Blurb：
Abigail will burn time itself to save Daisy.
When her adopted daughter Holly plunges from a balcony moments before Daisy’s fatal aneurysm, Abigail awakens in a time loop drenched in coffee and desperation. Now she’s trapped replaying the week before Daisy’s 7th birthday—the day blood pours from her child’s eyes, the day paramedics whisper "one-in-a-million tragedy" while Holly smirks by the cake.
But this cycle, Abigail sees the patterns: Holly’s Thai amulet glinting during Daisy’s seizures, the transferred pain when salt scrubs Daisy’s wounds, the way Holly’s self-inflicted knife wounds leave _Daisy_ comatose. To break the curse linking their fates, Abigail must outmaneuvert a centuries-old spirit hiding behind an orphan’s smile—even if it means becoming the monster Holly accuses her of being.
As the clock ticks toward Daisy’s doomed birthday, Abigail infiltrates Chiang Mai’s occult underworld to dismantle the blood magic ritual…and discovers Holly’s darkest secret: a ledger of previous "sisters" buried under hospital records. This time, the mother bear has claws—and a bag of Himalayan salt purer than any mother’s love.
Content：
§PROLOGUEThe last thing I heard was my own scream.
A sound torn from my soul as I watched my daughter, Daisy, seize on the floor.
Her birthday candles, still flickering on the cake, cast dancing shadows on her face.
One moment, she was making a wish, her cheeks puffed out, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.
The next, her eyes shot open, wide with a terror I couldn't comprehend.
Blood, thick and dark, streamed from her eyes, her nose, her ears.
Then she went still.
The paramedics said it was an aneurysm, a one-in-a-million tragedy.
But I knew better.
As grief crushed the air from my lungs, I saw her—Holly, our newly adopted daughter, standing in the doorway.
She had jumped from the fifth-floor balcony just minutes before Daisy blew out her candles.
They found her on the lawn with nothing but a few scratches.
And now, she stood there, a faint, triumphant smile on her lips as she watched the life drain from me, too.
That's when I knew.
It was her.
It was always her.
§01
My eyes snapped open.
The scent of brewing coffee filled the air, the familiar Saturday morning hum of the dishwasher a low thrum in the background.
I was in my kitchen, standing by the island.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage.
It wasn't a dream.
It was a memory.
A memory of a future I had already lived, and a death I had already died.
"Mommy, look!"
I turned, my breath catching in my throat.
Daisy.
My Daisy, alive and whole, sat on a stool at the kitchen table, her small hands meticulously clicking LEGO bricks together.
She was building a little house, her brow furrowed in the same determined way it always was when she concentrated.
She was six.
Today was the day before her birthday.
The day it all started again.
"It's beautiful, sweetheart," I managed, my voice raspy.
Just then, a small figure appeared in the foyer.
Holly.
She stood there, her small frame swallowed by the oversized sweater we’d bought her, her dark eyes wide and innocent.
"Good morning," she said, her voice a soft whisper.
My husband, Trevor, walked in behind her, ruffling her hair.
"There's my little trooper," he said, his voice thick with affection. "Feeling more at home today?"
Holly nodded shyly, but as she stepped into the kitchen, her ankle knocked against the sharp corner of the shoe cabinet.
A tiny, almost unnoticeable bump.
"Mommy!"
The shriek tore through the peaceful morning.
It wasn't Holly who cried out.
It was Daisy.
She dropped her LEGOs, her hands flying to her own ankle as she toppled from the stool.
She writhed on the floor, her face contorted in agony, a mirror image of the memory seared into my brain.
"Daisy, for heaven's sake," Trevor started, his face clouding over with annoyance. "It's Holly's first day. Don't start acting out."
He hadn't seen the bump.
He only saw our daughter, crying on the floor for no apparent reason.
But I saw it.
I saw everything.
And this time, I knew exactly what to do.
I walked past my screaming daughter, past my confused husband, and straight to the broom closet by the back door.
I pulled out the old wooden broom.
Then I turned, my face a mask of cold fury, and marched toward Daisy.
"I'll give you something to cry about," I snarled, raising the broom high. "You want attention? You've got it!"
§02
Trevor's jaw dropped. "Abigail, what the hell are you doing?"
Daisy stared up at me, her tear-filled eyes wide with confusion and fear.
I didn't want to do this.
Every instinct screamed at me to drop the broom, to rush to my daughter and hold her, to absorb her pain into my own bones.
But the memory of her blood on the birthday cake was a fire in my gut.
I had to know.
If Holly's pain transferred to Daisy, did it work the other way around?
Was this a two-way street?
My gaze flickered to Holly for a fraction of a second.
She stood frozen by the doorway, her face a perfect picture of childish fear.
But her eyes... her eyes were cold, watchful, and utterly devoid of emotion.
She was studying me.
*Swish.*
I brought the broom down, aiming for Daisy's leg but pulling back at the last second so the bristles landed with a soft, harmless smack.
It was pure theater.
"Stop it!" I shouted, my voice cracking with fake rage. "Stop this pathetic act right now!"
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The End