I bombed my SATs and didn’t get into college. Meanwhile, my cousin Clara got accepted into an Ivy League. When my professor mother heard the news, she was so furious she literally coughed up blood. “If I’d known you’d turn out to be this useless, I should’ve just let your aunt swap you when you were born. I wish Clara was my daughter instead.” When I was born, Aunt Helen gave birth to Clara at the same hospital. While my mom was unconscious after delivery, my aunt bribed a nurse to switch us. My crying woke Mom up. Like a protective wolf, she ignored her postpartum injuries and fought to get me back. But now, Mom said she regretted it. My depression spiraled. I jumped from the balcony. When I woke up, I’d gone back to the day the nurse tried to switch us. This time, I stayed quiet. Because this was what Mom wanted. She didn’t pick me this time. But later, Mom held my emaciated body and cried tears of regret. She just wanted to hear me call her “Mom” one more time. Falling from a building hurts. My head felt like it had split into pieces. Before I could process what happened, I found myself as a baby again. I could see my mother’s pale, sleeping face right beside me. The air was thick with the smell of blood and disinfectant. I’d been reborn to the moment right after my birth. Suddenly, a nurse in white appeared at the door, holding another red-faced baby. She moved quickly and quietly, swapping me with the infant in her arms, then rushed toward the door with me. I remembered—Mom had told this story countless times in my previous life. She said I’d almost been switched, but at the crucial moment, I’d cried loudly and woken her up. Mom got me back, but the violent movement caused severe tearing. She had to stay in the hospital for three months and developed an embarrassing condition. When she got emotional, she’d leak urine. For a distinguished professor who valued perfection and dignity, this was unbearable trauma. But I’d been reborn. I could change everything. I kept my mouth shut tight. I wouldn’t make a sound. But unexpectedly, the baby on the bed started crying. The nurse holding me froze. I whipped my head toward Mom’s direction. The room was dark. From this distance, I couldn’t see clearly, but the person on the bed didn’t move. The nurse bolted for the door. In her panic, she didn’t control her footsteps, but even as she burst through the door, Mom still didn’t wake up. The nurse hid outside, watching nervously. She saw Mom sit up and skillfully pick up the baby, humming a lullaby. The melody drifted out of the room, and my whole body went rigid. Mom didn’t know any lullabies at this point. In my past life, when I was three and wouldn’t eat, Mom had specifically learned that song to coax me. So Mom had been reborn too, hadn’t she? She’d pretended to sleep, waiting for the nurse to finish the swap. So what Mom said in my past life wasn’t just angry words. She really did want Clara as her daughter. Mom didn’t want me anymore. No matter how heartbroken I was, I was still switched and given to Aunt Helen. Aunt Helen didn’t care for me the way she’d cared for Clara in my previous life. Because I was just a fake. She even deliberately collected her breast milk. “If Victoria runs low on milk, she can give the baby mine. Can’t let her daughter go hungry.” I was so hungry I could barely stay awake. Finally, someone pried my mouth open and stuck a bottle in. I sucked once and realized it wasn’t milk—just bland rice water. When I stopped after a few sips, Aunt Helen pinched my bottom hard. “How dare you be picky? Who told you to be born to Victoria? Don’t drink it then—starve to death!” I wailed from the pain. This scene would repeat often in the house. Dad’s parents were dead. He only had Aunt Helen. So after she got pregnant out of wedlock, she moved into my parents’ house. When Mom and Aunt Helen were both taking care of babies, my aunt would find ways to make me cry. I was already a premature baby. In my past life, with Mom’s careful care, I’d still grown up weak and sickly. Now, drinking rice water, I quickly got sick from malnutrition. I ran a fever and broke out in rashes. Aunt Helen ignored me, sitting on the couch drinking soup the housekeeper made. The only person who could save me—Mom—wasn’t home. That morning, Clara had choked on milk and refused to drink anymore. Mom panicked and had Dad drive them both to the hospital. Eventually, I passed out completely. Even my survival instinct faded.
