Chapter 2

My mother did not speak to me again that night.

I stayed in my room, packing my bags. I uploaded copies of all my important documents to cloud storage, then sent them separately to three different email accounts.

Finally, I emailed my program coordinator, Ms. Jessica Harris.

[Ms. Harris, please make a note in my file. Effective immediately, any request to withdraw from the program, defer my enrollment, or give up my scholarship must be confirmed by me personally over video.

[Any request made solely through email or based on statements from a family member is invalid.]

Ten minutes later, Jessica called me. Her voice was calm and alert. "Is something going on at home?"

I stared at the light spilling out from beneath the living room door. "Maybe."

She did not press me for details. She only said, "Send me the documents. I'll forward everything to the college's international office."

After a brief pause, she added, "Joshua, don't try to handle this all by yourself."

My throat tightened.

In my previous life, Jessica had come to the hospital after the accident. My mother had stopped her at the door and refused to let her see me, saying I was having a breakdown and did not want to see anyone.

Later, Jessica wrote me a letter. My mother hid that letter for years. I did not find it until after my hands were ruined, buried inside an old book.

There was only one sentence in it: [If there's still a part of you that wants to play, don't let someone else decide when you're finished.]

However, by then, it was too late.

After hanging up, I moved on to the second thing on my list—installing security cameras.

Since the entryway, living room, and kitchen entrance were all shared spaces, I placed cameras in each of those areas. I made sure not to put any in the bedrooms or the bathroom. Those spaces were private, and I intended to keep them that way.

The cameras were connected to the cloud and recorded timestamps. Even if the power went out, they could keep running for two hours.

I also replaced the old smoke detector with a smart one that connected to the internet. The casing looked almost identical to the old model, so my mother might not even notice.

At 1:00 am, I went downstairs to see Zane Reynolds from the property management.

"Mr. Reynolds, I'm leaving the country tomorrow. I'm worried my mom might forget to turn off the stove. I shut off the main gas valve. I also have some liquor and cleaning alcohol at home. I'd like to leave them with you for safekeeping. Could you make a note of it?"

Zane laughed. "You're really being careful. Your mom seems pretty responsible."

I smiled too. "When people get nervous, they make mistakes."

When I got back home, my mother was not in the living room. I pushed open my bedroom door and immediately noticed that my drawers had been searched.

The sheet-music case had been moved too. There was a fresh scratch across the security clasp.

My mother said from behind me, "I was just checking to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything."

I turned around.

She was standing there in her pajamas, her face pale. She looked like she had not slept all night.

"So you won't even let me into your room now?"

I picked up my sheet-music case. "From now on, knock before you come in."

She looked like I had slapped her. Her whole body swayed. "Joshua, what's wrong with you? You never used to be like this."

I looked at her. "Back then, I hadn't realized there were some things I needed to lock up."

Her expression changed instantly. However, just as quickly, she pressed a hand to her forehead and leaned against the doorframe. "My chest hurts… Joshua, I can't breathe."

In my previous life, those were the words I feared most. The moment she clutched her chest, every boundary I had would disappear.

This time, I picked up my phone and called emergency services.

"My mother is experiencing chest tightness and shortness of breath. Please send an ambulance to Pinecrest Apartments, Building 7, Unit 1601."

My mother stopped crying, and she stared at me in disbelief.

I calmly said, "Medical emergencies are for doctors to handle."

She sat down on the edge of my bed, her eyes slowly turning red. It was not from feeling hurt. It was hatred.

I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door.

Behind me, she asked, "Where are you going?"

"An airport hotel."

"You don't fly until tomorrow afternoon. You're leaving tonight?"

"Yeah."

She suddenly rushed forward and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was far too strong for someone who was supposedly sick. "Are you really that desperate to get away from me?"

I slowly pried her fingers off my wrist. "I'm not getting away from you. I'm going to live my own life."

The moment the door closed behind me, I heard a glass shatter inside. I did not look back.