Dinner was supposed to be peaceful that night. The clatter of dishes and the aroma of stir-fried vegetables filled our modest apartment in the school’s residential building. Just as I was about to take another bite, a loud knock thundered on the door, followed by hurried voices outside.

“Jennie! Open the door!”

My stomach sank. The voice belonged to the school principal and it wasn’t alone. When I opened the door, I was met with a grim procession; the principal, several police officers and a group of parents with bloodshot eyes. Their rage was palpable and I froze under their glare.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling.

The principal wasted no time. He thrust a tablet into my hands, a video already playing. My heart stopped as I saw the footage. It showed me—me—walking into the chemistry lab and setting off an explosion. The fire erupted, consuming the room. Students inside screamed and the screen went black.

“That’s you!” a parent shouted, his face twisted with grief. “You killed my son!”

My hands shook as I shoved the tablet back. “No! This is impossible! I wasn’t even at school when this happened!”

The principal crossed his arms, his expression icy. “The surveillance doesn’t lie, Jennie. Explain yourself.”

“I live five minutes from school!” I protested, pointing toward the window. “I came straight home after class. I couldn’t have had the time to set off a bomb and still make it here for dinner. I’ve done nothing wrong!”

But my words fell on deaf ears. The parents began to close in, their anger bubbling over. Then, the betrayal came.

“My daughter… she did come home a bit later than usual today,” my mother stammered. Her voice was shaky, hesitant.

My jaw dropped. “What? Mom, what are you talking about?”

But her words had already sealed my fate. The parents erupted into a frenzy. One of them pulled a knife, his grief driving him into a blind rage.

“You killed my child!” he roared, plunging the blade into my side.

Another followed and another. Pain blossomed in my body as the knives tore through me. The last thing I heard before everything went black was my mother’s scream and the chilling sound of steel meeting flesh.

***

When I opened my eyes, I was in a stark, white room. The air smelled of antiseptic and the faint sound of murmuring voices reached my ears. I was in the mental hospital.

For the first time in a long time, I felt… safe. The routine here was simple. I ate, I slept and in the mornings, I joined the other patients for light exercises in the courtyard. It was surreal, almost peaceful. No one blamed me for things I didn’t do. No one tried to kill me.

After a week, Dr. Richard, my attending physician, called me into his office. His kind eyes studied me as he flipped through my file.

“You’re doing well, Jennie,” he said. “Your condition has stabilized. I think it’s time for you to be discharged. But remember, stay positive and avoid stress.”

I nodded, masking the storm brewing inside me. The timing was perfect. By now, Agnes should have completed her sinister plan. The lab explosion was inevitable. And yet, I needed to confirm it for myself.

***

The warm sunlight greeted me as I stepped out of the hospital, a small suitcase in hand. I took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air and hummed a cheerful tune as I began walking toward home.

But I didn’t get far. A mob was waiting for me just outside the gates—police officers, school leaders, furious parents and worst of all, my mother and Agnes.

“Jennie!” my mother shrieked, her face twisted in fury. She marched up to me and snatched my suitcase. “You monster! You killed so many innocent people and now you’re trying to run away?”

“I didn’t—” I started, but before I could finish, Agnes stepped forward, tears streaming down her face.

“Jennie, turn yourself in,” she begged. “If you confess, maybe you’ll get a lighter sentence. I’ll pray for you.”

The crowd roared in agreement, their anger flaring. One of the parents, a man from the media industry, held up a camera and began filming.

“This is the face of the murderer who bombed the school!” he shouted. “Everyone, remember her! Even if she gets out of prison, don’t let her walk among us unnoticed!”

I was stunned. How had this escalated so quickly? I’d been in the mental hospital the entire time. How could they still believe I was guilty?

The school principal stormed up to me, his face red with anger. Without warning, his hand lashed out, slapping me hard across the face. The sting was sharp, but his words cut deeper.

“You think you can get away with murder by pretending to be insane?” he spat. “What about my son? Who pays for his life?”

The mob surged forward, their fury unchecked. Someone scratched my face, another pulled at my hair and I stumbled backward, trying to shield myself. The noise and chaos were overwhelming and I was sure they’d tear me apart right there.

***

Just as the situation seemed hopeless, the hospital director emerged with a team of doctors and security guards.

“Enough!” he bellowed. “This is a hospital, not a battleground! Our patients need peace and quiet. Take this madness elsewhere!”

My mother grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away. “We’re leaving now,” she said with a forced smile, her grip iron-tight.

But I wasn’t about to go quietly. I caught sight of Dr. Richard standing behind the director.

“Dr. Richard!” I shouted. “My mom is sick—she’s taking me away! Help me!”

