Chapter 3: Escaping Leonard, Claiming a New Name

Without a word, he started beating me: "You ungrateful brat, need a lesson, huh? Hiding from us and even hitting your brother! Where’s the money? You must have saved a lot these past two years, right? Hand it all over!" He swung the bat at anything within reach—lamps, chairs, the edge of the table. I dodged, heart racing, as he ranted about money and betrayal.

I ran around the house trying to get away, finally hiding in the corner of my bedroom. I wedged myself behind the dresser, hands over my head, praying he’d run out of steam. The walls shook with every blow. My breath came in short, ragged gasps.

I hugged my head, refusing to give in: "I have no money! You and your son are both bastards!" My voice was raw, shaking. I was done begging. If this was the end, I’d go down fighting.

Leonard raised the bat high. I ducked down quickly. The bat smashed into the wall. Plaster rained down. I saw my chance—adrenaline surging, I shoved him away with everything I had.

I took the chance to shove him away and tried to run outside. My feet barely touched the floor as I sprinted for the door. Freedom was just a few steps away.

But he grabbed my hair and dragged me back, his other hand closing around my neck. Pain shot through my scalp as he yanked me backward. His fingers dug into my throat, cutting off my air. My vision blurred. I clawed at his hands, desperate.

Leonard’s face twisted like a demon. His eyes were wild, mouth curled in a sneer. In that moment, I saw every ounce of hate he’d ever felt for me. I saw the monster he’d always been.

That’s how he strangled me to death. The world faded to black, my last thought a silent scream for help that never came.

That was my last memory of my previous life. Everything went quiet. I remember thinking, "So this is it?" But the story wasn’t over—not by a long shot. There was more. There had to be.

After that, I saw a blinding white light. It was like staring into the sun, endless and pure. I felt weightless, drifting between worlds. For a moment, I wondered if this was peace.

When it faded, I realized I’d been reborn. I gasped, air rushing into tiny lungs. My body felt strange—smaller, lighter. I blinked, and the world snapped back into focus. Was this real? Was I really back?

I felt my body shrinking rapidly, and Leonard’s image blurred, replaced by a familiar scene—I was back in my childhood bedroom. The faded wallpaper, the creaky bed, the posters I’d taped to the wall—it was all exactly as I remembered. My heart pounded. Was this real? Was I dreaming, or had I been given a second shot?

On the desk were the junior high textbooks my mother had borrowed for me, and by the window, her favorite orchid filled the air with its fragrance. The scent of orchids wrapped around me, soft and comforting. I reached out, fingers trembling, and touched the worn cover of my math book. It was real—every detail, every memory.

The calendar on the wall showed I’d been reborn to the summer after elementary school graduation. I stared at the date, disbelief flooding me. I was back—really back. A second chance. Unbelievable.

And this day was the day my mother died of a heart attack! My breath caught in my throat. The weight of it hit me all at once. I had to act—now. There was no time to waste.

I was stunned, not knowing why I’d been given a second chance. For a moment, I just stood there, paralyzed by fear and hope. Why me? Why now? But there was no time for questions.

But after calming down for a few minutes, I suddenly realized I had to save my mother! The urgency burned through my confusion. I couldn’t let history repeat itself—not this time. Not ever.

Ignoring the lingering pain in my neck, I rushed out and ran to the mall where my mother had her accident. I tore down the stairs, feet barely touching the steps. The world blurred past me as I sprinted through the streets, heart hammering in my chest. My legs felt like they were moving on their own.

On the way, as the familiar street scenes flashed by, all sorts of time-travel novel plots ran through my mind. It was almost surreal—like I was living inside one of those wild stories I used to read under the covers. But this was real. My mother’s life depended on me. No do-overs.

When I got to the mall, I circled around twice and spotted Leonard. There he was, arm slung around Diane, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world. The sight made my stomach churn. I wanted to scream.

He was holding my stepmother Diane, the two of them laughing and chatting. They looked happy—like a couple in a toothpaste commercial. I wanted to shatter their little bubble, to yell the truth for everyone to hear.

I followed them for a while, and when they went upstairs, I saw my mother not far away! She was radiant—her hair pulled back, eyes sparkling. For a moment, I forgot everything else. She was alive. She was here. I almost broke down.

She was so young, so beautiful! The sight of her nearly brought me to my knees. I wanted to run to her, to hug her and never let go. But I held back, watching from a distance.

She and Aunt Patty were walking over, and then they saw Leonard. Time seemed to slow as the confrontation unfolded. I held my breath, knowing what was about to happen. I wanted to scream at the universe to stop.

Just like in my previous life, my mother rushed over and started arguing with Leonard. Her voice was sharp, trembling with anger and heartbreak. Leonard just shrugged, playing dumb, his arm still around Diane. He acted like he didn’t care at all.

He tilted his head and played dumb, and my mother, clutching her chest, was about to collapse! Her face went pale, hand flying to her chest. Panic shot through me—I couldn’t lose her, not again. Not this time.

I looked around, desperate for help. People bustled by, oblivious. My hands shook as I scanned the crowd, searching for anyone who could help. I felt like screaming.

I grabbed a man with a big cellphone, pointed at my mother leaning on the railing, and begged him to call for emergency help. "Please! My mom—she’s having a heart attack! Call 911!" I shouted, voice breaking. The man’s eyes widened. He snapped into action, dialing as he ran to her side. Relief flooded me.

Thank goodness, the man was a doctor. He ran over and started first aid, pressing on my mother’s chest. He barked orders, kneeling beside her, performing CPR as a crowd gathered. Aunt Patty sobbed, clutching my hand. I could barely breathe. I was frozen, helpless.

