Rebirth: No More Kindness This Time

On the way home during the holidays, my fiance's sister-in-law, Pamela Kensington, brings out an electric pot that requires 2,000 watts in order to function so that she can cook some meatballs.

"The sockets in the electric car are meant for us to use, no? If we can't have hot food during our trips, then what's the use of having an electric car in the first place?"

My fiance, Mason Vance, who is driving, doesn't bother to stop Pamela. Instead, he helps her fill up the pot with water while smiling.

In my previous life, I had strictly stopped them from cooking meatballs and told them that we didn't have enough power left in the electric car. If they were to cook the meatballs, the car would stop in the middle of the journey, and we wouldn't be able to make it home.

Pamela, who tagged along for the ride, thought that I refused to let her son have a piping hot meal, so she began criticizing me.

Mason, on the other hand, thought that I was being too much of a busybody. He slapped me in front of everyone before pushing me out of the car.

I was frozen to the bone in the blizzard as I watched everyone else leave me behind happily. In the end, I died from hypothermia.

When I woke up again, I realized I'd returned to the moment when Pamela is about to plug the electric pot into the socket.

This time, I hand her a power strip. "Go ahead and use this power strip. It can channel more power for your meatballs to cook quickly."

The indicator light flicked on.

The 2,000-watt electric pot hummed loudly. In the cramped car cabin, the heavy scent of the creamy meatball soup filled the air.

Under normal circumstances, it might have felt like a warm, homely scene. But on a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere, it was practically a death warrant.

I leaned back in the passenger seat and scanned the dashboard. The remaining driving range was dropping at a visibly alarming rate.

"See? Raine knows what she's doing. This power strip works great!"

My fiance's sister-in-law, Pamela Kensington, sat in the back seat and grinned smugly as she tossed meatballs into the pot. Beside her, her spoiled ten-year-old son, Toby Vance, was banging his silverware.

"I want meat! Hurry up and cook!"

In the driver's seat, Mason Vance, my fiance, glanced at them through the rearview mirror with a doting smile.

"Raine, see? This is how it should've been from the start. Family trips are supposed to be about making memories and being happy."

A cold smile curled on my lips, and I didn't answer.

In my past life, this exact scene had played out. We were on the highway, caught in a blizzard that forced the road to close down. The temperature plummeted to well below the freezing point.

Pamela insisted on cooking hot food in the car, and I desperately fought