After the college entrance exam ended, my mother, who had died years ago, suddenly came back.

Though she had undergone permanent sterilization, she was somehow pregnant.

She used to be severely allergic to mangoes, yet now she could drink an entire glass of mango juice without flinching.

The red birthmark behind her ear had vanished, replaced by a butterfly tattoo.

Deep down, I knew she wasn’t my mother.

But my father and everyone else dismissed it as stress from the exam.

They said I was just seeing things.

I called the police, and they ran a DNA test.

The result confirmed she was indeed my mother.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it.

Not until I graduated and returned home to transfer my household registration.

That’s when I found the spirit tablet, buried deep at the bottom of a box.

——

“Elisa, you scored 690 points!”

“Honey, our Elisa scored 690!”

“Really?” Lila rushed out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

It was the first time she had stepped into my room since coming back from the dead over half a month ago.

Seeing the score on the screen, she jumped up and down in glee, clapping like a child.

“I have to tell my parents the good news right away!”

Lila dashed out to make a call, never once meeting my eyes.

“Now your mom can brag at work for days,” Dad said with a soft chuckle, patting my shoulder as he gazed lovingly in the direction Lila had left.

I stared at him, my expression cold.

“She’s not my mom. Mom’s been dead for three years. You and she were inseparable, there’s no way you wouldn’t notice that this woman isn’t her.”

“You were the one who declared her death.”

Three years ago, after the accident, it was Dad, her own surgeon, who had walked out of the OR and said the rescue had failed.

Now, three years later, just after my exams, she came back as if nothing had ever happened.

He insisted I was imagining it all, that Mom had been here, taking care of me the entire time.

When I questioned it, Dad no longer had the patience he once had.

His voice, edged with irritation, snapped through the air. “Elisa, how much longer are you going to keep this up?”

“Your mother carried you for ten months, raised you through storms and hardship, and stood by you until your college entrance exam, yet you keep claiming she’s dead. What’s wrong with you?”

“When you were little and ran a high fever while I wasn’t home, she carried you to the clinic in the middle of the night and nearly got hit by a car. She still has a scar on her leg from that night.”

“But Mom didn’t have a scar on her leg before!” I screamed back, my voice trembling.

I couldn’t remember that incident, no matter how hard I tried.

Dad’s gaze dimmed as he looked at me, disappointment washing over his face like a shadow falling over light.

Just moments ago, he had been glowing with joy over my score of 690. Now he turned and left my room, shoulders slumped like a man worn down by time.

But I remembered, clearly, painfully, that Mom never had a scar.

The woman in front of me, Lila, bore a scar shaped like a twisted centipede.

She wasn’t my mom.

As I leaned against the bed, lost in thought, Dad stormed back into my room, a photo album clutched in his hand.

He threw it down onto the bed with a loud thud.

“These are your childhood photos. Look carefully, see if your mom had a scar on her leg!”

The photos slid into view.

Though the image quality was grainy, it was clear enough to show the scar on Mom’s leg.

Right there, exactly where the scar now sat on Lila’s.

My breath caught.

How could this be?

I flipped through the album again and again, eyes searching, heart pounding.

Mom had shown me this album a hundred times. Never, not once, had I seen that scar.

Just as the confusion surged within me, Lila rushed into the room and stepped protectively in front of me.

“Jackson, why are you yelling at the child again?” she snapped at Dad, her voice sharp.

After speaking, she turned to look at me again. “Elisa must just be under too much pressure lately. Mom believes that one day, you'll remember your mother.”

Her voice trembled, tears glistening in her eyes, heavy with feigned grievance.

But I felt nothing. No pity. No softness.

“Stop pretending. You're not my mother at all.”

The moment the words left my mouth, her tears spilled as if on cue.

Dad shot me a cold, disapproving glare, then quietly wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her out.

I heard him whisper to her in the hallway.

“Don’t cry. Even if you won’t think about yourself, think about the baby in your belly.”

“Elisa will regret this. She will.”

She was pregnant.

That so-called good news had been announced during my college acceptance banquet.

Everyone was celebrating Dad’s double joy.

But their happiness didn’t last because the police showed up.

I had called them.

At the police station, I laid out all the suspicions that had been gnawing at me for weeks.

The officers exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions difficult to read.

They took one tube of blood from me and another from Lila.

I knew it was for a maternity DNA test.

As I waited, cold anticipation stirred within me, I imagined the moment I would finally tear her lies apart with the truth.

But the result struck like a thunderbolt.

The genetic match between me and her exceeded 99.99%.

“Impossible!”

“She’s not my mother!”

The male officer looked toward the female officer.

She came to my side, placed a light hand on my shoulder, and offered a calm, almost pitying smile.

“We went through every traffic accident from three years ago. There was no record of a victim named Lila. Not even the driver you described could be found.”

“Your family mentioned you’ve been under immense pressure with your exams. We do have access to professional psychological counseling here.”