Dr. Richard immediately stepped forward, pulling me behind him. “The patient has just been discharged. Her emotional state is still fragile. You cannot provoke her further.”

The principal pointed an accusatory finger at me. “People like her use ‘mental illness’ as an excuse to avoid responsibility. She’s faking it!”

Dr. Richard stood his ground. “Until proven otherwise, this patient is under my care. If you take another step, I’ll have security remove you.”

The crowd hesitated, their rage momentarily quelled. My mother’s grip loosened and for the first time in what felt like forever, I had an ally.

But I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Someone had orchestrated this and I intended to find out who.

And when I did, they’d regret ever crossing me.

The chaos outside the mental hospital was reaching a fever pitch. The crowd's rage was now being fueled by a live-streamer, broadcasting the spectacle to thousands. Their comments were rolling in fast.

"Psychopaths like her deserve the death penalty!"

"I don’t care if she’s crazy—she’s a murderer!"

"Support the death penalty! No mercy for monsters!"

I stood there, the accusations flying like daggers. My hands clenched into fists, my body trembling—not from fear, but from frustration. I had planned for this life. I had hidden myself in the mental hospital, carefully laying low, yet here I was again, cornered.

"I don’t understand," I muttered, glaring at the sea of faces around me. "What have I done to deserve this? I was hiding in the mental hospital and you still want to give me the death penalty?"

The school principal stepped forward, his finger pointed at me like a blade. "What did you do?" he shouted, his voice dripping with fury. "You blew up the school’s chemistry lab! My son died in that explosion and now you have the audacity to act innocent?"

I took a deep breath, my mind spinning. Unlike in my past life, this time, I had prepared. My lips curved into a calm, almost mocking smile. "The chemistry lab blew up? Really? When did that happen? How come I don’t know anything about it?"

The crowd erupted again, but before anyone could grab me, I slipped behind Dr. Richard, using him as my shield. My mother, red-faced with anger, lunged forward, her voice cracking as she screamed, "Don’t you dare pretend, Jennie! How could I have raised a child like you? Last night, after school, you snuck into the lab and set off that bomb. My poor child, the school director’s son, was in the next room. He died instantly when the roof collapsed!"

And then, as if rehearsed, Agnes stepped in with tears streaming down her face, her voice trembling with manufactured sorrow. "Jennie, stop lying. I saw you sneaking around the lab yesterday. I didn’t know what you were doing, but now it all makes sense."

I turned my gaze to Agnes, my so-called best friend, my betrayer. Her crocodile tears were almost impressive. Almost.

Before I could respond, the hospital’s security guard, a middle-aged man with a stern face, spoke up, visibly agitated. "Excuse me, but this is nonsense!" he barked, his voice booming over the crowd. "I was on duty last night. Are you saying I neglected my duties and let a patient escape?"

The school security guard quickly countered, holding up a USB drive like it was a golden ticket. "Don’t start blaming each other. I brought the school’s surveillance footage! Let’s see what it shows."

***

Everyone huddled around as the footage was played. My blood ran cold as I saw myself on the screen, dressed in my school uniform, creeping around the chemistry lab. I was throwing something—likely the bomb—into the lab before bolting out the door. Seconds later, the screen flashed white with the explosion and the video cut to black.

The clarity of the footage was shocking. Even the small mole on my left cheek was perfectly visible. The crowd gasped and the comments from the live broadcast poured in.

"Caught red-handed! I knew it was her!"

"Even mental hospitals can’t stop murderers!"

"This girl deserves the worst punishment. No excuses!"

My fists tightened at my sides. If I hadn’t been reborn, I might have panicked right then. But this wasn’t my first life. I had learned to think on my feet.

I raised my voice, cutting through the noise. "Wait just a minute! Police officers, isn’t there surveillance in the mental hospital too? Let’s compare the footage."

The hospital security guard immediately nodded. "Yes! The cameras here work perfectly. They were replaced just last week!" He quickly accessed the recordings and began to play them.

***

On the hospital’s CCTV footage, there I was. At the exact time of the explosion, I was sitting in the courtyard, talking to a young boy with autism. The timestamp was clear, the footage unedited. The scene was mundane—me offering the boy a piece of candy, him nodding shyly in return. There was no doubt it was me.

The crowd fell silent. The air grew heavy as everyone processed what they had just seen. Two identical versions of me, caught on camera at the same time but in completely different places.

The live-stream chat erupted with confusion.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Twins? Doppelgänger? This is giving me chills."

"That’s impossible! Even twins wouldn’t have identical moles in the same place."

I watched the disbelief ripple through the mob. My mother’s face had gone pale and even Agnes’s confident facade was beginning to crack.

