My best friend and I started trying for a baby at the same time. She was obsessed with having the "perfect" child, fixated on every superstition about timing and astrology. When I found out I was pregnant, she discovered she was too. The doctor said everything looked great. But she insisted the baby’s zodiac sign clashed with hers—a bad omen. I told her she was being ridiculous and begged her to keep it. I even stood by her side, arguing against her husband’s family when they hesitated. She kept the baby. A girl. But her mother-in-law, who only wanted a grandson, made her life hell. The house became a war zone of constant screaming and fighting. Then her husband’s business went under. They blamed it on the baby, saying she brought bad luck. One day, while my friend was napping, her mother-in-law "accidentally" suffocated the baby. My friend was devastated. But instead of blaming her in-laws, she turned her rage on me. "We started trying together, but you got pregnant first! You stole my luck! You took my chance at a good baby and left me with this cursed life!" On my daughter’s first birthday, she slipped past the nanny, snatched my baby, and strangled her with a silk scarf. "If I can't have a child, neither can you!" Grief drove me insane. I grabbed her, and together, we plunged from the roof of my apartment building. When I opened my eyes, I was back on that day. She was holding a bottle of prenatal vitamins, asking me, "They say we need to start taking these three months in advance. Have you started?" I kept my face blank. "I haven't. Actually, I’m not really trying right now. We’re just going to let nature take its course. You should find someone else to be your 'pregnancy buddy.'" 1 Sarah’s face froze. "Nature take its course? This is a huge life decision! If you're going to do it, you can't just be casual about it." I shrugged. "People have been having babies for thousands of years without all this planning. It worked out fine for them." "I'm just going to live my life. Eat, drink, have fun. If it happens, it happens." Sarah looked horrified. "You can't compare us to people in the past! The environment is totally different now." "Besides, there are rules. Some days are good for conceiving, and some days are absolute disasters." I played along, scrolling through my phone. "Unless one of us is sick, does it really matter?" Sarah scoffed. "It matters a lot!" "First, you have to look at the astrological calendar. You have to avoid the 'Void Days.'" "Void Days?" "It’s basic energy flow," she said, her eyes widening with that manic intensity I remembered too well. "The Winter and Summer Solstices. The energy is too weak. If you conceive then, the baby will be sickly." I raised an eyebrow. "What about the moon? Let me guess, no full moons?" Sarah nodded solemnly. "No New Moons, actually. And no Waxing or Waning Crescents. Those are low-energy phases. A child conceived then will have a weak constitution." She went on. Solar eclipses? Bad. Thunderstorms? Terrible. According to her, a baby conceived during a storm would grow up violent and uncontrollable because they absorbed the "chaotic energy" of the weather. I listened, stunned. In my last life, she only obsessed over Zodiac signs. She was a Taurus, so she refused to have a Leo or an Aquarius baby because they "clashed." She almost aborted her first pregnancy because the due date meant the baby would be a Leo—a sign that supposedly brought conflict to her life. "We’d never get along," she had argued. "Why bring a child into the world just to fight with it?" But this time? She was deep down the rabbit hole of lunar phases and barometric pressure. "I’m telling you," she said, spitting a little in her excitement. "You can't conceive if you've been drinking, if you're angry, or if you've just recovered from a cold..." The list was endless. Getting pregnant isn't as easy as TV makes it look. I tried for six months before it happened last time. You only have a few fertile days a month. If you follow Sarah’s rules—avoiding bad moon phases, bad weather, bad moods—you’d have maybe one viable day a year. I waved my hand, cutting her off. "That’s too much math for me. I’m out. You do you." Sarah pouted, trying to argue, but I made an excuse and bolted. Go ahead, Sarah. Plan your perfect pregnancy. I’d love to see what kind of "perfect" child you end up with this time. 2 I practically ran home, collapsing onto the sofa to catch my breath. I had planned to be chill about this. Just exercise, take my vitamins, and see what happens. But Sarah... she treated pregnancy like a military operation. She wanted a "buddy" to validate her neuroses. "Let’s work together! We can catch each other's mistakes!" she’d said. As if getting pregnant was a group project. I checked the calendar. If the timeline held, I’d get a positive test in three days. My phone pinged. Sarah: “I know you don't want to plan with me, but I need your advice.” “If I get pregnant now, the baby will be a Leo. That clashes with my sign. Should I keep it or not?” In my past life, I was the