Chapter 2

I thought I would die. When I woke up, I was in the ICU.

I gulped oxygen, and my body slowly regained sensation.

Outside, Dad was scolding Aunt Helen so harshly she didn't dare talk back.

After that, Aunt Helen didn't dare feed me rice water anymore, but she still couldn't bear to waste her breast milk on me. She bought the cheapest formula instead.

My life was temporarily spared.

Mom named Clara after me—Clara Rivers, the name I'd had in my past life.

I felt heartbroken that I'd even lost my name.

Aunt Helen casually picked mine.

"This one will be Mia."

Mom didn't say much, just looked at me with complicated eyes.

At six, Clara and I attended the same elementary school. Classes started at 7:30 AM.

The difference was, Clara got to go to school with braids Mom had personally done, carrying a warm breakfast, riding in Dad's car.

I had to make breakfast for Aunt Helen, clean the house, and only leave with ten minutes to spare under her impatient glare, walking fifteen minutes to school.

First week of school—late every single day. I had to stand during morning study hall as punishment every time.

Whenever I asked to leave earlier for school, Aunt Helen would beat and scold me.

That's how I became the "bad kid" in my classmates' eyes and the cautionary tale teachers warned others about.

One day, Mom forgot some documents and came back early. She saw this exact scene:

Little me standing on a stool cooking, while Aunt Helen sat in the living room watching TV, eating fruit and yelling that I was trying to starve her.

Mom froze. Our eyes met.

Mine were filled with tears, but also hope.

Aunt Helen treated me badly because I wasn't her child.

But I was Mom's child.

The next second, Aunt Helen had her excuse ready, pulling out her so-called "tough love" philosophy.

"I'm just disciplining the child. Doing hard labor at this age helps her appreciate studying later."

Mom was easily convinced. She grabbed her documents and left without looking back.

I stared at her retreating figure, frozen. Then Aunt Helen beat me again.

But I couldn't feel the pain.

Because my heart hurt more.

In middle school, girls started developing. Aunt Helen hand-sewed four bras and put them all in Clara's closet.

When I asked for one too, her mocking gaze swept over me, and the next second she reached out and twisted my tender chest cruelly.

Tears streamed down my face from the pain. She screamed:

"Already acting like a slut at your age? Trying to seduce men, is that it?"

I never dared ask again. I could only fold tissues flat when she wasn't looking and tape them to myself with clear tape.

It gave me a tiny bit of security.

But middle school had PE class, and the uniforms were loose.

When I ran, sweat loosened the tape, and the tissues fell out in front of everyone.

Boys stared at me strangely. Girls wanted nothing to do with me.

After that, rumors about me spread through school.

When I went to the bathroom during breaks, boys would deliberately bump into me.

When the teacher noticed, she contacted my guardian to come to school.

I stood outside the office. When Aunt Helen arrived, she greeted me with two loud slaps across the face.

Students in the hallway stopped to stare. Teachers came out of the office at the sound.

My face burned. The humiliation nearly drowned me.

But Aunt Helen didn't stop. She pulled my hair and my collar, screaming:

"Seducing people at your age—you're disgusting!"