Chapter 2: Rewind—A Second Chance or Curse?

I woke up, and somehow, it was my daughter's birthday again.

It was like the universe hit rewind. I could smell the cake, feel the sunlight on my face. My hands were steady, my back straight, my heart pounding with the weight of another chance.

Before the rewind, by the time the landlord found me, my legs were already going numb.

Pain. Confusion. That sickly-sweet smell clinging to everything. I remember the way the landlord’s face twisted in horror, the way he shouted for help.

I was barely hanging on.

Every breath felt borrowed. My vision faded. The world was muffled, like I was underwater.

For the first time, the house was full of people—the landlord, social workers, strangers.

The place was suddenly crowded, voices echoing off the walls. Strangers moved through my space, talking in hushed tones, glancing at me with pity and worry.

A young nurse gently fed me and told me not to give up.

Her hands were warm. Her words soft. She smiled, spooning soup to my lips.

"He wasn’t that sick at first. How’d it get this bad? Where’s his family?"

I heard them, but I couldn’t answer. My tongue was thick. My throat, dry.

Nothing came out.

I tried. Only a weak rasp escaped. Frustration burned in my chest, but I was helpless.

Photos covered the walls. They recognized my daughter.

Her face was everywhere. Graduation gowns. Family gatherings. Gold and silver frames. Anyone could see she was the center of my world.

"Wait, isn’t his daughter famous? She’s a CEO, made the Forbes list and everything."

The social worker sounded shocked. They passed around a magazine clipping, pointing to her face.

"Weird. Why didn’t she take him when she moved? She always says her family’s with her."

Their words stung. Judgment. Confusion. They didn’t know the real story.

They set up a call with my daughter.

They set up a video call. The screen flickered. My heart raced—hope and dread, tangled together.

I forced my head up, trying to see her.

My hands shook as I tried to sit up. Her hair was gray now. Her eyes, sharper than I remembered.

Almost twenty years. Gone in a blink.

Every line on her face felt familiar. I searched for the little girl I’d known. She was buried under years and distance.

She was fifty now. But in my eyes, she was still my little girl.

She’d always be that stubborn, bright-eyed kid tugging at my sleeve. My heart ached.

I used everything I had. "Savannah…"

Her name slipped out, trembling. For a second, I hoped she’d soften.

She frowned and demanded, her words landing like a punch: "Why aren't you dead yet?"

The words hit like a slap. Hope drained out of me.

She hung up. Just like that.

The call ended. Just a flat beep. My reflection stared back, ghostly and small.

The volunteer tried again.

The young woman’s voice was gentle, but firm. She pleaded with Savannah, her eyes darting to me.

"How can you do this? Your dad’s holding on just to see you."

Her words echoed in the quiet. Heavy with heartbreak. I could hear the strain in her voice, the disbelief that a daughter could be so cold.

"The doctor says he doesn’t have much time. Shouldn’t you come back?"

There was desperation in her voice. Like she could will Savannah to care.

A sharp click from her end.

The sound was final. Savannah’s voice was flat.

"Honestly? He’s just a stranger to me. Whether he lives or dies, it’s got nothing to do with me."

She didn’t even pause. Her words were ice-cold.

"Do whatever you want—bury him, scatter his ashes. Just don’t bother me."

She ended the call. The room felt colder. The nurse squeezed my hand, but it didn’t help.

My eyes burned.

They spilled over, hot and silent. I wished I could go back. Do it all differently.

Memories flashed before me. My daughter, little and grown. Scene after scene.

Birthdays. School plays. Scraped knees. Graduation. I saw her laughing, pouting, running through sprinklers. All of it felt close and impossibly far away.

Suddenly, everything stopped.

A memory snapped into focus. So sharp it hurt. Me, in the bathroom mirror. Younger. Stronger.

I was dazed.

It was like waking from a bad dream. I reached out, half-expecting to see an old man.

I was in front of the mirror. My face was young again.

Smooth skin. Dark hair. My hands steady. For a moment, I just stared.

It took a while to sink in. I’d been reborn.

Joy and fear twisted in my stomach. Was this a second chance? Or just more pain?