In my past life, the day after I gave birth to my son, he was gone. I dragged my still-postpartum body through the rain, searching the mountains all night. The whole village said I was crazy, that I, a city teacher, was heartless and had wronged the kindest widow. Later, I fell into a swollen river and was never found. Only after death did I see that the widow had hidden my son in the cellar. When he was three, she took my scarf and textbooks and went to the city to find my husband. She said she had found the child after the flash flood. My husband believed her. My son believed her too. He called out to the thief…
