Chapter 2

I was bawling my eyes out.

Mom quickly picked me up and gently patted my back. "What is it? Don't cry, sweetheart."

At once, Sandy moved closer and raised her phone to record me for three seconds. A line of text popped up on the screen.

[I'm hungry. I want milk.]

But I had just eaten, and my stomach was still round.

Mom hesitated. "She ate less than twenty minutes ago..."

Sandy smiled. "Maybe she wasn't full before. Babies' appetites change all the time."

Mom tried to feed me, but I turned my head away with all my strength.

I wasn't hungry! I wasn't hungry at all! I was crying because you couldn't trust that app!

But I was only one month old, and I couldn't say a word. All my anger and panic could only come out as loud cries and sobs.

Dad stood nearby, watching me cry with a frown. "She doesn't look hungry."

Unease appeared on Sandy's face, but she quickly smiled again. "Maybe it was too noisy this time and affected the recognition. It's still in beta, after all."

Dad didn't say a word after that, but I saw the doubt in his eyes.

My first step was right. My dad was starting to doubt the app.

However, Sandy was more cunning than I had imagined.

Over the next few days, she came to our house every day, using the excuse of helping Mom take care of me. She learned my patterns.

When my diaper needed changing, when I needed milk, and when the gassiness would make me cry. After that, she edited matching translations into the app in advance.

I tried to control myself and not cry.

When she said I was hungry, I did my best and refused to cry. When she said I was sleepy, I forced my eyes wide open.

However, she had plenty of tricks.

Once, while changing my clothes, she quietly slipped a thin, loose thread into my sock. The thread caught between my toes. It itched and stung, and I endured it for a full three minutes.

But a baby's nerves were far more sensitive than an adult's, and the itch soon became unbearable. In the end, I couldn't hold it in and I started crying.

Sandy took out her phone at once. The screen showed, [There's something in my sock. My foot feels awful.]

Mom took off my sock and found the thread.

"Oh my god," Mom gasped. "It can even tell us about a tiny thread?"

This time, even my dad was stirred. "It's pretty accurate."

I trembled with anger. Sandy was the one who put that thread there! But I had no proof, and I could not speak.

After that, Sandy grew even bolder.

She kept creating small problems, then used the app to translate them accurately.

When making the formula, she deliberately made the water a little too hot, and the app showed, [The milk is too hot.]

She secretly folded the towel under my back into a hard corner, and the app showed, [Something is digging into my back.]

Every time Mom checked, she found that the "translations" were true.

Once, twice, five times, ten times.

My mom's amazement turned into dependence. Meanwhile, my dad's suspicion turned into silent acceptance.

"Enzo, this app is practically a miracle tool for parenting," Mom said as he held Dad's hand in excitement. "Every time the baby cries, I have no idea what to do. Now that I have this, it's like using a cheat code."

Dad glanced at the phone and didn't question it again. "It does seem useful."

Sandy waved it off modestly. "As long as Nina is happy. I just wanted our sweet baby to be more comfortable too."

I lay in Mom's arms and looked at Sandy's gentle, harmless face.

A chill ran down my back. It had been the same in my previous life.

She first used tiny things to build a wall of trust. Once trust was fully earned, she would then stab us right in the back.

On the eleventh day, Dad returned from a business trip.

Sandy came by with some gifts and smiled as she greeted him. "Enzo, your business trip must have been tiring."

Mom didn't notice Sandy's tone or the look in her eyes, but I saw everything clearly. When Sandy looked at Dad, her eyes held greed, possessiveness, and absolute resolve. What she wanted had never been friendship.

She wanted the Jackson family.

She wanted my dad.

That night, my stomach was bloated with gas again. I was in so much pain that I broke out in a cold sweat.

Sandy had been waiting nearby, her eyes patient, like a hunter waiting for the kill.

I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to make a sound. But she walked over, pretended to tuck me in, and pressed her fingers lightly against my stomach.

I screamed in pain.

After Sandy finished recording, the screen showed these words.

[A man came to our house today. He was tall and handsome, but he didn't look like Dad.]

Mom froze. "What man?"

Sandy put on a puzzled look, too.

"Nina, has any other man been to your house lately? Maybe the baby remembered it wrong."

"No..."

Mom shook her head and didn't take it seriously.

Dad raised his head and looked at Mom a little longer.

Mom didn't notice.

I did.

The seed of suspicion had already been planted.