Cursed Baby Bottle

On the day of my son's one-month celebration, my notoriously stingy sister-in-law surprised me with a branded baby bottle.

But instead of accepting it, I turned away and gave it to the neighbor's cruel son who had XYY syndrome.

In my previous life, I had accepted that bottle with genuine gratitude, using it day and night to feed my son. I never imagined that a month later, in the dead of night, my son would suddenly suffer a heart attack and die in my arms.

Strangely enough, the very next day after my son passed, my sister-in-law's sickly child—who had been confined to the neonatal intensive care unit since birth—was miraculously discharged in perfect health.

Losing my son shattered me completely. I spent my days drowning in tears. My husband called me a cursed woman, claimed I brought nothing but disaster, and demanded a divorce. Not only that, but he insisted I leave with nothing.

When I refused, he and my sister-in-law joined forces and accidentally beat me to death.

It wasn't until after I died that I learned the truth. The woman I had thought was my husband's younger sister wasn't his blood relative at all. She had been adopted by his mother years ago to be raised as his future wife. Together, they had plotted to destroy me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my sister-in-law handed me that baby bottle.

"Carrie, I've been too busy taking care of David at the hospital," Jess Hamlin said. "That's why I didn't have time to visit you since you gave birth to Nicholas."

As she spoke, she pulled a gift box out of her bag.

The scene before me felt all too familiar. My breath caught for a moment.

So it was true—I had been reborn.

In my past life, I had accepted the baby bottle from Jess, my sister-in-law, and that decision had cost my son his life.

This time, I wouldn't let history repeat itself.

"I just got out of the hospital today and rushed over right away," she continued, her voice tinged with warmth. "I bought this baby bottle for little Nicholas. Do you like it?"

I glanced up and met Jess's bright, expectant eyes.

"You bought a branded one?" I said, feigning surprise. "David's hospital bills must be piling up, and you still went to such trouble! I feel bad accepting this."

My polite refusal made her visibly anxious. She grabbed my hand firmly, her voice rising slightly. "Carrie! What are you saying? I'm his aunt. What's wrong with buying something for Nicholas?"

At that moment, my husband, James Hamlin, abruptly joined the conversation, "Carrie, don't overthink it. It's a gift from Jess. Just take it."

"Since your brother said so," I said, pretending to relent, "Thanks."

As I accepted the bottle, I noticed a fleeting glance exchanged between Jess and my husband.

Later, when most of the guests had left, Jess approached me again.

"Carrie," she said cheerfully, "let me make some formula for Nicholas."

Before I could respond, she swiftly opened the box and took out the baby bottle.

"Sure," I said with a smile. "Thanks, Jess."

Watching her leave in high spirits, I felt a weight lift from my heart.

The moment she had gifted me the bottle, I'd asked my best friend to pass it along to the neighbors. Their son, Derrick, had XYY syndrome and was notorious for his cruelty—tormenting stray cats and, more recently, attempting to assault a little girl. His mother, equally unreasonable and vicious, had made herself a terror in the neighborhood. Most people avoided them at all costs.

When I offered the bottle to them, they were only too happy to accept it. Though Derrick was already an adult, his mental development had frozen at age five, and he still used baby bottles to drink water.

As for the bottle Jess had just taken, it wasn't the one she gave me—it was a replacement I had prepared in advance.

"Here, Carrie, it's ready," she said, returning with the formula. "Feed Nicholas quickly. The poor baby looks like he's about to cry from hunger."

I looked down at my son, cradling him closer as a strange tightness gripped my heart.

"Alright," I said softly.

Seeing my compliance, Jess's eyes gleamed with something dark and twisted.

At that moment, my husband walked over, casually draping an arm over her shoulder.

Right in front of me, they began to flirt, exchanging playful jabs as if I wasn't even there.

In my past life, I had noticed their closeness but dismissed it as sibling affection. After all, they were supposed to be blood relatives. What could possibly be inappropriate about their relationship?

How naive I had been.

They weren't siblings at all—they were lovers. And my son's life had been sacrificed so their child could thrive.