Chapter 2: Second Chance, Same Old Scars

My brother stared in shock, nearly passing out.

He swayed on his feet, his face as pale as Ben’s. For a moment, I thought he’d collapse.

I tried to comfort him, saying that in an accident like this, it was a miracle Ben survived at all.

I laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort. "He’s alive, that’s what matters." It’s all that matters. Or so I thought.

But before I could finish, my sister-in-law slapped me hard, her voice hoarse with rage:

The slap came out of nowhere, stinging worse than before. She leaned in, eyes wild.

“If you hadn’t wasted time, my son wouldn’t be crippled!”

Her words stung, killing any hope I had left.

“This is all your fault. My son will never get married, and you couldn’t pay us even a million!”

She spat the words, her anger turning to bitterness. I could feel everyone in the waiting room staring.

I was stunned, but I figured, maybe she was just in shock. So I kept quiet.

I bit my tongue, swallowing my pride. I told myself it was the grief talking, not her heart.

My brother lunged out of his daze, grabbed me by the neck, his eyes wild:

His fingers dug into my skin, his grip tight enough to bruise. I could see the madness in his eyes. He was out of control.

“How did I end up with such a useless brother? Ruining Ben is ruining my whole family!”

His words felt like knives, each syllable cutting deeper. I tried to pull away, but he held tight.

“You cover the two hundred grand in medical bills, and from now on, his wedding costs and his house are your problem!”

The list of demands spilled out, each one more outrageous than the last. I could barely process it. Was he serious?

I looked at their twisted faces in disbelief.

It was like staring at strangers—people I’d known my whole life, now twisted by greed.

To save Ben, I’d badly injured my shoulder and hadn’t even gotten it checked out.

The pain throbbed with every heartbeat, but I barely noticed. The betrayal hurt more than anything.

It was a deep, gnawing ache, one that made me question everything I’d ever done for them.

My brother said it like he meant it. Did he not care about me at all? Did brotherhood mean nothing?

The realization hit hard. I’d always thought family came first, but maybe I’d been fooling myself.

Those gears—once his arm was pulled in, it couldn’t be saved!

I pleaded, my voice cracking. "I did everything I could. If I hadn’t acted, Ben would be gone." Why couldn’t they see that?

But my brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t listen, and they even beat me right there in the hospital hallway.

Their fists and feet landed with shocking force. I curled up, trying to protect my injured shoulder.

Doctors and nurses rushed over, shouting about my arm.

The commotion drew a crowd, staff yelling for security. Someone tried to pull them off me.

But they kept stomping on my shoulder until I screamed and blacked out from the pain.

The agony was blinding, white-hot. My vision tunneled, and then everything went dark.

In the end, security had to drag them away.

Their shouts echoed down the hallway. Curses. Threats. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing.

I was taken back to the ward for treatment, gasping from the pain in my shoulder.

The doctor’s hands were gentle, but every touch sent a jolt through me. Tears slipped down my cheeks, silent and bitter.

But the grief in my heart was worse than anything else.

It sat heavy on my chest, suffocating. I wondered if I’d ever feel whole again.

Meanwhile, my brother and sister-in-law weren’t even watching over Ben—they were outside my room, cursing at the top of their lungs, like they wanted to tear me apart.

Their voices carried down the hallway, sharp and ugly. I pulled the thin hospital blanket up to my chin, wishing I could disappear.

Thankfully, the hospital staff kept them away.

A nurse gave me a sympathetic look, promising to keep them out. For the first time, I felt a flicker of gratitude for a stranger’s kindness.

I gave a bitter smile, and when things finally quieted down, I went home alone, humiliated.

The walk to my apartment was long and lonely. Every step was a reminder of how much I’d lost. I’d never felt so alone.

Even then, I couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong.

I replayed the events over and over, searching for a moment I could have changed. Nothing made sense.

I wanted to wait for my brother to calm down and talk, but I was so exhausted—physically and mentally—that I crashed into a deep sleep.

I lay on my old, lumpy couch, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged me under.

But then a fire broke out. Fast. Fierce.

The flames came fast, licking up the walls, turning everything I owned to ash.

Thick smoke woke me up.

I coughed, eyes burning, as I stumbled toward the door.

Fighting through the pain, I tried to escape, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t open the door.

I twisted the knob until my hands bled, kicked and screamed, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic clawed at my throat.

In the end, I was trapped. Burned alive.

The pain was unimaginable, but the betrayal burned even hotter. My last thought was of Ben, and the family I thought I had.

