The Adopted Daughter's Secret

My name is Caroline Marshall. When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows. The familiar sofa, the familiar coffee table, and the book on it that I just finished reading yesterday—everything is exactly like an ordinary afternoon I remember. Yet inside, my heart churns wildly, for I clearly remember that I am already dead. The despair before death still clings to my bones—the agony of being poisoned, as if my organs were burning alive, is no illusion. The door opened, and my husband, Owen Wallace, entered, holding a little girl in his arms. The little girl wore a pink dress, her hair tied into two small braids, looking both gentle and pitiful. That moment was like a key, instantly unlocking the floodgates of my memories. It was today that Owen Wallace brought home a little girl named Julia Wallace, saying she was an orphan and that the adoption had been finalized. In my previous life, seeing Julia's frail figure softened my heart at once, and I agreed without hesitation. But now, I fix my gaze firmly on Julia's eyes. She wasn't as innocent as she seemed on the surface. Her eyes concealed a darkness beyond her years, with a faint, almost imperceptible thread of hatred, staring straight at me. A chill ran down my spine. How had I failed to notice this in my previous life? Owen Wallace placed Julia on the ground, then came over to wrap his arm around my shoulders, his voice so tender it seemed to drip with warmth: "Caroline, Julia is pitiable. From now on, let's be her parents and take good care of her, okay?" His eyes were sincere, his tone full of hope—just like in my past life. Only now do I truly grasp how masterful Owen Wallace's skill at lying is. He deceived me for all these years, making me believe I had married a gentle and considerate husband. It wasn't until my final moments that I realized it had all been a cruel deception. In my previous life, ever since Julia Wallace came, strange things began happening in the house. My wedding ring was inexplicably stained with blood, the wedding photos hanging on the bedroom wall were slashed with a knife, and my face was wounded by a deep cut. I thought it was an accident, but my health kept declining—I was constantly dizzy and weak, and no matter how many hospital tests I underwent, they couldn't find any cause. Until I fell ill and was bedridden, too weak even to speak, Julia Wallace leaned close to my ear and said, with a childish yet chilling voice, "Caroline, there was poison in the medicine you drank, placed there by me and Owen. You're going to die soon." In that moment, I realized that all along I had been drinking poison—poison administered by my trusted husband and the little girl I had kindly taken in. Despair engulfed me like a tidal wave, and I closed my eyes amid endless pain and regret. And now, I have been reborn—returned to the very day when the tragedy began. I will never make the same mistake again.