Chapter 3: The First Signs of Change

The first year of Ivan's new life passed in a blur.

Being a baby was both frustrating and strangely peaceful. He had no responsibilities, no debts, no stress. He ate, slept, and watched the world unfold around him. His mother, who had initially been indifferent, started showing small signs of affection. She held him more often, spoke to him softly, and even smiled at him from time to time.

That was new.

In his past life, she had always been distant—too caught up in her gambling debts and escaping reality to care about him properly. But now? It was like she was trying. Not much, but enough for Ivan to notice.

Was this proof that things could be different?

When he was around one and a half, they moved into his father's childhood home.

It was an old house, creaking wooden floors, the scent of stale cigarettes and damp walls lingering in every room. His grandparents were there, but they barely acknowledged him. His grandmother was passive, too used to ignoring the chaos in the household, and his grandfather was the silent, brooding type.

His father, on the other hand, became worse.

The drinking that had once been occasional became constant. He stumbled home late, reeking of alcohol, his voice slurring with rage. At first, it was just shouting—insults thrown at his mother, complaints about money, frustrations about life.

But soon, it escalated.

Ivan was still too young to stop it, too weak to intervene. He could only watch, helpless, as his father hit his mother for the first time.

And then the second.

And then the third.

The fights became routine. His mother tried to endure it, but she was breaking.

Even as a baby, Ivan could see it in her eyes. The exhaustion, the hopelessness, the quiet way she sat in silence after every argument.

He knew this would happen—he had lived it before. But experiencing it again, knowing what was coming, made it even worse.

Nine months later, January rolled around, and his mother gave birth to his younger brother.

As soon as Ivan laid eyes on the tiny baby wrapped in blankets, something deep inside him stirred.

This wasn't just a sibling.

This was his brother. His real brother. The only person who had ever truly been by his side.

In his past life, they had struggled together, survived together. Through every hardship, every fight, every broken moment, his brother had been the only one who truly understood him. Even when the world had been against them, they had always had each other.

And now?

Now, Ivan had the chance to do it all over again—but better.

He reached out with his tiny fingers, barely able to move, but determined. His baby brother was asleep, unaware of the world around him, but Ivan made a silent promise.

This time, I'll do more than survive with you.

This time, I'll make sure we never have to struggle again.

By the time he turned three, things had reached a breaking point.

His father was drinking more than ever, coming home in fits of rage. His mother's eyes had lost all light, her mental state deteriorating rapidly.

And then, one night, Ivan saw something that sent chills down his spine.

His mother, sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, staring at the door. A packed bag beside her.

She was going to run.

Ivan's tiny hands gripped the edge of his blanket as he watched her from the doorway.

This is it.

This is the night she tries to escape.

He knew how this played out in his past life—she left, and he went with her. That was how it had always been. He had no memories of his father beyond those early years, only his mother raising him on her own.

But this time…

Was history really going to repeat itself?

Or was everything different now?

End of Chapter 3.