Rain hammered against the windshield as Steven gripped the steering wheel of his 2006 black Toyota Corolla. Neon signs reflected off the wet streets, puddles rippling beneath the tires. He was heading back to his apartment, but his mind was elsewhere — tangled in betrayal, anger, and disbelief.
Earlier that day, hours before the storm, he had walked into the office to check on a report he had stayed late finishing. Instead, he had found his boss, the man who frequently took credit for Steven's work, laughing with Veronica, his girlfriend of four years. Their casual intimacy, too familiar for coworkers, had burned itself into his memory.
The boss noticed him and smirked. "Oh… what are you doing here? Do you have my report?"
Veronica's voice trembled. "I… I was just, um… helping him with it…" The excuse sounded hollow, pathetic even to herself. She avoided his gaze, hoping he would accept it.
Steven didn't respond. Words felt useless. Anger, heartbreak, and helplessness pressed down like the storm outside.
His mind drifted, replaying the four years he had spent with Veronica. The small moments: quiet dinners, late-night conversations, laughter that felt like home. shared dreams, plans for the future, nights working side by side at the office. And now… all of it was gone, replaced with betrayal that burned sharper than the storm outside.
The wipers fought the rain, but Steven barely noticed the streetlights or the reflections in the puddles. His pulse thrummed in his ears as memories twisted together with fear and anger.
⸻
Suddenly, a stop sign loomed ahead, red and unyielding. Steven hit the brakes.
Nothing.
The Corolla shuddered, tires sliding on the slick asphalt. His stomach dropped. No… no, no, no! He pressed harder, pumping the pedal, but the brakes had failed completely.
Panic surged. His heart thundered as he slammed his fists on the steering wheel. "No… not now!"
Ahead, a family stepped onto the crosswalk: mother, father, a small child between them. Umbrellas bobbing in the rain, unaware. Time slowed in his mind. He tried to steer, but the car refused to respond, gliding forward uncontrollably.
The crunch was sickening. Metal buckled. Bone-deep panic flooded him. He saw the mother stumble, her umbrella clattering to the ground. The father twisted, trying to shield the child, but the car struck them anyway. The sound of the impact echoed in the wet night, a horrifying mixture of metal, flesh, and screaming.
"No… no… oh God no!" Steven screamed, pounding the wheel, tears mixing with the rain on his face. His chest heaved; every heartbeat sounded like a drum of doom. The world tilted, slipping into chaos. The child screamed, a sound that clawed at his very soul, while the parents groaned and fell.
Shouts erupted behind him. "Call the police!"
"He hit them!"
"Stop him!"
Every instinct screamed run. The car was useless, dead on the wet asphalt. Steven wrenched the door open and bolted into the night, water pouring down his back, shoes sliding in puddles. His lungs burned, heart hammering in his throat. Every step was a desperate gamble between balance and collapse.
Trash bins toppled as he skidded past alleys. Rain soaked his coat, stuck to his skin. Muscles screamed with exertion. Sirens wailed in the distance, accompanied by frantic, angry voices.
"Stop him!"
"Police! Freeze!"
Adrenaline surged with every step. Pain stabbed through his legs and lungs, but he didn't care. Every memory, every betrayal — Veronica, the boss, the wasted late nights, the crash — propelled him forward.
Finally, the alley opened onto the riverfront. The old water bridge loomed ahead, slick, black, threatening. Police lights flashed behind him. Sirens screamed like wild beasts.
Steven skidded to the edge, soaked and shivering violently. Below, the river churned like a living thing, black, endless, and cold. Lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the chaos around him.
His mind was a storm of fear, regret, and despair. Every memory of the day pressed down on him. He whispered, almost to himself, "I'm sorry."
Then he jumped.
The river swallowed him. Cold, dark water closed in like fingers, dragging him down. Panic consumed him. Water filled his lungs, his body flailing, muscles screaming. The world became black, endless pressure pressing from all sides. This is it… this is the end…
Then something impossible happened. A warmth spread through his body, radiating from his chest. The water no longer pressed him down. Colors shimmered beneath the surface, twisting into impossible patterns. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through his bones, syncing with his heartbeat. Every memory — the crash, the betrayal, the fear — dissolved into the light of something strange and alive.
His body felt fluid, unmoored from its old form. He felt himself unraveling, compressing, stretching into impossible shapes. Past and present collided: the fear, the regret, the flashes of his life, the warmth of water, the pulse of life itself. Then flashes of another world — cribs, soft blankets, gentle hands — filled his awareness.
A voice resonated inside him, not spoken, but clear: "Life is not over. It begins anew."
His senses dissolved. Solid matter melted, bones and muscles dissolving into nothingness. And then — light. Color. Warmth. Soft skin. Tiny fingers curled around cloth, grasping, exploring. Gentle hands cradled him. He opened his eyes: the world was small, bright, fragile. Fragile like him.
He was no longer Steven the man. He was small, vulnerable, newborn. Yet deep inside, a spark remained: a flicker of memory, of pain, of betrayal, and of the life he had lost. Steven was gone, but not entirely. Somewhere deep in the tiny body, the ember of his mind, his heart, his defiance, had survived.
A new life had begun