My adopted daughter accidentally smashed the national gift porcelain belonging to my younger brother, an aerospace pilot. I saw the whole thing, but I didn’t panic or try to help. Instead, I calmly took a sip of water and watched the porcelain fall to the floor and shatter into pieces. In my previous life, I had immediately reached out to catch it, but I was too late, and it was smashed to bits anyway. My adopted daughter swore I had done it. My father rushed over after finishing his research and, with a witness in tow, declared without hesitation that I was responsible. Helpless, I turned to my husband, a business tycoon and CEO, for help, but he shook off my hand. “You vicious, scheming woman! You tricked me into leaving just so you could smash the national gift porcelain!” My furious younger brother locked me on the rooftop, where I was left to die in 70-degree heat. As I lay dying, I couldn’t understand why my husband and father had both framed me. Then I opened my eyes again and found myself back on the day my adopted daughter smashed the porcelain.
