Why Do My Kids Stare At My Womb?

After I got pregnant with my second child, our two foster kids started treating me like an enemy.

Our ten-year-old foster son, Silas, secretly mixed crushed glass into my prenatal meals.

His eight-year-old sister, Lyra, would stand outside my door at night, repeating: "Die, Vivienne. It's your time to die."

I watered my prized indoor plants, only to find them bleached dead the next morning.

Silas even violently shoved me toward the staircase the moment he saw me holding a baby onesie.

Narrowly escaping a miscarriage, I wanted to send them back to the welfare agency.

But my five-year-old biological daughter, Elodie, hugged them tightly, begging me.

"Mommy, please! Don't send my brother and sister away!"

My husband, Charles, proposed a compromise to keep everyone happy.

"Vivienne, we only have one month until the due date."

"I'll install heavy electronic locks on their bedroom door. You'll be perfectly safe."

I thought about it and eventually agreed.

But on the day my water broke, the moment I dialed Charles's number, things went wrong.

Those two kids bypassed the locks, cornering me in the basement with a baseball bat and heavy gardening shears.

In agonizing pain, I closed my eyes.

I couldn't understand why these foster kids hated my unborn baby so much.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day I found out I was pregnant.

"Elodie, come out! Mommy is pregnant! You're going to have a little sibling!"

The second I opened the front door, Charles yelled toward our daughter's bedroom.

Moments later, five-year-old Elodie came running out, cheering.

She threw her arms around me.

"Mommy, is there really a baby in your tummy? Will someone play with me when they're born?"

Before I could speak, I felt two chilling, hateful glares.

Sitting in the corner of the sofa, our two foster kids were dead-staring at my stomach.

The phantom pain of being battered to death in that basement instantly ripped through my entire body.

Driven by pure survival instinct, I grabbed Charles's arm.

My voice trembled. "Charles, we have to send the foster kids away. Now."

We had fostered Silas and Lyra for half a year.

I had always treated them like family.

Even when my adoptive mother, Constance, demanded I return them because of their trauma, I had fiercely protected them.

So right now, hearing my words, both Charles and Elodie looked at me in utter confusion.

Of course they didn't understand!

If I hadn't died once, I wouldn't have believed that these children I treated as family would brutally murder me.

Even though I still didn't know why they hated me in my past life.

Heaven had given me a second chance. I absolutely wasn't going to let them hurt my baby again!

I forced my racing heart to calm down and slowly offered an excuse.

"The doctor said this pregnancy is extremely unstable," I said.

"Silas and Lyra have severe anger issues. They play too rough."

"Let's drop them off at my mother's place in the suburbs. We can bring them back after the baby is safely born, okay?"

Charles didn't object too much.

After some patient coaxing, Elodie finally wiped her tears and agreed too.

To completely eliminate the threat, I made Charles put both kids into the car immediately.

Before they left, I personally tossed all their medication bottles and belongings into the trunk. "Take all of this, too!"

"Vivienne, aren't you overreacting a bit...?"

I ignored his exasperated sigh. I knew exactly what those kids were capable of.

Under my urging, the SUV slowly pulled out of the driveway.

Suddenly, Silas started violently smashing his fists against the rear window.

Through the glass, I distinctly heard Lyra's cold, lifeless voice.

"Die, Vivienne."