Reborn: No More Ms. Nice Girl
Reborn in 1982, the first thing I did was kick the
bassinet with the unwanted baby in it.
Last time around, taking that kid in was the
worst mistake of my life. The whole town
treated me like trash, assuming I was some
unwed mother.
Just when I was at my lowest, Shane offered to marry me, saying he didn’t care about my past.
After the wedding, he sweet–talked me into giving up my chance to move back to the city for his sister, Shelly. Then, the bastard smothered my own baby and disappeared.
I was left to raise that foundling alone, taking care of Shane’s mom until she died.
Years of back–breaking work later, I was
bedridden with a terminal illness, and that’s
<
when Shane showed up, ready to drop the
bomb.
Turns out, he’d set me up to take in that baby
to protect Shelly’s reputation.
I spent decades struggling, while he and Shelly
were off living the high life.
Then my adopted son tried to force me to
divorce Shane, so his real parents could finally be together.
I refused. If I was going to die, I’d drag them
down with me.
That twisted family threw me out to die in some run–down shed, starving and sick.
Later, Shane stood at my grave, tossing fake money into the flames.
“You wouldn’t give me a divorce, and you made
Shelly suffer without a ring on her finger. Now
that you’re gone, I forgive you. Just don’t be a
homewrecker in your next life.”
The infant in the bassinet was freezing, its face red, its cries getting weaker.
The ungrateful brat I’d raised last time wouldn’t even give me a sip of water, just watched me, half–paralyzed, crawling and lapping up dirty water from the floor.
I clenched my fists, no more hesitation, no more weakness, and walked back into my house.
Soon, a frantic pounding shook my door,
growing more intense, like he wanted to tear it off its hinges.
“Claire, are you in there?”
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It was Shane.
Right now, he must be freaking out, wondering
if I’d taken the baby.
With weather this cold, he must be worried sick
that the kid would get sick.
Yeah, right.
I heated water, waiting until it was just warm enough to drink, and leisurely opened the door.
He lost his balance from all the knocking and almost fell inside.
Seeing how cold I was, he paused, forcing down his anger, and peered inside the house.
“Claire, what are you doing? Why didn’t you answer? Is everything okay?”
He was testing the waters, scared I’d figured
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him out.
Playing dumb? I could do that.
I rubbed my eyes, acting confused.
“I was sleeping.”
Shane’s face changed. He pushed past me, stomping into the house, and ripped back the
blankets, only to find an empty bed.
He looked around, panicked.
“It’s not here? How is that possible?”
I finally realized how pathetic his acting was.
And how blind and stupid I used to be.
“What’s not here?”
I did everything I could to suppress my hate, my
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voice icy.
Shane snapped back to reality, grabbing my
wrist.
“Did you find something on the road and hurry
back? Otherwise, you’d be out in the fields
working for Shelly, not here sleeping!”
Shane had convinced me that he and Shelly
were siblings, that his sister couldn’t handle
hard labor.
In the dead of winter, at four in the morning, every other soul was asleep.
Only I went to the fields every day before dawn, doing the dirty, back–breaking work for Shelly.
And they left the baby on the side of the road, waiting for me to pick it up.
I wondered why Shelly hadn’t been around for
<
months, probably knocked up and hiding so no
one would see.
