Chapter 1: The Second Chance

When I was volunteering as a teacher, I rescued a kid who’d never seen past the holler, and brought her out of the mountains.

I still remember those Appalachian mornings, the mist curling low over the hollers, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones. Back then, I thought I was doing something noble, bringing light to a place that felt forgotten by the rest of America. It never crossed my mind that kindness could bite back so hard. If I’d known what was coming, maybe I’d have slammed the door and never looked back. But back then, hope was louder than fear.

My parents treated her with the utmost care, loving her as if she were their own daughter.

They fussed over her like they’d struck gold. Mom would cut the crusts off her sandwiches, humming along to old Patsy Cline, and Dad would sneak her extra dessert, like she was the daughter they’d always wanted. She even got her own room, painted a soft lilac, right next to mine. It was the first time I’d ever seen them go out of their way like that for anyone but family.

But in the end, she poisoned our food and killed my entire family.

The shock of it never left me. Every Thanksgiving, every backyard barbecue, I’d remember the way my dad’s hands shook that last evening, the color draining from Mom’s face as she tried to call 911. The trust we’d built up shattered in one awful night. It still haunts me, the way betrayal hits hardest when it comes from someone you’ve welcomed into your home. Some nights I’d wake up gasping, the taste of metal and bile still in my mouth.

"Why do you get to stand above everyone else? Why should I serve you? People like you deserve to die."

Her words echo in my mind even now, the venom behind them burning deeper than any wound. She looked me dead in the eye, voice flat as pond water, like none of it mattered. I never saw it coming.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I first started volunteering—the day that girl came to me for help, claiming she was being bullied.

For a second, I thought I was dreaming. My bedroom window rattled with the wind off the ridge, and for a moment, it all felt too real. I’d been given another shot, a chance to do it all over—or maybe not do it at all.

I smiled and replied simply, "Oh." No more heroics. No more getting burned.

I really want to see, without me, how will she escape from hell this time?

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. This time, I wasn’t going to be her savior. She’d have to fend for herself in these hills, where folks aren’t as forgiving as city people might hope.