Ungrieving Wooden Man
After finally wrapping up my mission, I figured sticking around in this world meant I was in for a smooth, happy ride from here on out.
Then my twin brother and I got plowed over by a car.
My wife, who happens to be a doctor, took one look at me drenched in blood and didn't even blink—she loaded my brother, who'd barely skinned his knee, into the ambulance first without a second thought.
My own daughter, the one I raised with these two hands, just let out a sigh of relief that it wasn't her uncle lying in the ICU.
When my parents got the news and came racing over, they barely glanced my way before swarming my brother to fuss over his scratch.
That was it for me. I felt something inside go cold and dead. I didn't have it in me to fight anymore. I just let my eyes fall shut.
Right there, in that last second before I slipped away, I finally heard the System again—the one that'd been dead silent for years.
"Host, you regretting it now?"
I managed a weak, bitter smile. "Yeah. I am."
"Considering your attitude, if you can fill your family's Regret Meter, there's a chance you can go back to your original world. Host, you up for this new mission?"
Twenty-five years, and I never once got them to truly love me. So what are the odds they'd actually feel sorry I'm gone—in just one week?