The Obsession For A Boy

I sit in the VIP ward of a private hospital, fingers holding a freshly peeled apple. My cousin Quinn Scott lies in the bed opposite me, her pregnant belly swollen high, her pants pulled up nearly to her chest. There was only one week left until her due date, and the way she touched her belly brimmed with resolute determination. She had married Dylan Scott, the live-in son-in-law, and by agreement, the child would be considered part of the Lynn Family. She was single-mindedly intent on having a boy to firmly seize control of the Lynn Family's inheritance. On this very day, in my previous life, I was slicing apples and handing them over just like this. Back then, I had just found out I was pregnant. Sympathetic to her struggles, I took detours every day to bring her fresh fruit, peeling them spotless. But that night, after she gave birth to a daughter naturally, she vented all her anger on me. "Windy Lynn! Did you do this on purpose?" She sat on the bed in the postpartum care center, her hair wild and tangled like a bird's nest, her eyes bloodshot as if they might bleed. "You know I want a son! What does giving me an apple mean?—you're just waiting for me to have a daughter!" Back then, I was still naive, thinking she was just overwhelmed by postpartum emotions, so I held her hand and tried to comfort her: "Cousin, things have changed, we no longer favor sons over daughters. Daughters are wonderful too." But she jerked her hand away and stood outside my hospital ward every day, muttering that she wanted me to have a daughter too, so I could taste her bitterness. Later, when I gave birth to a boy, she completely lost her mind. That day, I had just finished feeding the baby when she and Dylan Scott stormed in. "This boy should have been mine!" she hissed, digging her nails into my arm, the pain bringing tears to my eyes. "Go to hell! I'll be his mother and inherit the Lynn Family's fortune!" I desperately called out to Dylan Scott for help—after all, he was my cousin's husband; he should have some sense. But he just stood there coldly watching, until Quinn Scott, unable to drag me any further, shouted, "Dylan! Are you blind? She's heavier than a pig; I can't lift her!" Then she added, "Forgot? You still owe Windy Lynn a hundred thousand! If you don't finish her off, where will you get the money to pay back?" Only then did Dylan Scott step forward, clasping my arms with hands as cold as ice. "Windy Lynn, don't blame me. Quinn and I will take good care of your child." The last thing I saw were their cruel, twisted smiles—then I was thrown out of the seventeenth-floor window of the postpartum care center. The wind whipped through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. When I opened my eyes again, I was still in this hospital ward, the apple in my hand left unopened. My heart pounded fiercely against my ribs, cold sweat dampening my bangs, as if the fall had just happened moments ago, still playing before my eyes. "Windy, hand me the apple as soon as it's sliced." Quinn Scott frowned, speaking with undeniable entitlement. "I'm carrying your future nephew; I need to nourish him properly." I gazed at her face, slowly merging with the madness from my past life, and a sick churn rose in my stomach. I withdrew my hand and shoved the apple chunks into my mouth. The apple was sweet, its juice sliding down my throat, yet I could taste no sweetness—only a lingering bitterness filled my mouth. "Why did you eat it all by yourself?" Ms. Bella pushed the door open and stepped inside. The moment she saw the apple in my hand, she burst into rage. She slammed her bag onto the bedside table, her voice piercing like nails scraping glass: "Windy Lynn! Is this really how the Lynn Family treats a mother in labor? My daughter is carrying the Lynn Family's child, Dylan Scott is a live-in son-in-law, and yet here you are, gobbling it all up yourself!" I took another bite of the apple, chewing slowly before I said, "Ms. Bella, eating an apple is a bad omen for having a daughter. Cousin wants a boy, so she mustn't touch it. She hasn't eaten a single apple during her pregnancy; the boy is bound to come." Sure enough, the moment they heard "a boy," Quinn Scott and Bella's expressions softened immediately. Quinn Scott proudly pushed out her belly and said, "Exactly! The doctor said my baby is strong, and a strong baby must be a boy!" No sooner had she spoken than she suddenly cried out, "Ow," gripping the bedsheet tightly, her face turning pale instantly. A thought crossed my mind—last time, it was exactly at this moment that her labor pains began. The doctor hurried in, examined her, and smiled, saying, "It's nothing, just early signs of labor. Prepare some high-calorie food for the mother in labor, and she'll be able to enter the maternity ward tonight." Quinn Scott's eyes sparkled instantly, "Doctor, can I have the spicy oil noodles downstairs? I've been craving them for so long!" I quickly shook my head, "Cousin, no! Sour sons and spicy daughters, remember? The oil noodles are full of chili; what if it drives the son away? This critical moment is no time to take risks." Quinn Scott quickly shook her hand in fright, her face etched with lingering fear: "Yes, yes, no spicy food! I almost forgot!" She rubbed her stomach, frowning, "But my stomach is upset, and I can't eat sour food either. What should I do?" After a while, her eyes lit up again: "Windy, go buy me a chocolate cake! Didn't the doctor say I need high calories?" I shook my head again, feigning worry: "Cousin, only girls like sweets—how could a boy like sweets? If you eat it, your son might be upset." Quinn Scott's face instantly drained of color, and she never brought up the cake again. The hospital ward fell silent, broken only by the rumbling of her stomach. She wore a pained expression, tossing and turning, unable to decide what to eat for a long time. I ignored her and pulled an apple out of my bag again, peeling it slowly. The blade scraped the skin with a faint "shush" sound, standing out sharply in the silent hospital ward. After a while, the hospital ward door opened, and Dylan Scott walked in. The moment he saw me eating the apple, his face darkened instantly. He stormed over angrily and scolded, "Windy Lynn! How can you care for our cousin like this? Eating all by yourself? Quinn is carrying a child of the Lynn family, and you're so heartless!" I stared at his face, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. In my previous life, it was this very cousin's husband, someone I had always treated with kindness, who pushed me off the seventeenth floor with his own hands. I still remember the scene at the postpartum care center—I was clutching my baby, curled up in a corner, while he and Quinn Scott slowly closed in on me. Quinn Scott accused me of "grabbing the family fortune," and Dylan Scott grabbed my arm, dragging me out. I am begging for mercy, but he didn't even bat an eye. This time around, I won't show him an ounce of mercy. I lifted my head and kept chewing the Apple, refusing to explain like I did last time—there was simply no need. "Dylan, I can't eat apples. If I do, the boy will run away!" Quinn Scott gripped Dylan Scott's hand, her eyes swelling with tears of hurt. "But I'm starving! I feel like I'm going to die of hunger!" Dylan's expression softened. Holding her hand gently, he soothed, "Quinn, no matter if it's a boy or a girl, I love you and our child all the same." I couldn't hold back a cold sneer.