Chapter 6

Vivian's POV

Three days after Julian left, a red paper bag appeared at the door of the workshop.

Inside was a white baby onesie, with a few words hastily scribbled on the front in red marker:

"YOU DON'T DESERVE HER."

The fabric at the chest of the onesie had been slashed open, right over where the heart would be.

Mary cursed when she saw it, reaching out to burn it.

I stopped her, keeping both the bag and the security footage.

At the very bottom of the bag was a card with a single sentence: Don't bring this curse into the world.

My fingers went cold.

The baby in my belly didn't yell this time.

He was silent for so long that I had to speak first. "Are you keeping secrets from me?"

The tiny voice sounded choked. After a long time, he said, "Mom, I didn't just want to be the heir."

I sat by the sewing machine, the light casting a pale glow over my face.

"In my past life, you kept me too. You believed Julian once and moved into the private estate he arranged for your pregnancy. It had the best doctors, the quietest rooms, and locks on the doors. After you gave birth to me, the Pierce family said your health was failing, and they took me to the main estate. Every time you wanted to see me, you had to ask for their permission."

My breathing slowly became heavy.

"I didn't find out you were my mom until I was five. Before that, they made me call you 'Aunt Vivian.' Then, one rainy night, you ran to the kindergarten gates just to catch a glimpse of me. The security guards stopped you, and you fell gravely ill after going back. After that, I never saw you again."

The little voice was very quiet, but it couldn't hide the tears.

"On my eighth birthday, I fell down the stairs at the main estate. Everyone said it was an accident. But I remember someone had scattered marbles at the top of the stairs. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the moment where you had to decide if you wanted me."

The only sound left in the workshop was the low hum of the sewing machine.

I suddenly remembered the long hallway of the Pierce family estate, where the lights were bright but entirely devoid of warmth.

I used to think I was just unaccepted. Now I realized that being unaccepted was the best-case scenario.

What was truly terrifying was that they would sever my child from my life, and then tell me it was for his own good.

Mary couldn't hear the whole story, but seeing my pale face, she asked anxiously, "What's wrong?"

I packed the baby shoes I was making into a clear bag. "Mary, I need a lawyer. And a doctor who can ensure my medical records can't be accessed by anyone else."

Mary was stunned for a second. "You're finally ready to fight back?"

"Yes." I sealed the bag. "I used to think about running away. That's not enough anymore. I need them to know that I am not someone who can be quietly swept under the rug."

I contacted Dr. Evelyn Carter, and through her, I found Audrey Lawson.

Audrey was a lawyer who specialized in family law and women's rights. She spoke quickly, her eyes sharp. After hearing my story, she only asked one question: "Do you want to protect the child, or do you want to protect yourself?"

I said, "Both."

Audrey nodded. "Then stop negotiating with them using emotions. You need a registered address, an income, prenatal records, and evidence. You also need a visible social circle. A person hidden in the dark is the easiest to manipulate."

I looked out the window.

Julian had offered me the most beautiful cage, and Sienna wanted to seal the outside of it.

But I chose to walk right into the light of the crowd.

Audrey didn't ask about the baby's voice, nor did she press about the past life.

I only told her I had a very long nightmare, a nightmare where I lost my child and my name as a mother.

After hearing this, Audrey didn't laugh. She just capped her pen. "Then we prepare for the worst-case scenario. Many tragedies in real life don't happen because people don't love their children enough, but because they have no boundaries, no evidence, and no way out."

I engraved the word "boundaries" into my mind.

I used to think that loving someone meant asking for less and making things easier for them.

But my child's past life was like a bucket of cold water, waking me from my delusions: love without boundaries is easily taken for granted, until there is nothing left of you.

When I left the law firm, I bought a new notebook downstairs.

On the first page, I wrote one sentence: No more disappearing.

I wanted to make sure my name appeared on ledgers, contracts, medical records, and in the memories of my neighbors.

The more clearly I existed, the harder it would be for anyone to erase me.