Felix walked home alone.
On the turn, he realises that he didn't live in a cheap rented room, but with his parents and small brother.
He corrected the direction and moved toward his old home.
The road felt familiar, yet strangely distant, as though he were seeing it through a layer of glass. Evening had settled gently over the neighbourhood. Streetlights flickered on one by one, their pale glow stretching across cracked sidewalks and parked bicycles.
Each step forward loosened a memory.
In his first life, home had never truly felt like home.
Not because it lacked warmth—but because he had slowly stopped believing he deserved it.
As Felix walked, a realization settled into his chest with unsettling clarity.
'I don't live alone anymore.'
The thought slowed his steps.
Back in 2039, his life had been quiet. Too quiet. A single room far from the mart, walls bare except for a calendar and an old clock that ticked louder than it should have.
His parents had been alive—but not with him.
They had left.
Not out of anger.
Not because they didn't care.
They had gone to live with his younger brother, Alex, in another country. A decision made after years of watching Felix struggle, fail, and withdraw into himself.
They had supported him until the end.
And when they realized he couldn't support himself anymore, they chose the one child who still needed them.
Felix had never blamed them.
But the guilt had stayed.
As he walked now, seventeen again, the weight of that guilt pressed harder than it ever had in his forties.
How much did they sacrifice for me?
How many chances did I waste without realizing it?
He remembered how his father had quietly transferred the shop into Felix's name in his first life. Not because Felix had asked—but because his parents believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.
They had helped him turn a struggling family shop into the small mart where he spent his final years.
And still, it hadn't been enough.
Felix slowed near a familiar turn.
Ahead, nestled between residential buildings, stood the shop.
Small.
Narrow-fronted.
Its paint slightly faded, the signboard modest and unassuming.
Vedman General Store.
His father's shop.
Right now, it wasn't the mart yet. Just a shop selling daily necessities—snacks, household items, a few shelves stocked carefully to avoid waste. The kind of place that survived not because it thrived, but because its owner refused to give up.
Felix stopped across the street.
He stared.
In his first life, he had passed this place every day without really seeing it.
Now, it felt like a wound he hadn't known was open.
Dad built this, Felix thought. Not for profit. For family.
He remembered the nights his father came home exhausted, hands rough, shoulders tense. The way his mother worried quietly, counting expenses without complaint. The way they never once told Felix that his dreams were impractical or foolish.
They had let him choose.
And he had chosen fear.
Felix looked away and continued walking.
The house was just beside the shop.
A simple two-story structure. Nothing fancy. Warm light glowed faintly from inside, slipping through half-drawn curtains.
Felix stopped at the gate.
His chest tightened.
In his first life, moments like this had been rare. He would come home late, tired, mentally absent. Conversations had become shorter over the years—not because of conflict, but because of resignation.
Now, he stood outside, unsure how to enter a life he had already lived once and squandered.
He pushed the gate open.
It creaked softly.
The sound alone pulled something loose inside him.
Felix stepped into the small courtyard. Familiar smells reached him—home-cooked food, detergent, dust warmed by the day's sun.
Inside, voices drifted faintly.
His parents.
Alive. Together. Here.
Felix paused at the door.
Memories from his first life surfaced unbidden.
His parents packing bags.
Alex standing between them, not as a failure like his big brother, but as a successful man.
Felix watching silently, telling them it was fine.
Telling himself it was fine.
They left before my accident, he thought.
If they had stayed… would anything have changed?
The answer hurt.
No.
Because the problem hadn't been their presence.
It had been his paralysis.
Felix rested his hand against the doorframe.
If they heard about my accident… would they come back?
The thought twisted painfully in his chest.
He already knew the answer.
Yes.
They would have come.
Immediately.
Without hesitation.
And that knowledge made the guilt heavier.
He hadn't failed alone.
He had dragged everyone down with him.
The door opened.
His mother stood there, surprise flickering briefly across her face before softening into familiarity.
"Felix?" she said. "Welcome home."
Welcome home.
The word felt strange.
"I… yeah," Felix replied. His voice sounded steadier than he felt.
She stepped aside. "Come in. Your father will be back from the shop soon."
Felix nodded and stepped inside.
The house felt larger than he remembered—but warmer. Lived-in. Real.
His school bag felt heavy on his shoulder, though it held little more than books and a racket.
As he moved deeper into the house, something settled quietly within him.
This wasn't a place he needed to escape.
It was a place he needed to protect.
Felix stopped near the living room doorway, listening to the familiar sounds of home. Plates clinking softly. A fan humming overhead. The muted noise of a television playing something forgettable.
In his first life, he had chased success without understanding what it was anchored to.
Now, standing here, he finally understood.
This is where my second chance begins.
Not on the court.
Not in school rankings.
Not in some distant future.
But here.
With the people who never stopped believing in him.
Felix took a slow breath and stepped further inside.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
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