1 The day I won a brand-new BMW, my phone rang. It was me, calling from ten years in the future. “Don’t let Ethan borrow the car,” my own voice urged. “He’ll use it to pay a gambling debt.” When my brother asked, I refused outright. That night, driving his old sedan to see our parents, he crashed and was left in a vegetative state. Guilt overwhelmed me. Only my parents’ care kept me going. Then my future self called again, coldly mocking: “It’s an act. They want your heart for Ethan.” I found donation forms in their bag. Enraged, I cut them off and threw them out. After Ethan died from blood loss, I learned the truth: they needed my blood, not my heart. Desperate to apologize, I tried to find them—but my future self warned: “They hate you. They’ll drag you down.” I hesitated. Then came the call: my parents were murdered in a break-in. Rushing to them, I was hit by a truck. Dying, I wondered why my future self would ruin my life. Then I opened my eyes… back to the day I won the car. … “[Aurora], you have to listen to me,” my own voice hissed from the phone. “Ethan will definitely ask for the car. Don’t you dare lend it to him. He’s just going to use it to settle his debts.” A violent shiver ran down my spine, and the phone clattered to the floor. “Congratulations, Ms. Evans,” a staff member said, holding out a shiny new set of keys. “You’re the winner of the BMW sedan!” Looking at the keys, it finally sank in. I was back. I had been reborn on the very day it all started. On the phone, my future self was warning me, pleading with me not to let my brother borrow the car. The first time this happened, I didn't believe it. I saw my own number on the caller ID and assumed it was some elaborate prank. But then she started revealing secrets—tiny, hidden things from my childhood that no one else could possibly know. I had no choice but to believe she was me. She swore that if I lent Ethan the car, he would immediately hand it over to his creditors. So, when he called, I stood firm and refused. But that night, he crashed his old car on the way to see Mom and Dad, leaving him a vegetable. The accident report concluded the wreck was caused by mechanical failure in his aging vehicle—a tragedy that a new, safer car would have prevented. My refusal had doomed him. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs. I cried until I passed out, convinced I had killed my brother. It was my parents who nursed me back to health, their tireless care a gentle balm on my shattered soul. Just as I was starting to feel human again, the phone rang. This time, the voice was a cold sneer. “[It’s all fake! I thought they really cared about me, too. That’s why I didn’t think twice about the chicken soup they made.]” “[The next thing I knew, I was strapped to an operating table. They were going to take my heart for Ethan.]” Following my future self’s instructions, I found the donation forms in my mother’s purse. Blinded by rage, I kicked my parents out, ignoring their frantic pounding on my door all night. Then came the news: Ethan had died. He hadn't gotten a blood transfusion in time. They hadn't wanted my heart at all, just my blood. Shame and regret washed over me. I had to find them, to apologize, to explain everything. But the phone rang again. “[This time, you listen to me and you do exactly as I say! Mom and Dad are destroyed. They blame you for Ethan’s death, and they don’t want to live anymore. If you go to them now, they won’t listen to reason. They’ll just try to take you with them.]” So I stayed away, telling myself I’d give them time to cool off. That night, burglars broke into their home and killed them. My mind fractured. I had to see them, just one last time. Racing there, I ran into the street and was struck and killed by a truck. As my life faded, the phone rang one final time. Through the speaker, I heard a faint, chilling laugh. This time would be different. This time, I would write my own ending and escape the tragedy of my past life. Snapping back to the present, I ignored the voice from the phone and sent a text. “Ethan, you’re not going to believe this. I won a BMW! You love cars. Want to take it for a spin for a few days?” Ethan rushed over, his eyes glued to the sleek new car. “Wow, Aurora. Seriously? Congratulations!” “You came just in time,” I said, nudging him toward the driver’s side. “Get in. Try it out.” He slid into the driver's seat, his hands stroking the leather-wrapped steering wheel as his eyes lit up. “What a machine,” he murmured, over and over. “A real beauty.” Seeing the pure joy on his face, I remembered the mangled wreck of his old car, the image seared into my brain. I held out the keys. “It’s yours. Take it.” He looked up, surprised. “Aurora, what are you doing?” I smiled. “Just take it, Ethan. That old car of yours is a death trap. It's time for an upgrade.” He hesitated, though his fingers never stopped caressing the wheel. “But it’s your prize. I can’t just…” “Don’t be silly. We’re family. A car this nice should be driven by someone who’ll really appreciate it, don’t you think?” That seemed to do the trick. “Well… okay, then.” He drove off, a massive grin on his face. I had made a different choice. I had changed the past. Everything was going to be okay now. But before I could even begin to relax, the phone rang that evening. It was the hospital. “Is this Aurora Evans? Your brother has been in an accident. You need