At the New Year's gathering, the children goaded my son into wearing a horse mascot costume. They rode him like livestock, kicking and striking his small body, until they buried him face-down in a snowdrift.

He suffocated in the freezing cold.

I went mad with grief. I wanted to call the police, but my relatives turned on me, slandering me with accusations that I was the one who'd killed my own child.

My husband, Derek Lawson, stood on the sidelines, offering cold persuasion instead of comfort. "Just admit to negligence," he'd said, his voice empty. "Domestic violence isn't a capital offense. We can't let the children end up with criminal records over an accident."

Crushed by slander and loss, I suffered a complete breakdown. I wandered into traffic. My life ended beneath the wheels of a car.

When I opened my eyes, I was back. New Year's Day again.

I immediately contacted my mother and sent my son away. "Ethan Fletcher, you're sleeping at Grandma's tonight," I told him, voice trembling. "Do not come back here."

I watched them leave the complex, relief washing over me. But the moment I turned back toward the house, my blood ran cold.

The red horse mascot costume was there. Again.

Panic clawed at my throat. I scanned the yard. All the relatives' children were present—not one missing.

So who the hell is inside that suit?

——

The figure stumbled forward, gait unsteady. A muffled voice called out from inside.

"Dad."

I whipped around. Derek stood smoking with several male relatives, laughing.

I swept the yard again. Diana Lawson's son was building a snowman. Aunt Brenda's twins were locked in a snowball fight. The other children played in clusters. Every single one accounted for.

Could Ethan have secretly run back?

The thought hit me like a blow. My blood turned to ice.

No. It can't be.

I muttered the denial, hands shaking as I reached for my phone. I had to call my mother. Had to confirm—

A hand snatched the phone from my grip.

"All the guests have arrived. Why are you spacing out?" Derek had appeared without a sound, eyes cold, tone demanding. "Go greet them. And check the soup in the kitchen."

Before I could protest, Diana stepped forward. She hooked her arm through mine, leaning in with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Sister-in-law, come here. I have something to tell you."

Déjà vu hit like a nightmare.

In my previous life, Diana used a "heart-to-heart" to trick me into a room, locking me away for nearly an hour. When I emerged, I only saw children throwing snowballs at a snowman—unaware my son had already stopped breathing inside that red suit.

I violently shook off her hand and marched toward the mascot.

I didn't make it two steps. Aunt Brenda and two other relatives swarmed me, forming a human wall.

"Oh my, what's wrong with you?" Brenda's massive frame blocked my path, her face beaming with fake warmth. "Diana just wants to talk. Why act like this?"

"It's rare for the whole family to be together," Cousin Linda chimed in, grabbing my arm in a vice grip. "Come inside. It's freezing."

They pushed me toward the house, their collective weight a barrier. I struggled, twisted, but against three women, I was helpless.

I wrenched my head back. The children had already surrounded the mascot.

"Ride the horse! Ride the horse!"

Diana's son shouted the command. A pack of boys rushed forward, shoving the clumsy figure down into the snow, scrambling on top.

One, two, three—they piled on, a mountain of heavy coats and cruelty.

The mascot thrashed beneath them, struggling futilely. The weight was too great. It couldn't rise.

"Stop!"

I screamed, shoving Brenda aside with every ounce of adrenaline.

"Stop playing! Get off! You'll hurt him!"

I lunged forward, but Derek stepped into my path, catching me. His expression flickered with annoyance.

"The kids are just messing around. What are you making a fuss about?"

"It's New Year's," Margaret Lawson added, walking over with a deep frown. "Don't ruin the mood."

"Let Ethan play. He needs to bond with his cousins if he's ever going to fit into this family. It's for his own good."

"You protect him too much. How will he ever get along with his siblings if you coddle him like this?"

"That's not—"

I tried to explain that the child in the suit wasn't my son, but my protests were cut short. My two sisters-in-law flanked me, "supporting" me by the arms. Their smiles were plastered on, polite and strained, but their grip was iron. They dug their fingers into my flesh, dragging me back into the house and shoving me onto the living room sofa.

"Just rest for a bit, Sister-in-law. You're too worked up."

My chest heaved. I wasn't winded from exertion—I was suffocating from terror.

A chilling sense of déjà vu washed over me. These scenes overlapped perfectly with the nightmare of my previous life. The same obstruction. The same dismissive lines.

Forcing myself to breathe, I feigned resignation. Once their guard lowered, I retrieved my phone and typed a message under the cover of my sleeve.

Mom, where are you and Ethan right now?

Seconds later, a reply buzzed. I pressed the speaker to my ear, keeping the volume barely audible.

Ethan's voice, clear and bright, drifted through. "Mom, Grandma and I just got home! Grandma said she's making dumplings for me tonight. When are you coming back?"

Relief hit me so hard I nearly wept.

Thank God. The child inside the horse costume wasn't my son.

But the relief was short-lived. If Ethan was safe at my mother's house, then who was lying in the snow right now?

Through the window, I saw the horse costume swaying violently in the deep drifts. Muffled, desperate cries echoed from within.

"Let go of me! Let me out!"

Diana's son jumped up and down, his face flushed with cruel excitement. "Bury him! Bury him deep!"

The other children swarmed like locusts. They scooped up heavy chunks of snow, piling them onto the horse's back, packing it tight around the legs. The costume struggled, thrashing against the weight, but the movements grew weaker with every passing second.

