Chapter 5: Ghosts of My Last Life

In truth, by the end of my last life, I had long forgotten Caleb’s face. Decades had passed. If I recall correctly, our last meeting was around this time of year.

In this life, seeing him again, I suddenly realized—

So this is what he looks like.

When I didn’t respond, Caleb frowned slightly. He walked over to me, raising his hand to touch my forehead.

"What’s up with you?"

I instinctively wanted to avoid him.

Caleb’s hand paused, his cold gaze deepening. For a second, I almost flinched—old habits die hard, even when your heart’s already packed its bags.

At that moment, Mason hopped down from his skateboard. He was only four, but already controlled his emotions well. Seeing me, the smile on his little face faded, replaced by a serious, composed look.

"Mom."

He nodded at me, lips pressed tight, like he was already practicing being grown. His tone carried a hint of precocious maturity—polite, but always distant.

I once thought Mason’s temperament was inherited from Caleb, that he treated everyone this way. But after a lifetime, I understood that wasn’t so.

He could be close to people, could act like a kid. But toward me, he always kept a proper distance—always colder.

Even at our final meeting in my previous life, he was like this: cold and proud, like a snowdrift in January. He stood at the foot of my bed, hands in his pockets, eyes as cold as January ice.

He no longer called me Mom, but "Mrs. Jennings."

"Dad and I have already moved on, free from the old ties. Mrs. Jennings, you’re too attached. You should let go and leave this place."

By then, I had waited for father and son for decades—from youth to gray hair—yet never saw them.

Until I lay bedridden, clinging to my last breath, unwilling to let go. That battered screen door finally creaked open.

I thought it was Caleb and called his name, but was coldly interrupted by another voice.

"Dad’s in a meeting. He can’t be disturbed."

Only then did I realize the one who returned was not Caleb, but Mason.

It’s said some people never age a day. The grown Mason looked exactly as Caleb had in his twenties—the same cold, distant eyes, the same indifferent gaze.

He looked at my withered form as if I were nothing more than a faded photograph.

Mason said he’d come back this time to repay the bit of blood I’d given him. He was still busy, so I shouldn’t waste his time.

Maybe I was angered by his words, or maybe my time had truly come. Not long after, I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I had returned to the day of Caleb’s big promotion.

That basket of eggs—I’d meant to sell them for money to buy a keychain for Caleb’s new car. But once I woke to clarity, I knew I wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of my past life.