Chapter 1

I got my first phone when I was five, and ever since, strange messages had been popping up every day.

This stranger called me Mom.

She messaged me again at 3 a.m. today.

[Mom, I dreamed about you again. The attic was leaking, and my stepmom made me mop up the water with a rag, but it was way too small. I spent the whole night wiping, but it never dried. Mom, I'm freezing and starving. I really miss you...]

With my head tilted, I listened to the rain outside and replied earnestly: [Don't be scared, sweetie. Where are you? Mommy will bring you some treats!]

*****

The stranger replied right away: [Who are you?]

I blinked my big eyes, confused, and pouted. I replied: [Didn't you just call me Mom?]

Why was she asking who I was now?

To prove I was a responsible mom, I even added a cute, patient emoji at the end.

I kept waiting.

Still, there was no reply from her, and before I knew it, I had dozed off.

The next morning, I rubbed my sleepy eyes and instinctively reached for my phone.

There was a message from my daughter: [You're not my mom. My mom died five years ago.]

I looked down at my chubby little belly, put my hands on my hips, and puffed up my cheeks.

I replied: [Hey, that's rude! I'm only five, and I'm super lively!]

After a while, it suddenly hit me.

Her mom must've been gone for five years. My mom always said that people we loved never truly left us; their heart just found a new home. And hey, I was five this year too.

Maybe her mom's heart found its way to me.

Whenever we played house, I was always the top mom in the group!

I was about to text her back when she messaged again: [I don't know who you are, but thank you.]

[This was my mom's number when she was alive, and today's my 18th birthday. If you don't mind, could you wish me a happy birthday?]

I slipped on my bunny slippers, dictated a message in my cutest, childish voice, and sent it as text.

[Happy birthday, sweetie! Be happy and eat lots of yummy candy every day!]

Then it hit me. Every year, my parents gave me birthday presents. Maybe my daughter should get something special for her birthday too.

So I texted: [It's your birthday today! Is there anything you want Mommy to get you?]

[Mommy loves cute dolls and chocolate. What about you?]

After a long pause, she replied: [Could you send me a few painkillers?]

I didn't even know what painkillers were.

But I did know that people took medicine when they were sick.

I replied immediately: [Are you sick, sweetie?]

She seemed worried I might get the wrong idea, so she started explaining: [Last night, my stepmom locked me in the attic. She said I stole money, so she locked me up and beat me up. I'm hurting all over right now. I just want a painkiller.]

Her stepmom seemed so mean. Just like that evil queen in Snow White.

I puffed up my cheeks angrily and replied: [Your stepmom is so bad! She's like a monster! But don't be scared, sweetie. My dad is super brave, like a guard dog. I'll ask him to go bite your stepmom and get revenge for you!]

Then I asked my daughter for her address, ran downstairs, and found the housekeeper Wendy.

I said, "Wendy, I want to find someone to help deliver something!"

With that, I pulled out the first aid kit from the cabinet, plopped down on the floor, and started rummaging through it, my little butt stuck up in the air.

There were all these medicine boxes in every color, but none of them made any sense to me.

I glanced left, glanced right—no matter which one I looked at, it just didn't feel right.

Wendy saw my little face all scrunched up in confusion and quickly asked with a warm smile, "Sweetie, what are you up to with that first aid kit?"

I looked up at her and asked, "Wendy, which one is the painkiller?"

Wendy immediately looked anxious. She quickly scooped me up from the floor and gently felt my forehead and palms, worried I might be sick.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Are you feeling unwell?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I'm okay, but it's my daughter's birthday today. I want to send her some painkillers!"

Wendy thought I was just playing pretend with my dolls, so she smiled and said, "Lily, birthdays are for cake, not for painkillers."

Then I suddenly realized and patted my head. Birthdays weren't just for giving painkillers—I should also send her a little cake and some sweet candy.

That way, when she took her medicine, it wouldn't taste bad at all.