My best friend made me pumpkin puree. I poured it straight into my pregnant dog’s bowl.

Because I’ve been reborn.

In my last life, she bound me to a "Harvest System." Every time I ate the food she prepared, the baby growing inside me would be transferred to her womb, to be born as her own.

She had married into a powerful family, one that hadn't produced a male heir in three generations. Her in-laws were desperate for a grandson. But she was barren. So she turned her predatory gaze to me, her newly married best friend.

I managed to get pregnant, a miracle I cherished, but after every meal she brought me, I would suffer a devastating miscarriage.

While I mourned, she gave birth to four sons, one after another, basking in the adoration of her husband and his family, her triumph a cruel mirror to my grief.

In the end, she and her husband framed me for adultery, shattering my reputation. My own in-laws threw me out onto the street with nothing. I starved to death, alone and forgotten.

But now, I’m back. She wants a child, does she?

Well, stealing mine is no fun.

This time, I’m going to give her some far more… unique "treasures."

1

I opened my eyes to the sound of a doctor confirming my pregnancy.

Three months along. Right on schedule.

Before I could even process the news, a steaming thermos of chicken soup was placed in front of me.

“Elara, pregnancy must be so exhausting for you.”

The voice belonged to my best friend, Seraphina. A pampered trophy wife, draped in silk and dripping with jewels.

“I knew something was up when you lost your appetite,” she chirped, her smile never quite reaching her eyes. “Here, I made this soup just for you. It’s delicious. Go on, have a taste.”

I met her gaze, my jaw tight, and made no move to take the bowl.

A sharp sigh came from my other side. It was my mother-in-law, rolling her eyes. “Elara, what are you waiting for? Drink it. Don’t be so ungrateful. Sera is so good to you, always thinking of you.”

A nearby nurse chimed in. “She’s right. If I’d married into a family like that, I’d have forgotten all my old friends. Seraphina has a heart of gold.”

“I heard she even made that pumpkin puree by hand. A friendship like that is so rare these days.”

“She’s as beautiful as she is kind. Her children will be just as wonderful, I’m sure.”

Seraphina offered them a gracious, practiced smile before turning back to me, ladling a bowl of the glistening soup and holding it to my lips as if I were a child.

“Drink it while it’s hot. I was up at four this morning, simmering it for eight whole hours. If you don’t like it, I can make you a squab broth instead?”

A cold wave of memory washed over me.

In my past life, the joy of learning I was pregnant had been fleeting. I drank her soup, and by that night, I was cramping, bleeding, losing my child.

My husband took me for every test imaginable, but the results were always the same: my body was perfectly healthy. There was no medical reason for the miscarriages.

And that was only the beginning.

I conceived three more times. I lost them all. Each time, the doctors were baffled. No gynecological issues, no identifiable cause.

I nearly went mad trying to understand why. Why couldn't I hold onto my precious babies?

It was my mother-in-law who found the “answer,” watching our home security footage. She saw me—or a version of me—leaping around the house, jumping on furniture, even punching my own stomach, as if desperate to destroy the life inside me.

But it wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t.

I was always so careful, treating my body like a fragile temple. I guarded my diet, my every move. I would never have done those things.

I pleaded, I swore I was innocent, but my husband and his parents were convinced I’d lost my mind. They had me committed.

The doctors diagnosed me with schizophrenia.

Then, to seal my fate, a strange man appeared, claiming we were lovers. He told everyone the reason I’d killed my four unborn children was because I refused to give my husband an heir, saving myself for him alone.

I was cast out, divorced, and stripped of every penny and piece of identification I owned.

I died under a freeway overpass, my last sensation the gnawing emptiness in my stomach.

Only when my soul drifted free did I see the truth.

It was all Seraphina, and the “Harvest System” she had bound to me.

2

The memory was so vivid it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I turned my head, gently pushing the bowl away. The greasy scent of the soup suddenly churned my stomach, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat.

“I don’t think I can.”

My refusal, public and stark, wiped the smile from her face. Her expression hardened. Before she could speak, my mother-in-law shot me a look of pure contempt.

“Elara Vance, don’t you dare be rude! Seraphina got up at the crack of dawn to make this for you. You used to beg for her soup. What’s with the theatrics now?”

The nurses started whispering amongst themselves.

“Seriously, some people don’t know how lucky they are. If I had a friend like that, I’d drink the whole pot.”

“The soup will get cold and lose all its nutrients. What a waste. That bitch is just putting on a show.”

“She’s just trying to feel superior, making a scene to put Seraphina in her place.”