supportive friend. "Don't be silly," I told her. "So many people struggle with infertility. If you’re lucky enough to conceive naturally, it’s a blessing. Don't throw it away over a horoscope." I thought I was saving a life. Instead, I doomed my own daughter. I clenched my fists, remembering the cold weight of my baby’s body in my arms. This time? I wasn't playing savior. I typed back: “I really don't know. You should ask your husband.” Then I added: “Or ask your mother-in-law. Older people know more about this stuff.” Her mother-in-law, Linda, was a piece of work. Linda didn't just hate that Sarah had a girl. She hated the baby’s zodiac sign. "Leos are too dominant for girls," Linda had sneered. "They bring drama. Bad for the family harmony." It was superstitious garbage. But it was garbage that eventually led to murder. Sarah’s in-laws were rich. They owned a chain of hotels. Her husband, Mike, was a spineless mama’s boy who worked for the family business. Sarah always felt inferior to them. In the past, I defended her. "Who cares about signs? It’s 2024! Don't let them brainwash you!" Sarah repeated my words to Linda. And when the baby died, Linda blamed me. "If that friend of yours hadn't pushed her to keep it, none of this would have happened. She knew it was bad luck. She probably wanted to sabotage us." I wasn't taking the fall this time. I sent the text. “Ask Linda. She’s the expert.” 3 Sarah replied instantly with a crying emoji. “I’m screwed. Before the wedding, Linda told us not to try this year.” “She hates Leos. She wants us to wait for a Virgo or Libra. She says Virgos are meticulous and good for the family business.” It was laughable. As if the baby’s birth month determined the stock market. I kept my tone cool. “Wait, are you already pregnant? If not, why worry? Just use protection like they said.” A long pause. Then: “Don't tell anyone... but my period is four days late. I’m scared to take a test.” I sneered at the screen. She knew. She already suspected she was pregnant. She just wanted someone else to make the decision for her. She wanted a scapegoat. She sent a barrage of messages about her anxiety, her fear, her helplessness. I left them on read. Two hours later, she posted on social media: “Just realized there is no true empathy in this world. From now on, I only rely on myself.” Classic Sarah. Always the victim. I scrolled past without liking it. 4 Three days later, my test was positive. I went to the hospital for blood work to confirm. And there, in the waiting room, was Sarah. "You too?" she asked, sliding into the seat next to me. Just like before, our levels were perfectly normal. Sarah immediately started complaining about the doctor. "That lady was so rude. The first thing she asked was, 'Do you want to keep it?'" "I started crying right there. I don't know if I can keep it! Why did she have to ask that?" "It’s a standard medical question, Sarah," I said flatly. "She asked me too." "Well, are you keeping it?" Sarah’s eyes widened. "Yes. We planned for this." "Must be nice," she grumbled. "Mine was an accident. It’s so annoying." She snatched my lab report from my hand, staring at the date of my last period. She mumbled, calculating furiously on her fingers. "You conceived during a Waning Gibbous moon. That baby is going to have low energy." I snatched the paper back. "I don't believe in that crap." Sarah stared at me, then smirked. "Want to know a secret?" "What?" "I checked the Chinese Gender Chart. Based on your age and conception month... you’re having a girl." She sighed. "Mine is a girl too." I relaxed. I wanted a girl. I wanted my girl back. Sarah looked miserable. "A girl, and a Leo. Linda is going to lose her mind." I stayed silent. "Does your mother-in-law care?" she probed. "My mother-in-law is a Leo," I lied smoothly. "She loves them. She's hoping for a granddaughter." Sarah’s eyes flashed with jealousy. "You have it so easy. If I keep this baby, my life will be hell." "The doctor said I have to decide fast. The bigger it gets, the harder the procedure is on my body." I nodded indifferently. "Mmh." Suddenly, Sarah grabbed my hand. Her grip was tight, desperate. "But I’m twenty-eight!" I stared at her. "And?" "Twenty-eight is the peak physiological age for women! I don't want to waste a 'perfect' egg!" Perfect egg? "Who told you that?" I pulled my hand away. "Medical consensus says anywhere from 25 to 34 is ideal." Sarah shook her head pityingly. "You don't get it. Ancient texts say a woman’s body changes every seven years. Four times seven is twenty-eight. That’s when the body is at its absolute zenith. 'Bones are hard, hair is long, body is strong.'" She looked at the ceiling, dreamy. "This is my golden window." I was speechless. In my last life, I fought her battles for her. I had no idea she was this deep in the cult of pseudoscience. She clenched her fist. "No. I have to find a way to keep this baby." I almost laughed. I didn't have to do a thing. Her own obsession was going to trap her.
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