My daughter had been allergic to nuts since childhood. Yet, on Taste of Chicago Festival, my husband's "first love," Emerald Winston, sent over a box of five-nut mooncakes. They cruelly claimed her allergy was just an excuse and forced her to eat the mooncakes, which were filled with nut shells.
By the time I got home, the hospital had already called. They told me my daughter had died from an allergic reaction despite their best efforts to save her. She was only six years old. She died right there on the operating table. As I cradled her ashes in grief, my husband was off celebrating with Emerald and her son, who had just recovered from an illness.
But what my husband didn't know was that his "first love," Emerald, a doctor, had harvested bone marrow from my daughter's pelvis for her son's transplant.
When I confronted her, enraged, my husband pushed me off the balcony in a fit of anger. That fall killed me.
When I opened my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the day of the Taste of Chicago Festival. This time, I swore, things would be different. This time, I would make sure that those scumbags paid for what they had done!
——
I felt a sharp pain in my chest, and tears streamed down my face as I snapped back to reality. Vomit and crushed mooncakes were scattered on the floor, and it suddenly hit me—I had truly gone back in time, back to the Taste of Chicago Festival.
I rushed out, determined to save my daughter, Tamara, who must be at the hospital by now. I had a chance to stop it all! But as I hurried outside, I ran straight into Clinton, my husband, who had just returned.
"Look at how spoiled that brat is!" he snapped, shaking his head. "She ruined the whole night. Emerald worked so hard making those mooncakes that she refused to eat them, pretending to be sick and vomiting everywhere. Poor Emerald even had to go to the hospital during the festival to check on her!"
He continued ranting, completely oblivious to the tragedy that awaited us in our previous life. "If she doesn't apologize tomorrow, then no meals for her—she can kneel!"
Tomorrow? I thought bitterly. Clinton, you have no idea. In the past life, after this festival, your daughter was drained of her bone marrow for a transplant. Emerald faked a surgical accident, making everyone believe she died from an allergic reaction. And where were you? Off celebrating Emerald's son's birthday while your daughter turned to ashes.
Do you think I'll let you teach my baby a lesson? Dream on.
Clinton held up a bag of mooncakes and dumped them out in front of me. Some were burnt, others were sticky and gooey. He pointed at the pile with disdain.
"Emerald is just too kind-hearted," he said. "Even after all this, she wanted to send you both a gift."
I broke open a five-nut mooncake. It was filled with walnut and melon seed shells. Disgusted, I crushed the mooncake in my hand.
"Move aside," I said coldly, "I'm going to find Tamara."
Clinton's eyes blazed with anger. "She's just faking it. I specifically told Emerald to teach her a lesson—"
*Slap!*
My hand flew across his face, leaving him momentarily stunned.
"Let's get a divorce," I said, my voice firm. "My daughter has nothing more to do with you."
Clinton blinked in disbelief, then grabbed my arm, his anger returning. "Divorce? Do you think you deserve to divorce me? Look at how you've raised our daughter—she's got no class at all! Spoiled and disrespectful, thanks to your lousy parenting. Emerald would raise her better!"
I thought of how he had pushed me off the balcony in our past life and felt a pang in my heart. How could I have ever loved this man?
"Our daughter has been allergic to nuts since she was little," I said, my voice trembling with fury. "You know that. But you forced her to eat those mooncakes just because Emerald made them. You have no idea—Emerald will kill our daughter, and I need to get to her as soon as possible!"
"Shut up! You're being ridiculous!" Clinton barked, shoving me to the ground. "Overindulgent mothers raise weak children! In our day, we didn't even know what allergies were. And Emerald is a doctor—how could she possibly harm her own child? Her son has been battling leukemia through countless rounds of chemotherapy. An allergy? Please, that's nothing in comparison!"
I hit the doorframe hard, and pain shot through my arm. But I couldn't give up. I had to save my daughter.
Ever since Emerald returned to the country with her leukemia-stricken son, Clinton had barely spent any time with our daughter. Tamara had worked so hard, even taking dance classes, just to impress him. But every time Emerald called to say her son missed him, Clinton would run straight to her side, leaving Tamara behind.
