Why Is Child C'S Story Considered Shocking?

My adopted daughter, Phoebe Marsh, possessed an evil ability. Whenever she got hurt, the pain would also be inflicted directly on my biological daughter, Maisie Shaw. She deliberately hurt herself, covering her body with wounds and bruises. Then, she would turn around with cold eyes, watching Maisie writhe on the floor in agony until she passed out from the pain. With no medical solution available, I broke down and held Maisie close, begging my husband, Brandon Shaw, to send Phoebe away. However, he would erupt in fury. "It's obviously Maisie who's been faking illness for attention, and you're making up this ridiculous story to get rid of Phoebe. She's just a fragile, helpless child. How can you be so vicious?" After that, Phoebe escalated her self-harm even more viciously. Meanwhile, Maisie spent every day curled up in the corner of her bed, refusing to let anyone touch her. On Maisie's birthday, Phoebe threw herself from the fifth floor. Just as Maisie was blowing out her candles and making a wish, she suddenly began bleeding from all her facial orifices, and she died instantly. Yet, Phoebe only suffered minor scrapes. I died from overwhelming grief shortly after. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to Phoebe's first day in our home. Maisie was playing with her Legos when she suddenly clutched her ankle and started crying. This time, I grabbed the broom from behind the door and swung it toward Maisie, shouting, "I'll beat you up for faking illness and seeking attention!"

As I was watching a movie in the cinema, a rude child kept kicking the back of my seat. He even took off his shoe and extended his foot next to my face. I turned around and chastised him to take his seat, but he stabbed me in my neck with a sharp needle. Feeling the pain, I reached out and wiped the blood from my neck. His mother chuckled. “It’s fine, he’s just fooling around with my sewing needle. It’s just a harmless jab. It’s not like it has poison on it. Be a good sport about it.” I threw the popcorn bucket onto the floor and aimed my phone’s flashlight at the rude child. I roared, “The child’s holding a discarded needle that was used on an AIDS patient in the hospital! There’s an AIDs patient’s blood on it!”

I was getting my 18th fertility injection, but my husband snatched the syringe away from me. "That thing's tormented you for three years. I heard we'll get a child of our own if we adopt a kid. Maybe we can go with that." He brought home an adorable baby girl that afternoon and called her Cece. He would make a lot of faces to make her laugh and loved her like she was his own. My husband rarely smiled after we got married. It wasn't every day he made a request, and I, cradled by my fantasy of having our own baby, went along with his plan. Three years had gone by since we took Cece in, but I had gotten no child of my own. I was also slightly concerned that she couldn't utter a single word even though she was already four years old. I made a lot of trips and put in a lot of effort to help her. One day, I came home only to find out there were voices in the room. "I miss you, Mom. Please come back soon." Ecstasy caught me in its grip and stopped me in my tracks. I wanted to call out to Cece, but I saw her in a video call through the ajar door. My husband was right by Cece, and his eyes were glued to the screen. They were filled with the kind of devotion I had never seen before. My footsteps went quiet before I realized it. My silence was rewarded when a voice came from the phone, saying, "Mommy's coming back next week, Cece."

I was a top ER nurse at the city hospital. Over the years, I helped save thousands of lives. During my day off, I received an urgent call from my department chief. “Zayn, there’s a child at a daycare near your neighborhood suffering from a severe allergic reaction. The ambulance is stuck in traffic. Please get over there immediately and administer first aid.” I grabbed my emergency kit and rushed to the daycare. When I arrived, one of the teachers falsely accused me of being a child trafficker. He shoved me aside and shouted, “He’s a trafficker. Do not let him touch the child.” Furious and desperate, I pulled up my digital nursing license. “I am an ER nurse. If you keep stopping me, this child could die.” He insisted my credentials were fake, and I had no choice but to wait for the ambulance. When the ambulance finally arrived to take the child to the hospital, the teacher jumped in again. He claimed we were working together and refused to let us leave. Everything changed when the child’s mother arrived with a DNA test report in her hand. His entire world collapsed in an instant.

The day I gave birth, so did Lily Jasper—the underprivileged student I had been sponsoring. But her baby didn’t survive. Afterward, my husband, Carter Scott, insisted on making Lily my son’s godmother. From that moment on, she was everywhere—always butting into my parenting. Whether I was disciplining my son or buying him clothes, Lily never missed a chance to chime in with her opinions. Years later, when my son took his college entrance exams, I helped him choose a major that matched his scores. But Lily pushed hard for him to apply to Merika State or Haven State University instead. In the end, he listened to me and got into a suitable college. Then his acceptance letter came. And everything fell apart. That day, he caused a car accident. My accident. He stepped out of the car, walked over, and kicked me a few times as I lay helpless on the ground. His face was full of disgust as he spat, “You actually thought you were my mom?” His voice was cold. “You’ve made my real mom cry over and over because of you. “You were never family. My real parents and I—we’re family. You? You were just in the way. “But it's over now. Finally...” He smiled cruelly. “We can be together—the real family.” And in that moment, I finally understood. Lily didn’t lose her baby that day. She killed my newborn son and swapped him with hers. Everything went dark. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day I gave birth.

My younger sister and I were born twins, yet from the very beginning, our parents had zero fondness for me. My sister was the family's good-luck charm, while I was hailed as the harbinger of misfortune. I was blamed for every calamity, while she got all the credit for every blessing. Even after my death, I heard them say, "If we had abandoned her at birth, or even ended her life then, none of this would have happened." I had once tried desperately to win their approval, only to be met with cold indifference. When I finally secured a coveted civil service post, they celebrated me for the first time in my life. I naively believed that I had been acknowledged at last. But then, they said, "Give your job to your sister. She needs it more." At that moment, something inside me completely died. I tried so hard to cling to the hard-won proof that I was not the family's misfortune, yet even that slipped through my grasp. In the end, I lost everything, even the life they had never once cherished.