Chapter 1
After twenty years of marriage, I had raised a son and a daughter.
But a paternity test revealed that neither of them was mine.
I confronted my wife, and she just laughed.
"So what if you know? What are you going to do about it?" she said.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself back at thirty-three.
Cradled in my arms was a newborn, my so-called "daughter."
This time, it was my turn to smile.
*****
The hallway outside the delivery room was thick with the smell of disinfectant.
The nurse placed a baby swaddled in a pink blanket into my arms, her tiny lips still twitching.
"Congratulations, Mr. Carter. It's a girl," she said.
I lowered my head, staring at the scrunched-up little face in my arms.
It felt like someone had poured boiling water straight into my brain.
Just a moment ago, I was holed up in that dingy rental apartment, gripping two paternity test reports, the words "Excluded as biological father" burning into my eyes.
The world went dark, and when I opened my eyes, I was suddenly here.
Thirty-three years old.
August 17, 2003.
I knew this date. Last time around, this was the day I first held my daughter in my arms, and bawled my eyes out like an idiot.
Back then, I thought I was the luckiest man alive, with a loving wife, a son, and now, a daughter.
I let out a cold laugh.
I lowered my gaze, staring at the tiny baby swaddled in pink in my arms.
She wasn't mine.
Even the woman lying in that hospital room had never once carried my child.
My hands were shaking.
Not because I was excited. It was hate.
All those memories from my last life flashed through my mind like a film.
When I was fifty-five, my son got into a car accident and needed a blood transfusion, but our blood types didn't match. I refused to believe it, so I went behind everyone's back and got a paternity test.
The day the results came in, I stood in that hospital hallway for three hours, my legs numb. Everyone else had gone home, but I was still standing there alone.
Twenty years. My son wasn't mine.
I refused to believe it, so I had my daughter tested too.
Same result. No biological relation.
When I got home, I slapped the reports down in front of Linda Carter.
She froze for three seconds. Then she smiled.
That smile haunted me to my dying day, her lips curled into a grin, but her eyes were cold as ice, like she was watching a joke play out right in front of her.
"So what if you know?" Linda said. "The kids are already grown. What are you going to do about it?"
Right then, I felt like wringing her neck.
But I didn't lay a finger on her.
I asked her who the real father was.
She stayed silent.
I smashed a cup, and she picked up the phone and made a call.
Twenty minutes later, Peter Grant walked right into my house.
Peter. He was Linda's college classmate. I used to call him "Pete." He'd come over for holidays and family gatherings all these years, and I actually thought he was my friend.
The moment he stepped inside, it all clicked.
And then,
Pete's fist crashed into my face. Over and over.
Linda just stood there and watched without lifting a finger.
When I couldn't fight back anymore, she grabbed the phone and wailed, "911? My husband is hitting me... He's gone crazy... Please, hurry..."
Everything after that was a nightmare.
I was hauled away.
Locked up with a busted nose and two cracked ribs.
By the time I got out, the house was already signed over to Linda.
Every dollar in my account was gone.
My son and daughter stood at the door, looking at me like I was a total stranger.
Linda pulled them close, her voice gentle as ever, like the perfect mom. "Don't be scared. Mom's here."
Peter's car was parked at the entrance of the neighborhood.
He rolled down the window and gave me a look.
That look, like I was nothing but a dead dog.
After that, I spent two years holed up in a shabby little apartment.
Just me, with nothing to my name.
That night, I downed half a bottle of booze and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Hate squirmed out from deep in my bones, like a nest of bugs.
And just like that, I was back here.
"Mr. Carter? Mr. Carter?" the nurse called.
The nurse's voice snapped me back to reality.
"Are you alright? You don't look so good," she said.
I blinked.
I looked down at the baby in my arms, then over at the door to the delivery room.
From inside the delivery room, Linda's weak voice drifted out, "Honey, can you bring the baby in? I want to see her."
Her tone was soft and gentle, just like always.
Hard to believe this was the same woman who, twenty years from now, would look me dead in the eye and say, cold as ice, "What are you going to do about it?"
I couldn't help but smile, a bitter grin tugging at my lips.
The nurse jumped, clearly spooked by the look on my face.
"Mr. Carter, are you sure you're alright?" she asked, her voice full of concern.
"I'm fine," I said, keeping my voice steady as I walked toward the delivery room with the baby in my arms. "Just so happy."
I pushed the door open.
Linda was propped up in bed, her face pale, but her eyes were shining with that first-time mother glow.
It was all fake.
Everything about her was fake.
She had never really loved me. Not even once.
But she was a damn good actress.
In my last life, she had me fooled for twenty-two years.
I walked over and set the baby down beside her.
"You did great," I said, bending down to kiss her forehead.
She smiled and took my hand.
"Let's name our daughter," she said.
I looked at her gentle face.
In my last life, I named my daughter Emily Carter, hoping she'd live a carefree life.
"Let's call her Emily," I said.
The name could stay the same.
But from today on, every single word of this story was going to be rewritten.
Linda, Peter. Everything you owe me, I'm going to make you pay it back, every last cent.
After leaving the delivery room, I stood in the hallway for a moment.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts.