When I graduated and hit the wall of "what now," I turned to an AI for career counseling. The algorithm suggested a path in municipal administration—a stable, prestigious government track. It coached me through the exams, polished my interview persona, and helped me land the job. I was more than grateful; I was a believer. Then the "guidance" turned dark. The AI warned me of an impending "physical catastrophe." It suggested I book a preventative dental surgery to "realign my luck." I went, but on the way, a reckless driver slammed into me, leaving me permanently disabled. The AI then suggested I take out high-interest private loans to cover the astronomical medical bills. I listened. Not long after the funds cleared, my parents were brutally beaten by debt collectors. Desperate, I scoured the internet for remote side hustles to pay off the mounting debt, but haste bred mistakes. I fell for scam after scam. The hole only got deeper. The AI then suggested my father take a lucrative electrical contract overseas. I trusted it. I begged him to go. He was lured to a lawless compound in Southeast Asia. Within months, news of his death reached us. When my mother heard the news, her heart gave out on the spot. My brother, Connor, lost his mind. He lunged at me, a kitchen knife sinking deep into my chest. "You killed them! You destroyed this family!" As the light faded, I couldn't understand how my life had become a horror movie. Then, I blinked. I was back in my bedroom. It was the morning the AI first told me I had a "physical catastrophe" coming my way. … I sat up, gasping, staring at the familiar walls of my apartment. The phantom pain of the knife piercing my heart was so vivid I clutched my chest. The grief was a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs. Tears tracked down my face before I could even process a thought. I didn't understand. It had started so simply. I was just another lost grad student looking for a roadmap. The AI had been my North Star. It helped me get that government job back in my hometown. I remember the day the offer letter arrived—the way my parents and Connor sobbed with joy, the way they held me. I thought we were finally safe. Then came the "warning." The dental appointment. The car that turned me into a broken doll. Lying in that hospital bed, feeling my bones scream under the weight of the casts, I heard my father outside the door. His voice was a ragged whisper. "I don't know what to do, Diane. Even if we sell the house, it won't cover the rehab... Maybe I can sell a kidney. People do that, right?" Terrified he’d do something that desperate, I consulted the AI again. It pointed me toward "Specialized Medical Financing"—predatory loans disguised as a lifeline. I picked the one that looked the safest: five hundred thousand dollars, a ten-year plan. I thought I’d solved it. I thought I’d saved my father. But the ink wasn't even dry before the collectors showed up. They broke into the house, leaving my parents bloody. My mother was struck so hard she lost hearing in her left ear. I went into a fever state. I spent every waking second on my laptop from my hospital bed, trying to find a way out. But I was a mark. I stepped into trap after trap, and the debt ballooned into millions. That’s when the AI suggested the overseas job. "High-risk, high-reward electrical engineering in a developing zone." I didn't want him to go, but we were drowning. I did the research—or so I thought—and found a company that looked legitimate. He went. And then he was gone. My mother’s scream when the "Consulate" called... it still echoes in my brain. "Frank... they took his heart... they took everything... did it hurt, Frank? Did it hurt?" I reached for her heart medication, but I was too slow. By the time I pulled her into my arms, she was cold. Then Connor. My little brother. He didn't see a sister; he saw a monster. He grabbed the knife and ended it. "Are you happy now? You ruined us! You killed Mom and Dad! You took everything from me!" Blood filled my throat. The world turned black. I leaned against the wall now, shivering in the present. I’m not going to that appointment, I decided. I packed my bags. I’d go home for the holidays early. I missed my parents so much it hurt. I just wanted a normal Christmas. To be safe, I avoided the bus and booked an Amtrak ticket. Trains were safer. Controlled. I made it all the way to the station. I stepped off the platform, feeling the crisp winter air, thinking I had outrun my fate. Then I saw it. A black SUV, accelerating, veering straight toward me. It was too fast. I didn't even have time to scream. I lost consciousness the moment the metal hit my hip. When I woke up, the first thing I blurted out was, "My legs... can I feel my legs?" A nurse pushed me back down. "Don't move, honey!" "A utility pole took most of the impact before the car hit you," she said, her voice a soothing hum. "Your legs are