On enrollment day, a fragile, pitiful-looking freshman girl begged my son to carry her suitcase up to her dorm on the sixth floor.

In my last life, I'd taught my son to be kind, to help others, and I told him to lend her a hand.

The moment he set the luggage down, she ran straight to the dean's office, weeping as she accused my son of trying to assault her in a blind corner of the stairwell.

The day the disciplinary notice went out, my son's title as the state's top science scorer became a punchline for the whole internet to mock.

He couldn't bear the tidal wave of slut-shaming and abuse, and he threw himself off the roof of the academic building.

My husband's hair went white in a single night, and on his way to demand answers from the school, he died in a car accident.

But she, wearing the badge of a "disadvantaged victim," collected four years of a full scholarship and was fast-tracked into graduate school.

While giving a speech as the alumni representative, she looked straight down at me, my face streaming with tears, and gave a faint smile.

"Ma'am, some kinds of pain are just stepping stones on the road to growth, aren't they?"

Reborn into this life, the junior girl pointed at that enormous suitcase, her eyes brimming.

"Ma'am, I really can't lift it. Please, could I trouble him to help me?"

I held my son's hand, my face blank.

"Oh, carrying luggage? You can pay the security guard at the entrance fifty dollars to do it."

"..."

Layla Pruitt froze.

She clearly hadn't expected me to turn her down so flatly.

"Ma'am..."

"My family's poor. After paying tuition I have nothing left to live on. Fifty dollars is a whole week of meals for me."

She raised a hand and wiped away a tear.

"I didn't mean to be a burden. But I'm all by myself..."

The crying carried, sharp and piercing, and the crowd around us gathered in at once.

A boy in a designer short-sleeve stepped forward, frowning at me.

"Ma'am, isn't that a little cold-blooded? We're all classmates here. What's the harm in a guy helping a girl carry her bag?"

An older woman beside him chimed in.

"Exactly. Look how upset you've made this poor girl. You people, all dressed up so nice, and you don't have an ounce of sympathy?"

"Rich folks these days. Just selfish, that's what."

The accusations came from every direction.

Layla kept her head down, her shoulders shaking harder.

Christian Dickerson took a step forward, about to speak.

I raised my hand to stop him and looked at the boy in the designer clothes.

"You think she's pitiful?"

The boy puffed out his chest. "Of course! Helping the disadvantaged is basic decency."

I nodded.

"Fine. Then you carry it up to the sixth floor for her."

The boy hesitated, glanced at that massive suitcase, and his expression turned stiff.

"I just finished playing ball, my wrist hurts. Besides, she asked your son, not me."

I smiled and turned to the older woman.

"Ma'am, since your heart's overflowing with sympathy, why don't you cover the fifty dollars to hire the guard for her? Fifty dollars to buy yourself a saint's reputation. Quite a bargain."

The woman's face went rigid, and she took a step back.

"Are you out of your mind? She's nothing to me. Why on earth would I pay for her?"

The crowd went quiet.

I turned back to Layla.

"Did you hear that? Everyone feels so sorry for you, but nobody wants to lift a finger, and nobody wants to spend a dime."

Her face cycled through green and white.

"Ma'am, why are you humiliating me like this? So what if I'm poor?"

I stared into her eyes, spacing out every word.

"Being poor makes you right?"

"You're poor, so the whole world should step aside for you? You're poor, so other people's time and energy are yours to freeload off of?"

"My son is the top science scorer, not free labor."

"Christian, let's go."

I took Christian by the hand and turned to go without a backward glance.

When we'd walked a good distance, Christian asked me quietly, "Mom, wasn't that a little harsh? She's a fellow student, after all."

I stopped and looked at this foolish boy of mine, the one who had been driven to jump to his death in my last life.

"Remember this. Never hand out your sympathy carelessly."

He nodded, only half understanding.

"I'll do as you say."

Three in the afternoon.

Christian and I had just settled into a hotel near campus.

His phone rang. It was his advisor, Roland Lambert.

On the other end, Roland's voice was pitched low, edged with an authority that expected no argument.

"Christian, come to the academic affairs office right now."

"And bring a parent."

Christian had it on speaker.

I sat on the sofa, lifted my teacup, and took a sip.

So it had come, just as I knew it would.

Christian asked.

"Advisor Lambert, has something happened?"

"Has something happened? You've got some nerve, asking me that!"

Roland let out a cold laugh.

"Layla is sitting in my office crying right now! She says you tried to force yourself on her this afternoon, in the fire-exit stairwell on the north side of the library!"

Christian shot to his feet, the color draining from his face.

"I was with my mom at the hotel the whole afternoon. I don't even know where the library is!"

"Yelling at me won't do you any good! That girl's clothes are torn, and her neck is covered in scratches!"

Roland's tone was severe.

"The damage this has done is beyond serious! Both of you, get over here now! If this isn't handled properly, you can forget about staying enrolled!"

The line went dead.

Christian stood there with the phone in his hand, his fingers trembling.

"Has she lost her mind? We didn't even carry her luggage for her!"

I set down my teacup, my eyes going cold.