After I died, my soul drifted, and I saw my brother and sister-in-law at the scene, talking and laughing, faces twisted with satisfaction.

They stood by the charred remains, their faces twisted in ugly satisfaction. I wanted to scream, but I was nothing—just a ghost.

My brother grinned viciously. “He crippled my son. He deserved to die!”

His words echoed in the emptiness, each one a knife to the heart.

“His savings are ours now. I can finally pay off my gambling debts!”

He practically crowed with delight, counting imaginary bills in the smoky air. It made me sick.

My sister-in-law pinched him, her voice sharp: “If you gamble again, I’ll divorce you!”

She glared at him, lips pursed. Even in victory, they couldn’t help but bicker.

My brother quickly lowered his head. “Okay, okay, after I pay off the debt, I’m done.”

He sounded sheepish, but I knew better. He’d never change.

The two of them flirted right where I’d been burned alive, plotting to take my money.

Their laughter echoed in my ears, mocking me from beyond the grave. I felt more alone than ever. Even dead, I couldn’t escape them.

Hearing them overwhelmed me.

It was a bottomless, aching sadness—a sense of betrayal that went deeper than words.

Back then, I’d risked my life to save Ben, almost dying in the fire.

The memory of that day haunted me, a constant reminder of how little I mattered to them.

I never imagined that after escaping the flames at the construction site, I couldn’t escape their schemes.

No matter what I did, I was always a step behind their greed.

Lost in endless darkness, I wept in anguish.

I wandered in that emptiness, the weight of regret pressing down on me. I begged for another chance, desperate to make things right. Please. Just one more chance.

If I could do it all over again, I’d make them pay for what they did.

I swore it to the darkness, my anger burning brighter than the fire that killed me.

Maybe God heard me, because when I opened my eyes again, I really was back on the day of the accident.

The world was bright and sharp, every detail painfully familiar. My heart pounded as I realized I’d been given a second chance.

When I heard the shout—“Somebody help! A kid’s arm is stuck in the machine!”—

my heart clenched, like it was caught in a vice.

The memory of pain and betrayal was still fresh, but now it was mixed with determination. I wouldn’t let history repeat itself.

The pain was still raw, my mind full of memories of the way my brother and his wife treated me in my last life.

Their faces flashed before my eyes, twisted in anger and greed. I balled my fists, promising myself things would be different.

But what haunted me most? The moment I burned. Their cold, twisted smiles.

I could still feel the heat, the suffocating smoke, and the chill of their betrayal. It fueled a new kind of resolve inside me.

I took a deep breath. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

I steadied myself, letting the memories sharpen my focus. I owed it to myself to break free.

I couldn’t help myself. Still, I followed the workers to the scene.

My steps were slow, deliberate. I watched the chaos unfold, heart heavy but mind clear.

When I saw Ben trapped in the machine, I wasn’t frantic like before.

Instead of panic, I felt a strange calm. I knew what was coming, and I was ready for it.

But I still cared. It made it hard to breathe.

I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. No matter what, Ben was still a child—still my nephew.

Ben was innocent. It was bad enough he’d had this accident, but my brother and sister-in-law would use it as an excuse to feed their own greed.

Their selfishness was a poison, and I refused to let it infect me again. This time, I’d fight back. Never again.

They acted so self-righteous, shamelessly trying to bleed me dry.

I could already hear their voices, demanding more and more, never satisfied. Not this time.

When they got nothing, that became their excuse for arson and murder.

The memory made my skin crawl. I wouldn’t give them another reason to hurt me.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, the sting clearing my head. Focus.

This time, I would break the cycle.

I promised myself that I’d do whatever it took—not just to save Ben, but to save myself.

I dialed 911. They said they’d be there in five minutes.

My voice was steady as I gave them the address, every word precise. I watched the seconds tick by. My hands were shaking.

Five minutes—not quite enough, because soon the equipment would short out and catch fire.

I glanced at the machine, remembering the way the flames had leapt up last time. I had to act fast.

Gritting my teeth, I ran for the power control room.

The hallway was cluttered with cables and debris, but I dodged around them, determination driving me forward.

The way I’d saved him last time was too risky and depended too much on luck. One slip, and both of us would’ve died. Not this time.

Ben, hang in there. This time, your uncle’s going to do it right.

I whispered the promise under my breath, hoping somehow he’d hear me.

Outside the control room, a handful of guys were arguing.

Their voices bounced off the concrete walls, each one louder than the last. They were wasting time.

