Chapter 3: The Knife and the Plan

I kept my head down and hurried past her. Tomorrow’s registration at Ivy Ridge. By then, Julian will use my name and stroll right in, right in front of me. In my last life, I just took it. But this time, I’m not letting them win.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the old fear tangled up with something new—maybe hope, maybe rage. I’d seen what the world looked like outside these walls, and I wasn’t going back, not without a fight. Let them think I’m weak. Tomorrow, they’ll see how wrong they are.

Because I’ve already seen the light.

That memory—her voice, her laughter—kept me steady, even as my mom barked orders and Julian strutted around like he owned the place. I wasn’t the same scared kid anymore. I had a plan. I was going to see it through, no matter what.

Mom said she wanted me to help, but I knew the truth—she wanted me out working. She liked to dress up her laziness with nice words. She wouldn’t lift a finger but took credit for everything I did. I was just a tool. So I swallowed it. If I let any of it show, I’d get a beating. Not worth it. I needed to save my strength for tomorrow—that was my shot to finally turn this life around.

I moved through the house like a ghost, cleaning up after everyone, taking out the trash, fixing whatever needed fixing. My hands remembered the routine, even if my heart wasn’t in it. I kept my eyes down, counting the hours until morning. Just one more day, I told myself. One more day and I’ll be free.

While I was thinking, Julian showed up in front of me. I caught the look in his eyes—he wasn’t glaring at me with his usual disgust. Instead, he looked almost amused, like he was in on a private joke. "Do a good job." He patted my shoulder and walked off, humming.

His touch lingered like a bruise. The way he said it—like he knew something I didn’t, like he was already celebrating. I watched him go, wondering if he’d always been this smug, or if it was just me who’d changed. Either way, I wasn’t letting him win this time.

I frowned, staring blankly at his back. Was he this pleased with himself at this point last time around, too? Or did I just never notice?

I tried to picture his face back then—was it always so smug, or was I too busy just trying to survive to see it? Now, every detail felt sharper, more dangerous. I tucked that thought away for later. Right now, I had bigger problems.

I shook my head, unable to remember. After all, I died at forty-eight—it had been thirty years since I finished high school. Thirty years is enough to blur a lot of memories. No matter how shocking things were back then, now they were faded—like old photos left out in the sun, all the colors bled away.

Sometimes I wonder if memory is a blessing or a curse. The sharp edges dull, but the ache never really goes away. I guess that’s what getting older does—it steals your pain, but it also steals your fire. Not this time, though. This time, I was going to hold on to every scrap of anger I could find.

I looked away and kept doing the chores Mom gave me. These little things didn’t matter—they weren’t worth a second thought. What I really needed to focus on was how I’d prove my identity at registration tomorrow. That was the only way I’d get my life back. That was the only way I’d get to be myself again.

I ran through the plan in my head again and again, hunting for holes. I’d have to move fast, keep my head clear, and hope nobody noticed what I was really up to. The stakes were higher than ever, and I wasn’t about to let fear trip me up.

If I remember right, before sending Julian to register, my parents tied me up in the storage room. So I need to stash a paring knife in there. That’ll be my key to breaking free. I can’t afford to mess up on the very first step.

My hands shook a little as I thought about it. One slip, and everything would fall apart. But I’d lived through worse. I could do this. I had to.

With that in mind, I glanced back quietly. Julian was already gone, and Mom was sprawled on the couch, glued to the TV. Dad was always away—he only ever came home now and then to check if Mom was "training" me right.

The house felt emptier than usual, like everyone was just waiting for the next disaster to hit. I tiptoed past the living room, careful not to draw attention. The TV blared on, filling the silence with canned laughter and fake applause.

Wait!

Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. On the day Julian started college—the day I lost everything—the usually absent old man suddenly showed up without warning and helped Mom tie me up. After Julian got himself registered, Dad stuck around for over half a year. Back then, I didn’t think much of it. But looking back…that was the only time he ever stayed home that long. In my memory, except for that, the longest he ever stayed was a week. So for him to suddenly stick around, there had to be a reason. Something must have happened then that I never knew about.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. All those years, I never questioned why Dad stuck around. Maybe I was too busy licking my wounds to notice the bigger picture. But now, with a second chance, I couldn’t afford to miss anything. Every detail mattered.

I lowered my eyes, but the memory was too distant—I just couldn’t recall if I’d missed any clues. That’s the tragedy of ordinary people. When life grinds you down, you miss the signs that could save you.

It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack, only the haystack’s on fire and you’re the one holding the match. I tried to piece it together, but the memories just wouldn’t come. Maybe it didn’t matter. All I could do was focus on what I could control.

Forget it. First, I need to find a paring knife. Without it, I won’t even get out of the storage room tomorrow.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, forcing myself to stay calm. One step at a time.

First the knife, then the rest.

I tried to act normal as I walked to the kitchen. While Mom wasn’t looking, I quickly grabbed a paring knife and tucked it into my waistband. Next, I just needed to hide the knife in the storage room. Mom wasn’t paying any attention to me; in her eyes, I was probably still just the dog who only knew how to obey. Fine, I didn’t care how she saw me. What I wanted most right now was to escape this hell.

My heart pounded so loud I was sure she could hear it, but she never even glanced up from her show. The kitchen was cluttered with old takeout containers and dirty dishes, but I found what I needed. I slipped the knife into my waistband and made my way back, slow and steady. No sudden moves. No mistakes.

There was a lot of junk in the storage room, so hiding a knife was easy. I waited for the right moment, slipped it into a pile of clutter, and finally breathed a sigh of relief. With this knife, I could cut the ropes tomorrow and rush to the registrar’s office to prove my identity. Everything seemed so perfect—I hadn’t even considered any other possibility. I thought my plan was flawless, my heart full of confidence from being reborn. But I forgot—life is unpredictable, and fate loves to mess with anyone who thinks they’re in control.

It was almost funny, the way hope crept in when I least expected it. I pictured myself walking out the front door, sunlight on my face, free for the first time. But deep down, I knew better. Life doesn’t hand out happy endings—not to people like me. Still, I clung to that sliver of hope, because sometimes, hope is all you have.