Chapter 1

The old lady next door lives alone, and she’s been mooching off my meals every day.

One night, she suddenly fell ill.

Out of kindness, I took her to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with late-stage colon cancer.

Before I could even comfort her, her overly protective son accused me of poisoning her with my cooking. He went so far as to push me down a flight of stairs.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment when Mrs. Ruth Johnson had tagged me in the Nextdoor Community Group, asking me to bring her food.

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"Sarah, are you there?"

Early in the morning, Mrs. Ruth Johnson, my elderly neighbor, tagged me in the Nextdoor Community Group right on time.

I stared at her message on my phone, a little dazed.

Didn't her son push me down the stairs? How can I still be seeing messages in the group?

I quickly pinched my arm.

Nope, I was still alive—and back to when Mrs. Johnson had just started living alone.

"Sarah, I know you can see this. Can you open the door? I need to talk to you."

"You can just tell me in the group chat. I’m not really available right now."

I tried to make my reply sound as casual as possible. Mrs. Johnson posted again in the Nextdoor Community Group.

"Sarah, you’re such a kind soul. My gas is out, and I don’t know how to refill the tank. Could you bring me a meal?"

Her tone was so pitiful. In my past life, I was fooled by that frail and helpless act, which led me to take care of her—ultimately costing me my life!

This time around, there’s no way I’m signing my own death sentence.

"Gas? I don’t know how to refill it either. Why don’t you give your son a call to help you out?"

I replied on purpose, but Mrs. Johnson responded like it was the most natural thing.

"My son’s not around. Sarah, could you help me? You’ve always been there for me in the past."

"I’m just an old lady living on my own. If I starve to death, you being my neighbor—won’t your conscience hurt?"

"Yeah, Sarah, we’re all neighbors here. What’s the harm in lending a hand?"

Suddenly, someone else chimed in—it was Michael Adams, another neighbor on my floor.

I smirked.

“Lend a hand”?

It’s never been easy for me.

I’m swamped with work, so I make a simple packed lunch to bring to the office. Since Mrs. Johnson started mooching, she’s been picky about what she eats, demanding I get up at dawn to shop for her favorites at the farmer’s market.

The time I wasted each day could have been enough to sit down for eight meals after work. My expenses went up fast, too.

Last time around, I cooked for her for a whole month. In the end, she got cancer and blamed my cooking.

I still don’t know what got into me last time. All it took was for her to ask, and I’d give in.

Taking a deep breath, I replied to the nosy neighbor.

"My gas is out too. Hey, Michael, you live closer to SoCalGas, don’t you? How about you help both Mrs. Johnson and me with the gas?"

As soon as I sent the message, Michael backed out, "I’ve been working long hours at the construction site. No time to make it to the gas company."

"Sorry, gotta run—boss is calling."

Michael stopped responding after that.

He’s always been the type to preach about kindness but never lifts a finger when it’s his turn to help.

Mrs. Johnson, still with no dinner after all that back-and-forth, wasn’t ready to give up. She tagged me again.

"Sarah, what are you busy with? Maybe I can wait until you’re done?"

"I twisted my ankle. The doctor says I won’t be walking for at least a month or two."

"That long?" Mrs. Johnson sounded shocked.

"Well then, I won’t trouble you. I can’t wait that long."

Mrs. Johnson stopped messaging in the Nextdoor Community Group.

Finally, the tension left my body, and I started packing. It was time to cancel my lease and move out of this place.

In my previous life, Mrs. Johnson’s son pushed me off a building at the hospital. I’ll never forget the terror of that fall, and I sure don’t want to experience it again.

The best choice is to stay as far away from Mrs. Johnson as possible.

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