How Does 'From The Moment My Daughter Learnt To Speak' End?

That night was supposed to belong to Mia. She had spent a month practicing for her first piano recital. I had cooked all afternoon, set the table, and helped her into the pale blue dress Luca loved. She stood beside the piano, cheeks flushed, fingers trembling with excitement. Then Luca's phone rang. Vivienne was spiraling again. After Luca's older brother died, his widow never really came back from it. On her worst nights, she forgot the difference between the dead husband she had lost and the brother-in-law who kept showing up to save her. And Luca always showed up. Every time Vivienne broke, he left us behind. Every time he came home, he brought apologies, pretty gifts, and promises for next time. And every time, I believed him. Until that night. Before he could make another excuse, I placed the divorce papers in front of him. He signed without reading them, then touched my shoulder like he was the one being generous. "When this is over, I'll make it up to you," he said. "You, me, and Mia. The Maldives. No calls. No interruptions." Then he kissed our daughter's hair and walked out before she played a single note. What Luca didn't know was that Mia's passport was already packed. So was the little suitcase under her bed. I was done waiting for a man who only loved us when no one else needed him. This time, he could come home to an empty house.

When I got pregnant, I was about to inform my parents about the good news. Suddenly, the baby in my belly cried for help. “Mom, please don’t! Grandpa and Grandma favor boys over girls. If they know that I’m a girl, they will definitely poison you to abort me!” I turned off my phone with doubts, and I was worried that the news of my pregnancy would be leaked. But a fire broke out at my house, and I missed 99 calls from my parents. I was grieved and heartbroken, and my husband went through the darkest time with me. When I was getting back on my feet, the baby’s voice echoed again. “Mom, you’re so pitiful. Dad is dating his mistress in the company, and all he feels for you is just guiltiness.” I instantly felt flustered. Without thinking more, I just rushed inside my husband’s company to catch the cheaters. Unexpectedly, I just blew up a company contract worth over a hundred million. My husband was very disappointed in me. He took a divorce paper and forced me to sign. I desperately tried to keep him, but I heard the baby’s voice again. “Dad hates women who wouldn’t let go. Mom, if you let go of him in time and leave with nothing, Dad will come and cry to beg you to go back some time later!” In the end, I chose to listen to my baby. But I was broke and homeless, and I just slept on the streets at night. My husband, Liam Grant, immediately married a girl who looked like me. At their wedding, he blamed me for leaving him so heartlessly. I cried and wanted to go back to Liam, but a truck that ran a red light ran over me and crushed me into nothing. In the end, I died with my eyes open. Before I died, I vaguely heard the baby’s prideful laugh. When I opened my eyes again, I went back to the day when I found out my pregnancy.

Rejected by her rich father, Sarah and her mother Helen moves to a slump where her mother sells her body for bread and drugs. Sold into prostitution by her mother's deadbeat boyfriend at the age of eight, Sarah must guard her true feelings or suffer the consequences. A chance meeting with her father gives Sarah the opportunity she needed for the most brutal revenge. At eighteen Sarah finds the willpower to escape but unfortunately for her, she falls into the trap of a madam that imprisons her, while makings tonnes of money off her. A fire outbreak, a second chance, Sarah finds freedom and meets Kunle. a man determined to show her that true love was possible and existed. A domineering mother-in-law, a secret buried in the sands of time threatens their marriage. Was their love for each other strong enough to withstand the tide or was Sarah willing to throw it all away.

My three-year-old daughter was playing in the room, and she suddenly fell from the window of the room and died. In my past life, I held her lifeless body after learning the news, crying so hard I thought I would never stop. But when my husband rushed back, he slapped me across the face without a second thought. "How could you be so cruel? You actually threw her out of the window—she was only three!" I was too stunned to react. Later, my husband and my best friend teamed up and testified that I had thrown my daughter from the window because I had an argument with my husband. I was cyberbullied and labeled the "evil mom". Amid the public hatred and the pain of losing my daughter, I jumped to prove my innocence. Even in death, I still didn't understand. My daughter had been fine playing in the room—how did she fall out of the window? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she fell.

The day I signed the divorce papers, I voluntarily gave up custody of my daughter. Because that day, in the courtroom, she clung to her father’s neck, sobbing with all the fury a six-year-old could muster: “You don’t even love me… do you? If you leave Daddy, I’ll stay with him… and you’ll be all alone forever!” In my past life, I had ignored her childish threats. I fought tooth and nail for her custody. I poured every ounce of myself into raising her. And yet… she spent her entire life hating me. Not once did she ever call me “Mom” until the day I died. On her wedding day, she even invited her father’s mistress to the stage to give a speech of thanks. Now, opening my eyes again, seeing that same cruel little face staring back at me, I simply nodded. “I don’t care.” After all… I never wanted a daughter like her anyway.

On the day I received my prenatal test results, I heard a voice from inside my belly—my unborn child speaking to me. 'Mom, Dad will divorce you as soon as you give birth to me. His true love can't have children. That's why he married you. You're just a tool to give birth. Once I'm born, he'll divorce you, take me away, and go live happily ever after with her.' I believed every word. Without hesitation, I chose divorce. For nine months, I focused on carrying the pregnancy, planning to raise the child on my own. But on the day I went into labor, something went terribly wrong. The doctor said the baby was premature, and the position was dangerously abnormal. "The baby keeps flipping around inside you," she said. "It's like it's deliberately putting you through hell." Eight hours of emergency treatment accomplished nothing. In the end, it was a difficult labor—both mother and child died. As my consciousness faded, I heard that voice again. 'Haha. Dad never cheated at all. I lied to you.' Why would a child lie? I couldn't understand it, not even at the moment of death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day I first received the prenatal test report.