For five years in a row, I spun without stopping, like in an endless race: no rest, no pauses. I worked until exhaustion, forgot about my own needs—just to help others. Even illness didn’t seem like a reason to slow down—I forced myself to keep going. And how did that turn out? With gratitude? No way. People only knew how to count on my money and my softness, building their comfortable plans on that.
That’s it. Enough. I’m not going to endure this anymore.
I get on a plane and fly to the most expensive resort in my life—at least to try to break something and start differently.
But I didn’t account for one thing: fate, it seems, doesn’t rewrite its scripts. As if it had stuck a label of an eternal “victim” onto me and keeps knocking me down again and again.
So I’ll have to prove the opposite—to it— even if it’s in a new body and in another world.