I stood by, fists clenched, tears streaming down my face. The world blurred as I watched, hope and terror battling inside me. My nails dug crescents into my palms. "Please, please, please," I whispered.

Thanks to the doctor’s quick action, my mother woke up! Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped for air. Relief crashed over me in a wave. Aunt Patty hugged her, sobbing. I dropped to my knees, shaking with gratitude. My chest ached with the force of it.

Aunt Patty, crying, hugged my mother, while Leonard, still holding Diane, muttered regretfully: "Damn, what rotten luck!" He scowled, muttering under his breath. I wanted to punch him, but all that mattered was my mother was alive.

I rushed to my mother’s side, trembling with excitement when I saw her open her eyes. She looked at me, confused but alive. I squeezed her hand, promising myself I’d never let her go again. I’d do anything to keep her safe.

Later, my mother was taken to the hospital. She asked why I was there, and I lied, saying it was just a feeling. I told her I’d had a bad dream and needed to see her. She smiled weakly, brushing my hair back, just like she used to. I almost cried with relief.

While she was in the hospital, Leonard never visited, let alone took care of her. Not a single call, not a card. Diane sent flowers, but Leonard was too busy chasing his next thrill. The nurses noticed, too—one even gave me an extra pudding from the staff fridge. It was a small kindness in a hard time.

The day after my mother was discharged, she had a huge fight with Leonard. The walls shook as their voices echoed through the house. I pressed my ear to the door, heart pounding. I wanted to run in and help, but I stayed put, listening.

He actually demanded a divorce: "You can’t give me a son anyway. I still need to register my real son. Don’t hog the spot if you don’t want to use it!" He spat the words like venom, pacing the living room. My mother stood her ground, fists clenched. I was terrified for her, but proud too.

Leonard had already found out Diane’s baby was a boy, so he felt confident. He bragged about it to anyone who’d listen. The neighbors started whispering, too—news like that travels fast in a small town.

But my mother refused to divorce. She grabbed a feather duster and hit him: "Are you the spot? You’re not even as good as a spot! After all these years of marriage, what have you done for this family? Just because I didn’t give you a son, you treat us like this? Want me to divorce you? No way!" Her words were sharp, her swings even sharper. Leonard ducked and cursed, but she didn’t back down. I watched from the hallway, pride swelling in my chest.

Leonard didn’t expect her to refuse and stormed out, cursing. He slammed the door so hard the picture frames rattled. I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping maybe this was the start of something new.

I ran to my mother to comfort her, afraid she’d get sick again. She collapsed onto the couch, clutching her chest. I fetched her medicine, hands shaking, and sat beside her until her breathing slowed. I was scared, but I tried to be strong for her.

She sat down, panting, still gripping the feather duster: "He wants a divorce because he’s after the house! The house is under your grandpa’s name. If we divorce, he’ll kick us out and take over with that mistress! He would do it! Your grandpa won’t help us—he just wants a grandson! I have to protect this home for you!" Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She was determined, even in the face of everything.

As she spoke, her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away quickly, forcing a smile for my sake. I hugged her, promising we’d get through it together. I’d never let her down.

Thinking of her misfortune in my past life, my heart ached: I wanted to scream at the world for being so cruel to her. But instead, I squeezed her hand tighter, willing my love to be enough. She deserved so much better.

"Mom, don’t be sad. You still have me. Without Dad, we can still live well together." She looked at me, surprised by my certainty. For the first time, I saw a flicker of hope in her eyes. I wanted to believe it, too.

My mother shook her head, getting worked up again: "Why should I divorce? He’s the one desperate to register that bastard child. Let him stew. I’ll outlast him if I have to!" Her stubbornness was legendary. Even when the odds were stacked against her, she refused to give in. I admired her for it.

But reality proved Leonard was even more ruthless. Trouble always seemed to find us, no matter how hard we tried to stay ahead. I started sleeping with one eye open.

Half a month later, I came home from school to find all the valuables gone. The house was stripped bare—TV, jewelry, even my piggy bank. My mother stood in the doorway, fists clenched, eyes blazing. I’d never seen her so angry.

Neighbors said Leonard had moved everything out. My mother immediately called the police. She paced the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, voice trembling with anger. I’d never seen her so furious. I wanted to help, but didn’t know how.

But the police said it was a marital dispute, and household property was joint property—they couldn’t intervene. The officer on the other end sounded bored, like we were just another nuisance. My mother slammed the phone down, cursing under her breath. I felt so helpless.

My mother wanted to confront Leonard but couldn’t find him and came home furious. She tore through the house, searching for anything he’d missed. I followed her, trying to help, but there was nothing left. The emptiness hurt more than the loss.

Soon after, people started coming to our door, saying Leonard owed them money and wanted my mother to pay his debts. Men in cheap suits knocked at all hours, demanding cash. One even threatened to take our furniture—what little we had left. I was scared, but my mother stood her ground.

My mother was livid: "Leonard owes you money, go find him! What’s it got to do with me? Look, the house is empty—where would I get money to pay his debts?" She stood her ground, voice sharp and unyielding. The men eventually left, but their threats lingered. I watched her, amazed by her courage.

Although they left, debt collectors kept coming, spray painting things like "Pay your debts" on our walls. Red letters scrawled across the siding, visible to the whole neighborhood. I scrubbed at them with steel wool, but the words wouldn’t fade. It was humiliating.

This made my mother miserable every day. She stopped smiling, stopped singing while she cooked. I caught her crying in the bathroom more than once. The weight of it all was crushing. I wanted to fix it, but didn’t know how.