Part 1My Daughter Wants to Be Born into a Rich Family

On my deathbed, I gathered the last of my strength to lift a glass of water, my hand trembling violently.

But my daughter slapped it away, sending water splashing across the sheets.

“What’s the point of drinking? You’ll just live a few more days. Aren’t you tired of this?”

“If you’re going to die, just get it over with. I’m waiting to collect the sympathy cash!”

Tears streamed down my weathered face. “Why?” I finally choked out. “Why are you doing this to me?”

She rolled her eyes, slowly pacing over to my bed. She leaned in close, her voice a cruel whisper.

“Because you were poor. Because you were pathetic.”

“I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve hated you since the moment I was born.”

“If you didn’t have any money, why the hell did you have a kid? Couldn’t you just use a condom? No, you just had to have me!”

“If it weren’t for you two, I could have been born into a good family, lived a life of luxury. But no, I had to be born to a pair of broke losers!”

“So please,” she hissed, “if there’s a next life, stay the hell away from me. Don’t ruin my chances of being born rich.”

So that was it.

A single, bitter tear traced a path from the corner of my eye. I prayed to whatever was listening to grant her wish, and then, I closed my eyes for the last time.

When I opened them again, I was reborn.

* * *

“Congratulations, ma’am. You’re pregnant!”

The dizzying sensation of rebirth faded, and the first thing I heard was the doctor’s verdict.

I froze, my eyes glued to the test results in my hand.

Already pregnant?

How could this be? Why was I reborn at this exact moment?

The thought of bringing that little monster, that debt collector, into the world again made my legs tremble.

In my last life, my daughter hated school as a child and hated work as an adult. She spent her days glued to her phone, constantly yelling, “You brought me into this world, so you have to take care of me! It’s not like I asked to be born. You two had your fun, and now you expect me to support you? Not a chance!”

We tried to explain that we didn’t need her to care for us in our old age; we just hoped she could find a job, any job, to support herself.

She’d just roll her eyes and snatch our wallets. “Why should I work? I have you, don't I? You owe me. You have to support me for my entire life!”

Honestly, we weren’t “poor.” We were a typical working-class family. My husband and I had scrimped and saved for years, buying a small apartment in the city and a ten-thousand-dollar car for commuting. We were doing okay, by normal standards.

But “okay” was nowhere near enough to satisfy our daughter’s insatiable greed for luxury.

After she had burned through our life savings, she used our IDs to take out one loan after another.

My husband and I spent our final years hounded by debt collectors. It was a miserable existence.

The memory of those days sent a shiver down my spine.

Snapping back to the present, I grabbed the doctor’s sleeve. “Can I terminate it, doctor?” I pleaded. “Please, help me. I’m only six weeks along, it should be possible!”

The doctor gave me a strange look.

“Why would you want to do that? Weren’t you just considering IVF? Getting pregnant naturally is a good thing. Oh, I see. Are you worried about the baby’s health? Don’t be. From what we can see, everything looks perfectly normal.”

I forced a bitter smile.

She was right. My husband and I had always wanted children. We’d been trying for two years with no luck and had even started looking into fertility treatments. When I finally got pregnant, we were overjoyed. We treated our daughter like she was a miracle, our lucky star.

Who could have known that our lucky star was a demon in disguise?

I stammered, trying to come up with an excuse.

Seeing my determination, the doctor sighed.

“If you’re absolutely sure, you can. But I have to be clear with you. Your health isn’t ideal. If you terminate this pregnancy, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to conceive again. You need to think this through very carefully.”

My heart clenched.

“Why don’t you go home and discuss it with your husband? This is his child too, and I know how much he wanted this.”

I walked out of the doctor’s office in a daze and sank onto a bench in the hallway, completely lost.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice.

A voice that wasn’t spoken aloud.

“Hahaha, I’m back! And this time my mom is Sophia! This is awesome! I’m finally going to be a trust fund baby!”