My mom has severe OCD. Because I weighed three ounces more than my twin sister at birth, she disliked me from the start. I would cry from hunger, but my mom would store my sister’s leftover milk in the fridge. She’d feed her eight times a day. Eventually, both my sister and I ended up in the hospital – me for malnutrition, her for consuming spoiled food. But that wasn’t enough. She kept feeding my sister until she became chubby, while forcing me to eat fatty meat that I was allergic to because she couldn’t stand how thin I was. It led to my death by suffocation. After death, I found myself back in my mother’s womb… 0 I died. Forced by my mom to eat fatty meat I was allergic to, my throat swelled up, and I suffocated when I couldn’t breathe. But after death, I suddenly felt the warmth of being surrounded by amniotic fluid again. It was the only maternal love I had ever experienced in my life. The next moment, I heard, “Doctor, is there any way for both my children to be born at the same time?” “Mrs. Song, that’s impossible. The cervix can only dilate so much. How could two babies come out simultaneously?” When this familiar conversation started, it was like lightning struck in my mind, igniting a spark. Sure enough, the next line I remembered came: “I don’t care, you must make my children come out at the same time.” “Otherwise, I’ll report you for sexually harassing a patient.” … It was my mom’s voice. As her words matched my memories one by one, I finally confirmed – I had been reborn. Reborn back into my mom’s womb, while she was on the operating table giving birth. In my previous life, she had specifically chosen what she believed to be an auspicious time for childbirth, wanting to have a lucky baby. But fate had other plans. She was carrying twins – me and my sister – so it was impossible for us to be born at the exact same time. And I, as my mom would say, always had to be first at everything. So the moment I appeared, I was labeled as the unlucky one. My sister was fortunate. She was born right at the time my mom had calculated. So when the doctor told my mom that I was three ounces heavier than my sister, she didn’t even look at me. Frowning, she immediately put me on a “diet order.” I didn’t even get to have a single sip of breast milk before being forced to wean. This led to malnutrition from an early age. Later, no matter what I ate, I couldn’t absorb nutrients properly, always remaining weak and frail. My mom, having given birth to twins, had an abundance of milk. She would store my sister’s leftover milk in bowls in the refrigerator. She’d feed her eight times a day. In the end, she successfully sent both of us to the hospital – me for malnutrition, her for consuming spoiled food over a long period. 0
At this moment, threatened by my mom, the delivering doctor was furious. But seeing that she was determined, he had no choice but to continue working while suppressing his anger. This time, however, I resisted with all my might, absolutely refusing to be born first. “It’s a difficult delivery!” “It’s a difficult delivery!” “Patient’s family, we recommend switching to a C-section. Please sign the consent form immediately.” “No way! Babies born by C-section are stupid. We can’t do that. It must be a natural birth.” This shrill voice was my grandmother. If my mom was the executioner, she was the one handing her the knife. The two of them often worked in tandem, making my dad too afraid to speak up. So my mom endured the pain, risking severe bleeding to deliver me and my sister naturally. Of course, she no longer had the energy to falsely accuse the doctor of harassment. This time, neither of us was the “lucky baby.” We started on equal footing from birth. But I still weighed three ounces more than my sister. “Mom, go buy ten more scales. I don’t believe this. They’re twins, how can they have different weights?” My mom frowned, her voice agitated after weighing me and my sister eight times. Grandma, who was domineering outside but a docile old baby in front of my mom, immediately went to do as she was told. Unfortunately, my sister’s and my weights were different on every single scale. My mom broke down, pointing at me impatiently. “Take her away. She must have been greedy and strong-willed, stealing nutrition from her sister in my womb.” “Starve her for a few meals. That’ll teach her.” In my previous life, this was where the hidden danger of my stomach problems began. Living again, I was determined not to let the tragedy repeat itself. But crying in front of my mom had no effect; it only made her more annoyed. So I deliberately waited until four in the afternoon, when my dad came home, and started wailing at the top of my lungs. The sound was as heart-wrenching as possible, scaring my dad so much that he ran in without even changing his shoes. Just as my throat was about to break from screaming, my dad finally found me in the washing machine drum. 0
Yes, I had been put in the washing machine drum. Because my mom told Grandma to starve me, but I would crawl away looking for food whenever she wasn’t paying attention. Grandma got fed up with me and simply threw me into the washing machine drum. Out of sight, out of mind. “Karen, how could you put the child in there?” My mom was shocked when she saw me. She was so stunned that she didn’t immediately start scolding my dad, but turned to Grandma instead. “Mom, why did you put her in there?” “Didn’t you say to make her lose weight? Shaking around in the washing machine, isn’t that weight loss?” Grandma justified her actions matter-of-factly. My usually quiet and reserved dad couldn’t take it anymore and contradicted her for the first time. “Mom, the washing machine is for tumbling clothes. What if something had happened to the child?” “What could happen? I’ve eaten more salt than you’ve eaten rice. Don’t you think I know whether something would happen or not?” “How dare you talk back!” Seeing that my dad dared to contradict her, Grandma’s face turned red and blue. She exploded, yelling at him. But this time, my dad was truly angry too. He didn’t back down no matter how much she scolded him. In the end, my mom couldn’t stand it anymore and stepped in to stop them. “Jack, my mom is your elder. Why are you arguing with her?” “The child is fine, isn’t she? What’s there to make such a fuss about?” My dad had been poor when he was young. It was my mom who didn’t look down on him and stayed with him while he built his business to where they were today. So my dad was always very accommodating towards my mom. Now, as soon as my mom spoke, my dad’s anger, no matter how great, subsided. He only muttered resentfully, “It would be too late if something had happened,” before carrying me to his study. I tried to make him understand I was hungry, so I gnawed on his hand for a while. He finally understood what I meant and carried me to find my mom to breastfeed me. But my mom coldly chased my dad out. “She’s already three ounces heavier than her sister. What more does she need to eat?”
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