If I Could Choose Again

Success had a strange way of feeling empty when you finally reached it. Shen Yuxi stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of her office, the city stretching endlessly below her in a sea of lights. The building carried her name. The company she founded had become one of the most promising enterprises in the industry. At thirty-two, she was everything people admired—successful, composed, untouchable. Yet none of it felt real. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass. Elegant. Calm. Perfectly controlled. No one could see how quiet her nights were, how the silence pressed against her chest until breathing became a habit rather than a desire. Her phone vibrated on the desk behind her. A reminder for tomorrow’s meeting. Another message followed. Then another. Her life was precise, efficient, and flawless. Except for the one thing she had never been able to fix. Shen Yuxi closed her eyes. If she traced her life back to the moment it broke apart, it wasn’t a mistake made by adults. It wasn’t work. It wasn’t ambition. It was her. She had been in her final year of high school back then—exhausted, overwhelmed, and desperate for something simple. A moment that felt warm. Normal. Like a family. Let’s go out, she had said one evening. Just the three of us. Her parents had looked at each other and smiled. Of course, they agreed. It was meant to be a short trip. An aquarium on the outskirts of the city. Bright blue lights. Quiet laughter. A rare evening without schedules or pressure. She remembered her mother holding her hand as they walked past the glass tunnels, colorful fish drifting slowly above them. Her father had taken photos, his laughter echoing softly. On the way home, the rain began to fall. At first, it was light. Almost gentle. Then the sky darkened. The road grew slick, headlights blurring through sheets of water. Shen Yuxi remembered glancing at the window, watching raindrops race each other down the glass. She remembered the sudden sound of brakes. The violent impact. Metal screaming against metal. Then—silence. When she opened her eyes again, everything was white. Hospital lights. The sharp scent of disinfectant. Machines beeping steadily beside her bed. She had called out for her parents. No one answered. They told her later, in careful voices, with eyes full of pity. She was the only one who survived. No one blamed her. Her parents had chosen to go. The accident was unavoidable. Fate was cruel, they said. But Shen Yuxi knew better. Because if she hadn’t asked them to go with her that night… They would still be alive. Her fingers tightened slowly at her side. From that moment on, she learned how to live without warmth. How to stand alone. How to build walls no one could cross. She buried herself in work, chased success, and climbed higher than anyone expected. She became strong. And unbearably lonely. A knock sounded on the office door. “President Shen,” her assistant said cautiously, “it’s late. Should I prepare the car?” Shen Yuxi opened her eyes. Her expression was calm, unreadable. “Yes,” she replied softly. “I’ll be there shortly.” When the door closed, she exhaled. Another long night. Another empty apartment. She reached for her coat. --- The rain had already started when she stepped outside. Cold droplets splashed against the pavement, the streetlights glowing faintly through the mist. Her driver opened the car door, but Shen Yuxi shook her head. “I’ll walk,” she said. It made no sense. She knew that. But sometimes, she needed to feel something real. She had only taken a few steps when her phone rang. The name on the screen made her heart stop. Her breath caught as she answered. “Hello?” Static filled the line. Then a familiar voice—soft, trembling, impossible. “Yuxi… are you still awake?” Her fingers went numb. “…Mom?” The word slipped out before she could stop herself. Wind roared on the other end. A hurried breath. Panic. “We’re on the road,” her mother said faintly. “It’s raining heavily. Your father—” A sharp honk cut through the line. Someone screamed. “Mom!” Shen Yuxi shouted. “Where are you?!” The call ended abruptly. The world seemed to freeze. Then, from the corner of her vision, blinding headlights rushed toward her. Too close. Too fast. Shen Yuxi turned. White light swallowed everything. Pain exploded through her body as the world shattered. Her last thought was not fear. It was regret. If only I hadn’t asked them to go with me. --- Darkness. Then warmth. Shen Yuxi frowned. She expected pain. Cold. Emptiness. Instead, she felt something soft beneath her fingers. The faint scent of laundry detergent lingered in the air. Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked steadily. Tick. Tick. Tick. Her eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above her was pale yellow, a faint c***k running along the corner. Her heart slammed violently. This room… She pushed herself up, her movements clumsy. Her body felt light—too light. She stared at her hands. Small. Smooth. Unscarred. “No…” she whispered. She staggered toward the mirror beside the desk. The reflection staring back at her was not the woman in her thirties. It was a teenage girl. Clear eyes. Soft features. Long black hair falling loosely over narrow shoulders. Fifteen years old. Shen Yuxi’s breath trembled. Her gaze dropped to the calendar on the desk. April 12th. The year printed at the top made her vision blur. This was before everything fell apart. Before that night. Before she made the request that haunted her entire life. Her chest tightened. There was no strange voice. No system. No explanation. Only her heart, pounding with terrifying clarity. She had gone back. A soft knock sounded at the door. “Yuxi,” her mother’s warm voice called from outside. “Come downstairs. Your father and I want to talk to you about something.” Shen Yuxi froze. She knew what conversation was coming. Slowly, she straightened her back. The shock in her eyes faded, replaced by quiet resolve. This time, she would not repeat the same life. This time, she would protect them—no matter what. Outside her bedroom door, the future waited. And Shen Yuxi was ready to choose differently