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.