Some wanted to cut the power: “If we don’t, that kid’s toast! Move!”

Their urgency matched my own, but their hands were tied by fear and rules.

Others argued: “Cutting the power’ll kill all the equipment! It’ll cost us millions to fix!”

Money, always money. It was enough to make me sick. Nothing ever changes.

“A human life’s worth a lot, but shutting down the power could bankrupt us! I gotta call the boss!”

I wanted to scream. How could they weigh a child’s life against a bottom line?

That set me off.

My fists clenched, jaw tight. I’d seen this all before, and I wasn’t about to let it play out the same way.

It was the same in my last life.

The arguments, the indecision, the way they all looked to someone else to make the call. Like watching a bad rerun, you know?

When it really mattered, they refused to cut the power.

Their fear of the consequences had nearly killed Ben—and me.

Ben and I barely made it out alive—almost swallowed by the fire.

I could still feel the heat on my skin, the terror in my bones. Not this time. Never again.

In today’s world, a human life really does have a price tag.

The realization made me cold all over. I wouldn’t let them put a number on Ben’s head again.

I knew the longer they argued, the more Ben would suffer.

Every second was agony, every delay a potential death sentence.

So, while they kept bickering, I slipped through and dashed into the control room.

My heart raced as I ducked past the arguing men, moving fast and quiet.

Let him. I had a job to do. The guy against cutting the power yelled and came after me.

Unable to find the right switch in time, I just yanked down the main breaker as soon as he came in.

The lever was stiff, but I threw my weight into it. The lights flickered, then everything went dark. No going back now.

With a loud snap, everything shut down at once.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the guy’s gasp behind me.

He stared at me, shaking. “You… you just ruined us!” He had no idea.

His face was pale, eyes wide with panic. I almost felt sorry for him, but Ben’s life mattered more.

I knew how serious it was, but I didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze. "I’d do it again."

No matter how many times I had to do it, I’d still save the kid.

That was the truth. I’d never put money before family, no matter what it cost.

I rushed back to the scene. The paramedics had arrived.

Their uniforms were a welcome sight, bright and clean amid the chaos. Relief washed over me. Finally, help.

They quickly cleared the crowd and started the rescue.

Their voices were calm, professional. I stepped back, letting them do their job.

With pros and real equipment, they took the machine apart fast and saved Ben.

The sight of him being lifted free brought tears to my eyes. For the first time, I let myself hope.

I let out a long breath, finally relieved.

My shoulders slumped, the tension draining away. I felt lighter than I had in years.

Ben was loaded into the ambulance.

I watched the doors close behind him, praying he’d pull through.

This time, I didn’t plan to go to the hospital. I didn’t want to see those two again, and I didn’t want them knowing I’d been there.

I hesitated, torn between duty and self-preservation. In the end, I knew I had to protect myself, too.

The kid was innocent, but that didn’t mean I had to let those two leeches walk all over me again.

I owed Ben my best, but I didn’t owe his parents another piece of my soul. Not anymore.

But just as I was about to leave, the guy who’d tried to stop me at the control room rushed over.

He was out of breath, face red and desperate. I could see the fear in his eyes. Poor guy.

“Don’t go! You can’t leave! You gotta help me explain this to the boss!”

His voice cracked, panic bleeding through every word. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

He was so anxious his eyes were red, almost crying.

His hands shook as he wrung them together, glancing nervously at the crowd.

He kept saying he was just a foreman and couldn’t take the blame for this.

I got it—nobody wanted to be the fall guy. I sighed, feeling a flicker of sympathy.

He begged me to stay and explain.

I nodded, letting him know I wasn’t going anywhere.

A life was at stake—of course I’d do what needed to be done.

I remembered how close Ben had come to dying, and I couldn’t hold it against the guy for being scared.

His words were clumsy, but I didn’t want to make things harder for him. Everyone just does their job.

That’s the truth—everyone’s got someone breathing down their neck. I tried to cut him some slack.

Since I had nothing else to do, I waited with him for his so-called boss.

We stood in awkward silence, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. I leaned against a stack of plywood, rubbing my sore shoulder.

Just then, my brother called in a panic.

The phone buzzed in my pocket, the screen lighting up with his name. My stomach twisted. Here we go.

I took a deep breath, already guessing what he wanted.

I braced myself, jaw tight. I knew exactly how this conversation would go.

When I answered, my brother shouted, “Where are you? Ben’s had an accident! Get to the hospital and bring money!”

His voice was frantic, but underneath was that same old demand—the expectation that I’d drop everything for him.

