Chapter6
That night was the first time since my birth that I slept by my mother’s side.
She placed me on the inside edge of the bed and tucked pillows around me so I wouldn’t roll off..
Then she lay down beside me, turned on her side, and simply watched.
Only a small bedside lamp glowed, its dim yellow light casting a soft haze over us.
I could see her lashes, long and delicate, and beneath them, eyes brimming with sorrow.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just gazed at me, as though trying to etch every feature into her soul.
I knew she hadn’t driven Linda away because she trusted me.
It was because she understood-too well-the agony of losing me.
Even the thought of nearly losing me was enough to push her nerves to the breaking point.
Fear had guided her hand. She had chosen the most direct path. eliminate every potential threat to me. Even if that threat was “just” a careless nanny.
It was instinct-the raw, primal instinct of a mother. A love carved into her very bones, impossible to erase.
That instinct had overwhelmed the cold rationality she carried from her second chance at life, pushing her to make a decision even she couldn’t explain.
Watching her struggle, my tiny heart clenched in pain.
Mom, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you suffer like this.
With all the clumsy effort I could muster, I reached out and wrapped my little fingers around one of hers.
Her hand was cold. At the touch, she jolted as if struck.
I squeezed tight with all my strength, as if to tell her. Don’t be afraid, Mom. I’m here.
Her eyes instantly reddened. Tears spilled silently down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow.
She shut her eyes quickly, unwilling to let me see her weakness.
That night, she didn’t sleep.
And neither did I.
We stayed like that-one with her eyes closed, the other wide awake-lying side by side through the first night of my reborn life.
Chapter6
42.86%
The next morning, my father left for work. Grandma was still confined to bed.
That left only the two of us at home.
With Linda gone, all the weight of caring for me fell squarely on my mother’s shoulders.
She was unprepared.
Mixing formula, she scalded the water or let the powder clump. Changing diapers, she fumbled constantly, sometimes even putting them on backwards.
She was awkward, inexperienced-nothing like the confident, capable “super mom” she had once been in my first life.
And yet… she still took care of me.
When I cried from hunger, she dropped whatever she was doing. When I wet myself, she cleaned me at once.
Her movements were stiff, but her hands were gentle.
Her expression was cool, but worry slipped from her eyes when she thought no one noticed.
That afternoon, she carried me to the balcony, settling into the old rocking chair as winter sunlight poured
over us.
The warmth of it made me drowsy. My head lolled against her shoulder, comforted by her faint, familiar
scent.
She rocked us slowly and began to hum-softly, hesitantly-the lullaby I had loved most in my last life.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star…”
Her voice was low and trembling, but so tender.
The sunlight painted her in gold, a glow so serene and fragile it was breathtaking.
In that moment, I believed the ice between us was melting, that our bond would slowly mend.
But I hadn’t expected it.
Linda-the ghost that refused to stay buried-came knocking once again.
