Chapter 4: A Mother's Love and Old Wounds

After seeing Sarah off, I lay on the hospital bed, bored, thinking back on the major events of my previous life. The monitor beeped softly at my side, the IV drip a steady rhythm in the background. I watched snow drift past the window, the world outside so peaceful it felt almost unreal.

With this new life, I want to seize the opportunity and let those I love—and those who love me—live well.

Mom looked at me curiously.

'Son, what’s your relationship with that girl?' My mom is never one to hold back her curiosity. She raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

In my first eighteen years, I only got close to one girl: Emily.

My youthful crush, my budding feelings—adults could see it a mile away.

Both sets of parents knew, including Emily herself. They’d tease us at barbecues and family cookouts, nudging us together for photos. I glanced at a photo on my phone—me and Emily, arms around each other, laughing at a Fourth of July cookout. The ache of what I thought was love twisted in my chest, mixing nostalgia, resentment, and a self-loathing I couldn’t quite shake.

But she always turned me down, saying students should focus on their studies.

After my accident, I felt I couldn’t give her happiness and never brought it up again.

Thinking it was enough to stay by her side, I accompanied her from her debut, silently giving everything.

I never expected she would betray my sincere heart.

Mom hadn’t expected that I’d get sick this time and call another girl instead of Emily.

'Mom, I have nothing to do with Emily. Don’t overthink it. She has someone she likes.' My voice was flat, the truth bitter in my mouth.

'I don’t care about you young people’s business, as long as you’re happy.' Mom squeezed my hand, her eyes soft with love. She always tried to hide her worry behind little jokes, but I saw through it now.

A parent’s love is deep, selfless, and careful.

This love is instinctive—asking for nothing in return, only wanting their child to be happy. I saw the lines around Mom’s eyes, the way she hovered at the door after I’d closed it, listening for signs I was okay.

In my previous life, I was reckless, risking myself for Emily. After the accident, my mother’s hair turned white overnight.

I was too foolish—sacrificing everything for love, only to be betrayed and left with nothing.

After I died, my consciousness lingered for a while. I watched my parents go to Emily for an explanation, only to be turned away by security guards.

Even after my death, her fans didn’t let me go. They found my home, vandalized it, and made my parents afraid to go outside. Graffiti covered the mailbox, and bricks shattered our windows. My family retreated inside, shutters closed, isolated from the neighborhood they once loved.

My father died of a heart attack from the stress. My mother, having lost both husband and son, lost the will to live and burned down our once warm home. She couldn’t take the whispers, the loneliness, the pain.

With this new life, I want my parents to have the best life possible. I won’t let them become collateral damage in someone else’s drama.