Chapter 2: Back to the Worst Day

I was furious. I shook with rage. I wanted nothing more than to tear that venomous old woman apart. Then, when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my mom had moved into my house.

It was like waking from a nightmare, only to find myself at the beginning again. Hell, was this really happening? My hands still shook with anger, my chest tight with all the words I’d never said. But somehow, the world had rewound, and I was standing at the edge of it all, given one more shot.

Then I heard my daughter’s voice in my ear: “Daddy, don’t sleep, Daddy, wake up—Grandma’s here!”

Her little hands tugged at my sleeve, her breath warm against my cheek. That voice—God, I’d missed it. The ache in my chest was still there, but her voice cut through the fog, pulling me back to the present.

Grandma. Daughter. Wasn’t I already…

I mean, for a split second, I thought I was hallucinating, that the fever had finally cooked my brain. But there she was, clear as day.

I slowly opened my eyes. My daughter still looked four years old—her cheeks rosy, big, round eyes, soft and adorable. She was shaking me urgently, her breathing quick.

She looked just as she had all those years ago, before everything went wrong. Her hair was a little tangled, her hands sticky with whatever snack she’d been eating, but her eyes were bright and worried. Some things never changed. I reached out, almost afraid she’d vanish if I blinked.

Before I could answer, my mom was already striding in, lugging bags and bundles, plopping herself right down on a chair in the living room. Her hunched back, faded old flannel shirt, and that permanent scowl on her face—it was all exactly as I remembered from my last life.

She moved with the same stubborn energy, the kind that dared anyone to challenge her. The way she dropped her bags made the whole room flinch. Even the old dog in the corner slunk away. Smart dog.

She caught me staring and snapped, “What are you looking at? Haven’t you seen your mom before?” Same old, same old.

Her voice had that same edge, like she was daring me to talk back. I’d heard it a thousand times. Still, this time, something in me bristled.

“It’s already noon, where’s your wife? Why isn’t she making lunch?”

“My stomach’s growling. What’s there to eat in this house? Bring something out to tide me over.”

She rattled off her complaints in rapid-fire, barely pausing for breath. Seriously? I could almost see the list of grievances unrolling in her mind, each one ready to be thrown in my face.

Yep, just like before. Even her words were exactly the same as when she first moved in last time. No doubt about it now. Now I was sure—I really had been given a second chance.

A chill ran through me. The universe, God, fate—whatever it was—had handed me a do-over. And I wasn’t about to waste it.

Last time, my mom claimed she couldn’t get along with my older brother, so she dragged all her bags over and said she’d just stay at my place for a bit. I knew she didn’t like me, thought I was never as good as my brother, but I still wanted, more than anything, for her to see me.

I remember how I made excuses for her, telling myself she just needed time, that she’d see my worth if I just worked harder. I was such an idiot. That need for approval was a weight I carried everywhere.

So I did everything to show her respect, even making my wife never talk back. She said she was malnourished, so I bought her vitamins and supplements. She said her back hurt and she couldn’t work, so I let her stay in bed all year, massaging her legs and back. Even when she hit my little girl, I told my daughter it was her fault. I actually said that.

I can still feel the shame of those moments. My daughter’s confused, hurt eyes. My wife, just sitting there, silent and exhausted. All because I thought if we just tried harder, things would change.

She stayed twelve years, and for twelve years, I worked hard to be the perfect son. Twelve years. What a waste. Even when she was partially paralyzed in bed, I worried about not serving her well enough, taking turns with my wife to carry her out to the fields.

It was twelve years of tiptoeing, of biting my tongue until it bled. I thought that was what family meant.

I thought if I was just good enough to her…

Maybe I could finally fix what was broken. Maybe she’d finally see me.

Eventually, I’d warm her heart. She’d see she had two sons, but only I was truly reliable. But I never realized—if she doesn’t like you, she just doesn’t like you. No matter what you do, it’s all for nothing.

That’s the truth I wish I’d learned sooner. You can’t squeeze love from a stone.

My so-called devotion was just foolishness—it only hurt my wife and daughter, and ruined myself along with them. Never again. Now that I’m back, I finally understand. I will never let my family go through that again.

The thought settled over me like a vow. This time, things would be different. This time, I wouldn’t screw it up. This time, I’d protect the people who mattered.