Part 1Pure White Tomorrow

My neighbor’s child fell from the twelfth floor, landing right on my window awning.

I held onto her with everything I had.

For forty agonizing minutes, I grit my teeth and refused to let go, only relaxing my grip when the firefighters finally hauled her to safety.

Yet, afterward, her parents demanded I pay for her medical bills because her shoulder had dislocated during the struggle.

"The doctor says her ligaments and joint capsule are severely damaged, and her shoulder will keep popping out," they told me. "You did this to her. Why are you trying to dodge responsibility?"

During our argument, they shoved me. I went over the balcony.

The little girl survived her fall from the twelfth floor, but I didn't survive my fall from the sixth.

Now, I have been reborn back to the very day of the accident. And as a shut-in who rarely leaves her apartment, I decided to spend the entire day out on the town.

* * *

The phone buzzed relentlessly on the wooden table, the screen flashing the caller ID: Brenda Apt 1201.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I sat in the quiet corner of the neighborhood café, slowly stirring my iced latte, watching the screen light up and fade. I had absolutely no intention of picking up.

I knew exactly why she was calling.

And I knew that right now, she must be losing her mind with panic.

Only hours ago, I woke up in this life, realizing I had been reborn.

In my past life, on this very afternoon, I was taking a nap when the sound of frantic screaming and a heavy, metallic thud jolted me awake.

I rushed to my balcony and froze. Paul, Brenda’s five-year-old daughter, was hanging precariously from the edge of my protruding metal window awning. Half her body dangled in the empty air, six floors above the concrete.

Without a second thought, without even putting on shoes, I scrambled through the security grates. Barefoot on the narrow, slippery metal sheet, I reached down and grabbed Paul’s wrist.

The child was heavier than I expected. The sudden downward jerk felt as though my shoulder was being ripped from its socket.

"Don't look down, Paul. I've got you. Just hold on," I gasped, trying to keep my voice steady.

I pulled with everything I had, but a slender woman trying to hoist a thirty-pound child back up onto a narrow ledge is a near-impossible feat.

All I could do was lock my grip. I grit my teeth as my muscles began to tear, my bones aching under the immense strain.

Time stretched into agonizing, infinite seconds.

A crowd began to gather on the pavement below. Gasps, pointing fingers, and the distant wails of emergency sirens blended into a chaotic blur of noise.

Ten minutes later, Brenda finally realized her daughter was missing. She poked her head out of her twelfth-floor window, screaming hysterically.

"Nora, please! Hold on to her! Don't let her go!"

"I'm coming down! Just don't let go!"

Her voice was thick with terror and gratitude.

I believed her.

I truly thought I was saving a family from tragedy.

I stared at Paul’s tear-stained, terrified face, sweat and tears stinging my own eyes.

"It hurts," the little girl sobbed.

"Just a little longer, sweetie. The paramedics are coming," I whispered, my voice raw.

My arm had gone entirely numb. I was operating on pure adrenaline and sheer willpower.

Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes.

My mind went blank. My vision blurred around the edges, and the only sound in my universe was the ragged pounding of my own heart.

Just as my grip began to fail, a pair of strong hands reached out from my apartment window. The rescue crew had finally arrived. They hauled Paul inside.

The girl was safe.

I collapsed onto the balcony floor, my body shaking violently.

Forty minutes. I had held on for forty minutes.

My right arm hung limply at my side, useless as a broken branch. I couldn’t even wiggle a finger.

Brenda rushed in, sobbing as she hugged her daughter. She showered me with endless thank-yous.

I thought that was the end of it. I had done a good deed. It was painful, but it was worth it.

I had no idea the real nightmare was about to begin.