To celebrate my nephew getting into a prestigious private elementary school, my brother treated the whole family to hot pot. While we were waiting for the food, my nephew suddenly leaned way too close to the boiling broth. The burner was already on high. Worried he’d get scalded, I yanked him back to his seat. My sister-in-law, Tiffany, thought I was hitting him. She grabbed a fork and stabbed me right in the eye. Later, they dumped my bleeding body on the side of the road, where I was hit by a car and killed. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment my brother suggested hot pot. This time, I didn't stop my nephew. You like to fidget? You like to touch things you shouldn't? Go ahead. Burn. 1 "Yes! We got in! Our son is going to St. Jude’s Prep!" Tiffany was screaming, waving her phone in the air like she’d won the lottery. I jolted awake at the sound of her voice, my hand instinctively flying to my eye. It didn't hurt. I could see. Wait. Was I... back? "Our son is going to be elite now! He’s going to rub shoulders with old money!" My brother, Brad, let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Everyone in the room was grinning from ear to ear. Everyone except me. "We need to celebrate big time. Let's go get hot pot." Just like in my previous life, Brad suggested eating out. I gripped the dishrag in my hand so hard my knuckles turned white. My eye throbbed with a phantom pain. In my last life, I died right after that meal. My nephew, Brayden, had gotten into the expensive private school via a lottery system. The whole family was ecstatic. Brad, who usually rotted on the couch gaming, insisted on a celebratory dinner. I was allowed to tag along, purely to foot the bill if needed. While waiting for the food, Brayden—who acted like he had untreated ADHD on steroids—was bouncing off the walls. I saw him leaning dangerously close to the boiling pot. Instinctively, I pulled him back. It made a noise. Tiffany, who was glued to TikTok, looked up, saw a red mark on Brayden’s wrist, and went feral. "My son does what he wants! Who are you to touch him?" She stabbed me with a fork. I was blinded instantly. They dragged me out, dumped me on the curb so I wouldn't ruin their appetite, and went back to eating. Disoriented and blind, I stumbled into traffic. As I lay dying on the asphalt, I had one regret. I regretted saving that brat. I regretted not cutting this toxic family off sooner. But now? Now I had a second chance. "Hey! Your nephew is going to a private school. Aren't you going to offer something, Auntie?" My mom noticed my silence. She reached out and twisted my ear, hard. "I'm giving you face here. Don't pretend you can't hear me." The sharp pain snapped me back to reality. I waved my hands apologetically. "Of course not, Mom. How about I pay for the hot pot?" Mom let go, satisfied. "That’s more like it." "I want Legos! And those new Jordans!" Brayden started jumping on the sofa, screaming. "If you don't buy them, I'm gonna smash the TV!" "Your Auntie will buy them for you, right?" Tiffany looked at me, her eyes narrowing with a silent threat. I suppressed the hatred boiling in my gut and smiled, a sweet, plastic smile. "Whatever you want, Brayden. Auntie will buy it all." Brad’s stomach growled loudly. "Alright, enough yapping. Let's go eat. I'm starving." Tiffany shot me a look of pure disdain before masking it. I caught it this time. Turns out, she didn't love her husband as much as she pretended to, either. On the way to the restaurant, my mind raced. If I was there when Brayden got hurt, they’d blame me. I needed an alibi. In my last life, I treated them like family no matter how much they abused me. Not this time. The pain I suffered? They were going to feel every ounce of it. 2 "Get two orders of everything. Except the shrimp, make that three." Brad ordered like a king. Looking at the menu, this meal was going to cost at least three hundred bucks. My wallet ached out of habit. Tiffany saw my hesitation. "Oh, fix your face. You look like we're eating your life savings. It's just a few hundred." Mom chimed in, "My grandson is destined for greatness. In the future, people will pay thousands just to look at him. You should be honored." Delusional. Absolutely delusional. Internally, I was screaming. Outwardly, I nodded. "Brayden won't forget his Auntie when he's rich, right?" Brad suddenly pointed his chopsticks at me. "Oh yeah. Tuition is twelve grand a semester. Due next week. Don't forget." When I didn't answer immediately, Mom threw a chopstick at me. "He's talking to you! You aren't trying to wiggle out of it, are you?" Why should I pay? Mom forced me to drop out of middle school to work so Brad could go to a community college. When he graduated, I paid for his wedding. Then Brayden was born. Formula, nanny, preschool—I paid for all of it. Brad hadn't worked a day since he got married. Hearing the demand again made my blood boil. But I kept my voice steady. "Okay. I'll handle it." After today, Brayden might not need tuition anymore. He might need a burn unit. The restaurant was packed. A waitress rushed over, apologizing. "Sorry for the wait, the food will be out soon." Brayden slammed his fist on the table. He started shredding the napkins into confetti. "I want to eat! NOW!" Diners at nearby tables glared at us. Brad scowled, puffing up his chest. "Son, you're going to a noble