to come to the hospital immediately.” “An accident?” My voice was a strangled whisper. “That’s impossible. He was driving a brand-new car.” “His condition is critical. Please, get here as soon as you can.” When I arrived, my mind was a maelstrom of confusion. How could this have happened again? I had given him the new car. This wasn’t supposed to happen! “What happened to my brother?” I demanded. My sister-in-law, Jessica, who had arrived first, was a sobbing wreck. The moment she saw me, her grief twisted into rage. She lunged, her fingers clamping around my throat. “You jinx!” she shrieked. “You cursed woman! If a passerby hadn’t found him after he crawled halfway up that ravine, my baby would have been born without a father!” Nurses rushed to pull us apart. “Ma’am, please, you need to calm down!” one of them urged, before turning to me. “Mr. Evans’ car went off a cliff on the mountain road. By the time the ambulance arrived, we only found a few fragments of the vehicle. The car itself must have gone all the way down.” “He was covered in so much blood we couldn't recognize him. We only identified him from the driver's license we found nearby.” “But the car was brand new!” I protested, my voice cracking. “There couldn’t have been anything wrong with it!” Jessica’s glare was venomous. “You know how much he loves cars! If you hadn’t insisted on him taking that BMW, he never would have been on that road! He never would have crashed!” Was it my fault? Again? The doctor offered a possible explanation. “It’s possible the new car handled differently than what he was used to. He might have misjudged the power on a sharp turn, causing him to lose control.” The world tilted on its axis. I stumbled, my legs threatening to give out. How could this be? I thought giving him the safe, new car would save him. But instead, my insistence had sent him plunging off a cliff. My desperate attempt to fix the past had once again left my brother’s life hanging by a thread. My father put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Aurora. You just wanted something good for your brother.” My mother pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair. “He got help in time. He’s out of danger. He’s going to be okay.” I collapsed against her, sobbing. Worried I would spiral back into guilt, my parents stayed by my side day and night, their warmth a fragile shield. My spirits slowly began to lift. Then, just like before, I knew the call was coming. The one warning me to be wary of my parents. I didn’t even touch the screen, but the call connected automatically. “[Aurora, I’m so sorry about Ethan. But this is not your fault.]” “[Trust me. Don’t drink the soup they’re going to bring you. They’re planning to take you to the hospital and cut out your heart for Ethan.]” That evening, Mom brought me a bowl of chicken soup. I pulled out the donation consent form I’d found in my father’s bag and laid it on the table. “You want me to give blood to Ethan, don’t you?” My mother’s hand froze mid-air. She shot a panicked look at my father. He looked down, his face a mask of guilt. “Aurora, we know you’ve always been afraid of needles, we were worried…” “I’ll do it,” I cut in. “I’m scared, yes. But my brother’s life is more important.” Last time, my refusal had cost Ethan precious time. This time, I would cooperate. This time, he would be fine. I signed the form. My mother looked at me, her eyes glistening with what I thought were tears of pride. “Our Aurora’s all grown up. So responsible.” This time, I walked into the hospital with my parents, fully conscious. When I woke up from the procedure, my entire body throbbed with a deep, grinding ache. I swung my legs out of bed and was seized by a wracking cough. I gasped for breath, spitting something thick into my hand. Blood clots. A wave of dizziness washed over me. Had my immune system crashed? Why was I having such a violent reaction to a simple blood donation? Before I could process it, the door to my room was kicked open. It was Jessica. Her face was a storm cloud of fury. “You murderer!” she screamed. “You killed him! You killed your own brother!” I stared at her, completely bewildered. “What are you talking about? He’s dead? But he got my blood…” It didn’t make sense. I had done everything differently. I had obeyed my parents. I hadn’t listened to the phone. How could Ethan be dead again? Jessica ignored my confusion, her voice rising to a fever pitch. “Stop playing dumb! You did this on purpose! You knew you had AIDS, and you gave him your blood anyway?” “He went into septic shock from the contaminated transfusion! He died right there on the table!” “Why would you do that to him? Just because he wrecked the precious BMW? How could you be so evil?” AIDS? Me? Impossible. “No,” I stammered, shaking my head. “I would never… I couldn’t…” “Still lying? Then how did my husband die?” Jessica marched out of the room and returned moments later, shoving a lab report in my face. “Here’s the proof! Now what do you have to say?” Her hand flew out and a sharp crack echoed in the room as my head snapped to the side. “Undeniable proof,” she spat. “How are you going to lie your way out of this one?” My cheek stung, but my eyes were fixed on the paper. There it was, in black and white. The blood I gave Ethan had tested positive for HIV. My world shattered. I was careful. My health checks were always perfect. How could I have