Chapter 2: The Second Chance

The sound of sirens echoed in my ears.

A fire truck’s klaxon wailed from a few blocks away, bouncing off the red-brick storefronts lining Main Street. The early morning air was tinged with the smell of coffee and fresh bagels wafting from the deli on the corner.

I opened my eyes and found myself standing on the sidewalk in Maple Heights, still holding a steaming hot breakfast sandwich in my hand.

The waxy paper crinkled in my fingers. My breath hung in the crisp April air as I glanced up at the faded sign for Maple Donuts, a favorite local haunt. Kids on their way to school zipped by, backpacks bouncing, a yellow school bus rumbling at the curb. A kid zipped past on a Razor scooter, his backpack covered in Marvel patches.

Just then, a little girl, about six years old, suddenly had her yo-yo string snap. The ball rolled into the street, and she started to chase after it.

I caught the flash of pink in the corner of my eye—the girl’s pigtails bouncing as she darted into the street, chasing her rogue yo-yo. A couple of teenagers by the crosswalk shouted in alarm, but she didn’t hear.

At that moment, a delivery truck turned the corner. The spot where the girl crouched was right in the driver’s blind spot.

The big FedEx truck swung around, its logo gleaming. The driver, a man in a trucker cap sipping his gas station coffee, was fiddling with his GPS, oblivious to the danger.

Seeing disaster about to strike, I gritted my teeth, dropped what I was holding, and rushed over to grab her.

My breakfast sandwich tumbled into the gutter, forgotten. Adrenaline surged, and time seemed to slow—my sneakers squeaked on the pavement as I sprinted toward the girl, arms outstretched, calling out, "Hey! Watch out!"

Given a second chance, I still couldn’t just stand by and watch someone die.

There was no hesitation. I knew this moment, its consequences, but my feet moved anyway. My chest tightened—not with fear, but with the hard certainty that if I let this happen again, I’d never forgive myself. Still, my hands shook. I was scared—of pain, of dying, of failing again. Not even in another lifetime.

The truck was almost upon us. The crowd around us began to scream, and with sirens wailing, a surge of danger shot through my heart.

People on the sidewalk gasped, some dropping their coffee, a couple filming on their phones. A woman in a nurse’s scrubs covered her mouth. The world seemed to tilt as the sirens blared louder, echoing the frantic hammering in my chest.

The truck driver must have realized what was happening and slammed on the brakes, but it was clearly too late.

The truck’s tires screeched, burning rubber. The driver’s face went white as he jerked the wheel, the whole rig shuddering like a wild animal trying to shake off a trap.

“It’s over…”

The memory of pain flickered in my mind. I’d been here before—the impact, the darkness, the steady beep of the heart monitor fading away. My hands clenched, sweat prickling my palms.

In my previous life, I was hit by the truck while saving the little girl. Even though the driver braked hard, the force of inertia still left me gravely injured.

I could still remember the world tilting, my body slamming against metal and asphalt, the panic of strangers crowding above me. Even with all his desperate effort, the driver couldn’t stop physics. The trauma doctors’ grim faces flashed through my mind.

The shadow of the truck’s front loomed over me and the girl. The immense pressure made my heart pound wildly.

I heard the rattle of loose change in the truck’s cupholder, the thunder of the engine bearing down. The sun glinted off the chrome bumper, blinding for a split second. I could almost feel my pulse in my throat.

Since I couldn’t dodge, I might as well take a gamble.

I squared my jaw, focusing on the girl’s small, trembling frame. I wasn’t getting out of the way—there was only one chance.

I threw the little girl out of my arms and at the same time dropped flat to the ground.

She shrieked as I scooped her up, launching her toward the safety of the curb. I flattened myself against the asphalt, feeling the grit bite into my cheek, praying the tires would pass over me instead of through me.

The crowd gasped in shock. The deafening roar swept over my head, and I closed my eyes.

A collective shout rose behind me, punctuated by someone dropping their phone. The world was a blur of noise: the truck’s engine screaming, people yelling, a baby crying somewhere. My eyelids squeezed shut as if that could somehow shield me from fate.

Let fate decide.

I released a shaky breath. This was it. No more do-overs. Whatever happened next was out of my hands. I whispered a silent apology to my parents, to anyone I’d ever loved.

If I couldn’t avoid being hit, I’d rather die instantly. At least my parents wouldn’t have to lose their lives again because of me.

A strange calm washed over me. I pictured my parents’ faces, their laughter at Sunday BBQs, the faded quilt on my childhood bed. If I had to go, let it be quick, let it be now. Anything but the slow agony I’d left them with before.

The roaring wind swept over me, brakes screeched harshly, and then the crowd erupted in cheers.