Before I could respond, they took me to the counseling room, without even asking me.

Staring at that DNA report, even I began to doubt myself.

Had I really been so overwhelmed that I imagined everything?

But Lila was pregnant. And I remembered clearly that after giving birth to me, Mom had undergone sterilization.

It had caused a huge fight between my parents and my grandparents.

They had argued bitterly, blaming her for not being able to bear grandchildren.

They hadn’t even attended her funeral.

Grandpa and Grandma. They had to remember that!

They had surprisingly agreed to attend my college banquet this time, but their flight had been delayed.

“I don’t need psychological counseling!”

I suddenly stood up and shouted as the psychologist continued speaking gently.

She was clearly startled.

“I’m sorry, doctor. There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said, bowing slightly.

Then I turned and ran out of the police station.

When I arrived home, breathless and anxious, I saw Grandpa and Grandma sitting quietly on the living room sofa.

When they saw me, they gave me a faint smile, gentle, distant, the kind elders offer when words are few.

They didn’t ask how I’d been, didn’t start with small talk.

But somehow, that silence warmed my chest more than any words could.

I clutched Grandma’s hand tightly, like I was drowning and she was the only thing keeping me afloat.

“Grandpa, Grandma… you remember Mom passed away three years ago, don’t you?”

I searched their faces with trembling hope.

“She had that sterilization surgery. The doctor said she could never have children again. You were furious. You even tried to make Dad divorce her. When he didn’t, you left and went back to the countryside. You didn’t even come to Mom’s funeral. You remember that, right?”

I stared at them, my voice thin with desperation.

But what they said next shattered everything I thought I knew.

“What nonsense are you spouting, girl? How can you curse your own mother like that?”

“We only returned to our hometown because it felt more comfortable. And your grandpa and I have never been the kind to prefer boys over girls.”

Grandpa waved his hand, his tone light, too light, like it could wipe away everything I’d just said.

“Elisa’s just been under a lot of stress lately. She’ll be fine once she’s settled in college.”

His words dismissed everything like it was nothing more than a passing storm.

Just then, Lila stepped out of the kitchen, her eyes red and swollen.

She had been crying.

“I’ve already made an appointment. I won’t be keeping this child.”

“Nonsense!” Grandpa’s palm slammed against the table with a crack that made me flinch.

“Our Scott family has only had one male heir per generation for four generations! Now that we finally have a grandson, and you want to throw him away?”

“That’s right. This child didn’t come easily. The doctor said he’s healthy and strong. How can you just give him up like that?”

Lila shrank away from Dad’s comforting touch, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with uncertainty.

“I always said Elisa was my one and only daughter. This pregnancy… it was a mistake.”

“Elisa’s about to leave for university. How often will she come home after that? Once she starts working, it’ll be even rarer. And after she gets married? Forget it. This family still needs a boy.”

Just moments ago, Grandpa and Grandma insisted they weren’t biased toward boys. Now, they were eager to push me out.

Fine. I’d go.

That woman wasn’t even my real mother, after all.

If they were so sure Lila was my mom, then let them live together without me.

I packed a small suitcase, grabbed my university acceptance letter, and stormed out of the home I had called mine for eighteen years.

Behind me, Lila’s sobs fell like a relentless waterfall.

She tried to reach out, to stop me, but Dad held her firmly back.

“We’ve spoiled her too much before. Let her go. I want to see just how strong she really is.”

“Exactly. Just a girl stirring up drama, all to stop her little brother from being born. She’s so cunning, it’s frightening.”

Grandma’s voice echoed Dad’s cold words behind me.

I kept walking, putting more distance between us, their voices slowly fading into silence.

Only one goal burned in my mind now: to expose this fake mother.

Besides family, the people who knew Mom best were her old colleagues.

Dragging my suitcase, I made my way to Mom’s former workplace.

There, I spotted Aunt Gina, someone who’d once been close to Mom.

“Elisa? What are you doing here? Isn’t tonight your college banquet? And that suitcase…”

Her eyes flicked to my luggage.

“Aunt Gina! You have to remember Mom died three years ago, right? You even came to her funeral.”

Aunt Gina stared at me, disbelief flashing across her face. She reached out, gently touching my forehead.

“Elisa, are you alright? How can you say such things about your mom? I know she pushed you hard during your senior year, and maybe you resented her, but you shouldn’t curse her like that. And if she hadn’t been so strict, would you have gotten into such a good university?”

I released her wrist, shaking my head as I took a cautious step back.

“Impossible… impossible…”

“Are you fighting with your mom again? Planning to run off like this? Don’t mess around, she won’t be able to bear it if she finds out.”

“She’s not my mom. She’s not… she’s not…”

“Gina, why are you still here? There’s a meeting starting soon. You—”

Mom’s former supervisor glared at Aunt Gina from across the room. But when his eyes landed on me, his expression shifted, quickly turning away as if he’d seen a ghost.