His tone was urgent, but bossy.

He barked orders like I was his personal assistant, not his brother. It grated on me more than ever. Not this time.

He was always like this—ordering me around, never asking.

The realization stung. All those years, I’d let him treat me like a doormat.

I used to think that was brotherly love—never minded, never thought of myself as an outsider.

I used to think that was just how family worked—that you gave without keeping score. But I was wrong. Way wrong.

Until last time, after Ben’s accident, I was ordered to bring money, ordered to support Ben for life.

The memory made me wince. I’d let him take and take, never asking for anything in return.

When I refused, they went nuts and beat me.

The bruises had faded, but the pain never really left. I wouldn’t let that happen again. Never again.

Only then did I realize he always thought I owed him.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I finally saw the truth. He’d never see me as anything but a means to an end.

Because I was easygoing and always cleaned up his messes, he thought he could boss me around, no questions asked.

I shook my head, a hollow laugh bubbling up. Not anymore.

But I don’t owe him anything.

I let that thought settle, feeling lighter with every passing second.

So I calmly replied, “What happened?”

I kept my voice even, refusing to rise to his bait. Not giving him the satisfaction.

“Ben’s arm got crushed by the machine. Stop asking! Just come!”

His impatience grated on me, but I stayed cool. I wasn’t going to let him push me around.

“I’m busy. I’ll come when I’m done.”

It felt good to set a boundary, even a small one. I could almost hear his jaw clench through the phone.

Such a simple answer, but it instantly enraged my brother.

His voice rose an octave, frustration boiling over. He wasn’t used to hearing no from me.

“What could be more important than Ben? Hurry up and bring the money, now!”

He didn’t even ask if I was okay, or what I was doing. It was always about him.

I tried to soften the blow, knowing the truth would hurt.

Ben’s arm was mangled and needed to be amputated; it wouldn’t cost as much as he feared.

I told him that as gently as I could.

"Look, it’s not going to be as expensive as you think. The doctors are doing everything they can."

Unexpectedly, my brother exploded. “What did you say? Are you out of your mind?”

His anger was a familiar storm, but this time, I let it roll off me.

Of course I knew.

I’d been through this before—knew every twist and turn of his outrage.

But why did he feel so entitled to my money?

The question echoed in my mind. I’d never demanded anything from him, so why did he think he could demand everything from me?

Am I his ATM?

The thought made me sick. I deserved better than to be treated like a walking bank account.

I said nothing more and hung up.

My hand shook a little, but I didn’t regret it. For once, I put myself first.

Then, as if his authority had been challenged, my brother called me over and over. I ignored every call.

The phone buzzed nonstop, each vibration a reminder of his desperation. I turned it off, savoring the silence. Peace, at last.

After a while, the site manager arrived.

He was tall, with a no-nonsense look. The foreman rushed to meet him, wringing his hands.

The foreman hurried up, nervously explaining and pointing at me.

I watched their exchange, arms crossed. I could tell the manager was sizing me up. Let him.

The manager frowned and came to ask, “Sir, how’s the kid?”

His tone was professional but concerned. I appreciated the directness.

I said his arm probably couldn’t be saved.

I kept my voice low, not wanting to draw attention. "He’s alive, but it’s bad."

“Man, that’s rough. By the way, are you the kid’s...?”

He trailed off, waiting for me to fill in the blanks. I hesitated, not sure how much to reveal.

I shrugged. “Just a bystander. Saw what was happening and cut the power.”

It was true enough, and it kept things simple.

“You did the right thing. If you hadn’t, the kid wouldn’t have made it. That machine’s a death trap.”

His words surprised me. For the first time all day, I felt seen—not as a scapegoat, but as someone who’d done the right thing.

Right then, I liked this manager.

He had a steady presence, the kind that made you feel like things might actually work out.

He told the foreman to grab the car; they were heading to the hospital to check on Ben.

I nodded, grateful for his leadership. Maybe there were still good people in the world.

At that moment, I got a voice message from my brother:

The screen lit up with his name again. I hesitated, then played it, bracing myself.

“Ben’s losing a lot of blood. I don’t have enough. Get to the hospital and donate!”

His voice was frantic, almost pleading. For a second, I remembered the boy I used to look up to. Strange, how things change.

Only then did I remember—the hospital blood bank had no type B blood.

The memory clicked into place. I was the only one who could help.

Last time, Ben needed both my brother and me to donate enough.

I remembered the exhaustion, the way my arms ached for days afterward. But it had saved Ben’s life. Worth it.