In my last life, she'd used the pretext of the luggage to frame Christian.

This time, I'd cut off that pretext.

And yet she'd still managed to conjure a "library stairwell" out of thin air.

It seemed she was dead set on destroying Christian.

"Don't be afraid."

I stood and picked up my bag.

"Come on. Mom will go take a look with you."

When we pushed open the door to the academic affairs office, the only sound inside was quiet sobbing.

Layla sat on the sofa, the collar of her blouse ripped more than halfway open, one shoulder bare.

Advisor Roland sat behind the desk, his face dark as a storm.

The moment she saw us come in, Layla cried harder.

"Don't come near me... don't come near me..."

She pointed at Christian, shaking all over.

Christian was so furious his eyes had gone red.

"Layla, what nonsense are you spouting? I never went near the library today!"

Roland slammed his palm down on the desk.

"Christian, you dare to threaten the victim?"

I stepped forward and put Christian behind me.

"It's Advisor Lambert, isn't it? Nothing's been investigated yet. Isn't it a little early to be pinning the 'victim' label on someone?"

Roland frowned at me.

"You're Christian's mother?"

"I am."

"And what kind of parenting is this? The state's top science scorer, and so what if his grades are good? His character is rotten!"

Roland jabbed a finger toward Layla.

"That poor girl just came here from the countryside, pure and innocent. Now your son has terrified her into this state. How is she supposed to hold her head up at this school from now on?"

I pulled over a chair and sat down without ceremony.

"Advisor Lambert, since you're so certain my son did it, where's your evidence?"

Roland sneered.

"Evidence? The injuries on that girl are the evidence! Her clothes are torn to shreds. Are you saying she did that to herself?"

"Why couldn't she have?" I shot back.

Roland choked on that, and then his fury boiled over.

“What kind of attitude is that? Is this how a parent behaves? Covering for him, making excuses. No wonder you raised a son like this!”

Just then, the office door was shoved open.

My husband, Keith Dickerson, came rushing in, out of breath.

The moment he stepped through the door, without asking a single thing about what had happened, he went straight for Christian.

“Crack!”

A ringing slap.

Christian's head snapped to the side, half his face going red in an instant.

“Dad?”

Christian held his cheek, staring at him in disbelief.

“Don't call me that! I don't have a disgraceful son like you!”

Keith jabbed a finger in Christian's face, cursing at the top of his lungs.

“I sent you to college for this? To pull some sleazy stunt like this? You've dragged my name through the mud!”

With that, he turned to Roland, his back bending in an instant, his face crowded with a fawning smile.

“Advisor Lambert, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. This is my failure as a father.”

Roland's expression eased a little.

“Mr. Dickerson, at least you're reasonable. This is a very ugly matter. If it blows up and the police get involved, Christian's whole future is ruined.”

At the word police, Keith's legs went weak.

He waved his hands frantically.

“No, no, no, whatever you do, don't call the police! I have money, I can settle this.”

Roland let out a sigh.

“For the sake of Christian being the state's top science scorer, I don't want to ruin him either. Here's what we'll do.”

He looked at Layla.

“Layla, you've been wronged. But if the police really get involved, it won't do your reputation any good either. Better to have Christian apologize to you and offer you some financial compensation.”

Layla raised her head, her eyes swimming with tears.

“Advisor Lambert, I don't want money…… I'm not doing this for money……”

She bit her lip, the very picture of someone humiliated to the core.

“I just think it's unfair. Why should someone with such rotten character get to represent the freshmen and give the speech, and take a full ride on the top merit scholarship?”

So this was what she'd been waiting for all along.

The instant Keith heard that money and the slot would settle it, he wheeled around and glared at Christian.

“What are you standing there for? Get over there and kneel and apologize! We don't want that scholarship, whatever it's called. The speaker slot, we'll give it to her too!”

He came over, reaching out to force Christian's neck down.

“Hurry up! Smooth this over, don't let it hurt my company's business!”

I stood up, grabbed Keith's wrist, and flung it off with all my strength.

Keith glared at me. “What do you think you're doing!”

I looked coldly at this cowardly, selfish man.

“What am I doing?”

“My son did nothing. Why should he apologize? Why should he give up the scholarship?”

“Desiree, have you lost your mind!”

Keith dropped his voice into a snarl.

“Do you want your son to go to prison? Do you want me to be a laughingstock in front of my business partners!”

I ignored him.

I walked over to Layla and looked at her.

“Layla, you're certain it was my son Christian who tried to assault you in the fire exit stairwell on the north side of the library?”

Layla shrank back, her eyes darting away.

“Yes……”

“What time exactly?” I pressed, step by step.

“Around…… around one thirty in the afternoon……”

“What was he wearing?”

“A white…… a white T-shirt, black sweatpants.”

Her description was remarkably accurate.

“Was there anyone else in the stairwell at the time?”

“No…… no one ever uses that stairwell, and the camera's broken……”

The moment the words left her mouth, she seemed to realize she'd let something slip. She clapped a hand over it and started crying again.

“Ma'am, please stop pushing me…… I'm really so scared……”