I thought I would die. When I woke up, I was in the ICU. I gulped oxygen, and my body slowly regained sensation. Outside, Dad was scolding Aunt Helen so harshly she didn’t dare talk back. After that, Aunt Helen didn’t dare feed me rice water anymore, but she still couldn’t bear to waste her breast milk on me. She bought the cheapest formula instead. My life was temporarily spared. Mom named Clara after me—Clara Rivers, the name I’d had in my past life. I felt heartbroken that I’d even lost my name. Aunt Helen casually picked mine. “This one will be Mia.” Mom didn’t say much, just looked at me with complicated eyes. At six, Clara and I attended the same elementary school. Classes started at 7:30 AM. The difference was, Clara got to go to school with braids Mom had personally done, carrying a warm breakfast, riding in Dad’s car. I had to make breakfast for Aunt Helen, clean the house, and only leave with ten minutes to spare under her impatient glare, walking fifteen minutes to school. First week of school—late every single day. I had to stand during morning study hall as punishment every time. Whenever I asked to leave earlier for school, Aunt Helen would beat and scold me. That’s how I became the “bad kid” in my classmates’ eyes and the cautionary tale teachers warned others about. One day, Mom forgot some documents and came back early. She saw this exact scene: Little me standing on a stool cooking, while Aunt Helen sat in the living room watching TV, eating fruit and yelling that I was trying to starve her. Mom froze. Our eyes met. Mine were filled with tears, but also hope. Aunt Helen treated me badly because I wasn’t her child. But I was Mom’s child. The next second, Aunt Helen had her excuse ready, pulling out her so-called “tough love” philosophy. “I’m just disciplining the child. Doing hard labor at this age helps her appreciate studying later.” Mom was easily convinced. She grabbed her documents and left without looking back. I stared at her retreating figure, frozen. Then Aunt Helen beat me again. But I couldn’t feel the pain. Because my heart hurt more. In middle school, girls started developing. Aunt Helen hand-sewed four bras and put them all in Clara’s closet. When I asked for one too, her mocking gaze swept over me, and the next second she reached out and twisted my tender chest cruelly. Tears streamed down my face from the pain. She screamed: “Already acting like a slut at your age? Trying to seduce men, is that it?” I never dared ask again. I could only fold tissues flat when she wasn’t looking and tape them to myself with clear tape. It gave me a tiny bit of security. But middle school had PE class, and the uniforms were loose. When I ran, sweat loosened the tape, and the tissues fell out in front of everyone. Boys stared at me strangely. Girls wanted nothing to do with me. After that, rumors about me spread through school. When I went to the bathroom during breaks, boys would deliberately bump into me. When the teacher noticed, she contacted my guardian to come to school. I stood outside the office. When Aunt Helen arrived, she greeted me with two loud slaps across the face. Students in the hallway stopped to stare. Teachers came out of the office at the sound. My face burned. The humiliation nearly drowned me. But Aunt Helen didn’t stop. She pulled my hair and my collar, screaming: “Seducing people at your age—you’re disgusting!”
She started pulling at my shirt, trying to strip me in front of everyone. I clutched my clothes desperately, sobbing hysterically. Finally, a teacher who couldn’t stand it anymore stepped forward to stop her and brought her into the office. After calming Aunt Helen down, the teacher got to the point and pulled out my exam results. “The rumors will die down. Kids forget fast. Just buy Mia a couple of bras and it’ll be fine.” “The real issue is Mia’s grades this time… They’re not good…” When we got home, Aunt Helen took my report card to complain to Mom. “I’m so jealous you have Clara. Great grades, obedient, adorable.” “Not like Mia. Today the teacher called me to school—I’ve never been so humiliated.” Mom’s eyes flashed with relief and pride, though she offered comfort. “Learning is mostly about natural talent. She’ll get there eventually.” In Mom’s eyes, I was the one without talent. But she didn’t know—in my past life, my grades were bad because of bullying. After Mom found out and transferred me to an advanced class, my grades still didn’t improve. Because by then, my best friend Luna had already been bullied to death. This time, I swore I’d protect her. After the first monthly exam results came out, Luna was targeted again. Because she’d scored first place by a huge margin. Using my knowledge from my past life, I quickly became friends with Luna. I also discovered something shocking—the source of the bullying was Clara. Luna had been threatened to put Clara’s name on the next exam, or the bullying would continue. I gave her advice: don’t score as high next time. But keep studying hard in daily life. By the second monthly exam, Luna only scored twentieth in class. Meanwhile, my grades skyrocketed. I became second in the entire class, drawing all the fire. When I came home with my good grades, Dad, Mom, Aunt Helen, and Clara were sitting together like a tribunal. Clara had bombed this exam. She cried pitifully and implied that I’d cheated with the help of the first-place student. I didn’t care what the others thought. Even when Aunt Helen hit me with a broom, I didn’t move. I just stared at Mom without blinking. Soon, Mom looked at my report card and delivered her verdict: “She definitely cheated. You don’t have the talent. Your grades couldn’t improve this fast.” “She did something wrong. A beating will teach her a lesson.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. What was I even hoping for? In the eyes of someone who doesn’t love you, nothing you do is right. But in the middle of the night, I found a bottle of painkillers lying quietly outside my door. Mom’s regular medication. I bit my lip and brought it into my room. Aunt Helen insisted I’d cheated and deliberately starved me as punishment. I fainted from hunger at school. This time, both Aunt Helen and Mom came. Facing Mom’s questioning, Aunt Helen instinctively threw me under the bus. “She stole money from me, so I cut off her allowance. Don’t you have some savings of your own? How could you faint from hunger? I think she’s faking!” I explained weakly, my face pale: “Clara took my savings.” Mom called Clara over. Clara looked aggrieved: “You’re lying! You gave your savings to those delinquent boys in class.” With her real daughter backing her up, Aunt Helen tried to cement the accusation that I was dating delinquents. But this time, Mom stopped her with a serious expression. “Clara, you can’t say things like that. A girl’s reputation is important.” “If the meal card is lost, just report it and get a new one.” Aunt Helen was a bit afraid of Mom and mumbled into silence. They all left. I was lying there with an IV drip, eyes closed, when I felt movement under my blanket. I opened my eyes just in time to see Mom tucking money under my covers. Caught in the act, Mom jerked her hand back and turned to leave. But I called out to her: “Mom!” Her back stiffened, but she said stubbornly: “I’m not your mother. Don’t call me that.” But I persisted: “I heard Clara call Aunt Helen ‘Mom’ in private. What if there was a mistake? What if you really are my mother?” Mom’s voice sounded flustered: “Everyone wants an excellent daughter. Stop overthinking. I only have Clara as my daughter.” But “Clara Rivers” was the name you gave me in my past life, Mom. I made up my mind not to let Mom keep deceiving herself. Since she wanted an excellent daughter, I’d become excellent. Becoming first place by a landslide should be enough, right?
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