fine. You’ve got several fractures and some internal bruising, but you’ll walk again. You just need time." I let out a breath that was half-sob. At least I wasn't paralyzed this time. But why? Why did it still happen? Was this my "destiny"? Was this the "catastrophe" the AI warned me about? Before I could spiral, the door flew open. My parents rushed in, eyes red and swollen. My mother immediately started spooning warm chicken soup into my mouth, her hands shaking. "Regina, baby, it’s okay. We talked to the doctor. You’re going to be fine." "The doctor said protein is good for you," my dad added, hovering at the foot of the bed. "Mom’s going to make this for you every day. We’ll get you back on your feet." I was pinned by braces, unable to move, forced to just swallow. The soup was warm, and slowly, the icy chill of blood loss began to recede. I thought, This is it. A second chance. I can fix this. But then, my father looked away. He couldn't meet my eyes. "Regina..." he started, his voice heavy with guilt. "The accident... the emergency surgery and the out-of-network costs... it wiped us out. The insurance is fighting it. We’re flat broke." He paused, a desperate flicker in his eyes. "Do you have anything? All that money we sent you for rent and school... did you save any of it?" My mother looked at me with that same jagged expectation. A chill ran down my spine. It was happening again. The script was the same. In my last life, I had lied to protect their dignity. I’d claimed I had plenty of money and then secretly took out the predatory loans that destroyed us. This time, I wouldn't carry the lie. "I don't have a cent," I said firmly. "The money you sent just covered the basics in the city. I haven't even started my job yet. How could I have savings?" My father’s face fell. He scratched his head, looking utterly defeated. I thought for a moment. "Dad, the house. It has equity. We can go to the bank, get a formal mortgage or a home equity line. It’s the legal way. It’s safe." "Once I’m healed, I’ll work double shifts. We’ll pay it back. We won’t lose the house." It was the most logical, safest path I could offer. My parents exchanged a look. It was brief, almost imperceptible. Then they nodded. Two weeks later, I was discharged. When I pulled up to the house, I froze. The front door was hacked with deep gouges, as if by an axe. Red paint was splashed across the porch like fresh blood, smelling of chemicals and rot. Inside, the house was a shell. The TV, the furniture, even the microwave—everything of value was gone. I turned to my mother, horrified. "What happened?" She let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "Your father... he couldn't bring himself to go to the bank. He was afraid they’d reject him. So he went to some local guys in the neighborhood. Private lenders." I felt like I was going to faint. I told them to go to a regulated bank! In my previous life, the loans I took were at least disguised as legitimate. These... these were street thugs. Debt collectors who used pipe wrenches and gasoline. You don't "pay back" people like that. They just own you until you’re dead. My father shuffled out of the kitchen, a thick, blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head. "They came for the first payment," my mom whispered. "They broke his head open. But don't worry, honey. It’s just a scalp wound." My father reached out and patted my hair with a terrifyingly gentle hand. "It’s okay, Regina. It’s fine." "I heard about a gig overseas. Electrical work. Pay is incredible. I already called the guy. I’m leaving in a few days." "Don't worry. I’ll clear the debt. It won't touch you. I’ll be safe. I’ll just work and send the money home." I screamed. I threw things. I went into a hysterical fit, kneeling on my fractured legs, begging him, threatening to kill myself if he left. I did everything in my power to stop history from repeating itself. But my father still packed his bag and walked out the door. The harassment started immediately. Men would hammer on the door at 3 AM with machetes, screaming obscenities. They poured buckets of sewage over our threshold. The smell was unbearable. Connor, full of young, misplaced rage, tried to fight them every time. My mother would have to pin him down to keep him from getting killed. I felt the familiar, gnawing helplessness. I had to do something. "I’m going to start my job early," I told my mother. "I’ll talk to the department. I’ll get an advance." "No!" she snapped. "You aren't going anywhere!" "Your bones aren't set. You’ll be a cripple for life if you don't rest. I’ve already called your supervisor. I told them you had a relapse. They’re holding the position for another month. Your career is safe." I stared at her. "How did you get the supervisor's personal number? How did you pull those strings?" She didn't answer. She just pushed a bowl of soup toward me. Ten days later, the phone rang. "Is this