Reborn I Let My Aunt Fall and Never Looked Back

"Aunt Patricia, I have my own life, and I want to travel this year!" My voice was flat, detached. "I heard Derek's coming back soon." "Whatever you need, take it up with him." The second those words left my mouth, I hung up. Then I called an Uber and headed straight for the airport. Once I arrived, I made a point of snapping plenty of photos—the departure board, the terminal, myself standing in front of the gate. I posted them all on social media. These were my evidence. Proof that I was nowhere near Aunt Patricia. I hadn't pushed her. I hadn't touched her. And now that I was clearly traveling, even if she did fall, there was no way anyone could pin it on me. The thought loosened something in my chest. At least this time, what happened in my last life wouldn't happen again. When I reached the resort area, I checked into the nicest hotel I could find and took even more photos—the lobby, the room, the view from the balcony. Every single one timestamped, every single one showing exactly where I was. Then I dropped them into the family group chat. In my previous life, I'd told them it wasn't me. That I hadn't pushed her. And every last one of them had piled on, pointing fingers, insisting I was the one who'd knocked Aunt Patricia down. This time, I had proof. What I didn't expect was how fast Aunt Patricia responded. "Jennifer, what is wrong with you?" "You just up and leave without a word? What if something happens to me?" Then the others started chiming in, one after another—saying I shouldn't be traveling during the holidays, that it was selfish, that it was wrong. I stared at the messages flooding the screen, and I fired back at every single one. "Uncle Harold—Aunt Patricia's health isn't great, but she's YOUR sister. Taking care of her is YOUR responsibility." "And to my other relatives: I'm not allowed to have a life during the holidays?" "Since when is going on vacation a crime?" Then I tagged Derek directly. "Your mother isn't MY mother. If she needs someone to look after her, come back and do it yourself." "I took care of her out of the goodness of my heart—because I felt sorry for her." "That doesn't mean her problems are mine to carry." The group chat went dead silent. After my parents died a few years ago, these people had latched onto me. Always calling, always asking for favors. Back then, I'd thought it meant they cared. I'd even convinced myself they were good people. Now I understood. I was never family to them. I was free labor they could summon whenever it suited them. In my last life, plenty of people in that group chat knew the truth—knew I hadn't pushed Aunt Patricia. But not a single one had spoken up for me. Not one word in my defense. And why? Because my parents were gone. Because Derek was a deadbeat nobody wanted to deal with. So they let me take the fall instead. If that was how it was, then I had no reason to stay in this group chat at all. My words clearly caught them off guard. The silence stretched. None of them had expected me to push back this hard. Finally, Uncle Harold broke the quiet. "Jennifer, what's gotten into you?" "We're just looking out for you, that's all." "It's the holidays—you should be spending time with family, not running off on some trip." "Besides, you've been taking care of your aunt for a whole year now. You just walk away like this—what's she supposed to do?" I read his words, and a bitter laugh escaped me. I'd looked after Aunt Patricia because I pitied her. Nothing more.

