I always knew there were two kinds of people: those who'd sprint in front of a speeding car without a second thought, and those who'd, well, probably keep scrolling through TikTok. It seems I was the first kind, though I hadn't expected to ever prove it.

One second, I'm rushing into traffic to save a kid who's wandered onto the road. The next, I'm… floating? Dying? I didn't know you could be so completely aware of your own end, but there I was—weightless, in that absurdly peaceful way you read about in cheap novels.

So, that's it, I thought. A lifetime of gritting my teeth, paying bills, sitting in traffic, and learning the "best practices" in a job I could barely stand, all wrapped up in a moment of sheer selflessness.

And then—suddenly, inexplicably—I was awake. And screaming.

Now, I'd expected a few things in whatever came next. Maybe a white light. Maybe my grandma waiting with cookies. Maybe a smug "welcome to the afterlife." But what I didn't expect was the confused look on the face of… my mother? My mother, who looked about 25 years younger than she was supposed to. And also, a doctor holding me in his hands like I was some sort of prize melon.

Oh. Oh god.

Yes, I was alive. But not just alive—I was alive again. Somehow, I'd managed to time-travel back to the precise moment I'd been born, as if the universe had hit a gigantic "rewind" button just for me. And I had a gut feeling there wasn't any "customer service" line for this kind of thing.

As I lay there, wrapped in a blanket the size of a large napkin, I took stock. Alright, this was… unexpected. But I was a practical guy. And somewhere, as I nursed my very new vocal cords, it hit me that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a punishment.

Maybe, in some strange, cosmic way, this was a chance. A redo. A chance to make up for all the mistakes and missed opportunities. To take my hard-won wisdom, every late-night worry, every bad decision, every "maybe next time" excuse, and turn it into… well, something better.

Granted, I had a few minor limitations. For one, I couldn't talk yet. But with some patience, a few years of solid planning, and my suspiciously adult-level grasp of the stock market, I could probably do a thing or two about my future. And maybe my family's, too.

I wasn't just going to live this life over. I was going to change it.