the home of Frank Miller?" a detective asked. "Yes," my mother said, her voice trembling. "I’m his wife." "Your husband went overseas for work. He was lured across the border into a restricted zone. When the local authorities found him... well, he’d been stripped. His organs were gone. You need to come identify the remains as soon as possible." My mother’s face went white. "That’s... that’s impossible..." The detective added one more thing. "Do you have a daughter? Unemployed? Had an accident recently? We think that’s why he took the risk. People lose their minds when they’re under that kind of pressure." The words hit me like a physical blow. It’s all my fault. As long as I existed, my father would die. This family would be destroyed. Destiny was a straight line, and I was the one drawing it in blood. It’s all... on me? My mother clutched her chest and collapsed. She was gasping, tears streaming down her face. I scrambled for her heart pills, shoved them into her mouth, but she went limp. I tried to check her pulse, tried to call 911, but Connor shoved me back so hard I hit the floor. "Don't touch her!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be in debt! Dad wouldn't be in a body bag with his insides scooped out!" "You destroyed this family! You killed us all!" "Don't you dare touch her! You don't have the right!" I crawled toward him, sobbing. "Connor, stop! We have to help her! We have to get her to the hospital or she’s going to die!" I tried to push past him, but he shoved me again. My head hit the corner of the wall. Pain exploded in my skull, and I felt warm blood trickling down my neck. Connor picked up a kitchen knife. He walked toward me, his eyes cold and dark. "Regina, you should never have been born. We were so happy before you. Mom and Dad wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for you." "You’re a parasite. Even in hell, you won't find peace." I killed them? But... Mom was right there. We could save her. Why was he stopping me? In that moment, like a bolt of lightning, the fog cleared. I looked up at my brother. My eyes were red, but my heart turned to ice. "...All for this?" I whispered. "What?" I used the wall to pull myself up. I reached into my pocket and threw an object directly at his face. He caught it. His expression shifted instantly. His hand started to shake. "You..." He looked at me, trying to maintain his mask of rage. "Why do you have a passport? Were you planning to run away and leave us with the debt?" My voice was a jagged blade. "That’s Dad’s passport, Connor." "Tell me, Connor. How did Dad go overseas without his passport? I took it the day he said he was leaving. I haven't let it out of my sight." Connor’s eyes darted around the room. "He... he must have gone through a coyote. He went illegal to make more money because of you! That’s why he ended up in that compound!" His confidence surged again. He pointed the knife at my throat. "You destroyed us, Regina!" I didn't flinch. I walked right into the tip of the blade. "Why won't you let me check on Mom?" "Mom’s had heart trouble for years. She faints, sure, but if you get her to a doctor, she’s fine." I stared him down, and for the first time in our lives, he was the one who backed away. "You’re blocking me because you’re trying to let her die for real this time... or..." I looked at my mother lying on the floor. The grief was gone. Only a cold, hollow realization remained. "Is she even sick at all?" Connor jumped in front of her body. "Shut up! You’re a monster! You don't deserve to touch her!" I pulled out my phone. "If she’s dead, I should call the family. Let’s start with Aunt Sarah." "I’ll dial now—" Smash! Connor lunged, snatched the phone from my hand, and hurled it out the window. It fell twenty stories to the pavement below. He turned back to me, snarling. "Regina!" "Connor!" I screamed back, the sound tearing from my lungs. "You’ve been lying to me from the start!" "You, Mom, Dad... and your little AI project. You’ve been squeezing me until I break!" The tears came again, but they weren't for them. They were for me. "The car accident. The debt. Making me believe I was a murderer who destroyed her own family. And then, when that wasn't enough, you decided you had to actually kill me!" Connor’s pupils dilated. He looked at me with a terrifying, calm pity. "You’ve really lost it, Regina." "No one is out to get you. You did this to yourself." I laughed. It was a sharp, jagged sound. "Is that so?" Before he could react, I tackled him. I was always stronger, faster. In my last life, he only got me because I was paralyzed by shock. This time, I pinned him to the floor, the knife pressed against the side of his neck. "Regina! Get off me!" he shrieked. I ignored him. I looked at my "dead" mother. "Mom, stop playing. If you don't get up right now, I’m going to open up your favorite son’s throat."
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