On the day of my son's one-month celebration, my notoriously stingy sister-in-law surprised me with a branded baby bottle.

But instead of accepting it, I turned away and gave it to the neighbor's cruel son who had XYY syndrome.

In my previous life, I had accepted that bottle with genuine gratitude, using it day and night to feed my son. I never imagined that a month later, in the dead of night, my son would suddenly suffer a heart attack and die in my arms.

Strangely enough, the very next day after my son passed, my sister-in-law's sickly child—who had been confined to the neonatal intensive care unit since birth—was miraculously discharged in perfect health.

Losing my son shattered me completely. I spent my days drowning in tears. My husband called me a cursed woman, claimed I brought nothing but disaster, and demanded a divorce. Not only that, but he insisted I leave with nothing.

When I refused, he and my sister-in-law joined forces and accidentally beat me to death.

It wasn't until after I died that I learned the truth. The woman I had thought was my husband's younger sister wasn't his blood relative at all. She had been adopted by his mother years ago to be raised as his future wife. Together, they had plotted to destroy me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my sister-in-law handed me that baby bottle.

"Carrie, I've been too busy taking care of David at the hospital," Jess Hamlin said. "That's why I didn't have time to visit you since you gave birth to Nicholas."

As she spoke, she pulled a gift box out of her bag.

The scene before me felt all too familiar. My breath caught for a moment.

So it was true—I had been reborn.

In my past life, I had accepted the baby bottle from Jess, my sister-in-law, and that decision had cost my son his life.

This time, I wouldn't let history repeat itself.

"I just got out of the hospital today and rushed over right away," she continued, her voice tinged with warmth. "I bought this baby bottle for little Nicholas. Do you like it?"

I glanced up and met Jess's bright, expectant eyes.

"You bought a branded one?" I said, feigning surprise. "David's hospital bills must be piling up, and you still went to such trouble! I feel bad accepting this."

My polite refusal made her visibly anxious. She grabbed my hand firmly, her voice rising slightly. "Carrie! What are you saying? I'm his aunt. What's wrong with buying something for Nicholas?"

At that moment, my husband, James Hamlin, abruptly joined the conversation, "Carrie, don't overthink it. It's a gift from Jess. Just take it."

"Since your brother said so," I said, pretending to relent, "Thanks."

As I accepted the bottle, I noticed a fleeting glance exchanged between Jess and my husband.

Later, when most of the guests had left, Jess approached me again.

"Carrie," she said cheerfully, "let me make some formula for Nicholas."

Before I could respond, she swiftly opened the box and took out the baby bottle.

"Sure," I said with a smile. "Thanks, Jess."

Watching her leave in high spirits, I felt a weight lift from my heart.

The moment she had gifted me the bottle, I'd asked my best friend to pass it along to the neighbors. Their son, Derrick, had XYY syndrome and was notorious for his cruelty—tormenting stray cats and, more recently, attempting to assault a little girl. His mother, equally unreasonable and vicious, had made herself a terror in the neighborhood. Most people avoided them at all costs.

When I offered the bottle to them, they were only too happy to accept it. Though Derrick was already an adult, his mental development had frozen at age five, and he still used baby bottles to drink water.

As for the bottle Jess had just taken, it wasn't the one she gave me—it was a replacement I had prepared in advance.

"Here, Carrie, it's ready," she said, returning with the formula. "Feed Nicholas quickly. The poor baby looks like he's about to cry from hunger."

I looked down at my son, cradling him closer as a strange tightness gripped my heart.

"Alright," I said softly.

Seeing my compliance, Jess's eyes gleamed with something dark and twisted.

At that moment, my husband walked over, casually draping an arm over her shoulder.

Right in front of me, they began to flirt, exchanging playful jabs as if I wasn't even there.

In my past life, I had noticed their closeness but dismissed it as sibling affection. After all, they were supposed to be blood relatives. What could possibly be inappropriate about their relationship?

How naive I had been.

They weren't siblings at all—they were lovers. And my son's life had been sacrificed so their child could thrive.

In my previous life, it was around this time that Jess brought a gift for my son.

I was delighted back then, touched even, by the bottle she had chosen. I used it for everything—for my son's water and milk. But within a few days, I noticed something unusual.

My once lively, smiling baby had turned eerily quiet. There was a stillness about him that gnawed at my nerves. His lips had begun to take on a faint purple hue.

As a first-time mother, I panicked. I immediately brought it up with my husband, urging him to take the baby to the hospital for a check-up.

But he waved me off, his tone dismissive.

"Babe, you're overreacting again!" he said, irritation flickering in his eyes. "The doctor said Nicholas is perfectly healthy. You're just stressing yourself out for no reason."

Then he added, "Hospitals are full of germs, you know. What if he picks up something worse there?"

I hesitated. He made it sound reasonable, convincing even. Reluctantly, I pushed the thought aside.

But a month later, as I was feeding my son, his tiny face suddenly turned a deep purple. Before I could react, his eyes closed forever.

I froze in terror, clutching his limp body as we rushed to the hospital. I held him close, desperate to keep his warmth from slipping away, but I knew—knew in the marrow of my bones—that I was already too late.

At the hospital, the doctor's words struck like a hammer. "Your child's heart was half the size of a normal infant's. How could you not have known this as his parents? Because of your negligence, he's gone."

I stood there, shattered. The words felt like a storm ripping through the sky on a perfectly sunny day.

James took me home, and we didn't exchange a single word the entire night. I drowned in my grief, too consumed by the loss to notice his strange behavior.

The next day, Jess arrived with her son, David, practically glowing with joy.

"David's heart condition is completely cured," she said brightly. "We won't need to visit the hospital anymore."

Her words struck me like a knife. I exploded, my pain spilling into a heated argument. But before I could say much, James shoved me to the ground.

