Reborn, But So Was She

"Bitch, where do you think you're going?"

The man's voice scraped like sandpaper on a rusty pipe — rough, grating, with a sickening edge of excitement.

The back alley of Wynterhaven at midnight reeked of rotting garbage and urine.

Elowen Perez pressed her back hard against the cold, damp brick wall, the rough surface grinding into her spine.

Three homeless men had her cornered at the dead end.

Eleven o'clock at night. Not even stray cats came down this alley. She could scream until her throat gave out and no one would hear her.

"Please..."

Her teeth were chattering, her voice shaking so bad she could barely get the words out.

"My family has money. I'll give you whatever you want..."

"Pfft." The leader spat a thick wad on the ground.

His face, wrecked by years of drinking, twisted under the sickly yellow streetlight.

"Money? If you had money, you wouldn't be sleeping on the street."

"My parents are just angry with me. They'll come get me in a few days. Let me go, I swear—"

"Oh sweetie, how are you still this naive?"

A soft woman's voice drifted in from the alley entrance, smooth and cold as a snake's tongue.

Elowen's head snapped up.

Backlit by the streetlight, a figure walked into the alley on heels.

Prada suit. Cartier earrings. Makeup so perfect she looked like she'd just stepped off a magazine cover.

Abigail Perez. The real daughter of the Perez family.

"Mom and Dad gave up on you a long time ago."

Abigail walked up to her and raised her right hand. The three-carat diamond on her ring finger threw sharp flashes of light under the streetlamp.

"And your fiancé — he proposed to me last night."

"That's not possible." Elowen shook her head over and over, her hair sticking to her tear-soaked cheeks.

"Mom and Dad love me so much. They would never—"

A slap. Clean and sharp.

"Shameless." Abigail flicked her wrist, contempt practically pouring from her eyes.

"Those are my parents. You're nothing but a baby they brought home by mistake. What gives you the right to compete with me?"

Elowen's cheek burned, but the pain in her chest was worse.

Three years. A full three years.

Three years ago, the DNA report hit like a verdict, declaring that Elowen's eighteen years of life had been nothing but a ridiculous mistake.

From that day on, she turned herself into a dog begging for scraps — working desperately to please everyone around her.

When her parents frowned, she'd search for what she'd done wrong. When Abigail cried a single tear, she'd apologize immediately.

But the harder she tried to please them, the colder their eyes became.

Abigail always found a way to frame Elowen.

A glass of red wine knocked over. A sigh cut short at just the right moment. A fall timed perfectly.

Every single time, her parents took Abigail's side — scolding Elowen for being difficult, for not knowing how to be grateful.

Then, a month ago. Abigail "fell "the stairs and sobbed that Elowen had pushed her.

No chance to explain.

Bank account frozen. Phone number blocked. Her bags thrown out the front door.

She'd slept in subway stations, dug through trash cans, stood in Wynterhaven's winter nights until her fingers turned purple from the cold.

Until tonight — cornered in this dead-end alley.

"Do you know why you lost?"

Abigail crouched down in front of her, voice dropping like she was sharing a secret.

"Because I came back. I was reborn."

Elowen's pupils contracted.

"Every little scheme you had in your past life — I knew all of it." Abigail smiled.

Her lips curved into something sweet, but her eyes were frozen solid.

"Did you really think I'd let you keep living well? I wanted you to lose everything. No way back. Ever."

Reborn.

The word was a key that unlocked every mystery she'd never been able to explain.

Why could Abigail always see her next move coming? Why did every trap feel like it had been rehearsed a hundred times?

She had lost. Not because she didn't try hard enough — but because her opponent had already seen every card in the deck.

"Alright." Abigail stood up and turned to the three men with a smile.

"My dear sister has been spoiled her whole life. Skin soft as anything. Tonight — my treat."

The three men looked at each other. A greedy light flickered in their cloudy eyes.

Footsteps. Heavy breathing. The metallic scrape of a zipper being pulled down.

Elowen's hand moved across the cold ground. Broken gravel. Cigarette butts.

Then — a shattered beer bottle. Sharp edges.

She didn't even think. When the first man lunged at her, she gripped the broken glass and drove it in with everything she had.

