Five years after I staged my own death, a system notification jolted me back to the life I’d left behind. My daughter, the one I had to leave in that other world, was dying. How is that possible? When I gave birth and faked my death to return home, I made my last wish crystal clear: take care of our daughter. After all, the final request of the woman you loved, your ghost of a memory, is supposed to be sacred. Clive Hawthorne swore he would protect our Cici. But the system’s explanation painted a grim picture. After I "died," a lookalike named Jessica had wormed her way into his life. Publicly, she showered Cici with affection. Privately, she poisoned their relationship, whispering insidious suggestions in Clive’s ear. She hinted that if Cici’s birth hadn’t caused the amniotic fluid embolism, I would never have died. Cici never looked much like me to begin with. Fueled by Jessica’s venom, Clive's affection for our daughter soured into indifference, then outright neglect. And now, Cici was on the brink of death. Accused by Jessica of breaking something of mine, she’d been forced to kneel in the freezing snow, her breathing faint and shallow. A bitter, cold laugh escaped my lips. “I knew Clive was unreliable, but I never imagined the idiot was this unreliable.” “System,” I commanded, my voice tight with fury, “send me back. Now.” A replacement, after all, is just a pale imitation. What’s a lookalike compared to the real thing, returned from the grave? … When I materialized, the scene was even worse than I’d imagined. My daughter was a small, fragile heap in the snow, her tiny body nearly swallowed by the drifts. Her face was flushed a dangerous red, and frozen tear tracks glistened like shards of ice on her cheeks. She was still murmuring, delirious. “Daddy… I didn’t… Cici didn’t break Mommy’s things. I didn’t do it.” The sight shattered me. I’ve lived my life without regrets, but my one great failing was my daughter. I thought I had secured her future, left her in the safest hands possible. I never dreamed she would be tormented like this. Eight years ago, a car crash had left me in a coma. My parents, their hair turning white overnight, were devastated. That’s when the system found me. [Successfully win the heart of Clive Hawthorne and bear his child, and you will be granted one wish.] Three years later, my mission was complete. I refused the system’s offer to stay in that world. My wish was to go home, to be with my parents. They were both gravely ill, and I needed to be there for them in their final years. Because I’d completed the mission so well, the system made me a promise: after my parents passed, I would have one chance to return. I had just buried them when the system’s alert came through, telling me my daughter was about to die. “Cici, baby, it’s okay,” I whispered, wiping the tears from my own eyes. I scooped her frigid body into my arms. “Mommy’s back. No one will ever hurt you again.” This wasn’t the time for grief. The priority was getting her to a hospital. Even after five years, the security code for the main gate worked. My fingers still remembered. But I’d barely taken two steps when a shrill voice cut through the air. “You little bitch! Did I say you could get up? You run now and I’ll tell your father. He’ll never want to see you again!” Jessica climbed out of her car, her tirade screeching to a halt the moment she saw my face. Her eyes widened, a flicker of confusion and fear in them. “Who… who are you? Why do you look so much like her?” I glanced up. She truly did look like me, about eighty percent. But her upper lip was too thin, giving her a perpetually cruel, sharp look. “Get out of my way,” I snarled. “You hurt my daughter. I’ll deal with you later.” I tried to move past her, but she grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. Her eyes scanned my face, burning with a jealous fire. Everything she had, she owed to that resemblance. Before I could answer, her eyes widened again, but this time, the jealousy morphed into triumphant arrogance. “Of course. I should have known. You’re just some cheap knock-off who’s been under the knife! Trying to replace me? Too bad. Clive hates fakes.” I knew she was talking about my nose, the one that had been broken years ago when I took a punch for Clive. It had left a tiny, almost imperceptible imperfection. He used to love kissing that exact spot when we were in bed. Jessica’s confidence returned in a rush. She flicked a perfectly manicured nail, her chin held high. “A fake like you can try to win over this little brat, but it won’t do you any good.” Her eyes narrowed with a flash of pure malice. “Besides, once I have my own baby, this little brat won’t be necessary anymore.” A rage colder and harder than the winter air seized me. Cici’s body was growing hotter in my arms, a sure sign of a raging