After Rebirth, Mother Regrets Switching Daughters

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.