Chapter 4: Guilt and Defiance

"Jason, how can you be so unreliable?"

Aunt Linda’s voice buzzed through my phone, brittle with accusation. I pressed the speaker to my ear, slumped against the cold train window.

"At critical times we can't count on you at all! Hurry and buy a plane ticket back! How much can a ticket cost? Don't be so selfish!"

Uncle Mike’s words cut through, sharp as a slap. My jaw clenched. They never understood that sometimes, money just isn’t enough.

"What about Tyler? We're still on the way, the doctor called more than ten times, said he might need amputation!"

The guilt-trip was strong with these two. I could practically hear Aunt Linda’s heels pacing her battered kitchen linoleum.

"Jason, you're more educated than us, you make the decision, what should we do!"

They always said that, like a diploma made me some sort of oracle. I swallowed down a bitter laugh.

As soon as airplane mode was off, I received dozens of voice messages from my uncle and aunt on Facebook Messenger, each one a minute long.

The notifications stacked up, little red bubbles crowding my screen. The digital anxiety of a thousand family emergencies.

I only listened to the first few, then ignored the rest.

My thumb hovered over the play button. Same old script: panic, guilt, blame, repeat. I shoved the phone in my jacket pocket and stared out at the fields racing by.

My cousin also sent me a voice message:

"Cuz, I got into a car accident, they want to amputate me, Jason save me, come quickly!"

Tyler’s voice was thick with fear and accusation. He sounded so young, so lost, I almost replied. But I didn’t.

I didn't reply to a single message. I ate a cup of mac and cheese on the train, then contacted my girlfriend, telling her to take leave from work and travel to Colorado for a while.

The mac and cheese was lukewarm and gluey, but it gave me something to focus on. As I messaged my girlfriend, I tried to keep my tone light: “Hey babe, I need you to trust me and get out of town for a bit. Go visit your sister in Colorado.”

I also Venmoed her $5,000.

I tapped the app, heart pounding. Five grand wasn’t pocket change, but what price for safety? For her?

In my previous life, she was implicated by me and was killed by Tyler on our wedding day. That was my greatest pain.

The memory of her laughter, the way she squeezed my hand under the reception table—gone in an instant. I swore to myself, never again.

"Babe, please, just go to Colorado first. I'll come find you later."

I tried to sound reassuring, but every word was loaded with fear. I wanted her far, far away from what was coming.

As for Tyler, I still didn't know what to do. In this life, without me mediating, he might not even be able to keep either leg.

The ugly truth twisted in my gut. I couldn’t save him, not really. Maybe this time, I shouldn’t even try.

A wise man stays out of danger. The grudges of two lifetimes—I'll settle them myself.

Grandma always said, “Don’t poke the bear if you can walk around it.” Maybe, just this once, she was right.

My girlfriend, this life, I must protect her well.

I imagined her in the Denver airport, hair pulled back, suitcase in tow. I had to believe she’d be safe there, tucked between the Rockies and a new beginning.

Luckily, my girlfriend was understanding. Although surprised by my actions, she still took leave and, after finishing today's work, left as I asked.

She called, voice shaky but brave. “I don’t get it, but I trust you. Just… call me soon, okay?” I promised I would, and prayed it was a promise I could keep.

After arranging my girlfriend's matters, I noticed Tyler had sent me a few more messages:

"Cuz, my parents want me to amputate, I hate them, I don't agree!"

"I already kicked the anesthesiologist over. Want me to amputate? Not a chance!"

I looked at the messages and shook my head.

He was always stubborn, always convinced the world was out to get him. I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of every wasted argument.

More than half an hour later, I received another message from him:

"Cuz, where are you, come quickly!"

His words were frantic, desperate. For a second, I felt a pang of guilt, but I let it pass.

But after this message, my phone was completely quiet.

No more frantic pings, no more guilt trips. The silence was almost peaceful.

And I finally arrived in the next state.

The conductor called, “Last stop!” I gathered my things, heart oddly calm.

