Stepmother

The sterile white of the hospital room was a stark contrast to the frantic energy of the doctors. Sun Baohai lay on the bed, his frail body a testament to a life spent battling a losing war. An infertile omega, abandoned and alone, his death was not a surprise, only a quiet certainty.

His hazel eyes, long devoid of their youthful sparkle, drifted to the monitor, a painful reminder of his solitary existence. He was truly going to die alone, on a rainy day, with no one by his side.

"Wouldn't have been nice for it to be sunny today?" he murmured to the startled nurse. The words, so simple, carried the crushing weight of a lifetime of unspoken burdens. "I'm tired." And with that, the battle ended. A loud beep resonated, signifying the final surrender.

Then, darkness. And then, brick. He blinked, disoriented, his mind reeling. Four pairs of wide, alarmed eyes stared back at him. Before he could question them, a searing pain split his skull, flooding his mind with memories that were not his own. He was Sun Baohai again, but not the one who died in a hospital bed. He was a 'stepmother' in a dilapidated house, surrounded by four skinny, silent children.