Rewound: A Sister's Vengeance

I woke up to sunlight, a normal morning, but my heart hammered. Today was the day my little brother Sam died on the football field. I' d lived through this nightmare once before, watched my family crumble, and been blamed for everything.

Then, the crack of impact, Sam falling, not getting up. Just like before. This time, instead of running to his side, I turned and walked away. A wave of nausea hit me, but also a desperate hope: I wouldn' t be the scapegoat again.

The blame started instantly. My mother, Dr. Eleanor Vance, chief of surgery, was furious. Not because Sam was dying, but because I hadn't called her immediately. Her priority? A Napa wine tasting with Chloe, who, as always, was whispering poison in her ear.

While Sam fought for his life, Mom and Chloe sent photos of clinking wine glasses and luxury shopping. How could a mother choose a spa day over her dying son? How could Chloe, the "hero" whose parents supposedly died saving Sam, be so cruel? This wasn't just neglect; something was deeply, horribly wrong.

Sam died. And this time, my father saw it all. He pointed at my mother, his voice raw with agony and rage: "You killed our son." With that truth laid bare, the lies of my family began to unravel. I had to expose the dark secrets behind Sam's death, no matter who stood in my way.

The scream tore through my memory, raw and unending, it was my own.

I saw Sam, my little brother, crumple on the football field, his helmet flying off.

Then the frantic calls, my mother, Dr. Eleanor Vance, chief of surgery, too busy in Napa with Chloe, my adopted sister.

"Lily, stop being dramatic," Chloe' s voice had cooed over the phone, poisoning Mom' s ear.

Sam died.

They blamed me.

Then Mom, her face a mask of grief and rage, shoved me. The stairs rushed up. Darkness.

Now, my eyes snapped open.

Sunlight streamed into my room.

It was the morning of the game.

The same posters on the wall, the same clothes draped over my chair.

I was back.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild bird trapped.

I could save Sam. I had to.

Downstairs, the smell of bacon and coffee filled the air, a sickeningly normal aroma.

Chloe was already at the table, animatedly telling Dad, Mark Carter, about some school award.

He listened, smiling, doting.

Mom wasn't there, she' d already left for her "important work trip" to Napa with Chloe, a trip I knew was pure leisure.

Chloe was adopted years ago, her parents, Mom' s close friends, supposedly died saving Sam from a boating accident.

A hero' s tale that made Chloe untouchable, perpetually deserving of sympathy and the best of everything.

It also made Sam a constant, unwitting reminder of their sacrifice, a burden he never asked for.

My real brother, Sam, who' d grown distant from me in the previous life, thanks to Chloe' s whispers.

This time, things would be different.

I wouldn' t be their scapegoat.

I ate in silence, the food tasteless.

The clock ticked, each second a hammer blow towards the inevitable.

The game.

I saw Sam before he left, his usual cocky grin in place.

"Wish me luck, big sis."

"Always, Sam," I said, my voice tight. I wanted to scream, to tell him not to play, to fake an illness.

But who would believe me? Lily, the jealous, dramatic one.

At the stadium, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

I found a seat high in the bleachers, away from everyone.

Then it happened, just like before.

The crack of impact, Sam falling, not getting up.

A wave of nausea hit me, the past crashing into the present.

My legs trembled.

I saw the coaches run onto the field, the paramedics following.

In my first life, I had run down, hysterical, the first to call Mom.

This time, I stood, turned, and walked away.

Each step was heavy, a betrayal and a desperate hope.

I couldn't be the one to make those futile calls again.

I couldn't be the harbinger.

I reached home, the house eerily quiet.

My phone rang. It was Dad.

"Lily? Where are you? Sam' s been hurt, it' s bad. We' re at Mercy Hospital."

His voice was strained, terrified.

"I... I was at the game, Dad. I just got home," I lied, my voice flat.

"Get to the hospital, now!"

I hung up, my hand shaking.

Then, my phone rang again. Mom' s number.

I let it ring, then answered.

"Lily? Your father just called me, hysterical. What happened to Sam? And why weren't you with him? Why didn' t you call me immediately and properly?" Eleanor' s voice was sharp, laced with accusation already.

Chloe was probably right beside her, feeding her lines.

"I... I didn' t see it happen clearly," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Dad called me."

"You're always so unreliable," she snapped, before hanging up.

The blame had already started, just like before.

I got to the hospital.

Dad and my grandparents were in the waiting room, their faces etched with worry.

My grandmother rushed to me. "Lily, what happened? Why didn't you call us sooner?"

"I told Mom, I didn't see it well," I repeated, feeling their eyes on me.

Dad was pacing, his phone pressed to his ear. "Eleanor, you need to come back. Now. It' s serious."

He listened, his face growing tighter. "What do you mean, you can't? What commitments?"

He hung up, looking defeated. "She says she has unavoidable commitments. She' s with Chloe."

"Commitments?" Grandpa scoffed. "Her son is in critical condition!"

I knew those "commitments." Chloe' s spa day, a fancy dinner.

I suggested, "Maybe there's another neurosurgeon? Someone else who can help?"

A nurse overheard me. "Dr. Vance is the best, the only one in the region qualified for this specific type of trauma. If anyone can save him, it's her."

The words hung in the air, heavy and damning.

Dad redialed Mom' s number, his hand shaking.

"Eleanor, please," he begged. "The doctors here say you' re the only one."

Silence. Then, "What? What do you mean Lily is exaggerating? I' m telling you, Eleanor, it' s critical!"

His voice cracked. "She' s on her way to a... a wine tasting. With Chloe. She said Lily is just being dramatic because she' s jealous of their trip."

Grandma gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

I felt nothing, just a cold, hard knot in my stomach. It was all replaying.

A doctor came out, his face grim.

"Mr. Carter, Sam' s condition is deteriorating rapidly. We need to relieve the pressure on his brain immediately. His best chance is with Dr. Vance. Is she on her way?"

Dad looked utterly broken. "I... I don' t know. I can' t get her to understand."

He tried calling again. This time, it went straight to voicemail.

He slumped into a chair, his head in his hands. "She' s not picking up."

Grandpa tried. Voicemail.

Grandma tried. Voicemail.

"She turned her phone off," Grandma whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Then Dad' s phone buzzed. A text from Mom.

He read it aloud, his voice hollow. "'Mark, stop panicking. Chloe found this amazing little boutique, and we're just about to have lunch at Auberge. Don't let Lily spoil this for us. Sam probably just has a concussion. He's a tough kid.'"

A photo was attached. Mom and Chloe, smiling, clinking wine glasses, shopping bags at their feet.

Chloe was wearing a new silk scarf, the price tag still faintly visible.

"Auberge..." Dad choked out. "That' s one of the most expensive restaurants in Napa."

The casual cruelty of it, the blatant disregard, it was breathtaking.

Even knowing it was coming, seeing it unfold again, a cold fury settled in me.