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.

A week later, Jess appeared at my door, beaming with joy. Her arrival didn't surprise me in the slightest. What caught me off guard was the sight of David standing beside her, clutching her hand tightly.

"Is David's condition better now? Did the doctor allow him to leave the hospital?" I asked, my eyes widening in disbelief.

David had been a premature baby, born with underdeveloped organs and whisked straight to the NICU. He'd recovered enough to go home eventually, but trouble loomed again when, in third grade, he collapsed during a gym class.

He was rushed straight to the hospital, where the doctors discovered he had a heart issue. They estimated he had barely three months left.

That day, Jess had clung to James, crying for hours.

Feeling sorry for her, I had promised to cover the medical expenses. I even reached out to my business contacts, hoping someone could find a specialist for David. Yet, no precaution had prepared me for Jess setting her sights on my son's heart.

At my question, Jess awkwardly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes, the doctor says David's heart is suddenly fine now."

Her eyes sparkled as she added, "Carrie, isn't it strange?"

I shook my head, keeping my expression neutral. "It's good news, isn't it? He's finally discharged, that's what matters."

I stepped aside, inviting them in, though my gaze lingered on David. Something about him seemed… off, but Jess was too lost in her own happiness to notice.

"Carrie, how's Nicholas? Is he doing okay?" Her tone was casual, but her question sent a chill down my spine.

Feigning sadness, I sighed heavily. "Lately, he hasn't been eating well. He's always tired and just wants to sleep. I've been thinking of taking him to the hospital."

Her laughter rang out, bright and carefree. "A hospital? For what? Babies are like that. You worry too much, Carrie. Taking him to the hospital all the time will just make things worse."

I nodded absently. "You're right. Maybe I am overreacting."

As we spoke, Jess suddenly noticed David was no longer beside her. "Where's David? Did you see where he went?" she asked, glancing around in panic.

My eyes darted to the open door behind her, a sinking suspicion already forming. "Did he go outside?"

Before I could finish the thought, a scream pierced through the air from the opposite house.

"Who let this little brat in my house? How dare you make a mess here? I'll beat you to death!"

Jess's face turned pale as she bolted toward the noise. I followed close behind, only to find David locked in a scuffle with that troublemaker Derrick.

David was pinned to the ground, his leg twisted unnaturally, while Derrick stomped on him mercilessly. Bite marks covered David's bloodied body, but he didn't seem to feel the pain.

Jess let out a shriek, shoving Derrick aside and cradling her injured son in her arms.

David's face was streaked with blood, his tiny frame trembling, yet his expression remained unnervingly calm.

The neighbor stormed out, fury etched across her face. "You're his mother, aren't you? Can't you teach your son some manners? Look at what he did to my boy! Pay up!"

Seeing that the blame was being shifted onto her, Jess yelled, "I'm calling the cops!"

Jess's anger flared, but just as quickly, it flickered out. Her voice wavered as she crouched down and snatched the baby bottle from the woman's unsuspecting grip.

Her hands trembled, her eyes wide with dread. "W-Where did you get this bottle?"

Turning toward me, her gaze was filled with accusation and despair. Tears welled up as her voice cracked. "This… this is the bottle I gave to Nicholas, isn't it?!"