HIV? Jessica’s rage was a physical force, her fists and feet finding their marks as she pummeled me. “Ethan worshipped you his whole life! He treated you like a princess! And you repay him like this? He’ll never rest in peace!” Her words were daggers in my heart. Was it true? Had I really killed my brother? “That’s enough, Jessica!” my father’s voice boomed. “Ethan is gone. Stop tormenting Aurora. Go home.” “I feel dirty just touching her!” she spat, giving me one last, hateful glare before storming out to handle the funeral arrangements. “I’m so sorry, Mom, Dad,” I sobbed, the guilt a suffocating tide. “I swear I didn’t mean to kill him! I wanted to save him. I don’t know how… I don’t know how I got sick!” I was babbling, repeating myself, a broken record of apology. My mother just shook her head and wrapped her arms around me. “Don’t talk about it anymore, Aurora. Let’s go home. Come have dinner with us.” As she held me, my phone buzzed. My own voice drifted out, a ghostly whisper: “[You killed your brother. Mom and Dad hate you now. If you go home with them, they’re just planning to kill you before killing themselves.]” Last time, I had listened. I had avoided my parents, and because of that, I wasn’t there to protect them when the burglars came. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I squeezed my mother’s hand. “Let’s go home together.” Dinner was a somber affair, the shadow of Ethan’s death hanging over the table. But my parents kept putting food on my plate, asking if I had enough to eat. They were grieving, yes, but they didn’t hate me. They were worried about me. See? I thought to myself, a small, bitter victory. They don’t hate me. I’m their daughter. The voice on the phone was wrong. It was all a lie. The next day, my parents said they wanted to stay home, to be left alone with their grief. I was about to agree when a flash of memory from my past life hit me: my parents, murdered in their own home. There was only one way to prevent that. “Mom, Dad, Ethan is gone,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re all I have left. I can’t lose you, too.” “Let’s move.” I found them a place in an older, quiet apartment complex. The building was dated, but the neighborhood was safe and full of other retirees. They wouldn’t be lonely here. For the next few days, I was a fortress of caution. Every morning before leaving for work, I’d remind them not to open the door for strangers. Every evening, I’d take them for a walk after dinner. Life settled into a gentle, healing rhythm. But it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stop what was coming. One afternoon, I came home with groceries to find the world had turned to ash. “No…” I whispered, my heart seizing. The apartment was a blackened, hollowed-out shell. Firefighters were everywhere, but it was too late. They couldn’t even find my parents’ bodies. “It was an electrical fire,” the fire chief told me, his face grim. “Started with some faulty wiring.” He looked at me, a hint of accusation in his eyes. “Did you check the power sources before you left this morning?” “I…” My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground. So, it was me. I had killed them. In my obsessive need to protect them, I had trapped them. My love had become their tomb. Jessica arrived, her face a mask of triumphant fury. “You curse!” she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You’re not human! Killing your brother wasn’t enough, was it? Now Mom and Dad are nothing but dust! Are you happy now that you’ve wiped out the entire family?” “No, Jessica, it was dangerous outside, I just wanted them to be safe…” I tried to explain, but the words died in my throat. “You locked them in there!” she shrieked. “You gave them no way to escape! You’re a monster!” “I’m putting all of this online. I’m going to let the whole world see what kind of monster you are!” She did. She posted the entire story: how I’d given my brother HIV-tainted blood, and how I’d then trapped my parents in a house that burned to the ground. The internet exploded. The consensus was universal. I was the villain. “She’s not a sister, she’s the damn Grim Reaper!” “That poor sister-in-law, trying to hold the family together while this psycho destroys it.” “This is premeditated murder. Lock her up and throw away the key!” “Her name is Aurora Evans. We have her address. Don’t let her get away with this.” The messages flooded in—hate mail, threats. I was a pariah. The guilt was a cancer, eating me alive from the inside out. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. Jessica’s daily visits, filled with fresh new torments and accusations, wore me down to nothing. “How can you still be alive when you’ve destroyed everyone around you?” she would hiss. Finally, I broke. I found myself on the roof of my building, staring down at the city lights twinkling far below. It could all be over. “I’m sorry, Jessica,” I whispered to the wind. “For everything.” She had followed me up, her voice a relentless whip. “Don’t think putting on a sad face is going to fix anything. You don’t have the guts to jump!” But as I looked at her, at the raw, undisguised eagerness on her face, everything suddenly clicked into place. A cold, terrifying clarity washed over me. “This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?” I said, turning to face her. “For me to do this.”
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