share time: 2026-01-05 00:35:34
In my past life, my birth mother left my father and me for a wealthy family. My father’s new wife, a chubby woman with a gentle personality, was mocked by neighbors—and I even treated her coldly because I thought she “embarrassed” me. Until I saw her selling umbrellas in a torrential rain to buy me new shoes, soaking wet but wrapping the only dry coat around me. She died of pneumonia later, muttering “I didn’t finish knitting your sweater” with her last breath. Reborn to 8 years old, I hug my stepmom as she comes home from work, shoving the chocolate I’d hidden for a week into her mouth: “Mom, I’ll protect you from now on.” Next, I help her stand up to the gossiping neighbors, join her in learning to bake (secretly adding double the sugar), and drag my father into taking belated wedding photos—this time, I’m filling her life with all the sweetness she never had before.
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