Turning Back the Clock Saving Tamara

My daughter had been allergic to nuts since childhood. Yet, on Taste of Chicago Festival, my husband's "first love," Emerald Winston, sent over a box of five-nut mooncakes. They cruelly claimed her allergy was just an excuse and forced her to eat the mooncakes, which were filled with nut shells.

By the time I got home, the hospital had already called. They told me my daughter had died from an allergic reaction despite their best efforts to save her. She was only six years old. She died right there on the operating table. As I cradled her ashes in grief, my husband was off celebrating with Emerald and her son, who had just recovered from an illness.

But what my husband didn't know was that his "first love," Emerald, a doctor, had harvested bone marrow from my daughter's pelvis for her son's transplant.

When I confronted her, enraged, my husband pushed me off the balcony in a fit of anger. That fall killed me.

When I opened my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the day of the Taste of Chicago Festival. This time, I swore, things would be different. This time, I would make sure that those scumbags paid for what they had done!

——

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, and tears streamed down my face as I snapped back to reality. Vomit and crushed mooncakes were scattered on the floor, and it suddenly hit me—I had truly gone back in time, back to the Taste of Chicago Festival.

I rushed out, determined to save my daughter, Tamara, who must be at the hospital by now. I had a chance to stop it all! But as I hurried outside, I ran straight into Clinton, my husband, who had just returned.

"Look at how spoiled that brat is!" he snapped, shaking his head. "She ruined the whole night. Emerald worked so hard making those mooncakes that she refused to eat them, pretending to be sick and vomiting everywhere. Poor Emerald even had to go to the hospital during the festival to check on her!"

He continued ranting, completely oblivious to the tragedy that awaited us in our previous life. "If she doesn't apologize tomorrow, then no meals for her—she can kneel!"

Tomorrow? I thought bitterly. Clinton, you have no idea. In the past life, after this festival, your daughter was drained of her bone marrow for a transplant. Emerald faked a surgical accident, making everyone believe she died from an allergic reaction. And where were you? Off celebrating Emerald's son's birthday while your daughter turned to ashes.

Do you think I'll let you teach my baby a lesson? Dream on.

Clinton held up a bag of mooncakes and dumped them out in front of me. Some were burnt, others were sticky and gooey. He pointed at the pile with disdain.

"Emerald is just too kind-hearted," he said. "Even after all this, she wanted to send you both a gift."

 I broke open a five-nut mooncake. It was filled with walnut and melon seed shells. Disgusted, I crushed the mooncake in my hand.

"Move aside," I said coldly, "I'm going to find Tamara."

Clinton's eyes blazed with anger. "She's just faking it. I specifically told Emerald to teach her a lesson—"

*Slap!*

My hand flew across his face, leaving him momentarily stunned.

"Let's get a divorce," I said, my voice firm. "My daughter has nothing more to do with you."

Clinton blinked in disbelief, then grabbed my arm, his anger returning. "Divorce? Do you think you deserve to divorce me? Look at how you've raised our daughter—she's got no class at all! Spoiled and disrespectful, thanks to your lousy parenting. Emerald would raise her better!"

I thought of how he had pushed me off the balcony in our past life and felt a pang in my heart. How could I have ever loved this man?

"Our daughter has been allergic to nuts since she was little," I said, my voice trembling with fury. "You know that. But you forced her to eat those mooncakes just because Emerald made them. You have no idea—Emerald will kill our daughter, and I need to get to her as soon as possible!"

"Shut up! You're being ridiculous!" Clinton barked, shoving me to the ground. "Overindulgent mothers raise weak children! In our day, we didn't even know what allergies were. And Emerald is a doctor—how could she possibly harm her own child? Her son has been battling leukemia through countless rounds of chemotherapy. An allergy? Please, that's nothing in comparison!"

I hit the doorframe hard, and pain shot through my arm. But I couldn't give up. I had to save my daughter.

Ever since Emerald returned to the country with her leukemia-stricken son, Clinton had barely spent any time with our daughter. Tamara had worked so hard, even taking dance classes, just to impress him. But every time Emerald called to say her son missed him, Clinton would run straight to her side, leaving Tamara behind.

"If you don't like Tamara or me," I said, struggling to get back on my feet, "then divorce me! Go be that kid's father for all I care."

"Enough!" Clinton's voice was filled with rage. Desperate, I bit down hard on his wrist, and he finally let me go, cursing as he tossed his car keys at me.

"Crazy woman! Do you think divorcing me will get you half my assets? The house and savings are already in Emerald's name—you'll get nothing. And don't think you're taking the kid either!"

Ignoring his venomous words, I grabbed the keys and raced to the hospital. I didn't care about the house, the money, or anything else. All I cared about was saving Tamara.

At the hospital, I quickly recalled the events of my past life and found the operating room where Emerald was performing the surgery.

"Matching complete. Donor stem cell collection can proceed," I overheard the nurses saying. Rage surged through me as tears filled my eyes.

Tamara, Mommy is here. Don't worry, I'm going to save you.

I burst into the operating room like a madwoman, startling the nurses.

Emerald stepped out, her face calm. "Oh, it's Celestine. Don't worry, Tamara will be fine—"

Before she could finish, I pulled a half-empty drink from my bag and splashed it right in her face.

"Ah! What are you doing?" Emerald shrieked, her mask of calm slipping.

I stood there, unflinching. "Nothing," I said quietly, "just getting revenge for my daughter."