My mother-in-law looked ready to lunge at me, but Seraphina smoothly stepped between us, shielding me. Then, with a look of saintly concern, she produced a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade.

“Elara, it was my fault. I should have been more thoughtful,” she said, her voice a soft, apologetic murmur. “I brought this, too. Maybe this will help.”

She pushed the glass toward me.

My mother-in-law scoffed, then immediately softened her tone as she looked at Seraphina. “Oh no, honey, you can’t give her that. You have a cold. The doctor said you need the vitamin C. You drink it.”

Seraphina shook her head, her performance of self-sacrifice unwavering. “Elara told me she’s been craving sour things. This is perfect for her nausea. I’ll be fine.”

If I didn’t know the poison that lurked beneath her perfect facade, I might have been moved. I might have taken the glass.

But looking at her now, all I felt was a tidal wave of hatred so powerful I wanted to tear her limb from limb.

My first instinct was to throw the lemonade in the trash, to cut her out of my life completely and protect my baby.

But as I turned, my eyes fell on the dog my husband was cradling—our pregnant golden retriever. Her belly was round and full; she was carrying at least five or six pups.

I looked back at Seraphina, who was watching me with an unnervingly intense, calculating gaze.

A wild, venomous thought sparked in my mind.

If the dog ate the food she made… would the puppies in its belly end up in hers?

I decided to run an experiment.

I pushed the lemonade back into Seraphina’s hand, forcing down my revulsion. “I’ve been throwing up all morning. I don’t think I can handle anything acidic right now.”

I gestured to the thermos. “And it would be a shame to waste that soup after all your hard work.”

Just then, another pregnant woman who had just finished her appointment spotted us. “Sera? Is that really you? It’s me, from college! We were good friends, remember?”

She gave Seraphina an enthusiastic once-over. “Did you make this soup yourself?” Her eyes lit up. “I still remember the food you used to bring from home back on campus. It was amazing. I haven’t had your cooking in ages. Could I… maybe have a taste?”

I sized the woman up. She was plain, with rough skin and a short, stout frame. I remembered Seraphina mentioning a classmate who’d been a terrible student and dropped out.

3

This was a gift from the heavens.

Seraphina’s face cycled through shades of green and white. She instinctively tried to hide the bowl of soup behind her back. “Oh, um… I can’t. This is for Elara,” she stammered.

The woman just laughed, completely unfazed. “What’s the big deal? I just saw her refuse it. She didn’t even take a sip. Let me have it. I don’t mind leftovers.”

A nurse joined in, trying to smooth things over. “Exactly. You worked so hard on it. Someone like Elara doesn’t deserve it.”

“Just give it to someone else. You don’t need to be so nice to her.”

Seraphina’s fists clenched, her knuckles white. Her face grew paler.

Just as the standoff reached its peak, her husband, Ethan, appeared at her side.

“Nobody’s drinking that soup,” he announced with an easy charm.

“I was rushing through the kitchen this morning and knocked over the salt shaker. The whole thing went right into the pot. I was in a hurry and forgot to tell Sera. I’m sure it’s inedibly salty by now.”

He scratched his head, a picture of sheepish apology. “Alright, alright, no big deal about the soup. Tell you what, I’ll treat everyone to lunch to make up for it. My apologies.”

And just like that, with a simple lie, Ethan defused the entire situation.

So, my theory was correct.

The system worked on anyone who ate the food she prepared. They were deliberately screening for a mother who was intelligent and beautiful to bear their stolen child.

It just so happened that next month, I was scheduled to volunteer at an upscale animal shelter. The director mentioned they had several pregnant dogs who were always ravenous, constantly scavenging for food, even in the middle of the night.

I planned to spend a couple of days there.

If I could bring all of Seraphina’s "gifts" with me… wouldn’t that be perfect?

I was about to ask her for some of her famous homemade pumpkin puree when she beat me to it.

“Elara, since the soup and lemonade won’t work, I also brought you a jar of my pumpkin puree. It’s packed with nutrients for expectant mothers.”

I smiled faintly, and she immediately pressed the beautifully packaged jar into my hands.

Onlookers gasped in admiration. One of the nurses gave her a thumbs-up. “My god, you should be nominated for Best Friend of the Year.”

Seraphina blushed demurely, covering her mouth with her hand. “Elara’s just hit the three-month mark; it’s a critical time. She’s my best friend. Of course, I have to take care of her. A best friend is family. I’d do anything for her.”

People shot me envious looks, wishing they had a friend as devoted as mine.