***

The hospital security guard folded his arms, glaring at the school principal. "So, what now? Are you saying our footage is fake? If you’re accusing my hospital of negligence, you better have more proof than this nonsense."

The police officer in charge frowned, scratching his chin as he compared the two videos. "This… this doesn’t add up," he admitted. "We’ll need to investigate further."

I seized the moment, stepping forward. My voice was steady, but loud enough to be heard by everyone. "Exactly. Something’s not right here. I’ve been in the hospital this entire time, as the footage clearly shows. Someone is framing me."

Agnes opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. For the first time, I saw fear in her eyes.

Good, I thought. You should be scared.

***

The crowd slowly began to disperse, their anger replaced by confusion. The live stream ended abruptly, the audience left with more questions than answers. The school principal shot me one last glare before leaving with the police, dragging my mother and Agnes along with him.

Dr. Richard placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "That was close," he said softly. "But this isn’t over. Be careful, Jennie."

I nodded, determination burning in my chest. Someone had gone to great lengths to ruin me, but they’d underestimated me.

Whoever it was, they had made one fatal mistake: they thought I was still the same person from my past life.

But I wasn’t.

And I would uncover the truth—no matter what it took.

The tension was suffocating. The police, the angry mob and my so-called mother’s venomous words surrounded me like a noose tightening around my neck. I could feel the judgment pouring from the live-stream comments, the relentless disdain from the crowd and the burning hatred in their eyes.

"Ms. Ainsley," one of the officers asked, his tone careful but probing, "how many children did you have back then?"

My mother straightened her posture and spat out her answer with venom. "Only one. This one! This filthy, worthless creature!" She jabbed her finger in my direction as if her words weren’t clear enough.

The officer frowned, skeptical. "So, you're sure she doesn't have a twin sister or any siblings?"

"I gave birth to her!" she snapped. "And I know her! She’s clever and manipulative. It’s no mystery—she bombed that school! Why else would we be here? Just arrest her already and sentence her to death!"

Her words stung, but what struck me more was the growing discomfort on the faces of the police officers.

Dr. Richard stepped forward, his usually calm demeanor replaced with irritation. "Is there a mother like you anywhere else in this world? She’s your own daughter! How can you speak of her like this? Where is your compassion?"

My mother turned to him with a derisive laugh, scanning him from head to toe before sneering, "Ah, now it makes sense! No wonder she’s trying to weasel her way out. She’s been cozying up to you, hasn’t she? You’re in on this, aren’t you? Helping her escape while she bombs schools? You disgust me!"

Dr. Richard’s face turned red with both anger and shame. "Ms. Ainsley, I’m not going to stoop to your level, but listen carefully: say what you want about me, but this is your daughter! She’s still just a girl. If even her own mother talks about her like this, what kind of future does she have left?"

My mother rolled her eyes, dismissing him with a wave. "A future? A bitch like her doesn’t deserve a future!"

***

The scene was spiraling out of control, but the lead officer’s sharp eyes were fixed on my mother. Her erratic behavior wasn’t just unsettling—it was suspicious.

He motioned for one of his colleagues to investigate further. "Go to the hospital where Ms. Ainsley gave birth. Find out exactly what happened."

My mother’s face twisted with rage. "What is this? You think I don’t know how many children I gave birth to? I carried her for nine months! Why are you wasting time investigating me? Arrest her!"

But her outburst only deepened the growing doubt in everyone’s minds. The crowd, initially so sure of my guilt, began to murmur amongst themselves.

***

Just as the tension reached a boiling point, another officer rushed back onto the scene, his face alight with urgency.

"We found something!" he announced, waving a document in the air. "The Technical Inspection Division just recovered a fingerprint from the crime scene. We matched it against Jennie’s and it’s an exact match."

The crowd erupted. Rage, shock and betrayal painted their faces.

Dr. Richard, who had been my sole defender moments ago, now looked at me with disappointment etched deep in his features. "So it’s true?" he said quietly. "No wonder even your own mother scolded you. I thought… I thought you were innocent."

Agnes, ever the opportunist, stepped forward with mock sympathy. "Jennie, there’s no use pretending anymore. Just confess. Maybe, just maybe, the judge will take pity on you."

The school principal’s grief was palpable. His voice trembled as he roared, "If the judge spares her, then who will bring my son back? Who?"

Their accusations crashed over me like waves, but my mind was racing. A fingerprint? How? My hands were shaking, my throat dry. Someone was framing me, but how did they pull it off so flawlessly?

***

Just as the mob’s fury reached its peak, the sound of a car engine cut through the chaos. Slowly, a sleek black Maybach rolled into view, its polished exterior gleaming under the sun.