"Who do you think you are, speaking to Jess like that?" he spat, his face a mask of disgust. "You're nothing but bad luck! You killed our child, and now you want to play the victim? I want a divorce. Get out of my house!"

I refused, and in the chaos of our fight, I slapped him.

Before I could react further, Jess grabbed a chair and struck me, knocking me unconscious.

It was only after my death that I learned the full truth. They had always been a family—Jess, James, and his mother. Jess was never just his sister; she had been brought into the family as his betrothed, their "child bride," chosen by my mother-in-law long ago.

I, and later my son, had merely been sacrifices to their shared ambition, pawns in their grand plan.

The hatred that surged in me at that memory was relentless, uncontainable.

"Carrie? Carrie?"

Jess's voice snapped me back to the present. I stared at her, dazed, realizing she was pointing awkwardly at the bottle in my hand.

"Carrie, Nicholas's already finished the milk," she said with a small laugh. "I've been calling you for a while. What were you thinking about?"

I forced a smile, clutching the bottle tighter. "Oh, nothing," I replied.

Later that evening, after Jess left, my husband followed shortly after. "I'll walk Jess home," he said casually.

I nodded, knowing full well that "walking her home" was just an excuse. They were probably heading to the hospital to continue their sordid affair. But it didn't matter to me anymore.

In this world, there was only one person who mattered now—my son, safe in my arms.

And my mission was clear: I had to gather proof of James's infidelity. I would make sure he left our marriage with nothing but the clothes on his back.

James had been gone the entire night, and when he finally returned in the early morning, I was still groggy from sleep. His clothes carried the distinct, sterile scent of hospital disinfectant, and his mood seemed unusually buoyant.

"How's David doing? Is his condition improving?" I asked, my voice filled with feigned concern as I approached him.

James arched an eyebrow.

"He's much better. Another month or so, and he should be fully recovered," he replied. His eyes shifted almost instinctively toward my son. "Make sure you're taking good care of Nicholas, too. It's easy for kids to catch colds this time of year."

I let out a derisive snort, choosing not to respond. At this point, of course, he wanted my son to stay perfectly healthy. After all, only if my son thrived could their precious David continue to live.

James exhaled tiredly as he shrugged off his coat. "I need to get some sleep. I've got to head to the office later." He started toward the bedroom, but before his hand could even touch the doorknob, his phone rang.

"James, come to the hospital quickly! Something's wrong with David!"

The tension in James's body was immediate and unmistakable. Standing beside him, I heard every word clearly.

"Got it. I'm on my way," he said hastily, pulling his coat back on.

"Was that Jess?" I asked, watching his hurried movements. "Did something happen to David?"

"Yes," he replied dismissively while fumbling with his buttons. "No time to explain now. I need to get to the hospital."

"I'm coming with you."

His body froze momentarily, but he quickly recovered, gesturing toward our son. "Who's going to look after Nicholas if you leave?"

Before I could respond, the bedroom door creaked open.

"I'll take care of Nicholas," a familiar voice chimed in.

"Wendy?" James's expression darkened as he turned to me, lowering his voice. "When did she get here?"

I smiled thinly. "Wendy loves Nicholas, so I asked her to help me take care of him for a few days."

Under the circumstances, James had no choice but to take me along.

At the hospital, Jess rushed forward and threw herself into James's arms.

"James, I'm so scared!" she whimpered.

The moment her eyes landed on me, however, her demeanor shifted. Clinging tightly to my husband, she shot me a triumphant, mocking glance.

"You're here too, Carrie?"

Ignoring her theatrics, I walked straight to the hospital bed. "You mentioned on the phone that something happened to David. What's wrong with him?"

Jess's tear-streaked face softened into a look of maternal anguish as she cradled her child. "I was feeding him earlier, but I accidentally dropped the bowl. The glass shattered, and a shard cut his face."

Her fingers gently grazed the bandaged wound on the boy's cheek. "But what scared me the most was that he didn't cry. I asked him if it hurt, and he just shook his head."

Her words only confirmed my suspicions. One of the symptoms of XYY syndrome was that his sensitivity to pain was much weaker than that of an ordinary person. Clearly, the bottle she'd gifted me had already begun to work its sinister magic.

"Are you sure he said it didn't hurt?" James asked, his face etched with genuine worry.

Jess nodded fervently. "He's fine now, but I just found it so strange."

She looped her arm through James's. "James, I'm just so afraid. What if something happens to David?"

I smiled, keeping my tone light. "But look at him now, sleeping so peacefully. There's nothing to worry about."

Jess's eyes flashed with anger at my calm demeanor. "Easy for you to say! He's not your child!"

Her retort was sharp, but I didn't rise to the bait. Instead, I reached out and gently smoothed the boy's hair. "We're all family, aren't we? I care about every child in this family. Besides, David looks so much like James—how could I not adore him?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of my words settling heavily. After what felt like an eternity, James finally broke the tension with a stammer.

"Well, I am his uncle, after all. It's not strange for him to resemble me."

I nodded thoughtfully. "True. It just makes me wonder—who is his real father? Jess, you've never mentioned it before."

Jess's face went pale, her composure crumbling as she struggled to find a response. Sensing the situation spiraling out of control, James grabbed my arm and hastily led me out of the room.

On the drive home, his jaw remained tightly clenched. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Don't ask about Jess's private life again," he said.

"Why not?" I asked, feigning innocence.

After a long pause, he muttered, "It's her business. We shouldn't pry."

I didn't respond, but inwardly, I couldn't help but feel the bitter irony.

As we pulled into the neighborhood, my eyes caught sight of Derrick playing outside. Armed with a slingshot, he darted between bushes, gleefully hurling stones at unsuspecting passersby.

From a distance, I watched him for a long time, my anticipation quietly growing.