After my death, my parents sign an organ donor consent form on my behalf. They have my corneas removed and transplanted onto their beloved adoptive daughter, Grace Lane.

She later marries my brother, and they become a true family.

Grace and I competed over everything in life, yet I ended up dying with nothing.

Now that I've been given a chance to start over, I decide to live life without them. Surprisingly, I find myself getting a happy ending.

I was reborn, back to the day when Grace Lane arrived at my home.

If my rebirth had occurred earlier, perhaps I could have prevented Grace's biological parents' deaths, or even desperately tried to stop my parents from adopting her.

But now that she had already arrived at our home, no amount of protest would change anything.

Grace was the daughter of Dad's mentor, a renowned painter who had his precious child late in life and cherished her like the apple of his eye. She displayed exceptional artistic talent but suffered from an unidentified eye condition that caused her vision to fluctuate, with the constant risk of blindness.

Her parents had taken Grace to numerous doctors seeking treatment, but both died in an accident, leaving behind young Grace.

Grace's childhood was tragic, so my parents immediately decided to treat her as their own daughter when they first saw her. She became even more important than their biological child, me.

"Wendy, didn't you always want an older sister? From now on, Grace will be your sister. Aren't you happy?" Mom and Dad looked at me lovingly, hoping I would genuinely accept Grace.

Seven-year-old me was genuinely happy in my previous life, believing I had gained another warm family member. I was willing to share my love with this gentle-faced girl.

Yet I never imagined Grace to be a thief who didn't want to share my love—she wanted to steal it all.

"Wendy, I know you're a sensible girl. Grace isn't well. Although you're younger, we need you to help us care for her. Can you do that?" Dad asked.

Tears were already forming in Grace's eyes before I could answer.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lane, I know it must be hard for Wendy to accept me. Who would want to share their family's love with someone else? Don't worry, I can go back to the orphanage."

Sometimes I truly suspected that Grace had also been reborn. How could an eight-year-old girl be so manipulative? I hadn't expressed any opposition, yet she had already labeled me jealous.

Mom wiped Grace's tears away tenderly. "Don't cry, Grace. It's not good for your eyes. And why are you still calling us Mr. and Mrs. Lane? From today on, we're Mom and Dad."

Grace lifted her delicate little face, tears still clinging to her eyelashes. Her expression of unexpected gratitude would make anyone pity her.

"I have a mom and dad now," she sobbed.

In that moment, the three of them embraced and cried together. No one remembered to ask for my opinion. Grace just had that kind of power.

My parents had Grace and me sleep in the same room that night. I lay quietly, unable to fall asleep, calculating how to become independent and leave this home as soon as possible.

After everything that happened in my previous life, I understood that from the moment Grace invaded our family, Dad, Mom, and my brother, Jake, all became her exclusive possessions.

Grace carefully got out of bed late at night. I squinted, pretending to be asleep, and watched as she headed straight for my parents' bedroom.

"Mom, Dad, it's so dark. My eyes hurt so badly. I'm so scared," Grace sobbed.

My parents were blinded by sympathy. They didn't stop to wonder how Grace could have found their bedroom so easily in such an unfamiliar environment and during a sudden eye flare-up.

They just held Grace tenderly, their own anxieties mirrored in their tearful eyes. "Don't be afraid, Grace. We're right here."

Grace trembled as she nestled into Mom's embrace, appearing thoroughly frightened.

"Mom, Dad, can I really stay in this family? Earlier, Wendy..." Grace whimpered.

My heart sank when I overheard this. Dad burst into my room and yanked me out of bed while I was still pretending to sleep the next moment later.

"What did you say to Grace? How can you be so inconsiderate? Grace has been sickly since childhood and has such a tragic past. Can't you just give way to her a little?"

"Don't be like that. Wendy's still young. She'll understand with some guidance!" Mom verbally restrained Dad but continued holding Grace tightly, showing no intention of coming to protect me.

Eventually, they took Grace back to their bedroom and left me standing outside in my thin nightgown.

Mom used to check on me every night, tucking me in before leaving. They seemed to have forgotten that I was only a seven-year-old child who also feared the dark and the cold, and at an age when I needed parental love the most.

Grace often did this in my previous life. She'd first pretend her eye condition was flaring up, then take advantage of my saintly parents' compassionate nature to fabricate lies that tarnished my reputation.

I gradually became aware of the threat even as a young child. I had transformed in my parents' eyes from a sweet, adorable daughter into a "bad girl" since her arrival.

