The door had closed.
It wasn't loud.
It didn't slam.
It just clicked.
Softly.
Ordinarily.
Like it always did.
Seo-yeon stood frozen in the entrance, staring at the wood grain as if she could force it to open again just by wanting it hard enough.
Her father's warmth still lingered faintly in the air.
Her mother's footsteps had faded down the hallway.
Everything that mattered had walked away.
Again.
Her hand was still slightly raised, fingers curled like she had tried to grab something that wasn't meant to be held.
Her body felt slow.
Heavy.
Wrong.
Then suddenly—
She moved.
She ran to the window.
Her bare feet slapped against the floor.
She nearly slipped, catching herself on the wall before reaching the glass.
Her hands pressed against it hard.
Cold.
Real.
Outside—
The car was there.
Her father's car.
Pulling away slowly.
Her mother sat in the passenger seat.
Her father drove casually, one hand on the wheel.
They weren't afraid.
They weren't thinking about death.
They were thinking about errands.
About dinner.
About tomorrow.
Her breath fogged the glass.
"Stop," she whispered.
The word barely existed.
The car continued moving.
Her hand pressed harder against the window, as if she could physically reach through it and pull them back.
"Please stop," she said again, louder now.
But her voice couldn't reach them.
Her voice couldn't reach the past.
Her voice couldn't reach fate.
The car reached the end of the street.
Her heart pounded violently.
Not yet.
Not like this.
Not again.
The brake lights glowed red.
For a moment—
Just a moment—
She thought they might stop.
They didn't.
The car turned.
And disappeared.
Gone.
Her hand slid down the glass slowly.
Her legs gave out.
She collapsed onto the floor.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Her breathing became uneven.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She came back.
She was supposed to change things.
She was supposed to stop it.
She buried her face in her hands.
Memories attacked her without mercy.
The hospital hallway.
Too bright.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
A doctor speaking gently.
Words she couldn't process.
"We're sorry."
Her mother's body.
Still.
Cold.
Her father's hand that would never move again.
Her fingers dug into her hair.
"No," she whispered.
Her voice broke.
"I came back."
Her shoulders shook.
"I came back…"
So why did it feel exactly the same?
Why did she still feel helpless?
Why did fate still move forward like she didn't exist?
She pressed her forehead against the floor.
Her tears soaked into the wood.
In her first life, she thought her suffering was caused by ignorance.
She thought if she had known, if she had understood—she could have changed something.
But now she knew the truth.
Knowledge wasn't power.
Not by itself.
Knowledge was only pain without action.
Her breathing slowed slightly.
Her tears didn't stop.
But something else appeared beneath the fear.
Anger.
Not at her parents.
Not at the world.
At herself.
Because begging wasn't enough.
Crying wasn't enough.
Fear wasn't enough.
If she wanted to change the future—
She couldn't just react to it.
She had to control it.
She lifted her head slowly.
Her eyes were still wet.
Still afraid.
But no longer frozen.
She had seven days.
And she refused to waste even one of them.