My parents spared no expense for my newborn celebration luncheon.

Five large round tables filled a private banquet room at one of the best hotels in downtown Chicago. Mom, wearing a custom-tailored cocktail dress, carried me through the crowd of relatives and friends. Her eyes sparkled with pure joy. Dad’s voice boomed a little louder than usual as he greeted the guests, unable to hide his pride as a new father.

I lay wrapped in my mother Helen’s arms, my eyes locked dead on Cole in the crowd.

In my past life, it was this exact smiling face that took me from her arms, turned around, and shoved a bottle spiked with hard liquor into my mouth.

I spent three days and three nights fighting for my life in the hospital.

I survived, but the acute alcohol poisoning caused severe hypoxic-ischemic brain injury. It robbed me of any chance at a normal life. Mom spent her days in tears, and Dad’s hair turned gray overnight.

And I lived my entire life trapped in a haze.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at this very luncheon.

"Sophie, look who's here! It's Cole."

Mom carried me over to Cole’s table.

He immediately stood up, plastering a bright, boyish smile across his face.

"Aunt Helen, she’s gorgeous today. Like a little princess."

He reached out, his movements casual and practiced. "Let me hold her. She's the star of the show, right?"

In my past life, this was the exact moment Mom handed me over without a second thought.

This time, right before Cole’s hands could touch me, I let out a sharp whimper.

Mom paused, gently patting my back. "Oh, looks like Sophie is a little shy today. Maybe later, Cole."

Cole’s smile didn't waver, and he didn't pull his hands back.

"Babies just need to get used to being held. I'm her cousin, Aunt Helen."

He took another step closer.

I opened my mouth and unleashed the loudest, most piercing wail I could muster since my rebirth.

Waaaaah!

Tears streamed down my face instantly. I thrashed in Mom's arms as if I were terrified out of my mind.

The chatter and laughter in the banquet room died. Every head turned our way.

Dad immediately strode over from the main table, his jaw tight. "What’s wrong? Why is she crying like that?"

Panic flashed in Mom’s eyes. She bounced me gently, trying to soothe me. "It's okay, baby, Mama's here."

She looked at Cole, bewildered. "Cole, did you... did you accidentally pinch her?"

Caught completely off guard, Cole’s smile froze. His outstretched hands hovered awkwardly in the air. "I didn't even touch her, Aunt Helen! I was just—"

Waaaaah!

I cried even harder, my tiny fists gripping the fabric of Mom’s dress, twisting my whole body away from him.

The relatives began to whisper.

"That's a terrifying cry for a baby."

"Does Cole have some weird smell on him? Maybe she hates it."

"Look at how she's hiding. She looks genuinely scared."

The murmurs drifted over. Cole’s face paled. He forced a stiff laugh. "Must be my cologne. Guess she doesn't like the smell."

Dad was already standing right in front of him. His gaze swept over Cole, sharp and unyielding.

"What's on your hands?"

His voice was low, but it cut through the room like a knife.

Cole instinctively pulled his hands behind his back. "Nothing, Uncle Michael. I just bumped into a drink earlier. Might smell a little like alcohol."

Mom looked down and quickly sniffed the side of my swaddle that had been closest to Cole.

Dad didn't say another word. He simply reached out and took me from Mom’s arms.

The moment I was pressed against Dad’s broad, warm chest, my cries subsided into soft hiccups. I rested my cheek against his shoulder, clinging to him.

Cole stood frozen in place, the target of scrutinizing stares from every table. He looked utterly humiliated. He opened his mouth, as if trying to formulate another excuse.

But Dad had already turned his back on him.

"It's too loud in here. I'm taking her out."

Without waiting for a response, he walked out of the banquet room.

Mom gave Cole a complicated look but said nothing, turning to follow Dad.

As we left, I peeked over Dad’s shoulder at Cole, who was still standing stiffly by the table.

I didn't miss the dark, venomous flash of anger in his eyes.

Cole, this time, I'm coming for you.

~~~~~

The celebration luncheon ended hastily.

I eventually fell asleep in Dad’s arms. When the car started, the slight bump woke me up just enough to hear my parents talking in hushed voices.

"Michael, what do you think was wrong with Sophie today?" Mom asked. "Crying like that... the moment Cole got close, she completely lost it. Jason held her yesterday and she even smiled at him."

Dad didn't answer immediately.

After a long moment, his deep voice filled the quiet car. "Something was off with Cole today."

"You felt it too?" Mom sounded a little desperate, as if relieved she wasn't the only one.

"I can't quite put my finger on it," Dad paused. "But the way he looked at Sophie... he wasn't looking at his baby cousin."

Mom fell silent.

"That can't be right, can it?" she said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. "I watched Cole grow up. Why would he have any bad intentions? Maybe Sophie really just hated the smell."

Dad just gave a noncommittal grunt and didn't push it.

But I knew the seed of doubt had been planted.

That was enough for now.

When we returned to our single-family home in the Chicago suburbs, the familiar, safe scent of the house wrapped around me.

"Our poor Sophie had a rough day," Mom cooed softly, wiping my face with a warm cloth.

Under the warm lights, her brow was still slightly furrowed.

She unbuttoned my onesie and was about to toss it into the laundry basket when she suddenly froze.

She brought the fabric up to her nose, took a deep sniff, and the color drained from her face.

"Michael." Her voice cracked.

Dad, who was pouring water in the living room, immediately walked in. "What is it?"

"Smell this." Mom handed him the onesie, pointing to a faint, barely noticeable stain. "Is this from when she spit up today? But this smell..."

Dad leaned in. His brows instantly locked together.

"This is..." He took another, deeper sniff, his expression turning dangerously dark. "Liquor. Mixed with formula. High-proof."

Mom’s face went completely white. Her lips trembled. "How... how could there be hard liquor on Sophie's clothes? No one was drinking near her..."

Cole.

She didn't say his name, but they both knew.

"Could it be... when he reached out for her earlier, the alcohol on his hands got on her swaddle?" Mom’s voice shook. "Doesn't he know how dangerous that is for a baby?"

She couldn't finish her sentence.

The fear and suspicion in her eyes were impossible to hide anymore.

"Tomorrow," Dad cut in, his tone decisive. "Tomorrow I'm calling Bob. His wife is a pediatrician. I'll ask her exactly how we should handle this onesie."

Robert Grant was Dad’s old college buddy who worked in the public health system.

The next day, Dr. Erin Grant advised my parents not to wash the onesie, but to seal it in a plastic bag. She warned them that if there was any risk Sophie had ingested it, they needed to call the Poison Control Center or go to the pediatric ER immediately. Since they suspected someone had intentionally exposed me to it, she strongly suggested filing a report with the local police and preserving the clothing as evidence.

"But... but if it really is liquor, and if it really was Cole..."

Mom’s eyes grew red. She was terrified—terrified of facing the ugly truth she least wanted to believe.

Dad looked at her, then down at me, lying quietly in my crib, blinking up at them.

Tears welling in her eyes, Mom finally gave a heavy nod. "Okay. We do what you say."

Mom barely slept that night.

Dad stayed in his study until the early hours of the morning. I could faintly hear him making hushed phone calls.

That baby onesie with the suspicious stench of liquor...

This was exactly what I wanted.