The Child Who Wasn’t

My adopted daughter, Phoebe Marsh, possessed an evil ability. Whenever she got hurt, the pain would also be inflicted directly on my biological daughter, Maisie Shaw. She deliberately hurt herself, covering her body with wounds and bruises.

Then, she would turn around with cold eyes, watching Maisie writhe on the floor in agony until she passed out from the pain. With no medical solution available, I broke down and held Maisie close, begging my husband, Brandon Shaw, to send Phoebe away.

However, he would erupt in fury. "It's obviously Maisie who's been faking illness for attention, and you're making up this ridiculous story to get rid of Phoebe. She's just a fragile, helpless child. How can you be so vicious?"

After that, Phoebe escalated her self-harm even more viciously.

Meanwhile, Maisie spent every day curled up in the corner of her bed, refusing to let anyone touch her.

On Maisie's birthday, Phoebe threw herself from the fifth floor. Just as Maisie was blowing out her candles and making a wish, she suddenly began bleeding from all her facial orifices, and she died instantly.

Yet, Phoebe only suffered minor scrapes.

I died from overwhelming grief shortly after. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to Phoebe's first day in our home.

Maisie was playing with her Legos when she suddenly clutched her ankle and started crying.

This time, I grabbed the broom from behind the door and swung it toward Maisie, shouting, "I'll beat you up for faking illness and seeking attention!"

Phoebe Marsh, our adopted daughter, stood by the entryway and banged her ankle against the sharp corner of the shoe cabinet.

Then, my daughter, Maisie Shaw, clutched her ankle and collapsed to the floor, crying her heart out. It was the same scene, the same reaction. She had been sitting obediently on her stool, playing with the Legos in front of her.

When Phoebe got hurt, it was Maisie who showed the pain.

The next second, Phoebe acted as if she felt nothing and continued slamming her ankle against the sharp corner until it was covered in bruises.

Seeing Maisie crying loudly, my husband, Brandon Shaw, frowned and scolded her. "Maisie, this is Phoebe's first day in our home, so don't throw tantrums."

When he turned and saw the bruises on Phoebe's foot, he gasped and gently carried her to the couch. He said tenderly, "This is your home now, so take some time to get familiar with everything."

His tone was so gentle, and he completely ignored the fact that Maisie was still crying so hard that tears streamed down her face.

In my previous life, ever since Phoebe entered our home, Maisie would often collapse and cry for no apparent reason. She would wail, "Mom, it hurts!"

Watching Maisie suffer from pain and cry herself to exhaustion every day tormented me, and I wished I could take her suffering upon myself. Eventually, I had to quit my job and take her from hospital to hospital.

When no medical facility could find anything wrong with her, I started noticing Phoebe's strange behavior.

Whenever Phoebe "accidentally" cut her finger, Maisie would clutch her own and scream. If Phoebe twisted her ankle, Maisie could not walk for days. Then, when Phoebe "spilled" boiling water on herself, Maisie would immediately roll on the floor in unbearable pain.

There were times when Phoebe was not in our sight, yet Maisie would scream in heart-wrenching pain. She would be drenched in cold sweat, desperately reaching out her hands and helplessly begging me for help.

Later, I told Brandon about these strange incidents and my suspicions. I even begged him to send Phoebe away, but he became furious.

"Maisie's just faking it to compete with Phoebe for attention! She's so selfish, and instead of disciplining her, you're taking her side and making up ridiculous excuses to kick Phoebe out. How cruel can you be to bully an orphan? You're both heartless."

With Brandon's protection, Phoebe became even more ruthless.

One day, she plunged her hand into a boiling fryer; the next, she pricked herself full of pins. In just one month, Maisie had been tortured beyond recognition.

I once tried secretly sending Phoebe away. Yet, the next day, Maisie rolled around the house screaming and passed out from pain.

Brandon cursed at me daily, blaming my malicious targeting for giving Phoebe severe depression. This continued until Maisie's birthday, when Phoebe jumped from the fifth floor.

Just as Maisie was closing her eyes to make a wish, she suddenly opened them wide and died with blood pouring from all her facial orifices. In my extreme grief, I also died from heartbreak.

As I was about to take my last breath, I saw Phoebe standing in front of Maisie's cake with minor scrapes, innocently licking the frosting off the knife.

My overwhelming hatred had no way to be released.

I never expected heaven would give me another chance at life. This time, I was determined to uncover the truth and never let Maisie die unjustly.

I stepped between Phoebe and Maisie, burying my guilt deep down as I swung the broom at Maisie. "I'll beat you if you keep faking to get attention!"

Though it looked harsh, I only gave her a light tap.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Phoebe closely. If Phoebe got hurt and Maisie suffered, then maybe if Maisie got hurt, Phoebe would feel it instead.

Based on my previous life's ending, her goal was to completely replace Maisie. If I could make her believe Maisie posed no threat, perhaps she would stop trying to hurt her.

I struck Maisie a few more times before turning to Phoebe with a smile. "Don't take it personally, Phoebe. She's just not used to suddenly having someone new in the house. Go take a look at your room. If there's anything you don't like, just tell me."