I was left paralyzed after trying to catch a baby girl thrown from a twenty-story apartment building. The baby's family never visited me in the hospital. They never mentioned a cent of compensation. When reporters asked them about it, they cursed me out. "She's just a busybody. Who asked her to interfere? Why doesn't she just die?" "Compensation? I won't pay a dime! It would have been better if she got crushed to death. What's the point of hanging on like a vegetable?" I didn't have enough money for treatment. I lay in a hospital bed, unable to move, rotting in my own filth. In my final moments, I swore I would never be a "good person" again in my next life. When I opened my eyes, I was back on that day. 1 "Look! What is that? Is that a baby?" "Oh my god, it is. That woman is holding a baby over the balcony. What is she doing? That's so dangerous!" The feeling of rot and numbness was gone. My body felt incredibly light. I wiggled my fingers. A movement that used to be impossible was now effortless. I covered my face, trembling with excitement. I was reborn. I wasn't the invalid paralyzed in bed, unable to even use the toilet. The noise around me grew louder. A crowd was gathering at the base of the high-rise. I looked up. On the twentieth floor, a woman stood on the balcony, holding a bundle. It was too far to see clearly, but the silhouette was unmistakable. She was extending the baby out, past the safety railing. If she let go, that child would plummet twenty stories. The crowd below was buzzing, necks craned upwards. "What is she doing? Postpartum depression?" "Call the police! I've seen this before. Postpartum psychosis is real. She might jump with the baby!" Jump? My eyelid twitched. Goosebumps erupted all over my skin. That woman didn't jump. But she did throw the baby. In my past life, I tried to catch that baby. The impact shattered my spine, leaving me with high-level paraplegia. Basically a vegetable. I was an orphan. My adoptive father died before I started college. I worked part-time jobs to put myself through school. Just as I graduated, before I could even start my life, I ended up paralyzed in a hospital bed. At first, the hospital suggested I seek compensation from the baby's family. The incident was witnessed by many and made the news. But the family refused to pay. They went on TV and screamed at the reporters. "She's just a busybody. Who asked her to interfere? Why doesn't she just die?" "Compensation? I won't pay a dime! It would have been better if she got crushed to death. What's the point of hanging on like a vegetable?" During my entire hospital stay, no one from that family visited. Not even a thank you. I had no money. Treatment was expensive. I couldn't even afford a caregiver. I lay there, fully aware of my misery. Every second, I wished for death. But dying is a slow process. My body rotted from bedsores and neglect. My muscles atrophied. But I just wouldn't die. Every day, I lay there filled with resentment. Resenting why I had to be the hero. Why, out of all the people watching, I was the only idiot who ran forward. I resented the baby's family for their cold-blooded cruelty. I resented that my life ended before it began. When death finally came, it was a release. 2 I snapped back to reality. I was standing near the building, surrounded by the crowd. I pulled my hat down low, intending to walk away quickly. "Where is the fire department?" "Ah! She moved! What is she doing?!" "Oh my god! She threw the baby!" "The baby is falling! Help!" People were screaming, but no one moved a muscle. Everyone knew. Twenty stories. Even a small object would kill you from that height. Let alone a ten-pound baby. Catching it meant risking your own life. Society isn't totally heartless yet, but few are willing to trade their life for a stranger's. Suddenly, someone shoved my shoulder hard. "Miss! Go help! You're the closest!" I just wanted to leave this cursed place. But I lived in this complex. I had just walked out the door. I was the closest. The crowd was packed tight. Before I could move, someone called me out. I ignored him, looking for a way out. "Hey! You, girl! Someone is jumping upstairs! Go help!" His loud voice drew everyone's attention to me. Now I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. Seeing no reaction from me, the man continued, "Miss, you're right there! Do something!" In my past life, being closest was why I reacted first. Why I ran to catch her. I looked at the people around me. Everyone shouting "save the baby," but no one taking a step. Just watching the show. They blocked my path. I couldn't get out. Just then, the crowd shrieked. "AHHH!! The baby fell!" "Help! Someone help!" "Oh god!" In that split second, only one thought crossed my mind. Reborn, facing the same moment. Do I save her? 3 The baby plummeted straight down. Everyone saw the woman throw her. Some said she was crazy. Some said postpartum depression. But all eyes were on the falling bundle. To save or not to save? I looked up. I could hear the baby crying. I didn't have time to think. I ripped off my jacket. Thank god it was winter. My coat was thick. People were screaming. I roared, "Shut up! Come help!" I grabbed two corners of the coat. A few people instinctively grabbed the other corners, forming a small, flimsy safety net. It seemed useless. But seeing my action, others started stripping off their coats, piling them onto mine. In seconds, the "cushion" grew thicker. The baby fell fast. In a blink, she passed the tenth floor. More people threw their jackets into the pile. Ninth floor. Eighth floor. ... When she passed the third floor, her cries were piercing. Hoarse, terrified cries. I heard them in my last life too. The pile of coats might not work, but it was better than nothing. No one wanted to catch her with their arms. This was the only way to assuage the guilt. Second floor. Almost there. The baby was coughing from the wind rushing into her lungs. First floor. I saw her purple face. THUD. A heavy, dull impact. The baby hit. 4 She landed on the mound of clothes. A muffled grunt. The crowd held its breath. Silence. "Is... is she okay?" "Did she make it?" Someone bold checked for breathing. "She's breathing!" Relief washed over the crowd. Falling twenty stories... no one could guarantee survival. But alive was a miracle. Knowing they contributed a coat made people feel like heroes. The baby's eyes were shut tight. The impact, though cushioned, must have shattered something inside. She couldn't even cry. She passed out immediately. Sirens wailed. Ambulance and police arrived. The paramedics loaded the baby. It was a police matter now. I let out a breath, ready to leave. Suddenly, a disheveled woman burst out of the building entrance. "Where is she? Is she dead? Did she die?" She looked deranged. It was the mother. From the balcony, she had seen the pile of clothes below. She saw the ambulance taking the baby away alive. She went berserk, stomping on the coats. "Why?! Why didn't she die?! Who put these clothes here? Who?!" She screamed, stomping frantically. She pointed a shaking finger at a bystander. "Was it you? Was it your idea?" The person shook their head in terror. She pointed at another. "You?" "No! It was that girl over there! She started it! You should thank her, otherwise your baby would be..." Before he finished, the woman lunged at me like a demon. Her long nails aimed straight for my eyes. "You busybody bitch!" I dodged, but my body was still getting used to moving again. I was a split second too slow. Her nails raked across my cheek, leaving a burning trail of blood. The police roared, tackling the crazy woman. Moments later, a man and an old woman came out of the building. The husband and mother-in-law. "You crazy woman! How dare you act up in front of the police?" the man shouted. Seeing them, the woman went silent, trembling instinctively.
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