So I began secretly competing with Grace, comparing myself to her in everything. Whatever Grace had, I had to have it too.

Grace excelled at putting on an act in front of others—appearing gentle, timid, and always yielding—making my parents feel they owed her even more.

I competed with Grace my entire life, but I could never win against her. Even Jake, who once adored me the most, fell under Grace's spell.

Everyone in the art circle knew that the Lane family had a pitifully talented adopted daughter named Grace and a jealous, bullheaded biological daughter named Wendy.

I decided to stop competing with Grace in this new life. I would live the life I truly wanted.

Early the next morning, Grace's and my parents' cheerful voices drifted from the dining room. I quietly walked downstairs to find Grace sitting in my seat, using my favorite tableware.

The previously harmonious atmosphere suddenly broke upon seeing me. It was as if I were the intruder in their family.

Mom's face flashed with embarrassment. "Wendy, you're up early today. Grace doesn't have her own tableware yet, so she's using yours. Would you mind using Jake's set?"

"No thanks. I don't like using things that belong to others."

Everyone knew I was criticizing Grace when they heard my words. Dad, still angry about my "bullying" of Grace yesterday, transformed from his usually kind demeanor to looking extremely displeased.

I glanced at the milk, sandwiches, bacon, and eggs on the table. Grace liked all of these things. Meanwhile, I was lactose intolerant and usually had oatmeal for breakfast.

"Oh, I forgot you can't drink milk. I'll get you almond milk in a moment," Mom hurriedly intervened, afraid of revealing that she cared more for her adopted daughter than me.

Dad slammed his cup on the table and scolded me irritably, "There's no need for all these special requests! You've spoiled her too much.

"She's just a child and already acts like she rules the house! We need to take Grace to arrange her school transfer soon. We don't have time to waste!"

If this had been my former self, I would have been heartbroken by these words and thrown a tantrum. Yet now, I feel only numbness.

I quietly sat in the corner of the table and noticed Grace eating with her head down, a smug smile playing at the corners of her lips. Yet when she looked up again, her little face was filled with sadness.

"Dad, please don't talk to Wendy like that. She's not like me. She'd been cherished and protected since she was little. It's natural for her to be a bit willful. It shows how much you love her."

My saintly parents were once again moved to tears. Perhaps they wondered how such an angelic little girl could exist in this world.

Meanwhile, I was cast as the spoiled child who had everything handed to her since birth, yet still couldn't behave properly. When they looked at me, their eyes reflected nothing but profound disappointment.

Nonetheless, I didn't care. I had practically severed ties with my parents in my previous life, and I no longer cared how they saw me.

I could easily please Grace if I played the role of a mindless, easily controlled little sister. Then I would still be Mom and Dad's good daughter, able to pick up the scraps of attention left over from what they gave Grace.

But I would let Grace know that the family love and affection she had schemed so hard to obtain meant nothing to me.

I had already vacated my original room when they returned home as a "family of three" after completing the school transfer procedures. I moved all my belongings to the unused nanny's quarters.

I didn't intentionally yield to Grace; I just wanted to preserve my private space.

Dad gently patted my head and said, "You're so considerate, Wendy. You're truly a good daughter of mine."

These words might have pleased a young child, but I heard the subtext, having lived through this once before. I would only be worthy of being his "good daughter" if I sympathized with Grace in everything like they did, sacrificing my own happiness to accommodate her.

Grace barged into my room uninvited to look around. Her little face suddenly turned pale when she saw the complete art set my parents had bought for me. She weakly collapsed into Mom's arms, crying.

"I wish I could draw carefree like Wendy," she sobbed.

Mom looked at me uncomfortably. She hesitated for a long time and finally said, "I'm sorry, Wendy, but could you put away your art supplies for now? To be considerate of Grace's feelings?"

There it was again. My living space had been continuously compressed since Grace's appearance, until eventually I wasn't even allowed to have my own hobbies and dreams.

It was the same in my previous life. Since Grace's eyes weren't good and she couldn't draw for extended periods, I was also forced to reduce my drawing time repeatedly.

Despite being the daughter of a painter, I couldn't freely purchase art supplies or attend training classes. It was simply because it would make Grace sad to see them.

Yet Grace could nestle in Dad's arms and learn to paint with his hand guiding hers. Each of her works was framed exquisitely, while my paintings could only be hidden at the very bottom of my art box.