The air thundered above my head—then silence, then a wave of applause. Someone whooped. A car alarm blared somewhere, half drowned by the sound of people clapping and calling out, “He did it! He saved her!”

I had survived.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the patch of blue sky framed by telephone wires. My limbs tingled, but I was alive. The taste of dust and adrenaline lingered on my tongue.

The truck driver jumped out of the cab and ran over. “Man, are you okay?”

His boots thudded on the asphalt as he raced over, eyes wide with panic. “Jesus, dude, you alright?” he gasped, voice cracking. He helped me sit up, concern etched deep in his face.

When he helped me up, my legs were shaking so badly I couldn’t stand, and I had to lean on him for support.

He braced me with an arm around my back, steadying me as my knees buckled. I caught a whiff of his cologne, cheap and sharp, mixed with the scent of diesel and sweat. My hands trembled as I gripped his sleeve.

Both the driver and I let out a long sigh of relief.

We stood there for a moment, just breathing, shaky with leftover fear. The driver gave a half-laugh, half-sob, slapping his thigh as the realization sank in. The world resumed around us, the rush of normal life creeping back.

He patted me on the shoulder, full of admiration.

He grinned, his eyes shining. “Man, that was brave. Real brave. Not many people would’ve done that.”

“Dude, you’re a good person. You’ll get what’s coming to you in a good way.”

A middle-aged woman in scrubs nodded approvingly. “You got a big heart, honey. The world needs more people like you.”

Bystanders called 911. I was carried onto a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance, while the little girl was taken away by the police to find her parents.

Someone handed me a bottled water as the paramedics arrived, strapping me to the gurney. I caught a glimpse of the little girl—her hair mussed, cheeks streaked with tears—clutching the yo-yo as a police officer guided her away. "It’s okay, sweetie, we’ll get you home," he murmured. Sirens blared anew as the ambulance doors slammed shut behind me.

After a thorough examination, the doctor said there was nothing wrong with me physically, just that I’d been badly frightened, and that I’d be fine after some medicine and a few days of observation.

In the ER, the doctor—a tired man with a faded Cleveland Browns lanyard—gave me a reassuring smile. “You’re lucky, man. No fractures, no head trauma. You just need to rest up a bit, maybe take something to help you sleep for a few nights.”

But I insisted on being admitted to the hospital, and after calling my parents, they rushed over immediately.

I pressed for admission, not wanting to go home just yet. I dialed my folks—my mom answered on the first ring, voice trembling. "We’ll be right there, honey. Don’t move."

When they saw me standing safe and sound by the hospital bed, my mother hugged me and burst into tears.

The moment they burst into my room, Mom’s arms went around me, her sobs muffled against my chest. Dad hovered behind, his hands shaking as he adjusted his Ohio State baseball cap.

My father clutched his chest and let out a deep sigh of relief.

He pressed his palm to his heart, sagging into the plastic chair by my bedside. His breathing was ragged, but he managed a crooked smile. “Don’t scare us like that, bud,” he muttered, sounding more like a football coach than a worried dad.

“When we heard you were in the hospital, your mother and I were scared to death.”

He tried to sound gruff, but his voice broke. Mom squeezed my hand even tighter, tears glinting in her eyes.

Looking at their tired faces, I felt both guilt and sorrow, gripping their hands tightly as my eyes filled with tears.

Their wrinkles seemed deeper, the gray in Dad’s beard more pronounced. I squeezed their hands, blinking hard. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

In my previous life, it was my own blindness that led to my parents dying with such heartbreak.

The memories twisted in my gut—funeral flowers, empty rooms, unanswered phone calls. All because I hadn’t seen the truth sooner. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

This time, I will make Jenna Caldwell pay the price.

My jaw set, anger smoldering beneath my grief. This time, Jenna wouldn’t get away with it. Not with my life, not with my family’s.

After my parents checked me over again and finally felt reassured, they asked,

Mom wiped her eyes, finally letting herself exhale. Dad cleared his throat, his voice gentler than I remembered. “Did you call Jenna? Does she know what happened?”

“Did you tell Jenna?”

I nodded, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “I’m about to,” I replied, glancing at my phone on the nightstand. The screen was smudged, the background still a photo of Tyler at his last birthday.

I knew I couldn’t make them believe I’d been reborn, so I could only look at them seriously and say,

“Dad, Mom, I think Jenna is seeing someone else.”

Their faces fell, shock rippling through the air. The room suddenly felt smaller, tighter. Dad’s mouth opened and closed, searching for words.

They were both shocked. Right in front of them, I took out my phone and called Jenna Caldwell.

I scrolled through my contacts, thumb hovering over her name. My parents watched, eyes wide, as I hit "Call." The ringing seemed to echo forever.