nothing in this world is more important than that." He spent the next half hour patiently calming me down. Finally, as if worn down by my hysterics, he relented. "Alright, alright, stop crying, my little drama queen. I have to go to the coast to handle that disaster relief initiative. When I get back, the very first thing I'll do is start the divorce proceedings and get you moved in. Is that good enough for you?" I finally stopped crying and gave him a reluctant nod. Julian gave detailed instructions to the housekeeper to take good care of me, then, with one last lingering kiss, he left. 05 In my past life, at this exact time, Julian had indeed gone to oversee a relief effort. He was gone for three months. Shortly after his return, Catherine had died in childbirth. He had come to me, Eleanor, holding a newborn Leo, telling me he was the orphan of a dear friend and that he wanted to adopt him. Back then, Julian and I had been married for five years and were struggling with infertility. I was desperate and heartbroken, so I agreed. From that day on, I loved Leo as if he were my own son. I never imagined I was raising a venomous snake at my own breast. But now? I raised a hand, slowly placing it over my swollen stomach. The monster inside, as if sensing my murderous intent, gave a restless little kick. Leo Ashworth. Why don't you try being born into another family this time.
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