The moment my son was born, my best friend, Lydia, shoved my husband aside, her eyes gleaming with a manic light. She snatched our newborn from the nurse’s arms and declared, her voice ringing through the delivery room: “Your son is the great villain of this world! But don’t you worry. I will be the one to save him. In the end, I will marry him, and we’ll be together forever!” My husband and I were stunned, but we dismissed it as a bizarre, tasteless joke. She was just being dramatic. For years, Lydia doted on our son. She was a constant presence, always the first to arrive whenever danger was near. Despite her "protection," our son was plagued by tragedy. He was diagnosed with autism, then severe depression, among a host of other issues. We poured every penny we had into his treatment. Then, on his tenth birthday, a runaway truck slammed into our car. As I lay dying on the pavement, I saw her looming over me. “A villain’s life is meant to be full of suffering,” she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “How else am I supposed to save him? How else will he learn to love me?” “You two just wouldn’t die,” she sighed, as if bored. “I gave him all those illnesses, and you still weren’t worn down to nothing. I had to handle it myself. What a pain.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back, months before my son was born. We immediately booked a flight out of the country, leaving our son in the care of his grandparents. Then we returned home with a baby girl. Let’s see her try to marry my son now. 1 A shrill alarm cut through the silence. I gasped, my eyes flying open, my chest heaving. Lydia’s name glowed on my phone screen. My hand trembled as I fumbled to answer it, her excited voice chirping from the speaker. “Clara! Your due date is any day now, right? When are you heading to the hospital? I want to be there with you.” I instinctively looked down at my swollen belly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was back. My son hadn’t been born yet. There was still time to fix everything. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “That’s too much trouble, Lydia. You have work. My husband, Noah, will be with me. That’s all I need.” Her voice instantly sharpened. “Absolutely not! He’s my future husband! I have to be the first one to see him! No one is stealing that spot from me!” Her words were a venom-tipped needle, plunging deep into my soul. A chilling dread washed over me, cold as ice. In my last life, Lydia had become obsessed the moment I got pregnant. She called my belly her “little husband.” She bought piles of baby clothes, embroidering them with her initials and the words “Property of His Future Wife,” then forced them on me. When my son was born, she’d acted like a woman possessed, shoving everyone out of the way to be the first to hold him. Her eyes had burned with a feverish intensity as she’d made her grand pronouncement. “Your son is destined to be the villain of this story. He’ll suffer endlessly before becoming the nation’s wealthiest man. But because of all that pain, he’ll be corrupted and turn against the story’s true hero and heroine. In the end, they’ll have him sent to prison and executed.” “But don’t worry,” she’d added with a beatific smile. “With me here, I’ll save him. I will marry him, and we’ll be together forever!” At the time, we thought she’d just read one too many fantasy novels. Her behavior was extreme, but we’d been friends for so long. We wrote it off as a joke. For the next ten years, Lydia was a constant presence, more attentive to our son than we were. And just as she’d predicted, his life was one disaster after another. But every single time, Lydia was there, miraculously appearing just in time to prevent the worst from happening. Because of this, our son grew closer to her than to us. At a young age, he was already learning how to take care of her, to soothe her. But it wasn’t enough. He was diagnosed with one psychological disorder after another. We took him to countless specialists, bankrupted ourselves paying for treatments, and exhausted our spirits, but he never got better. In fact, he only got worse as he grew older. On his tenth birthday, Lydia recommended a new doctor. Clinging to a final shred of hope, we drove to the appointment. On the way, a truck lost control and crushed our car. In my dying moments, I finally understood. Every illness, every accident, every ounce of his suffering had been orchestrated by her. All for her so-called “redemption.” I took a deep breath, forcing down the hatred boiling in my gut. I kept my voice light. “Alright, then. It should be in the next few days. I’ll call you the second we head to the hospital.” “Perfect. It’s a date.” The moment she hung up, I threw off the covers and went to find my husband. This time, I would keep my son away from Lydia, no matter the cost. Noah was in his study, wrapping up work before his paternity leave. He saw me and rushed to my side, his hands gently