school soon. Don't let these peasants look down on you." Brayden sniffled. "But I'm hungry." "You are royalty! In the future, you'll book the whole restaurant! You can make whatever mess you want, and these losers will have to watch from outside!" It was so cringe-worthy I almost laughed. The people around us were whispering about "bad parenting" and "delusions of grandeur." Spot on. It was just a private elementary school, yet Brad acted like he’d been knighted. Brayden stopped crying but started acting out. He yanked my hair. He mixed all the condiments on the table into a gross sludge. Finally, the waitress brought the pot. "I've turned the heat on high to get it boiling. Please be careful, do not touch the pot. It is extremely hot." Brad and Tiffany were glued to their phones. Mom was picking her teeth. No one listened. "Okay, we got it," I said. My hands trembled slightly under the table. Not from fear, but from anticipation. "Mom, my stomach hurts. I need to use the restroom." Mom didn't even look up from her Candy Crush. Before I left, I looked Brayden dead in the eye. "Brayden, listen to me. Do not touch the pot. It's dangerous. Okay?" Brayden was a classic defiance disorder kid. Tell him no, and he’d do it twice just to spite you. Hearing my warning, his eyes lit up. He stared at the metal pot like it was a shiny toy. I saw the glint in his eyes. He was going to touch it. In my last life, I saved him. My reward? Blindness and death. If kindness kills, then I choose to be heartless. You want to touch it? Go ahead. I walked to the bathroom. I waited exactly one minute. Then, a scream pierced the air. A sound so shrill it sounded inhuman. "MY SON! BRAYDEN!" I checked my phone, composed my face, and walked out. Karma had arrived. 3 "Are you people stupid?! Why is the pot so hot?!" Mom was screaming at the waitress, spit flying everywhere. I pushed through the crowd and saw Brayden. His face and the entire right side of his upper body were lobster red. He had practically hugged the boiling metal pot. "I'm calling the police! This is attempted murder! Where is the owner?!" Tiffany was clutching Brayden. She squeezed him too tight in her panic, making him shriek in agony again. The owner rushed over. He looked at the waitress. She was sobbing. "I told them! I told them the switch was on! They didn't listen!" "So it's our fault?!" Mom stood up, pointing a trembling finger at the girl. "Did we force the kid to lick the pot?" No, you didn't. But he did it voluntarily. I rushed forward, putting on my best panicked face. "Mom! What happened? Oh my god, Brayden!" "Don't talk to me! It's your fault! Why did we come to this restaurant? You jinxed us!" The owner frowned, trying to de-escalate. "Let's get the child to the hospital first. I'll cover the medical bills for now." Tiffany screeched, "You just want to get rid of us so you can run away! I'm calling the cops! You're going to jail for life!" The owner actually laughed. "Fine. Call the cops. Check the security cameras. Let's see if we pushed him or if he grabbed it himself." The word "cameras" froze them. "I'm telling you! If my son is hurt, you're paying for it! Just you wait!" A bystander piped up. "I saw it. The lady warned the kid. The aunt warned the kid. The kid grabbed it anyway. He's a brat, and it's his own fault." Brad slammed the table, eyes murderous. "Shut up! You say one more word and I'll end you!" I didn't want innocent people getting hurt by my rabid brother. "Tiffany! Look at his face, the blisters are forming! We need to go to the ER now!" Brayden was clawing at his melting skin, whimpering, "It hurts, it hurts..." Finally, they realized yelling wasn't helping. They scooped him up, shouting threats at the owner as they left. "You wait! We'll sue you into bankruptcy!" The owner crossed his arms. "I'll be here." It was rush hour. It took ten minutes to get a cab. In the car, Mom slapped me across the face. Hard. "You jinx! If it weren't for you, my grandson wouldn't be hurt!" Tiffany sobbed, eyes full of venom. "If anything happens to his face, I will kill you." They conveniently forgot he hugged the pot of his own free will. I stayed silent. Experience taught me that arguing only made them violent. With burns that bad, Brayden was definitely disfigured. But this was just the appetizer. At the hospital, they rushed into the ER. I followed, playing the role of the silent ATM. The doctor took one look and grimaced. "Third-degree burns. Why did you wait so long to come in?" Tiffany was shaking. "Doctor, his face... will it scar?" "The burn area is huge. There's a risk of infection and complications. We need to run a full blood panel immediately. Go to the lab." It was a standard procedure. But Tiffany turned pale. "D-do we have to? Can we skip the blood test?" I frowned. Why was she hesitating? Her son was cooking in his own skin. Then, it clicked. Sweat on her forehead. Shifting eyes. Is Brayden... not Brad's son? I stepped in. "Brad, the doctor is right. If we don't treat this perfectly, he'll have scars. The rich kids at St. Jude's will bully him." That hit Brad’s vanity. "Right. My son can't be looked down on. Go. Do the test." I ignored Tiffany's murderous glare and grabbed the requisition form. "I'll take him." When the nurse handed me the results, Tiffany looked like she was about to faint. I didn't even need to look at the paper. Her