fever. I suppressed the urge to throttle Jessica right there. Instead, I snatched the car keys from her hand, unlocked the door, and gently placed Cici inside. “Are you insane? You can’t just steal my keys!” This time, I didn’t hold back. I snapped, my hand cracking across her face in a sharp slap. “You…!” “What do you think Clive will do,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “when he finds out you almost killed his daughter?” Jessica froze, like a hen with its neck suddenly wrung. A flicker of genuine fear crossed her face. She tormented Cici in secret and kept Clive at a distance from his daughter, but if the girl actually died, she knew Clive would never forgive her. She still hadn't fully figured him out, hadn't completely secured her place. Ignoring her pale, shifting expression, I jumped into the driver’s seat and sped toward the best hospital in the city. “How could you let this happen? As her parents… Malnutrition, delayed bone development, second-degree frostbite…” With every word the doctor spoke, my heart sank deeper, the weight of my guilt growing heavier. “I know,” I whispered, my voice thick. “It’s my fault. I’m a terrible mother.” The doctor sighed, his expression softening slightly. “Look, raising a child is a two-person job. You need to get her father down here. Your daughter has been through hell. She needs both of you.” After he left, I borrowed a phone from the front desk and dialed Clive’s number, my face a mask of cold fury. “Clive Hawthorne, is this how you take care of our daughter?” “Right now, I want you to get your ass down to the hospital and pay the bills.” The familiar sound of my voice made him pause. I heard the sharp intake of breath, the disbelief. “Clara?” I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yes. It’s me. I’m back.” My voice hardened. “Clive, if I hadn’t come back, you would have let our daughter die. What happened to the promise you made me when I was on my deathbed?” Silence. He remembered. I could feel it across the line. He started to explain, his voice shaky. “Clara, listen, I can…” He stopped, then let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. “Scammers are getting more sophisticated every day. You almost had me.” He sighed, a weary, condescending tone creeping into his voice. “I’ll let this go, just because your voice sounds like hers. But if you ever try this again, I’ll make sure you can never speak again.” I was speechless. What an idiot. Because of the system’s rules, I could never tell him the whole truth. But I had tried to prepare him, telling him over and over again not to despair if I died suddenly, that miracles could happen, that we might see each other again. I’d repeated it so often, hoping it would sink in. Clearly, it hadn’t. I didn’t have time to argue or prove myself. Cici needed me. I cut him off. “If you ever want to see Clara Vance again, get to City General Hospital.” Then I hung up. I knew he would come. Whether he believed me or not, the mention of my full name would be enough to make him show up. I rushed back to the room. As I pushed the door open, I saw Jessica yanking Cici by the hair, trying to drag her out of the hospital bed. “Stop it! What are you doing? Can’t you see she’s on an IV drip?” Jessica shot me a contemptuous look. “I’m taking her home, obviously. I can’t have people seeing her in a hospital. They’ll think I’m not taking good care of her. She’s not going to die, anyway.” Blood was backing up in Cici’s IV line. Her face was chalk-white, but she didn’t fight back. She was completely limp, resigned. My heart twisted in agony. I was terrified to fight back physically, scared of hurting Cici more in the struggle. The rage built inside me, hot and suffocating. Seeing my hesitation, Jessica sneered. “Don’t tell me you actually care about this little wretch. She’s just a brat putting on a show. She doesn’t deserve a private room this expensive. A little hot water at home and she’ll be fine.” She continued, her voice dripping with venomous pride. “She once told me she was allergic to shellfish. Please. Just a picky eater. I cured her of that nonsense by sneaking powdered shrimp into her soup. The little bitch even tried to tattle to Clive. But who was he going to believe? That woman wasn’t allergic to shellfish, so Cici had no proof. All she did was make herself look like a liar.” The stories kept coming, a cascade of casual cruelty. When Cici refused to call her ‘Mommy,’ Jessica would secretly jab her fingertips with a needle. When Cici wouldn’t tell her Clive’s personal preferences, she would find excuses to keep him away, then tell Cici it was her fault, that Daddy didn’t want to see her because she was being disobedient. “I was flawless,” Jessica boasted, her confidence soaring. “Even if Clive came back right now and this little brat tried to complain, he’d just think she was lying again. See? Look at her now. She knows better than to cross me.” She was so caught up in her monologue, so proud of how she’d broken my daughter, that she didn’t see me move. I waited for the perfect moment, then lunged, grabbing her outstretched hand and bending her fingers back with a vicious twist. “Aaargh!” As Jessica shrieked in pain, I swept Cici into my arms, sinking to the floor and cradling her close. “Cici, are you okay? Does anything hurt?” I asked frantically, my voice trembling. For a moment, she remained limp and unresponsive. