Time rolled around to Vivian's coming-of-age ceremony once again.

I made a special call to a renowned designer, who tailored a gorgeous dress for Vivian, taking a month to create it.

Vivian was ecstatic.

"Our teacher said that the school will host a unified coming-of-age ceremony for us, like a campus party."

She was full of anticipation.

I went out to take out the trash and caught Miranda eavesdropping.

She coughed awkwardly and said, "I was just passing by. I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

She had been pressing against my door with her bottom sticking out, yet she still claimed she wasn't eavesdropping.

I didn't want to say a word to her, but she clutched my arm.

"Elise also said that the school is holding a large coming-of-age ceremony, and that you spent a fortune on a particularly beautiful dress for Vivian."

I replied indifferently, "It is her eighteenth birthday, and with so many classmates present, it's fitting that she dresses elegantly for the occasion."

"No way!" she exclaimed.

I was startled.

"I've watched you raise Vivian to be willful and unreasonable, and I've let it go. But being too pretty in adolescence will attract boys; early romance will affect her studies."

I sneered, "So you're aware they're in their adolescence? Adolescents are the most prone to feelings of inferiority and sensitivity. Dressing shabbily does more harm than early romance."

"Elena, I won't allow you to raise Vivian to be promiscuous."

I was enraged.

"Vivian is my child. You have no right to judge or interfere."

"We're neighbors who see each other all the time. Have you ever considered how negatively Vivian affects Elise?"

Elise, poorly fed and dressed, was taught that enduring hardship was a virtue, yet Vivian was confident and beautiful.

Elise always felt like she lived like a rat in the sewers.

She had expressed to Miranda more than once that she wanted to live like Vivian.

That displeased Miranda greatly, as she believed it was Vivian who had given Elise desires she shouldn't have.

"Stubborn woman. No wonder Charles cheated on you back then. Any man would cheat on you! You deserved to be a widow."

Realizing she couldn't convince me, she deliberately targeted my soft spot. My anger flared up instantly.

"Don't be ridiculous. You tried to seduce my husband and failed. You shamelessly climbed into his bed only to be kicked out, and then out of spite, you told me about his affair."

In my previous life, I only found out before I died that Miranda actually loved my husband. She divorced her own husband to better seduce mine.

After multiple failed attempts to seduce Charles, she was furious.

To get back at Charles, she fabricated the story of his affair and told me, leading me to divorce him.

My belief in Charles' infidelity was unwavering, all because I trusted Miranda implicitly.

She caused me to lose such a good husband, becoming a single mother for so many years, and my daughter never got to experience paternal love.

Although I was reborn, by the time I came back to life, Charles had already divorced me and remarried another woman.

I couldn't possibly go back and disrupt someone else's marriage, so I had to maintain the status quo from my previous life, remaining a single mother.

Thinking of this made me even angrier, and I directly picked up the trash bag in my hand and swung it hard at Miranda's face.

The yellowish, unidentified liquid smeared all over her face, filling her nostrils with a foul stench and causing her to retch instantly.

She lunged at me like an octopus. I dodged, kicked her twice, and then fled.

She screamed obscenities, but my home had good sound insulation, so I didn't hear a word.

Facts taught me not to offend those who were already despicable.

While I was out, Miranda tricked Vivian into opening the door under the guise of giving her fruit.

She quietly cut up the dress in Vivian's room. As if fearing I would repair it, she burned most of it until Vivian smelled the smoke.

She fell to the ground, panicked. "Fire! Fire! Call the fire department to put out the fire!"

Watching her beloved dress turn to ashes, Vivian cried out in heartbreak.

When I returned home and called the police, I found that the surveillance outside the door and inside the house were both out of order.

Despite Vivian's witness of her destroying the dress, there was no other evidence, and Miranda insisted that she had been at home all day and had never been to my house.

Innocent until proven guilty, this matter was let go. But the most urgent thing now was not to settle scores with Miranda but that tomorrow was Vivian's coming-of-age ceremony.

Vivian's face was streaked with tears. She couldn't eat dinner and kept asking me, "Mom, what should I do? What should I do?"

I drove all night, taking Vivian to the clothing store to ask if they could rush to make a dress, only to be regretfully told it was too late.

I was frantic.

A kind-hearted young salesgirl reminded me, "Ma'am, you might want to check out a bridal shop. They have many ready-made beautiful dresses."

Her words awakened me.

I rushed to the bridal shop with Vivian.

Although most were white wedding dresses, there were also many suitable for a party.

After trying on for an hour, Vivian finally chose one, but she hesitated as she saw the price.

"Let's forget it, Mom. I'll take a cheaper one."

Without even looking at the price, I immediately said to the salesperson, "We'll take it!"

Even if this dress cost five million dollars, I would buy it.

Vivian kissed me excitedly on the face.

"Thank you, Mom."

"Wow, look at that girl, so pretty! A little star!"

Hearing so many people's exclamations of amazement at my daughter, I couldn't help but raise my chin.

Vivian noticed the audience, raised her arm, and waved to me. "Mom!"

At this moment, all the parents' eyes turned to me, satisfying my vanity all at once. I felt myself almost melting with happiness.

Miranda was very displeased, her tone dripping with jealousy.

"It's just a more expensive dress. Making a spectacle, utterly vain."

"Alright, let's see how your daughter does later."

I retorted casually, continuing to focus on admiring the vibrant youth of the children.

A sea of vibrant, young attendees stood out in their sophisticated dresses and suits, their hair impeccably styled. The boys were brimming with energy, and the girls exuded elegance and grace, a feast for the eyes.

A jarring figure emerged among them, akin to a gray rat scurrying through a pristine, beautifully adorned hall.

It was Miranda.

Clad in a tattered outfit, her style a relic from three decades past, she stood among the finely dressed girls, head bowed, picking at her fingers, feigning busyness that belied her deep discomfort and embarrassment.

Miranda, however, seemed entirely unaware.

Upon spotting Vivian, she leaped to her feet and exclaimed, "Elise, Elise! Mommy's right here! You're the best! You're the most beautiful!"

The nearby parents couldn't help but titter.

"Your daughter's not Marilyn Monroe; she wouldn't look stunning in a burlap sack. Maybe you should have her change her clothes."

This comment immediately upset Miranda.

"Yes, my daughter doesn't need to dress provocatively to get attention. Unlike yours, who seems more focused on her looks than her studies."

Not only did she not cherish her own daughter, but her malice towards others' children was palpable.

The parent retorted, seething with anger.