Chapter 4: The Cost of Saving Her

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the present.

The familiar sights and sounds of home surrounded me. My mom’s slippers by the door, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. I was alive—and terrified. It didn’t feel real.

I was afraid—afraid of dying, afraid something would happen to my mom, terrified of that tragedy repeating itself. That’s why I pushed for the divorce, hoping to change our fate. I couldn’t let it happen again.

I clung to the hope that maybe, this time, things would end differently. But the fear never really left me. It followed me everywhere.

But I overlooked one thing: in my last life, it wasn’t until the moment she died that my mom finally saw my dad’s true nature. Now, I was the one who looked like the ungrateful child. The irony stung.

It was a cruel twist—trying to save her, but ending up the villain in her eyes. I wondered if I’d made things worse. Maybe I was just repeating the same mistakes.

Standing outside her bedroom, I wanted to tell my mom everything, to help her see the truth sooner. I wanted to shake her awake.

I pressed my forehead to the door, willing her to understand. But how do you explain a lifetime of pain in a few words? Where would I even start?

Just then, my dad walked in through the door.

He stomped his boots on the mat, tracking in mud. His eyes darted around, searching for trouble—or maybe just an audience. He was never subtle.

“Where’s your mom?”

His voice was sharp, impatient. He didn’t even bother to look at me, just barked the question like I was the help. Typical.

I stared him down, not giving an inch. “She went out. If you’ve got something to say, say it to me.”

I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. I wasn’t the scared kid he remembered. Not anymore.

Creak—!

The bedroom door opened, hinges groaning. My mom stepped out, face set in stone. She shot me a look—part warning, part gratitude—before turning her attention to my dad.

She met his eyes without flinching. The resolve in her gaze was unmistakable.

She crossed her arms, chin lifted. There was a new strength in her posture, like she’d finally drawn a line in the sand. No more backing down.

“I’ve packed up all your things. Take them and don’t come back.”

Her words rang out, clear and final. She gestured to the bags by the door, every zipper pulled tight. No room for negotiation.

My dad let out an awkward laugh. “Hey, Carol, can you spot me some cash?”

He tried to sound casual, but his voice cracked. He shuffled his feet, eyes darting to the floor. It was almost pathetic. Almost.

“Why would I give you anything? You left with nothing, remember?”

She didn’t even blink, just stared him down. For once, he was the one squirming. It was almost satisfying.

“But I don’t have a dime, not even a place to sleep!”

He whined, dragging out the words. It was like watching a bad actor in a high school play. I wanted to boo him off the stage.

“Isn’t that what your TikTok girl is for? Go to her.”

Her lips curled in a sneer. The sarcasm dripped from every syllable. She wasn’t playing nice anymore.

My dad forced a smile. “Who’s gonna want me if I’m broke? Just lend me a little. I’ll pay you back when I make some money, okay?”

He tried to sound charming, but it just made my skin crawl. I could see right through him. He was desperate, and it showed.

My mom stayed silent. Seeing that, my dad tried to sneak into the bedroom.

He moved fast, hoping no one would notice. But I was ready for him. Not this time.

I immediately blocked him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I planted myself in the doorway, arms crossed. He glared at me, but I didn’t budge. I was done backing down.

“Get out of my way! This is none of your business!”

He shoved me aside and started rifling through the cabinets for cash. After grabbing every last bit of money, he slipped out the door. Not a word. Not a glance back.

He didn’t even say goodbye—just slammed the door and disappeared. I stared after him, rage boiling in my chest. I wanted to scream.

Fuming, I turned to my mom.

I could barely keep my voice steady. My hands shook, adrenaline surging. I wanted to shake her, to make her see what he was really like. Why couldn’t she see it?

“Mom, how can you let him take our money to support another woman? You’re divorced already!”

The words tumbled out, sharp and desperate. I couldn’t understand why she kept letting him hurt her. It made no sense.

Smack—!

Her hand came down hard, the sting lingering on my cheek. For a second, I just stood there, stunned. I couldn’t believe it.

She’d never hit me before—not like this. The shock was worse than the pain. My mind reeled.

Holding my cheek, I stared at her in disbelief. “Are you serious, Mom? I’m just looking out for you!”

My voice wavered, hurt and confused. I couldn’t believe she’d take his side after everything. I felt betrayed all over again.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t want a divorce. You pushed me into it.”

Her voice broke, the words hanging between us. I realized, too late, that I’d made her choose between pain and loneliness. I was the villain in her story now.

“From now on, stay out of it. When your dad finally hits rock bottom, he’ll come back.”

She turned away, shoulders slumped. I watched her retreat, feeling helpless and hollow. I couldn’t fix this.

I was stunned.

The room felt colder, emptier. I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake. Maybe I’d just made everything worse.

What does that even mean? Stay out of it?

I wanted to scream, to punch a hole in the wall, to do anything but stand there feeling useless. Was this really the second chance I’d hoped for? Was this what fate had in store for me?

So what was the point of me coming back to life?

I stared at my reflection in the hallway mirror, searching for answers that wouldn’t come. Maybe some stories don’t get happy endings—no matter how many times you rewrite them.

But I wasn’t done fighting—not yet.