Second Shot: Choosing Silence Over Salvage

While preparing for the SATs at the library, my brother is accidentally shot and injured, causing him to bleed profusely.

I pass by this scene but turn a blind eye and quicken my pace to leave.

This is because in my previous life, when I saw him, I rushed him to the hospital in a panic. He had intracranial hemorrhaging, and he urgently needed surgery.

I quickly called my mom, the top neurosurgeon in the city, begging her to come to the hospital as soon as possible.

However, she thought I was jealous that she had taken my adopted sister to the beach instead of spending time with me. She also believed I had fabricated the story about my brother's injury, and thus refused to return.

By the time my dad and the rest of the family hurried to the hospital, it was too late for rescue efforts—my brother had passed away.

The whole family blamed me for his death. They were convinced that I had deliberately misled my mom and delayed his critical treatment.

When my mom returned from out of town, she lost her composure and pushed me down the stairs, watching coldly as I bled to death.

After opening my eyes again, I had returned to the day my brother was shot at the library.

I stood at the library entrance for a few seconds, looking at the bright red color blooming before my eyes.

It looked exactly like the blood that had flowed in my previous life, when Mom pushed me down the stairs and the back of my head hit the ground.

Countless images instantly flashed through my mind.

The noise of the hospital corridor, Mom's icy gaze, Dad's furious roar, and the terrible feeling of weightlessness when I fell…

Desperate, I quickly turned around and ran in the opposite direction. I hailed a taxi and got in.

As I sat in the back seat, my body still wouldn't stop trembling.

Cynthia Bale's parents died saving my brother during an earthquake, leaving her an orphan. My parents felt they owed them an immense debt of gratitude, so they brought Cynthia into our home.

From then on, Cynthia became the princess of the family, while I became the useless, unwanted one. Even my brother, Alex Bale—who had always cared for me—was only nice to Cynthia.

No matter what I did or said, it was always viewed as wrong in their eyes.

In my previous life, I desperately tried to explain that I wanted to save Alex and that Mom misunderstood me, but they simply didn't believe me.

They even thought Alex getting shot was a malicious scheme I had deliberately planned.

It was such an absurd notion, yet they believed it deeply and without doubt.

Then in this life, I would never meddle in another's affairs again.

After all, Alex knew about Cynthia getting people to bully me at school, but he turned a blind eye to it.

…

I pushed open the front door, and I heard Dad happily talking to himself.

"These prawns are huge. Cynthia will definitely like them. When she gets back, let's make some chicken soup for her. She's gotten so thin lately, and she needs nourishment."

It wasn't until I reached the dining room doorway that Dad looked up and saw me. The smile on his face instantly vanished, and his expression turned stern.

"Cindy Bale, I told you to buy some crabs. Why did you take so long? Look at the time! Where have you been fooling around? If they're not fresh, eating them will cause diarrhea! Don't you have any sense of propriety?"

Dad launched into a tirade as he criticized me relentlessly.

I stood at the door, still holding the bag of crabs and feeling its heavy weight.

I lowered my head and said softly, "There was some heavy traffic…"

"Heavy traffic? Were you the only one in the entire city of Hathford to encounter a traffic jam? You're so petty, getting upset over a little bit of criticism and becoming as tight-lipped as a clam. You're not at all as sensible or considerate as Cynthia."

Ever since Cynthia came to live with us, these kinds of remarks had never stopped.

They would compare every one of my actions or emotions to Cynthia's, and always eventually conclude that I was inferior to her.

I looked up at Dad, whose face was filled with obvious disappointment. I clenched the bag in my hand and dug my nails deep into my palm.

A sharp ringtone sounded. It was Dad's phone ringing on the counter.

"Hello? Oh, it's Ms. White from the library. Hello, how can I…"

Dad's tone was light, thinking the teacher was calling about something related to Cynthia.

"What? Shot? The library? Alex?"