"If you don't like Tamara or me," I said, struggling to get back on my feet, "then divorce me! Go be that kid's father for all I care."
"Enough!" Clinton's voice was filled with rage. Desperate, I bit down hard on his wrist, and he finally let me go, cursing as he tossed his car keys at me.
"Crazy woman! Do you think divorcing me will get you half my assets? The house and savings are already in Emerald's name—you'll get nothing. And don't think you're taking the kid either!"
Ignoring his venomous words, I grabbed the keys and raced to the hospital. I didn't care about the house, the money, or anything else. All I cared about was saving Tamara.
At the hospital, I quickly recalled the events of my past life and found the operating room where Emerald was performing the surgery.
"Matching complete. Donor stem cell collection can proceed," I overheard the nurses saying. Rage surged through me as tears filled my eyes.
Tamara, Mommy is here. Don't worry, I'm going to save you.
I burst into the operating room like a madwoman, startling the nurses.
Emerald stepped out, her face calm. "Oh, it's Celestine. Don't worry, Tamara will be fine—"
Before she could finish, I pulled a half-empty drink from my bag and splashed it right in her face.
"Ah! What are you doing?" Emerald shrieked, her mask of calm slipping.
I stood there, unflinching. "Nothing," I said quietly, "just getting revenge for my daughter."
Chapter 2"Celestine, this is a hospital! What are you going crazy for?" Emerald's voice, usually soft and gentle, now cut through the air, sharp and furious as she stood there soaked in the cola I had thrown at her.
"My daughter is about to undergo surgery and have blood drawn," I replied, my tone calm but firm. "As her mother, shouldn't I be here to sign the paperwork?" I locked eyes with her. "Let me see just how serious her allergy is. If they truly need to draw blood, I can help, too."
I added with a cold smile, "Oh, by the way, you treated my daughter to mooncakes. I don't have much to offer in return, but I brought you some cola. I hope you don't mind."
Ignoring the rage twisting Emerald's features, I turned and walked into the operating room. My heart sank as I laid eyes on Tamara. She was lying on the surgical table, pale as a sheet, her tiny body motionless. A nurse was preparing to extract bone marrow from her pelvis. When the nurse saw me, she froze in shock before fleeing the room.
Bone marrow extraction?
I could barely believe my eyes. "This isn't just drawing blood!" I cried out, my voice echoing in the sterile room. "They're extracting bone marrow!"
It made no sense. Tamara had vomited from the allergy, but there were no visible signs of swelling or rash. An allergic reaction like this didn't require surgery, let alone something as extreme as collecting bone marrow. What was happening?
No one responded. I could feel the weight of silence around me as they scrambled to fetch security, no doubt. But I had no time to waste. Without another word, I lifted my daughter into my arms, her body so light, and hurried out of the room.
Curious stares followed me as I carried Tamara down the hospital corridor. I could feel the eyes of other patients' families on me, watching the scene unfold, but I ignored them.
"What are you doing?" Clinton stormed in, his voice harsh. Emerald's pitiful expression quickly took over as she softly intervened, "Clinton, don't blame Celestine. She just spoils Tamara too much." She sighed dramatically, glancing at me. "Unfortunately, I can't perform the surgery now—my scrubs got contaminated."
Clinton turned to me with fury. "Put Tamara down! Emerald is a doctor—she knows better than you how to take care of her!"
He lunged forward, trying to take Tamara from my arms, but I stepped back, dodging him. Memories from my past life flashed before me—the moment Emerald took Tamara for surgery, the bone marrow transplant, and my daughter's death on that same operating table. And Clinton… he had stood by, believing Emerald's every word. My heart ached.
How could I ever trust either of them with my child again?
"Clinton," I said, my voice trembling with restrained fury, "you studied law, didn't you? Then tell me, why does a six-year-old with an allergic reaction need anesthesia and a bone marrow extraction? Is this legal? Are you really going to let them drain our daughter's bone marrow?"
