Chapter 4 — Rebirth
643 Words
When Sara opened her eyes, she found herself in her own bed, sunlight warming her face. For a long moment, she stared at the ceiling, unable to believe what she was seeing. There was no white hospital light, no cast, no pain in her leg. She sat up slowly, breathing hard. Everything was as it had been before the accident.
Her heart pounded. She stood and flexed her left foot—no pain. Her reflection in the mirror showed a young woman with steady eyes and smooth skin, not a single bruise or scar. “I'm alive," she whispered. “I'm back."
The realization came in waves: she had been given a second chance. The day felt both familiar and unreal. On the dresser, her phone blinked with a new message from the maid: *Miss Rosalie asks you to come to the second-floor balcony. She has a gift for you.*
Sara froze. She knew this message. It was the same morning—the morning she had been pushed. Her fingers tightened around the phone. This time, she told herself, she would not be the victim.
She changed quickly into a sweater and soft flats, her mind already racing. When she stepped into the hallway, she noticed the faint smell of lemon polish and the floor gleaming with new wax. Every detail matched her memory. She climbed the stairs quietly and stopped at the door to the balcony.
Through the glass, she saw the shining boards, freshly polished, and the metal rail that had nearly ended her life. She opened the door and stepped out, testing the floor with her foot. It was slippery, just as before. Bending down, she examined the railing carefully. Several screws near the center looked newer and looser than the rest. Someone had tampered with them.
Sara felt a cold calm spread through her chest. So it really was Rosalie. The truth she had died for was right here in front of her.
She heard footsteps behind her—the quick, careful steps she would recognize anywhere. Rosalie's reflection flashed on the glass door. Sara didn't turn. She kept her voice steady. “You're here early."
Rosalie's tone was bright, almost playful. “I couldn't wait to give you your gift." She stepped closer, each heel clicking lightly. “Close your eyes, Sara. I want to surprise you."
The same words. The same trap.
Sara's heart beat fast but her expression stayed calm. “No need," she said lightly, taking a slow step to the side. “You can give it to me here."
Rosalie hesitated. Then, as if deciding quickly, she moved forward—too fast, too direct. Her hand shot out toward Sara's shoulder. But Sara was ready. She shifted her weight, the motion small and controlled. Rosalie's push met nothing but air.
Momentum carried Rosalie forward. Her foot slid on the waxed floor. Her balance broke. She gasped, grabbing the railing for support—but the loosened screws gave way with a sharp crack. The railing tilted under her weight.
“Rosalie!" Sara said sharply, but it was too late. Rosalie's scream tore through the quiet morning as she fell from the second floor. The crash below echoed through the garden.
For a moment, Sara stood still, gripping the sound post at the edge of the balcony. Her pulse thundered, but she didn't move closer to the edge. This time, she had not fallen. This time, she had lived.
Below, voices were already shouting—maids, the gardener, someone calling for help. Sara's hand trembled once before she steadied it. She looked down briefly, saw Rosalie lying motionless on the grass, and whispered softly, “This was never supposed to be my ending."
Then she turned away, her face pale but calm, and walked back inside, leaving the morning sun to fall over the broken rail.
- Writer