Even if it wasn't my son, there was a human being inside that suit. My conscience wouldn't let me watch a murder.

"Make them stop! They're burying him alive!"

I bolted from the sofa, but the adults merely chuckled. The atmosphere remained terrifyingly casual.

Aunt Brenda sat in the armchair, cracking sunflower seeds. She spat out a shell and shrugged. "What's the worst that can happen? Kids are just playing. Didn't we all play rough in the snow when we were little?"

Cousin Linda poured a cup of steaming tea and slid it toward me. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes were cold. "Ethan isn't even crying for help, Sarah. Why are you so anxious? Let the boys have their fun."

Margaret walked over and patted my shoulder with heavy, authoritative hands. "Sarah, I'm not trying to lecture you, but boys need to be toughened up. Don't raise him to be so delicate. Look at Derek—he took plenty of falls when he was a child, and look how successful he is now."

Every word struck a nerve. Exactly what they had said in my past life. A script recited verbatim.

Derek sat beside me. He didn't look at the window. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Sarah, if you keep making a scene, you're going to embarrass me. It's New Year's. Do you really have to make us a joke in front of the relatives?"

I turned to look at my husband. He felt like a stranger.

No worry in his eyes. No fatherly instinct. Only impatience and cold concern for his reputation.

"Aren't you worried?" My voice trembled. "What if something happens? That's your son out there."

Derek scoffed. "You're hysterical. How could anything happen in a pile of snow?"

A chill that had nothing to do with winter settled in my bones.

From Diana dragging me inside, to Aunt Brenda and Cousin Linda blocking my path, to Margaret's lectures, and Derek's suppression—it was too coherent. Too synchronized.

Like a rehearsed play where every actor knew their lines.

They aren't just negligent, I realized. They did this on purpose.

They intended for Ethan to die in that snow.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. The horse doll had stopped moving—a colorful lump buried in a frozen grave.

Diana glanced at the wall clock, then turned toward the window. "The time is about right... You kids come back inside to eat!"

As the children abandoned their game and stampeded toward the house, I seized the opportunity. Ignoring Derek's glare, I scrambled off the sofa and sprinted into the yard.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Hold on, child. Just hold on.

I clawed through the snow until a small hand slipped from the mascot costume's cuff.

Tiny—no larger than a seven or eight-year-old's. It hung limp against the white ground, the skin mottled bluish-purple.

The crowd pressed in. When they saw the hand, silence fell like a guillotine.

"Is... is he dead?" someone whispered.

Diana dropped to a squat, pressing two fingers to the small wrist. The family held its breath.

Seconds later, she released the arm. It flopped onto the snow with a dull thud.

"No pulse." Her voice was clinical. "He's gone."

Screams erupted from the children. Adults pulled their own kids close, terror etched on their faces.

But Derek's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Ryan. Guard the main gate."

He didn't shout, but the command was absolute. "Don't let the neighbors hear a thing. It's New Year's—I won't have us become a laughingstock."

Ryan Lawson froze for a split second, then obeyed. He marched to the courtyard gate and slammed the heavy bolt home, sealing us in.

Derek turned his cold gaze on the terrified children.

"Inside. All of you. Game room upstairs." His eyes bore into them. "You saw nothing today. You were just playing in the snow. Understood?"

Not a question. An order.

The children exchanged nervous glances. A few younger ones wailed, but the older cousins grabbed them and dragged them toward the stairs, vanishing into the house.

My shock began to fracture. Trembling, I reached for the mascot's oversized headpiece. I had to know who was inside.

Before my fingers touched the fabric, a brutal force slammed into me. Derek shoved me aside, sending me sprawling onto the ice.

He loomed over me, his expression twisting into performed grief and rage.

"Now you decide to care?" he spat. "Why weren't you watching him? This is your fault!"

Margaret's wails pierced the air right on cue.

"How many times did I tell you? Too many people today! I told you not to let him run wild, but you wouldn't listen! Are you satisfied now?"

The relatives swarmed like vultures, picking up the narrative.

"That suit is a death trap! We told you not to put him in it!"

"You insisted it was festive. You just had to mess around..."

Rehearsed lines. Every face etched with feigned regret and accusation.

I saw through them instantly. They were replaying my past life, pinning "my son's" death squarely on me.

I scrambled to my feet, glaring at the mob. "You're twisting the truth! You did this! You killed him!"

Their expressions hardened. Derek grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and dragged me toward the house.

"Sarah, you need to take responsibility."

Diana was already waiting inside. She thrust a printed document and pen at me the moment we entered.

"Sign it," Derek ordered, pointing at the signature line. "Family accidents shouldn't become criminal cases. We can't let the other kids get a record because of a mistake."

I stared at the paper. Accidental Death Liability Waiver.

I acknowledge that my inadequate supervision led to the child's accidental death during play. I voluntarily waive the right to pursue legal action against family members or friends, and I promise not to involve the police or press charges...

I looked up at him, my gaze cold.

"You know it wasn't me."

Derek leaned in, his voice dropping to a manipulative whisper.

"The boy is already dead, Sarah. Do you really want to drag the whole family down with you?"

The relatives nodded, sighing in perfect unison.

Margaret grabbed my hand, her face a mask of tragic sorrow.

"Sarah, please. The child is gone. Don't ruin the lives of the living children. They're too young for a police investigation..."