steadying me. “You should be resting. Is everything okay?” I gripped his hand, hesitating for only a second before looking him straight in the eye. “Noah, do you trust me?” He guided me to the sofa, his voice calm and slow. “You’re my wife. Of course, I trust you. Sit down. Tell me what’s wrong.” The tension in my shoulders began to ease. I let out a long breath and told him everything, from my rebirth to the phone call. “I know it sounds insane,” I finished, my voice catching in a sob as the memories of my past life flooded back. “But I lived it. Or, if you can’t believe that, just think of it as a premonition, a nightmare that felt too real. I just don’t want our child to…” 2 Noah wrapped his arms around me, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “I believe you. What do you want to do?” “Let’s leave. Let’s get out of this city, go somewhere else to have the baby.” My due date was just days away. The best plan was to put as much distance as possible between us and Lydia, then figure out the rest later. Noah took my hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. “Okay. I’ll book the flights. We can leave right now.” He quickly packed a bag while I changed. A few minutes later, he was helping me to the door. The moment he opened it, a cold dread shot up my spine. My blood turned to ice. Lydia. She was standing on our doorstep. How? In my past life, she hadn’t shown up here. Noah’s hand on my back was a silent source of strength. I forced a smile. “Lydia, what are you doing here?” Her gaze flickered to the suitcase in Noah’s hand, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You’re about to give birth. I was worried, so I decided to stay with you for the next few days.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “Are you two headed to the hospital already? You were supposed to call me. Why were you leaving without a word? Or were you trying to keep me from my little husband?” My heart skipped a beat. Noah stepped in front of me, his voice perfectly calm. “You’ve misunderstood, Lydia. Clara’s been feeling a lot of movement the last couple of days. We were just heading to a private wellness retreat owned by a friend of mine. It’s quiet, and they have doctors on call 24/7. It’s safer.” Before I could say a word, Lydia’s gaze, sharp and venomous, pinned me in place. “Great, I’ll come with you. It’s perfect! I need to get the nursery ready for my little husband!” She chattered on, completely ignoring us as she linked her arm through mine. Her grip was surprisingly strong. This wasn’t the time to fight her. If she became truly suspicious, getting away would be impossible. Noah and I exchanged a look. We had no choice. We took Lydia with us to the retreat. It was clear now. To escape her, we had to go somewhere she could never find us. At the retreat, Lydia never left my side, a 24/7 shadow. She spent hours just staring at my belly, her eyes glowing with a proprietary zeal. She wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. Once, I accidentally brushed my own hand against it, and she slapped it away. “He’s my future husband,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare touch him!” Her glare was so poisonous that I flinched, snatching my hand back as if I’d been burned. The baby was moving more and more frequently now, and Lydia’s anticipation grew with each passing day. She stroked my stomach, her face alight with excitement. “Clara, I can’t wait to meet him. Why don’t you just have the C-section today?” A shiver of pure horror went through me. I stared at her in disbelief. “What? It’s not time yet! A premature C-section is dangerous for both of us!” “No, it’s not. I already asked the doctor. He’s fully developed. It’s perfectly fine to deliver him now.” I’d had enough. I shoved her hand away. “No! Don’t you even think about it!” Her face darkened for a moment, then softened into an apologetic smile. “Oh, Clara, I’m sorry. I was just talking nonsense. Don’t be angry with me.” I closed my eyes, a deep sense of unease settling in my stomach. I tossed and turned all night, only managing to drift off as the sun began to rise. In a hazy dream, I felt the bed was moving. My eyes snapped open. Lydia, along with a doctor and two nurses, were wheeling me down the hall toward an operating room. “What are you doing? Stop!” I screamed. Lydia just smiled, patting my arm. “Don’t worry, Clara. You’ll get to meet our baby soon. I’ll be right here.” “I don’t consent to this! This is illegal! Stop right now!” The medical staff ignored me. I struggled to get up, but Lydia and the nurses held me down. “Just listen to me, Clara,” she cooed. “It’ll be better for everyone if our little husband comes out early.” “Now!” she barked at the doctor. “Inject the anesthetic! Quiet her down!” The cold sting of an alcohol swab on my arm. The glint of a needle poised to pierce my skin. I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me.
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