The Alpaca Fake Heiress

It was my wedding anniversary. I was sitting on the couch when my three-year-old son, Leo Graham, led a white alpaca into the room.

"Mom!" he called out in his sweet little voice. "This is my present for you—her name is Sugar!"

My husband, Julian Graham, walked in behind him, smiling gently. "He picked her out himself. Took him forever. He said this way, you won't be lonely when you're home alone."

I looked at the alpaca. It tilted its head and studied me, the way you'd size up a piece of furniture to see if it fit the room.

"Thank you, sweetheart." I crouched down and ruffled Leo's hair. "Mommy loves her."

The words had barely left my mouth when the alpaca opened its mouth and spat—a wad of yellow-green saliva right across my face, thick and slimy, dripping down the bridge of my nose.

I calmly pulled out the tissues I'd already prepared and wiped the spit off.

Because I'd been reborn.

In my last life, this same alpaca had done the exact same thing the very first time we met. It spat on me, and it never stopped. I thought it was just stress from a new environment, and for my son's sake, I tried everything I could think of to win it over—feeding it by hand, walking it every day, buying it snacks and toys, even dressing it up.

None of it mattered. It kept spitting on me anyway.

When Julian touched it, it nuzzled into his hand and preened. Leo could ride on its back and race it through the house. Even the housekeeper who came in to cook got a friendly greeting from it.

Only me. Every time it saw me, it spat. On my face, on my clothes, in my bowl. There was no escaping it.

Whenever I brought up giving it away, Leo would burst into tears. "You must be mean to her! Sugar never spits on me!"

And Julian would grow impatient. "How petty do you have to be to hold a grudge against an alpaca? Our son gave her to you as a gift. Can't you just be gracious about it?"

I endured it for two years. During the day, I heard the sound of spitting even when nothing was there. At night, I couldn't sleep, and the moment I closed my eyes, I dreamed of that alpaca chasing me down to spit in my face. I went to the hospital, and the doctors told me, again and again, that there was nothing physically wrong with me—it was all in my head.

My husband and son grew colder toward me by the day. Even when we visited my parents, they only ever brought the alpaca along and left me at home.

In the end, I couldn't take it anymore. I gave up and killed myself.

That was when I finally learned the truth: the alpaca was home to the soul of Nadia Salem, the impostor who'd stolen my identity for over twenty years.

She'd been sickly since childhood, and the whole family had doted on her like she was made of glass. Meanwhile, once I'd been brought back into that wealthy Salem household, everyone treated me like I was crude and unrefined.

Only Julian never seemed to mind. He married me. He gave me a home. I thought he actually loved me.

As it turned out, all he'd ever needed was a healthy body for a sickly Nadia to move into.

Even the son I'd carried for nine months and loved with my whole heart—Julian had swapped Nadia's egg in for mine.

Even my own biological parents had known the whole time. All those years they'd singled me out and made my life hell, it had been deliberate—to push me straight into Julian's arms all the faster.

Every time that alpaca spat on me, a little more of Nadia's soul had slipped into my body. The more it spat, the more she took.

Two years later, they finally got what they wanted.

I opened my eyes again, and I was back on my wedding anniversary.

Julian looked a little embarrassed. Leo's small face darkened, and he yanked my hand away from Sugar. "Mom, you scared her!" He wrapped his arms around the alpaca's neck, murmuring reassurances.

Sugar nuzzled affectionately against the top of his head, then shot me a sly, provoking glance.

I smiled. "Well, since she doesn't seem to like me, I probably won't be able to take care of her properly. Maybe we should just send her back?"