Chapter 1

"Who do you want to live with? Your father or your mother?" Mom asked me and my younger sister Lily on the day of the divorce.

In my past life, I chose Mom.

Dad was in a better financial situation, so following him would probably be easier for Lily.

Later, Mom married a wealthy American businessman and took me to immigrate to the United States.

Under my stepfather's guidance, I learned figure skating.

At eighteen, I became the first-ever American-Mexican female singles figure skating champion at the Olympics.

But in this life, Lily beat me to it and said, "I'll go with Mom."

"And what about you, Elena? Is your decision the same as hers?"

I looked into Mom's eyes.

"Then I'll go with Dad," I said.

The judge glanced at me again, probably thinking that this pair of twin sisters was unusually mature for their age, but didn't dwell on it and continued processing the paperwork.

Mom's expression dimmed.

She probably expected me to choose her.

After all, I did choose her in my past life.

She reached out and hugged me, then ran her hand through Lily's hair.

Lily obediently leaned into Mom's embrace, but her eyes moved past Mom's shoulder to look at me.

That one look contained too much.

It wasn't the look an eight-year-old girl should have.

It seemed Lily had also been reborn.

But why did she want to take it?

Whatever.

One chance each---that's fair enough.

In my past life, Mom married that American businessman, and my stepfather treated me like his own daughter.

I smoothly progressed in figure skating and became an Olympic champion at eighteen.

That script was certainly appealing.

I didn't want to suspect her with ill intent.

I understood her.

But something in my heart still felt a slight prick from that look.

The wind was strong outside the courthouse, though the rain had lightened.

Dad came over with an umbrella, bent down to look at me, and said, "Let's go."

His tone wasn't exactly gentle---somewhat stiff, even.

Dad had never been good at expressing emotions.

In my past life, he sent me birthday gifts every year.

The gift box always contained a card with just four words: "Happy Birthday."

Even the punctuation was perfectly proper.

I stood up and followed him into the rain.

When Dad started the car, I noticed his profile.

A bit younger than I remembered from my past life---no gray hair at his temples yet, his jawline tight, as if he were clenching his teeth.

It wasn't that he didn't love us.

He just didn't know how to show it.

In my past life, Lily told me that after the divorce, Dad became much more silent.

Later, when he married that woman, the atmosphere at home became even more tense.

Lily said "that house was like an ice cellar."

Eventually, even the ice cellar was gone, leaving only Dad alone.

As the car pulled out of the courthouse parking lot, I saw through the rearview mirror Mom and Lily standing at the entrance waiting for a taxi.

Mom held Lily's hand tightly.

Lily's face was small, rainwater plastering her bangs to her forehead.

She didn't look at me.

I didn't look at her again either.

Dad's new place was in New York.

We lived in a three-bedroom apartment near the city center---not large, but kept very clean.

My room faced south with good sunlight.

New stationery and a desk lamp had already been set up on the desk.

My grandmother had prepared them in advance, not Dad.

Dad probably wouldn't think of such details.

The first week after moving in passed very quietly.

Dad left early and came home late.

I went to my new school during the day, came home after school, did homework, read, and went to bed on time.

No one checked my homework.

No one asked if I had a good day at school.

The fridge was always stocked with pre-made dishes covered in plastic wrap---just heat them in the microwave and eat.

This must have been the environment Lily grew up in during my past life.

I suddenly understood a bit better why she became so sharp later on.

"Lily is different from you," my grandmother said once when she came to visit, sitting on the sofa peeling an orange.

"She takes after her mother---quick-tempered, easily ignited.

You take after your father---a closed book, keeping everything bottled up inside."

After my grandmother left, I sat alone in the living room for a while, thinking about one thing: when would Dad remarry?

According to what Lily said in my past life, Dad married that woman when she was ten years old.

Two years from now.

What was that woman's name again?

Lily mentioned it, but I didn't pay much attention.

In my past life, I maintained a distant attitude toward Dad's new family, after all, I had no contact with them.

I only remembered Lily's assessment of her: domineering, cold, extremely controlling.

Lily's exact words.

I mentally tagged this stepmother I'd never met, then felt it wasn't quite fair.

After all, in my past life Lily was quick-tempered---if they couldn't get along, it might not have been entirely the other person's fault.

Days passed one by one.

Having an eighteen-year-old soul in an eight-year-old body was a strange experience.

In any case, I didn't act like a student of this age.

Since I'd switched scripts in this life, I needed to figure out what I really wanted.