Even though I wanted to stay away from that couple, the kid’s life mattered. I couldn’t just let Ben suffer.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. Some things you just can’t walk away from.

So I offered to go to the hospital with the manager and the others.

We piled into his car, the drive tense and quiet. I stared out the window, lost in thought. Couldn’t shake the feeling something was about to go wrong.

At the hospital, I rushed in to donate blood.

The nurse moved fast, eyes widening as I rolled up my sleeve. No need for explanations.

Just after, I turned around and saw my brother behind me.

He looked haggard, his hair a mess, but his eyes were still sharp with expectation.

“Did you bring money? Give it to me!”

The demand was immediate, like nothing else mattered. I felt my jaw tighten.

I felt sick. “You came to save your son and didn’t bring any money?”

I let the words hang in the air, refusing to be his scapegoat again.

My brother frowned, his voice getting louder.

He puffed up, trying to intimidate me in front of the nurses. It didn’t work.

“If I had money, would I need to ask you?”

His logic was twisted, but I’d heard it all before. I shook my head, biting back a retort.

Ever since he got married, he never had money.

It was always the same story—always someone else’s problem, never his own.

At first, I gave him money willingly; later, it became expected. Whenever he was broke, he came to me.

I remembered birthdays, holidays, even random Tuesdays—always a hand out, never a thank you.

Like a pair of vampires. Always taking.

“I didn’t bring any either,” I said flatly.

I met his gaze, daring him to push me further.

My brother’s frown deepened. He snapped, “What’s wrong with you today? You never hesitate to give me money. Why are you so stingy now?”

His voice was loud enough to draw stares. I kept my cool, refusing to let him embarrass me again.

How could he say that with a straight face?

I almost laughed, the absurdity of it all finally sinking in.

I muttered to myself, ignored him, and left after donating blood. Enough was enough.

At that moment, the site manager arrived and asked my brother about Ben.

He strode in, calm and collected. My brother shrank back a little, suddenly unsure.

My brother’s eyes darted, and seeing the manager’s imposing presence, he quietly asked who he was.

He looked the manager up and down, calculating his next move. Sizing him up for a payday.

The manager explained his identity.

His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. I almost smiled.

At that, greed flashed in my brother’s eyes. He rushed up, grabbed the manager’s collar, and yelled,

His voice rose, echoing off the tile. The nurses looked up, startled.

“You jerk! How do you run your site? You made my son disabled!”

He shook the manager, voice cracking, all fake outrage. I rolled my eyes.

“You have to pay all the medical bills and give us two million in compensation!”

The number was outrageous, but my brother didn’t blink. He’d always aimed high when it came to someone else’s wallet.

The manager, who’d come to help, was furious at my brother’s behavior.

He straightened his jacket, eyes flashing with anger. "Get your hands off me," he growled.

He shook him off and said, "Sir, as his guardian, your negligence let the kid onto the site, causing over three million in damages."

“We haven’t even asked you for compensation, and you’re blaming me?”

He jabbed a finger at my brother’s chest, making his point clear.

“In cases like this, by law, you owe us.”

The words hung in the air, heavy as a gavel. My brother’s face went pale. Finally, someone put him in his place.

My brother was stunned.

He took a step back, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

The manager wasn’t bluffing—it was true.

I could see the realization dawning on my brother’s face. For once, he had nothing to say.

“You should thank this man. If he hadn’t cut the power to save your son, your kid would be dead!”

The manager pointed at me. I felt every eye in the room turn my way. For a moment, I stood a little taller.

My brother looked over, blank, following his gesture.

His expression shifted from confusion to suspicion. I braced myself for the storm. Here we go again.

Then he suddenly grabbed me by the neck: “You were there? Did you push Ben in on purpose? Tell me, explain it!”

His hands were rough, his grip desperate. The accusation stung, but I saw through it—he needed someone to blame.

I didn’t see it coming.

I struggled, trying to pry his fingers loose. My heart pounded, but I refused to let fear take over.

Honestly, on the way here, I’d thought my presence at the scene would probably come out.

I’d rehearsed my answers, but nothing could have prepared me for this.

But I never expected that even if I hadn’t been directly involved, even if I’d saved the kid in time, they’d still blame everything on me.

It was like a script I couldn’t escape, no matter how hard I tried. Same old story.

In an instant, the whole tragedy seemed to be starting all over again.

But this time, I was ready. I wouldn’t let them ruin me—not again. I’d fight for my own life, no matter what it took. Not this time.

This time, I wouldn’t be the one to burn.