I remembered my past life, my soul hovering near her ceiling as she complained to Ethan.

“This fourth one isn’t nearly as handsome as I’d hoped. We should have reset the system with someone else.”

Seraphina, applying her makeup flawlessly, had laughed. “Whatever. I only wanted one of her kids anyway, but the stupid girl just kept getting pregnant. It was her body taking the damage, not mine. Popping out a kid felt like nothing. A few free sons aren’t so bad, I guess.”

She’d paused, a cruel smirk on her face. “It was kind of fun, actually. It’s a shame she died so soon. I could have kept playing for much longer.”

4

Her bottomless cruelty, her absolute lack of a soul, had led to my horrific end.

Why? What right did she have to do that to me?

Now that she was handing me the bait herself, I didn’t even have to ask.

I placed the jar of pumpkin puree in my bag.

Seraphina’s expression flickered with anxiety. “Elara, it’s really delicious. Aren’t you going to open it and try some now?”

I smiled and took her hand. “It’s because it’s so good that I want to save it and savor it at home.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the people around us erupted in criticism aimed at me.

“What a fake. It’s obvious she doesn’t want it. Why take it, then?”

“I know what she’s doing. That puree is in a fancy jar. Homemade stuff like that sells for a lot online. I bet she’s planning to sell it.”

“Exactly. She’s trying to profit off her own best friend. How disgusting.”

At this point, I didn’t care what strangers thought of me. In this new life, my happiness came first. I would do whatever I wanted.

But Seraphina stuck to me like glue. “Elara, you’ve been sick all day. You have to eat something. It’s not good for you or the baby. Please, just eat it. Don’t be polite with me.”

She looked genuinely worried, her act flawless.

Ethan’s face darkened beside her. “Elara, why won’t you even open it? What’s the matter? You don’t think we’re trying to poison you, do you?”

His question stopped me cold.

What others thought didn’t matter, but I couldn’t afford to spook these two. If they suspected I knew their secret, they’d take the puree away, and my plan for revenge would be ruined. Worse, if they realized I knew the truth, they would never let me live. They were monsters in my last life; I had to protect myself and my baby in this one.

What could I do?

After a moment’s thought, I slowly unscrewed the jar. I scooped a small spoonful of the puree and placed it in my mouth.

Seraphina and Ethan exchanged a satisfied smile. I smiled back.

“Sera, you’re too good to me. I’m so lucky to have a friend like you. Thank you for caring so much.”

After a few more pleasantries, they left, arm in arm.

The moment they were gone, I booked an ultrasound. Thank God, the baby was still there.

I had put the puree in my mouth, but I had hidden it under my tongue, spitting it into a tissue when I pretended to wipe my lips. I had only taken that one spoonful; the rest of the jar was safely in my bag.

I went straight home from the hospital and began plotting my next move.

But as soon as I lay down, the doorbell rang.

I opened it to find Seraphina standing there, holding a tissue. A tissue with a smear of orange puree on it.

“Elara, did you not swallow the pumpkin puree? I found this in the trash can by the elevator.”

She stared at me, her eyes cold and sharp.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Had she figured me out?

Before I could answer, Ethan, who was standing behind her, clutched his head and collapsed, falling directly onto me.

I screamed.

As his dead weight pressed me down, I shoved him off. He blinked his eyes open, feigning weakness, and sat up. He popped a piece of candy into his mouth. “I’m so sorry, Elara,” he mumbled, his voice shaky. “Is the baby okay? We should get you to the hospital, just in case.”

“I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I think my blood sugar just crashed.”

I was seething.

My husband and mother-in-law rushed out at the commotion and insisted on taking me back to the hospital.

Under the guise of concern, Seraphina stood beside me the entire time, her eyes glued to the ultrasound monitor, scrutinizing every word on the report.

The baby was perfectly fine.

I shot her a cold look. “What? Is there a problem?”

She frowned. “No, of course not. I was just so worried Ethan might have hurt you. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when we get home.”

I had to stop myself from laughing out loud. Her act was seamless. It was painfully obvious she was just checking to see if my baby was still there.

She pressed me again, asking why I hadn’t eaten the puree. I told her I had, but the nausea came back and I’d thrown it all up.

Insisting it was for my own good, Seraphina ordered three entire crates of her pumpkin puree and had them delivered to my house by truck.

Perfect. The puppies’ gourmet feast had arrived.

I couldn’t help but wonder… after all those dogs ate her puree, what kind of "precious babies" would start growing inside Seraphina’s womb?