Warmth.
That was the first thing he registered — a gentle heat wrapping around his tiny body as someone lifted him. Soft fabric brushed his cheek, and the world rocked in slow, careful motions.
His vision was blurry at first, colors bleeding into one another… until two shapes sharpened.
A woman leaned over him, her amber eyes shimmering like polished honey. Long black hair spilled around her face, loose and soft, framing features that were tired yet glowing with tenderness. She looked at him as if he were something fragile, precious… irreplaceable.
Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke, as though the moment might shatter if she wasn't gentle enough.
**"Ray… my little Ray."**
His name — spoken for the very first time.
She brushed her thumb along his cheek. Ray's newborn body couldn't respond the way he wanted, but something old inside him stirred. A warmth he remembered from his past life. From his family. From his previous mother.
Then another figure stepped into view.
A man — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in simple clothes that had seen years of use. His hair was the same midnight black, but his eyes…
Crimson.
Crimson like his own.
He stared at the baby quietly, unreadable at first. Ray wondered if the man found something lacking — but then the father exhaled, slow and steady, and the hardness in his gaze melted into something gentler.
He placed a large, calloused hand lightly on Ray's tiny stomach. Careful. Testing. Accepting.
**"He has your eyes,"** the mother whispered.
**"Yes,"** the father murmured. **"But he looks like you, my dear."**
Ray's tiny fingers curled weakly, but his thoughts were sharp.
*You're talking about me like I belong here… but I don't. Your real child… the real Ray… he's gone because I'm here. You're loving the wrong person. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…*
The mother bowed her head, touching her forehead gently to his.
**"Welcome home, Ray."**
He felt her warmth, her love — and it made something inside him twist painfully.
Not comfort.
Not peace.
Guilt.
The room was small and sunlit, quiet except for the faint hum of a village outside — the soft pulse of a world he barely understood yet.
But inside his new chest, there was only one truth:
This isn't my home. And I'm not the son they wanted.
Ray wriggled in the arms that held him, or at least tried to. Tiny limbs kicked and flailed, accomplishing nothing but a few soft squeaks. Every motion reminded him how helpless he truly was—how impossible it was to do anything about the fact that he had replaced their real son.
The mother hummed softly, a gentle, tentative sound, and rocked him back and forth.
They think I'm theirs… Ray's mind spun, even though his body barely obeyed. They don't know the truth. And even if I told them, could they… would they accept it? Would anyone accept it?
The father crouched nearby, crimson eyes following his every tiny move, his hand hovering over the crib like a silent guardian. Occasionally he would reach out to adjust Ray's blanket, making sure the baby's small body was warm and safe.
Ray felt the warmth, felt the care—but it only sank the guilt deeper.
I'm not their son. I'm just… a stranger in their home. And their real child… is gone because of me. How can they love me? How can I let them love me?
The mother kissed the top of his tiny head. "Sleep now, Ray… everything will be fine," she whispered.
Ray wanted to respond, to tell her it wasn't fine, but no sound came out. He could only stare at her face, memorizing it. The kindness. The patience. The unconditional love. The impossible weight of it.
A tear—or maybe a droplet of drool—slipped from the corner of his mouth. He could barely feel it. He could barely feel anything except the twisting knot inside his chest.
I can't… I can't be their son. Not really. I'm just… someone else. Someone who shouldn't exist.
The hours passed slowly, each moment a battle between his newborn helplessness and the adult mind that remembered everything.
Eventually, exhaustion won. His eyelids drooped, heavy as lead. The last thing he saw before drifting into an uneasy sleep was his parents' faces—soft, warm, unwavering.
And I… have to live with this. Somehow.