Spare My Heart

I, Judy Wembley, had been reborn one hour before the Fletcher family came to pick me up.

Just like in my previous life, Daisy Stewart kicked my door open and demanded the paperwork proving my connection to the Fletchers. It was what would have led me straight into the Fletcher family.

"Judy, take a good look at yourself. You're tanned and skinny. The Fletchers are looking for an heiress, not some stray they picked out of a dumpster.

"You'd better be smart about this. Hand over your documents and let me enjoy the good life for you. If you dare say no–"

Daisy looked snobbishly at me while I sat on the bed.

After looking me up and down, she didn't even try to conceal the disgust on her face.

In my previous life, I fought desperately to protect my birth certificate. She and two of her friends pinned me to the floor and beat me up.

Daisy sat on top of me and slapped me over and over again. When she was done, she even spat in my face.

This time, I wasn't planning to resist.

Instead, I shrank back as if I were terrified. "If I give it to you, does that mean you won't hit me?"

Daisy's eyes lit up. "Of course."

Trembling, I reached under my pillow and pulled out my birth certificate.

She snatched it away instantly.

The moment she did that, my finger brushed against the back of her hand.

A vision flashed before my eyes.

Daisy, who was in a hospital gown, lay in an ICU bed. Her chest was wrapped in bandages.

Her face was awfully pale, and her lips were cracked from being dry. She had eyes that seemed sunk deep into their sockets. She looked like a corpse that hadn't quite finished dying.

A doctor turned to my adoptive mother, Mary Fletcher. "The heart transplant rejection is showing dire symptoms. Her heart can't be saved."

Mary stood beside the bed without a trace of emotion. She didn't even glance at Daisy. "Then pull the plug. Don't waste a hospital bed," she said coldly.

There were tears, fear, and despair in Daisy's eyes.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

The vision shattered.

Warm liquid trickled from my nose.

Daisy frowned in disgust. "Why is your nose bleeding? That's gross."

With the birth cert in hand, she turned around and left without looking back.

I watched her leave and smirked.

I then opened the journal hidden under my pillow.

On the first page, I saw words written in my own handwriting.

[Ability: By touching someone's skin, I can see visions of that person's future (three to five seconds, fragmented). Cost: Every use causes a nosebleed and short-term memory loss. I must record every vision, or I'll forget it.]

On this exact day in my previous life, the wealthy Fletcher family had arrived and claimed I was their long-lost biological daughter.

I thought I had finally found a family and people who loved me, but it was all a lie.

Mary took me home, bought me dresses, and treated me to expensive meals. She even called me her precious daughter.

It was all because I had a compatible heart for her eldest son, Stanley Fletcher.

Three months later, I was wheeled into an operating room.

My chest was cut open, my ribs were forced apart, and I died on that operating table.

There was neither a funeral nor a gravestone. In fact, nobody even remembered my name.

I closed the journal and slowly clenched my fists.

After walking to the attic window, I pushed it open.

Downstairs, a black sedan had stopped outside the orphanage.

Mary stepped out in a Chanel suit. Her hair was done perfectly. With tears in her eyes, she wrapped her arms around Daisy.

"My girl. I've finally found you," she said through sobs.

Daisy was crying too. Her sobs were even louder than Mary. Tears and snot covered her face.

Reporters surrounded them while cameras flashed nonstop.

Leaning against the windowsill, I smiled and waved at Daisy.

"Have a safe journey, my scapegoat," I whispered.

The black sedan slowly drove away.

I watched it disappear at the end of the street. My smile gradually faded away.

I pressed a hand against my chest.

My heart was still beating.

Thump.

"This time, you'll be the ones ending up on the operating table."