Before getting off the train, I sent them a message:

[Uncle Mike, Aunt Linda, how is Tyler now?]

[My phone had no signal just now.]

[Oh no, how could Tyler be so badly hurt? I'm hurrying back now.]

I tapped out the messages quickly, adding a few worried emojis for good measure. Let them think I was scrambling.

I didn't even leave the train station, bought a return ticket, and took some photos of the buildings outside the station and the platform.

Snapped a selfie in front of the station’s neon sign, made sure the timestamp was visible. Evidence, just in case.

On the way back, my parents called me too.

Mom’s contact photo flashed: her with her favorite mug, squinting into the sun. I braced myself for another round.

In my previous life, my uncle and aunt said they had to rush back to take care of the animals, and wanted to leave my cousin at my place. At that time, my parents also advised me that since we were family, I should help my cousin.

Their voices were always so reasonable, so insistent. “He’s blood, Jason. You can’t just turn your back.”

Later, when my cousin clung to me, my parents were also worried.

They’d call every day, asking if Tyler was eating, if I was treating him well. The guilt trip was relentless.

But when they heard I wanted to rent another place for my cousin and make him move out, they really laid into me.

Mom’s voice would rise, sharp as a siren. “How can you just abandon him? What will people think?”

They said after all these years of studying, I didn't care about family ties at all.

I could almost hear the echoes of their disappointment, as if loving my family meant letting them trample me forever.

They even said if I really made my cousin move out, how could they face my uncle and aunt, how could they face the folks back home?

Appearances were everything in our town. To them, family was a chain, not a lifeline.

They forced me to be my cousin's blood donor.

The memory of the blood drive flashed before me: the nurse’s worried glance, the prick of the needle, my cousin’s smirk.

Honestly, the tragedy for me and my girlfriend in my previous life—my parents were partly to blame.

I swallowed hard. No more. Never again.

"Jason, why aren't you at the hospital at a time like this?"

My dad’s voice was harsh, tinged with worry and something darker—shame, maybe.

"Hurry, go to the hospital, your cousin just woke up and is making a scene, your uncle and aunt can't handle it, go quickly!"

His words came fast, one on top of the next, as if sheer speed could make me move.

I listened coldly to my parents' lecture, then said:

"Did something big happen to Tyler? Did you come?"

My tone was flat, almost bored. Let them hear their own hypocrisy for once.

"Oh, busy at home? No, how could things at home be more important than Tyler? As his uncle and aunt, if you don't come, won't people laugh at you?"

I twisted the knife, mirroring their own words back at them. There was a long, brittle silence.

"I've bought you tickets, hurry, pack up and come now!"

I said it like I was talking to a customer at work—brisk, professional, unyielding. No more bending over backward.

In my previous life, they pushed all the responsibility onto me, thinking it was my duty.

Not this time. Let them carry their own weight.

This time, I've decided to let them experience it for themselves.

I felt a cold, steady satisfaction settle over me. Maybe it was the beginning of something like freedom.

I bought tickets for my parents and had three colleagues move into my new apartment.

The group chat lit up with excited emojis. “Free rent? Hell yeah!” Anna replied, followed by a string of houseplant pics from Jordan.

I told them the place was free for them to live in for two months, but to outsiders, they had to say I rented it out at a high price.

“Just tell folks you’re paying $2,000 a month, deal?” I texted. My friends thought it was hilarious.

I took out my laptop, quickly drafted a lease, and signed their names and the rental amount.

I even made up a fake security deposit receipt, just to cover all the bases. If my family checked, everything would look legit.

After finishing all this, I could finally sleep peacefully in my seat.

The gentle rocking of the train soothed me. For the first time in days, I felt almost human again.

Heh.

A dry laugh slipped out. Let’s see them wriggle out of this one.

In this life, if they want to live in my place for free and make me and my girlfriend their unpaid caretakers—they can dream!

I closed my eyes and let the sound of the rails drown out the ghosts.