But it was precisely because of all that caretaking that it had somehow become my obligation. Even Aunt Patricia chimed in on the group chat: "Jennifer, I know this past year has been hard on you!" "And I've already promised—once Derek comes back, he'll make it up to you!" "Besides, it's the holidays! You just up and left, and now I can't find anyone to look after me!" The moment she posted that, the rest of the family piled on in agreement. I let out a cold laugh and typed back: "Sorry, but you never signed any agreement with me." "And frankly, this isn't my responsibility." "Isn't your son supposed to be coming back soon?" "Since he's on his way, why don't you let him take care of you?" "As for me—I don't need your so-called compensation." The second I hit send, my fingers were already flying across the keyboard again: "Also, I know you all have opinions about this. Since that's the case, there's no point in me staying in this chat." "From now on, your problems have nothing to do with me." I sent the message and left the family group chat without a second thought. I'd been disgusted with every last person in that group for a long time. All they ever did was guilt-trip me. That was the full extent of their usefulness. After hanging up, I thought for a moment, then called Mr. Lawson. "Mr. Lawson, isn't the company looking to send someone overseas?" "I'd like to volunteer." There was a beat of surprised silence on the other end. Before the holidays, he'd posted in the company chat asking if anyone was willing to help expand the business abroad after the break. At the time, hardly anyone had been interested. The world was unstable, and the assignment meant living overseas for several years. Even with higher pay and a promotion on the table, most people had turned it down. I hadn't wanted to go either, originally. But thinking about that circus of relatives, I realized that putting an ocean between us might be the best thing I could do for myself. The moment that thought crystallized, I said yes without hesitation. Mr. Lawson told me he'd take care of all the arrangements. When I mentioned I'd need to sell my apartment before leaving, he made a decision on the spot—the company would buy it outright and convert it into employee housing. He even offered twenty percent above market value. I accepted without a moment's hesitation. I knew exactly why he was being so generous—he wanted to lock me in before I could change my mind. After we hung up, I went right back to enjoying my trip. I took photo after photo, filling my camera roll until it was bursting. Looking at all those pictures, I felt a quiet certainty settle over me. The way things stood now, I wasn't the least bit afraid of those two shameless women stirring up trouble. I spent the entire day out exploring, and by the time I dragged myself back to the hotel, I didn't even bother showering. I collapsed onto the bed and was out cold the instant my head hit the pillow. I was that exhausted. Somewhere in the haze of deep sleep, my phone rang. Aunt Patricia's voice came through, tight with panic: "Jennifer, come quick! I fell!" The sound jolted me awake like a bucket of ice water. It was exactly the same as last time—the same call, the same desperate tone, the same hour of the night. Last time, I'd scrambled out of bed and rushed to her apartment without a second thought. But this time around? Why would I care whether she lived or died? "Aunt Patricia, I'm traveling. And at this hour, I couldn't get a flight back even if I wanted to." "You've got enough energy to call me—why not call Uncle Harold instead?" Silence stretched across the line. Then her voice came back, sharp and urgent: "Jennifer, you book a flight back right now!"

"I fell! You need to come back and take care of me!" "Don't worry about the ticket—your cousin will pay you back when he gets here!" I listened to her and let out a small laugh. "Aunt Patricia, there's nothing I can do. It's the holidays. Even if I wanted to fly back, I couldn't get a ticket now." "Besides, I still have so many places I haven't been to yet." "And honestly? Instead of wasting time calling me, you'd be better off calling the hospital." In my previous life, I'd dropped everything and rushed to her house the moment I heard. I'd even called the hospital myself. They sent people right away—and I was the one who covered the medical bills out of my own pocket. And what did I get in return? Betrayal. From every last one of them. So in this life, their problems were no longer mine. The second I finished speaking, Aunt Patricia's voice exploded through the phone. "Jennifer, what are you saying?!" "I'm your aunt!" "I'm lying here on the ground, and you won't come back?!" "Do you have any conscience at all?!" Her fury crackled through the speaker. I kept my voice even, almost bored. "I'm out of town. How exactly am I supposed to get there?" "You could've called any of our other relatives, but instead you called me—knowing full well I'm traveling." I didn't wait for her to respond. "There's nothing I can do right now. Aunt Patricia, just call the hospital. Please." I could hear her breathing turn ragged on the other end of the line. "Jennifer—how can you be like this?" Her voice cracked with disbelief. "I fell. Aren't you supposed to drop everything and come take care of me?" I smiled faintly. "Aunt Patricia, I don't have that obligation." "You'd be better off calling Uncle Harold. Let him help." And with that, I hung up. I set the phone down and let out a quiet laugh. I knew she wouldn't be comfortable right now—not one bit. In my last life, if I hadn't gotten there when I did, she would've been paralyzed. I was the one who saved her. Afterward, she'd clutched my hand, tears streaming down her face, thanking me over and over. Every relative in the family praised me for handling things so well. That lasted exactly three days. The moment Derek came back, everything changed. He looked at me with a cold, hard stare, anger simmering behind his eyes. And one by one, every single relative who'd sung my praises turned on me. That was when I understood: none of them were worth saving. This time around, none of it had anything to do with me. I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang again. This time, it was Uncle Harold Dickerson. I picked up, and his voice hit me before I could even say hello. "Jennifer, what is wrong with you? Your aunt told me everything—she called you and you refused to come back!" "I'm telling you right now, get on a plane and get back here!" "And another thing—I'm taking your aunt to the hospital as we speak. She doesn't have any money. You need to wire some over. Now." His voice was sharp, laced with barely contained rage. I listened to every word, then smiled. "Uncle Harold, what does any of this have to do with me?" "Why on earth would I send you money?"