My words echoed through the hallway, drawing gasps from the onlookers. They turned to look at Clinton and Emerald in shock. The tension in the air thickened as more people gathered around, their curious stares turning into judgmental glares.
"These days, stem cells can be collected from peripheral blood," I continued, my voice louder now. "Why would anyone resort to such a brutal method? She's only six years old! Who would do such a thing without the mother's consent?"
The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, and more phones came out, recording the unfolding drama. Their eyes shifted from me to Emerald, no longer seeing her as a doctor, but as something far darker.
Clinton hesitated, clearly rattled by the growing crowd. "What do you know?" he blustered, his voice sounding weak in comparison. "Doctors have their own considerations. You're in no position to question them."
I stared at him in disbelief. "Clinton, you're a graduate of a top university, and you're really going to spew this nonsense to defend her?"
The murmurs of the crowd turned to outright criticism. "This is too much," someone whispered, "and the mother didn't even consent?"
"Bone marrow extraction on a six-year-old? That's insane!" another voice chimed in.
Clinton's face flushed with embarrassment. Before he could say anything more, Emerald suddenly dropped to her knees with a dramatic thud. The gasps from the crowd were almost audible.
"Emerald, stop!" Clinton tried to help her up, but she gently pushed him aside, her tears falling perfectly in front of everyone.
"Celestine, I'm sorry," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "It's all my fault. I was just so worried about my son, so eager to fulfill my responsibility as a mother."
Her disheveled appearance and tearful eyes were a perfect act meant to elicit sympathy from the crowd. But I saw through her lies.
"Please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm begging you, Celestine. Save my son."
Her actions left everyone around us in stunned silence.
"Celestine, you know my son urgently needs a bone marrow transplant," Emerald began, her voice quivering with sorrow. "I just made a foolish mistake. When I drew blood from Tamara, I did a matching test, too." She wiped her tears, continuing dramatically. "To my surprise, heaven blessed us, and our children are a perfect match."
"I originally intended to use peripheral blood for collection so Tamara wouldn't be harmed. But the machine for the procedure broke, and that intern nurse—she went ahead and used the pelvic method without my knowledge."
Emerald glanced at the young intern nurse, who looked like she had just graduated. Her face turned pale as she heard Emerald's words.
"I'll go and fire her immediately. Please, Celestine, just agree to let us collect the peripheral blood."
The intern's eyes widened in shock. "Dr. Winston, you told me to use the bone—"
"Enough!" Emerald snapped, her voice cutting through the intern's protest. "You've made such a grave mistake and still want to argue? If I record this in your performance evaluation, no hospital will ever want you!"
The terrified intern fled in tears, too frightened to defend herself further.
The crowd murmured amongst themselves, realizing they might have misunderstood Emerald. To them, she now seemed like a desperate mother trying to save her son. What ill intentions could she possibly have?
Clinton tenderly helped Emerald to her feet, gently wiping away her tears and the dust from her knees. Then, turning his fury toward me, he growled, "Emerald's already done all this, and you still won't help Yale?"
He sneered, his eyes blazing. "Using the peripheral blood collection method means the blood is reintroduced into the body after collection. You have no more excuses now, do you?"
I narrowed my eyes. "So, you know about these different methods of bone marrow collection, don't you?" I mocked, tightening my hold on Tamara.
Clinton's face darkened for a moment, but he quickly recovered, his voice growing colder. "Of course, with Yale's condition, I had to research transplant methods. Tamara is incredibly lucky to be able to help him."
He took a step closer, his voice hardening. "Celestine, Yale is also just six years old. Can you really watch him die?"
"All it takes is a little blood to save him. Are you truly this cruel and heartless?" With that, he lunged forward, trying to snatch Tamara from my arms.
"No!" I cried, struggling to stop him, but my arms, already weak from holding Tamara for so long, couldn't keep him at bay. Clinton wrenched her away from me.
In the scuffle, he yanked off the bandage covering Tamara's wound, causing fresh blood to seep out. He didn't even notice and was about to send her back into the operating room.
"Clinton, you're inhuman!" I screamed until my voice cracked. "Is there any doctor who can save my child?"