My Second Life Began the Moment She Pushed Me

§01

The last thing I ever felt was the cold rush of air as I fell.

Betrayed by my half-sister, Makenna.

The one I’d pulled from the gutter, clothed, and fed.

The one whose college education I was about to pay for.

Her face, framed against the stormy sky on that skyscraper rooftop, wasn’t twisted in anger.

It was serene.

Victorious.

She was even filming it, a perfect little selfie with my sprawling, broken body in the background.

"You owe me, sis," she’d whispered, the wind snatching the words. "Mom only ever loved you. How else was I supposed to get my share?"

Then, the push.

My world dissolved into a screaming vortex of wind, concrete, and a pain so absolute it transcended feeling.

And then… nothing.

Until now.

I gasped, my lungs burning as if they were learning to breathe for the first time.

My eyes snapped open.

Not to the pearly gates, or some fiery abyss.

But to the beige, soul-crushingly familiar ceiling of my office at Summit Legal Group.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off the framed Juris Doctor degree on my wall.

My hands flew to my body.

No broken bones.

No pain.

Just the smooth fabric of my work blouse.

I scrambled for my phone.

The date on the screen burned itself into my retinas.

It was the day before.

The day before she killed me.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild drumbeat of terror and impossible hope.

I was back.

I was alive.

Just then, the intercom on my desk buzzed, a sterile, cheerful sound that made my blood run cold.

The receptionist’s voice chirped through.

"Avery? Your sister, Makenna Holt, is here to see you."

§02

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Makenna.

Here.

Now.

The old Avery, the one who died twenty-four hours from now, would have buzzed her up with a warm smile.

The old Avery is dead.

She made sure of that.

"Send her in," I said, my voice a low, steady thing I didn't recognize.

The door clicked open, and there she was.

Seventeen years old, dressed in worn-out jeans and a faded hoodie, clutching a thick envelope to her chest.

She looked exactly like she did in my memories—the picture of innocence, a fragile flower beaten down by life.

Her eyes, wide and blue, filled with expertly crafted tears as soon as they met mine.

"Avery!" she wailed, rushing forward. "I’ve missed you so much!"

She tried to wrap her arms around my legs, the same way a child would.

I took a sharp step back.

My heel clicked against the marble floor, a sound like a gavel falling.

She stumbled, her act momentarily faltering, and looked up at me with genuine confusion.

"I know," she began, the tears flowing on cue, "a girl like me, with no master’s degree, I have no future."

She crawled towards me, holding out the envelope.

The acceptance letter from Blackwater Ridge Community College.

"Please, sis," she sobbed, her voice thick with practiced desperation. "I’ll pay you back, I swear! When I make money, I’ll buy you a house!"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

I looked down at her, this viper masquerading as a lost puppy.

"A rapist's daughter," I said, the words cold and sharp as shards of ice, "dares to call me sister?"

§03

Makenna’s performance froze on her face.

The tears hung on her lashes, forgotten.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

It was a look I’d never seen on her before: pure, unadulterated shock.

In that moment, I could see the flicker of malice in her eyes, a venomous glint she quickly concealed behind a mask of hurt.

I finally understood.

The capacity for murder wasn't born on that rooftop.

It was in her blood.

The memory of the fall surged, the phantom pain of shattered bones, and Makenna’s triumphant smile.

Her voice echoed in my head.

"This is what you owe me, sis! Mom only loved you! If you don't die, how could she ever leave her property to me?"

"I forgive you! Don't take my things in the next life!"

The sheer audacity of it still left me breathless.

Even after death, she'd spun my murder into a sob story online for profit.

Every ounce of my suffering was a stepping stone for her.

Just looking at her made my stomach churn.

"Sis," Makenna finally choked out, tears and snot now running freely down her face as she clutched my leg, refusing to let go. "I love you! I've wanted to see you for so long!"

"You must have been brainwashed by society! I'm your real sister! I don't blame you for abandoning me, so how can you hate me?"

"Everything that happened to Mom was my dad's fault! I'm innocent!"

She was a master of her craft, this picture of a delicate, wronged waif.

Last time, this face had fooled me completely.

I’d felt a pang of guilt, a wave of pity.

I’d brought this leech into my home, funded her life, and she’d bled me dry.

But my mother, Helen, had always seen the truth. She detested Makenna. And because I defended her, Mom kicked me out too, cutting off all my financial support.

A fresh graduate with no savings, supporting a sister.

I worked three jobs a day.

Delivered packages, ran a street stall.

Every penny I scraped together went to her education.

And in return?

"If it weren't for you and your dad, Mom would never have run away from our village! You ruined my family! You owe me!"

Those were her last words to me before the push.

And now, here she was, recycling the same pathetic act.

"School's about to start," she said, her tone suddenly shifting to one of entitlement, as if her performance had earned her the right. "Give me the money. Ten thousand for living expenses should be enough. I'm your only sister, after all!"

"You're my big sister!"

I shook my head, a cold smile touching my lips.

"I'm not your sister."

"You are the spawn of a monster."

"Get out of my life."

I pressed the button on my intercom.

"Security."

Two guards arrived swiftly.

As they hauled her away, Makenna’s face contorted with rage.

"The poor will have their day!" she shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. "You're just a woman with no real power!"

I sat in the silence of my office, her words fading.

She was wrong.

This time, I had all the power I needed.

§04

Later that evening, my mother knocked on the door of my apartment.

Her face was etched with a familiar worry.

"Ave," she said, her voice low. "I heard that... thing... came to your office today."

She had fought so hard to escape her past, to rebuild her life from the ashes of a nightmare.

"You can't be soft on her, Avery. Not again."

"You remember the pain I went through, don't you? The endless humiliation? None of that should ever be forgiven."

I pulled her into a tight hug, burying my face in her shoulder. "I won't be, Mom. I promise."

Last time, she’d given me the same warning.

And I, blinded by Makenna's crocodile tears, had ignored it.

I'd drifted away from my own mother, only to learn in my dying moments that Makenna had arranged a car accident that had Mom fighting for her life in a hospital.

All for an inheritance.

"That bitch," Makenna had gloated on the rooftop, "if she hadn't run away, I wouldn't have lost my home and my dad!"

"The car crash? Oh, I had someone mess with her brakes. Hahaha, she died without ever knowing!"

My beautiful, gentle mother, whose happiness had been stolen once, then snuffed out by the very spawn of her tormentor.

The rage was a physical thing, a fire in my chest.

"I will never let anyone hurt you again," I whispered, holding her tighter.

I pulled back, looking into her eyes. "Mom, don't drive for the next few days. And… let's sign up for a self-defense class together. Krav Maga."

I didn’t know what ripples my rebirth would cause, what butterflies would flap their wings.

I only knew I had to protect her within the bounds of what I could control.

She looked surprised. "What for? We live in a safe city. Isn't that a waste of money?"

I couldn't speak.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. The image of my mother in a hospital bed, Makenna’s triumphant laughter… it was all too real.

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