reaction confirmed it. Unfortunately, a standard CBC doesn't always show blood type clearly to the layman, but if surgery was needed... "The burn is severe and infected. We need to do a debridement surgery immediately." The doctor's words made Brad scowl. "What about his face?" "We'll worry about skin grafts later. Saving the tissue comes first." Mom finally started crying, glaring at me through her tears. "This is all your fault! You're paying for the surgery!" I nodded. "Okay." I'll pay. It's a small price to see the look on their faces when they realize the family prince is a bastard. The surgery went well. Brayden came out wrapped like a mummy. "Mom, you guys go home and rest. I'll stay and watch him tonight." Mom looked at me with disgust. "Obviously you're staying. You think we should suffer?" Once they left, I sat by the bed. I reached out and pressed my thumb firmly onto Brayden's bandaged wound. He thrashed in his sleep, whimpering. I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. This is how it should be. In my last life, my empathy got me killed. I waited until the nurse came to change the dressing. I made sure to look distressed. Then I texted Brad. Brad, Brayden won't be able to do P.E. for a long time. I'm photocopying his medical records to send to the school. He didn't reply, but I knew he saw it. He lives on his phone. The next morning, Brad and the family arrived. I handed him the stack of papers. I had arranged the pages so the blood type report was right on top. As expected, Brad glanced at it, then froze. His face turned a shade of purple I’d never seen before. He snatched the paper closer. Tiffany, oblivious, tried to cling to his arm. "Honey..." Brad threw her off. He roared, shaking the paper. "I'm blood type AB! You're type O! How the hell is this kid Type O?!" (Author's Note: Biologically, an AB parent cannot produce an O child). Mom froze. "What?" I stood in the corner, watching the blood drain from Tiffany’s face. Showtime. 4 Brad lost his mind. He gave Mom a look, then grabbed Tiffany by the hair and dragged her out of the ward, kicking her as they went. Mom understood immediately. She went to the front desk and discharged Brayden against medical advice. My job was to carry the boy home. He was seven, but thanks to my funding, he was obese. He weighed as much as a teenager. My arms were screaming by the time we got back. I opened the door to the sound of Tiffany wailing. "I didn't mean to! It was just one time! I didn't think..." Brad kicked her in the ribs. "You whore! You dare make excuses? We are divorcing today!" "Honey, you raised him for seven years! Don't you have any feelings for him?" Tiffany hugged his leg, snot running down her face. "Get out! Take that bastard and get out!" Mom jumped in. "Wait! No!" She whispered something in Brad's ear. I was standing right behind them. I heard every word. Mom wanted to use Brayden to scam the hot pot restaurant owner. Tiffany couldn't hear. She thought Mom was defending her. Brad grinned, a twisted, greedy smile. "Fine. You get out. But the bastard stays." Tiffany wasn't stupid. She knew Brad wouldn't treat the boy well now. "Please! Don't hurt my son! I'm begging you!" They beat her again and threw her out the door. "Hey. Go get a banner made." Brad kicked my shin. He showed me a picture on his phone. Text: EVIL BUSINESS KILLED MY SON. I couldn't refuse yet. "Okay." I went downstairs. Tiffany was still there, limping. She saw me and grabbed my arm. "I've always been good to you, right? Help me." "Okay," I said instantly. "I'll watch out for Brayden." She paused, surprised I agreed so fast. Then her face twisted. "If anything happens to him, I'll drag you down with me." Still threatening me. Just like my last life. "Don't worry," I smiled. "I'll make sure he stays alive." She limped away. I went to the print shop, then detoured to the hot pot restaurant. The owner laughed when I told him about the banner. "Thanks, kid. Don't worry about me." I went back home. The scene inside made me gasp. "Mom, he doesn't look pathetic enough. Cut the bandages on the other side." Brayden had passed out from pain. He looked like raw meat. Mom looked manic. "This is gonna get us a fortune. We're gonna be rich." Brad saw me staring at the boy. "The money is ours. Don't even think about getting a cent!" I almost laughed. They hadn't even scammed the money yet, and they were already fighting over the split. "You stay here. If you follow us, I'll beat you to death!" Mom threatened. In my last life, she shoved a sock in my mouth to stop my screaming after my eyes were blinded. "He can't make money if he's blind," Brad had said. "Useless." They were monsters. All of them. "Okay, I'll stay," I said meekly. I waited until they left, then put on a hat and followed them. At the restaurant, Mom was sitting on the ground, wailing. A crowd had gathered. But the owner was ready. He had a TV screen set up outside. "Folks, look at the security footage! And look at the medical report! The kid was burned on the right side yesterday. Why is his left side bandaged today?" The crowd turned on Mom instantly. Police arrived. Mom and Brad tried to argue, but the evidence was overwhelming. The owner only paid for the initial surgery fee, nothing more. They walked home in silence, faces dark as thunder. Scam failed.
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