The dull thud of glass breaking through skin. Warm blood sprayed across her face.

"Fuck!" The man staggered back, clutching his arm, screaming in rage.

The other two closed in. Elowen knew she wasn't getting out of this.

She looked down at the broken glass in her hand. A drop of blood still hung from the jagged edge.

At the alley entrance, Abigail's silhouette was already disappearing, the click of her heels against the pavement ringing out like a death knell.

No next life, she thought.

But if there were one — she would never again crawl on her knees like a dog, begging for love from people who never cared about her at all.

She pressed the glass to her carotid artery. Closed her eyes. Pushed.

Warmth. A rush. Then darkness.

In her last flicker of consciousness, she thought she could smell the burnt wisp of candles being blown out on her eighteenth birthday cake. Her parents stood around her, singing a slightly off-key happy birthday, their smiles so real, so warm.

So it had all been a lie. Or maybe once, it had been real. But the truth is crueler than any lie — because it makes you believe first.

"Elowen? Elowen!"

The voice came as if from underwater — distant, muffled, but strangely familiar.

Elowen's eyes flew open.

A crystal chandelier. Twelve lights. The facets of the Swarovski crystals scattered tiny fragments of light across a cream-colored Persian rug.

This was the Perez Villa's living room. The same living room where she had lived for eighteen years.

"What's wrong with you? Abigail's talking to you."

Hazel's voice came from her right, carrying a thin edge of impatience.

Elowen slowly turned her head. Her neck was perfectly fine. No wound. No blood.

On the sofa, Abigail was wearing a cheap white dress — the one the Perez family had bought when they first brought her back from the countryside.

Her hair loose around her shoulders. Eyes faintly red. Like a startled little rabbit.

"Elowen ..." Abigail bit her lower lip, her voice small and uncertain.

"Can we live together like real sisters from now on?"

Vaughn sat across from them, expression unreadable. Hazel had an arm around Abigail's shoulders, eyes glistening.

This scene. Identical to what happened three years ago.

Reborn.

Abigail's words in those final moments struck like lightning. If Abigail could be reborn — then what about her?

Elowen instinctively touched her neck. Skin smooth. Pulse steady.

She looked down at her hands. Nails trimmed neatly, painted in soft pink. Not the hands she'd had on the streets — nails broken, knuckles swollen from the cold.

She was back. Three years ago. The very day Abigail had been brought home to the Perez family.

"Elowen." Vaughn cleared his throat.

That top-down, charitable tone — she knew it too well.

"Abigail is my and your mother's biological daughter. She's had a hard life out there. Your room faces south and gets the best light. We'd like her to have it while she recovers."

"Right," Hazel jumped in immediately, the way you'd soothe a child who doesn't know better.

"There are so many rooms in this house. Pick another one you like."

Word for word. Exactly what they'd said in her last life.

Elowen's gaze drifted slowly to Abigail. The "startled little rabbit" was watching her on the sly — and behind her eyes, something flickered. Wariness. And excitement.

Yes. Excitement.

Because this "startled little rabbit" knew exactly how she was going to spend the next three years grinding her "sister" into nothing.

Elowen suddenly smiled.

In her last life, those words had felt like an invisible fist closing around her heart.

Hurt, fear, rage — she'd swallowed all of it, forced a smile, said "okay," then spent three years trying to please everyone around her, and died in a filthy alley in a city far from home.

She had ground her own dignity into the dirt. Torn out her heart and held it out to them. They found it beneath them.

"No."

Elowen stood up. Her voice was quiet, but every word landed clean and clear. All three people in the living room turned to look at her.

"You want my room, take it."

She looked at the two people she had called Mom and Dad for eighteen years, watched the shock register on their faces, and felt something deep inside her — some rotting wound — begin to close over.

"I've made my decision."

She paused, then said it one word at a time.

"I'm going to find my real parents."

The living room went dead silent.

Abigail's pupils shrank. A crack appeared in the "startled little rabbit's" expression — something unplanned, something she hadn't prepared for.

This time, she—Elowen—wasn't going to make herself small for anyone.

She was going to live. Live for herself.