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her vacant eyes focused on my face, and a tiny spark of light returned to them. “Mom… Mommy…” “Yes, baby, it’s Mommy,” I choked out, my heart aching with a mix of relief and sorrow. “I’m back. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” I hugged her tightly. Her little head rested against my chest, and she didn’t say another word. But soon, I felt a spreading dampness on my shirt. She was crying. Silently weeping out all the fear and pain. The realization was a knife in my gut. “It’s okay, Cici. You can cry. Let it all out. Mommy’s here to protect you now.” Our moment was shattered by Jessica’s shrill voice. “You bitch! You think a new face makes you her mother? How dare you touch me! I’m going to be Mrs. Hawthorne, the mistress of Hawthorne Corp! You’ll pay for this! I’ll destroy you!” She blocked the doorway and pulled out her phone, dialing furiously. A jolt of fear went through me. I’d acted on impulse. The world thought Clara Vance was dead. To everyone else, Jessica was the one poised to take my place. She would have people, thugs on her payroll. But I didn’t regret it. I couldn’t stand by and watch my daughter suffer for one more second. I did a quick calculation. Clive should be here soon. I pushed the hospital bed into the far corner of the room, away from the door, and spoke to Cici in a soft, soothing voice. “Cici, no matter what happens next, I want you to close your eyes and rest, okay? Don’t look. When Mommy comes to get you, we’re going home.” Cici stared at me, her eyes wide. Then, fresh tears streamed down her face. “Mommy, don’t go. Don’t go.” Her plea squeezed my heart until it felt like a crumpled piece of paper. “I won’t leave, baby. Mommy’s going to stay with you forever.” Just as I managed to calm her down, the men Jessica had called arrived. “There she is,” Jessica hissed, her face contorted with hate. “Now you’ll learn what happens when you cross me.” My stomach clenched. I grabbed the metal IV stand next to the bed, gripping it like a weapon. “You see her?” Jessica spat at the men. “She loves that little brat so much, right? So why don’t you help her get pregnant? Let her have babies until she dies from it!” Five burly men filled the doorway, making the spacious room feel cramped and suffocating. My eyes locked onto the leader, and a spark of hope ignited within me. I knew him. He used to work for me. “Leo, it’s me, Clara Vance,” I said, my voice steady. “Don’t ask how I’m back. Just know that if you touch me, you know what the consequences will be.” He hesitated. I saw the doubt in his eyes. “Leo, are you serious?” Jessica scoffed. “You’re not falling for that plastic face, are you? Use that thick skull of yours for a second. Clara Vance is dead. Dead people don’t come back. Think about your mother in the hospital. You do this for me, and I’ll give you more than enough money to take care of her.” Leo’s hand tightened around the stun baton he was holding. I knew it was useless to say anything more. I was just thankful for one thing. Back when the Hawthorne family was a major target, Clive was constantly at risk of being kidnapped. To protect him, I’d learned self-defense. It should be enough to hold them off until he arrived. I overestimated myself. Leo had been my bodyguard for a reason. In less than five minutes, my arms were pinned behind my back and I was forced to my knees. Jessica crouched in front of me, grabbing my chin. She slapped me hard across the face. “Still so tough, you bitch? Still so proud?” she sneered. “You paid for a new face and thought you could be Clara Vance? I’m going to destroy that face today. I’ll make sure you never have a chance to replace me again!” She took the stun baton from Leo, switched it on, and aimed it at my cheek. I tried to stall, mentally counting the seconds until Clive should arrive. But it was no use. Jessica advanced, the electric hum of the baton growing louder. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain. I can’t scream, I told myself. I can’t let Cici hear me scream. The baton came down. “No!” My eyes flew open. A tiny body had thrown itself in front of me, and now it was crumpling to the floor.
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