In the past, my father suffered a sudden heart attack due to his old age, but the surgery still had a forty percent chance of success.

However, during those days, Tomas was preoccupied with repaying the mortgage, and the post-operative medical expenses were exorbitant. In the end, fearing it would all be a waste of money, he simply chose to forgo the surgery.

My gaze fell upon the man in the black and white photo, whose face was lined with wrinkles. I thought, "It is ridiculous, really. The eldest son you have cherished your whole life couldn't even muster the will to try to save you."

Tomas' heavily pregnant wife, Amanda Danes, sensing the tension, cheerfully intervened.

"We're all family here, all family.

"Claire, you're all grown up now. Why create such an ugly scene?"

I thought, "Are you kidding? I'm creating a scene?" I couldn't be bothered with this hypocritical woman who always twisted the truth and only knew how to put on a facade.

When my father fell ill, she didn't hesitate to advise Tomas to give up the surgery.

Turning towards the photo on the table, I bowed respectfully.

I thought, "You never really raised me, so this bow is a token of repaying the debt of birth."

Approaching the table, my mother, Kadee Danes, shot me a venomous look, her face unwelcoming.

In my past life, I would have been meek in front of her. All my courage had been used to secretly escape the village to attend university.

But the memory of my mother standing by coldly as I was held underwater by Lizzy, watching me struggle for air, lingered.

She said, "Let her die, one life for another."

From that moment on, the mother-daughter bond between us was irreparably severed.

Feeling disheartened, I avoided her gaze while Amanda enthusiastically gestured for me to sit.

As I settled down, she proudly patted her six-month baby bump.

"Look how round my belly is now, Claire. You're going to have a nephew soon."

"A nephew? Isn't it against hospital rules to reveal the gender?"

I stared at her belly, remaining silent.

In fact, until the moment of my death, I never knew whether the child was a boy or a girl.

Because, in the end, they never made it.

Amanda prattled on, oblivious to my puzzled expression.

"Mom consulted the village fortune teller. It's definitely going to be a chubby little boy.

"If it weren't for giving birth to Lizzy, would my body have suffered so much all these years?"

As soon as I heard that name, my hand trembled uncontrollably for a moment before returning to normal.

Amanda continued, "The fortune teller was right. She's a harbinger of misfortune, sent to plague me..."

In the past, I would have harshly interrupted Amanda, reprimanding her for treating her own daughter so callously.

I would have been seeking justice for Lizzy, but also, in a way, seeking justice for my childhood self who had endured injustice.

Born into a family that favored sons over daughters, Lizzy, like me, was unfortunate.

But her misfortune wasn't caused by me. Thinking back to the suffocating sensation of drowning, this time, I simply listened quietly, choosing not to engage.

After checking the time, I found an excuse to leave.

Dodging the crowd, I made my way towards the kitchen, where, just like in my memories, my twelve-year-old niece, Lizzy, stood in front of a large pot, pouring some mysterious substance into it.

In my past life, I was startled and anxious, afraid she would do something foolish, so I hurried over and poured out that pot of oatmeal.

Yet I overlooked her calm demeanor at such a young age. Even upon seeing me, Lizzy showed no signs of panic. In her eyes, deep and cold as the abyss, there was only endless indifference and ruthlessness.

Lizzy's gaze was as calm as stagnant water without ripples.

She asked, his expression unreadable, "Auntie, are you going to expose me?"

Approaching, I poured out the oatmeal and gently embraced her. "Don't ruin your future for unworthy people," I whispered.

I felt sorry for this little girl, who was burdened with a life of torment at such a tender age, mirroring my own fate.

I wanted to help her as if I was helping the isolated and helpless version of myself from the past.

Seeing her emaciated figure and bruised face, I was too preoccupied with my sympathy for her to notice the fleeting malice and resentment in her eyes.

And that hatred was directed towards me.

The icy December water chilled me to the bone, each wave slapping against my face, nearly numbing my thoughts.

But amidst it all, I distinctly heard her say, "Why did you meddle and pour out that pot of oatmeal?

"If you hadn't interfered, they would all have gone to die with Grandpa!

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have suffered for so many years! It's all your fault! You deserve to die just like them!"

Suddenly, the words came to me. "A beam of light shines into the dark tower, exposing all the dirt and sin within, thus tainting the light with guilt."

Thinking of Lizzy's resentful face and her resolute decision to drag me into death with her, I chuckled bitterly, thinking, "Am I that guilty light?"

In my past life, I couldn't fathom it, and in this life, I still couldn't.

I couldn't understand, but I also didn't want to.

Upon rebirth, I grasped the most profound truth. That was letting go of the savior complex and respecting the destinies of others.

Moreover, staying far away from vampiric, toxic families.

So this time, as Lizzy wished, I didn't step forward to pour out that pot of oatmeal.

Concealed by the wall, I recorded the entire scene on my phone before quietly leaving.

Not long after I walked back to the table, Lizzy walked in carrying a bowl.

Inside, steaming hot oatmeal laced with something extra.

I glanced over and then averted my gaze.

Lizzy kept her head down and went to hand the bowl to her mother.

I couldn't judge whether this was right or wrong, for I myself had been a child bound by a toxic family intimately acquainted with the bitterness, hatred, resentment, and unwillingness within.

But everyone must bear the consequences of their choices.

Sipping my coffee, I sat on the sidelines, silently observing the scene.

I couldn't help but wonder, "In this life without my intervention, will Lizzy be content?"

Amanda merely cast a fleeting glance her way, dismissively remarking, "Just leave it there."

Her gaze dripped with disdain.

"It was just cooking oatmeal. What took you so long? Useless!

"And now you've made it all mushy, how am I supposed to eat this?"

She grumbled incessantly, never once considering preserving a shred of dignity for her own daughter in front of so many others.

Lizzy stood by, head bowed, seemingly oblivious, as if she had long grown accustomed to it all.

Suddenly, Lizzy lifted her head, locking eyes with me directly.

"Auntie, long time no see."

When I left, Lizzy was already seven years old and adept at recognizing people.

As I stopped feeling sorry for her, this statement struck me as somewhat eerie.

I was suddenly reminded of my mother's snide words from the past.

"You seem quite concerned about that little girl.

"You fool! She sells you out, and you will still be worried about her!"

Back then, I brushed it off, thinking my mother was just venting as usual.

But at this moment, the gaze projected by Lizzy across the table seemed to merge with the look she gave me five years ago. At that time, I planned to escape the village and attend university, but Lizzy stood in the doorway, staring into my eyes.