When My Hands Were Ruined

Nine years after my hands were burned beyond restoration, I woke in the middle of the night with pain shooting through my fingers. I lay there, barely able to move, when I heard my mother talking on the phone in the living room. "Hey, you've had a hard time too. You've been taking care of him all these years. He was such a gifted pianist, and now look at what he's become…" My mother let out a quiet laugh. "A hard time? You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this day." There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then she continued, "I was the one who hid his passport. And I was the one who started the fire." The voice on the other end went silent. "I only meant to make him miss his flight. I never thought the fire would get out of control. I never meant for him to end up like this." After a pause, I heard my aunt's faint voice. "But his hands…" My mother was silent for two seconds. When she spoke again, her voice was colder than before. "Maybe it's better this way. With his hands ruined, he can't play the piano. He can't go abroad. He can't leave me here all by myself. "All these years, he's had to rely on me for everything, even eating and getting dressed. Don't you think he'll be grateful to me for taking care of him?" I lay completely still in bed, my ten twisted fingers throbbing as if the flames were licking at them all over again. So that was the truth. I had not been trapped in this house for nine years because life had dealt me a cruel hand. My own mother had burned my future to the ground with her own hands. Lying there in the darkness, I kept thinking about all the possibilities. What if I had not rushed back when that phone call came the night before my flight? What if the fire had never taken my hands? What would my life have looked like? Then I opened my eyes again. I had returned to the day I received my visa. Chapter 1 The delivery driver handed me a stiff cardboard envelope. "Joshua Wood, sign here, please. It's from the visa center." My hand tightened around the pen, and for a second, it trembled. In my previous life, I had only glanced at this envelope. By that very night, it was gone, along with my passport. I tore the house apart looking for them, sweating so badly that I could barely think. My mom's eyes were red from crying as she said, "It's my fault. I should've kept them somewhere safe." Then, the fire came. After that, I never had another chance to find them. This time, after signing for the envelope, I held it tightly against my chest. "You got it?" My mother stepped out of the kitchen with flour still on her hands. The moment she saw the passport, her eyes lit up. "Let me see." I closed the passport. "I put it away." She froze for a second, then smiled. "I just want to take a look. It's not like I've never seen your documents before." I did not move. The smile on her face slowly stiffened. "Joshua, who are you so worried about?" That tone was painfully familiar. Soft, with just enough hurt and disappointment woven into it. In my previous life, that tone got me every time. The moment she asked something like that, I would start explaining. I would hand whatever I was holding straight to her, terrified she would think I did not trust her or that I was not close enough to her anymore. Not this time. I slipped the passport into the inner pocket of my sheet-music case and fastened the security clasp. "It's an important document. I should manage it myself." My mother's eyes quickly turned red. "So now that you're going abroad, you think I'm too ignorant to even touch your things?" Our neighbor Hannah Tomlinson came over from next door with a bowl of freshly washed cherries in her hands. She had clearly heard everything, because the moment she walked in, her expression darkened. "Joshua, she just wants to see your passport. What's the big deal? Why won't you let her look at it?" My mother lowered her head, her voice trembling. "Forget it. He's grown up. He has his own world now. I'm just a burden to him." Hannah immediately turned to me. "Joshua, you can't treat your mother like this. She raised you all by herself. You know better than anyone how hard she's worked all these years." I looked at both of them. "I know my mom has worked hard. But working hard doesn't mean she gets to keep my passport for me." Hannah stared at me, clearly caught off guard. My mother lifted her eyes. For the briefest instant, something unsettling flashed through them, quick as a needle. Then, she started crying again. "Joshua, I'm not trying to control you. I'm just scared. You're going so far away. You don't even know the language that well. What if you get sick? What if someone scams you?" "I'm 22," I said. Her head snapped up. "What does being 22 have to do with anything? You could be 82, and you'd still be my son!" Her voice suddenly rose, and all the emotions she had been holding back for years burst out at once. "Your father died young. I gave up almost everything to raise you all these years. And now that you're grown up and have a life of your own, you're just going to leave whenever you want? Did you ever stop to think about what I'm supposed to do?" I lowered my eyes. I had heard those words my entire previous life. Every single time, I let her win. However, this time, I only asked one question, "You want me to stay?" My mother froze. The water in the kitchen continued to drip. Her lips moved, but in the end, she slipped back into that same helpless, pitiful expression. "I'm not that selfish. I just can't bear to see you go." I smiled. "Good. I'm leaving tomorrow." Chapter 2 My mother did not speak to me again that night. I stayed in my room, packing my bags. I uploaded copies of all my important documents to cloud storage, then sent them separately to three different email accounts. Finally, I emailed my program coordinator, Ms. Jessica Harris. [Ms. Harris, please make a note in my file. Effective immediately, any request to withdraw from the program, defer my enrollment, or give up my scholarship must be confirmed by me personally over video. [Any request made solely through email or based on statements from a family member is invalid.] Ten minutes later, Jessica called me. Her voice was calm and alert. "Is something going on at home?" I stared at the light spilling out from beneath the living room door. "Maybe." She did not press me for details. She only said, "Send me the documents. I'll forward everything to the college's international office." After a brief pause, she added, "Joshua, don't try to handle this all by yourself." My throat tightened. In my previous life, Jessica had come to the hospital after the accident. My mother had stopped her at the door and refused to let her see me, saying I was having a breakdown and did not want to see anyone. Later, Jessica wrote me a letter. My mother hid that letter for years. I did not find it until after my hands were ruined, buried inside an old book. There was only one sentence in it: [If there's still a part of you that wants to play, don't let someone else decide when you're finished.] However, by then, it was too late. After hanging up, I moved on to the second thing on my list—installing security cameras. Since the entryway, living room, and kitchen entrance were all shared spaces, I placed cameras in each of those areas. I made sure not to put any in the bedrooms or the bathroom. Those spaces were private, and I intended to keep them that way. The cameras were connected to the cloud and recorded timestamps. Even if the power went out, they could keep running for two hours. I also replaced the old smoke detector with a smart one that connected to the internet. The casing looked almost identical to the old model, so my mother might not even notice. At 1:00 am, I went downstairs to see Zane Reynolds from the property management. "Mr. Reynolds, I'm leaving the country tomorrow. I'm worried my mom might forget to turn off the stove. I shut off the main gas valve. I also have some liquor and cleaning alcohol at home. I'd like to leave them with you for safekeeping. Could you make a note of it?" Zane laughed. "You're really being careful. Your mom seems pretty responsible." I smiled too. "When people get nervous, they make mistakes." When I got back home, my mother was not in the living room. I pushed open my bedroom door and immediately noticed that my drawers had been searched. The sheet-music case had been moved too. There was a fresh scratch across the security clasp. My mother said from behind me, "I was just checking to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything." I turned around. She was standing there in her pajamas, her face pale. She looked like she had not slept all night. "So you won't even let me into your room now?" I picked up my sheet-music case. "From now on, knock before you come in." She looked like I had slapped her. Her whole body swayed. "Joshua, what's wrong with you? You never used to be like this." I looked at her. "Back then, I hadn't realized there were some things I needed to lock up." Her expression changed instantly. However, just as quickly, she pressed a hand to her forehead and leaned against the doorframe. "My chest hurts… Joshua, I can't breathe." In my previous life, those were the words I feared most. The moment she clutched her chest, every boundary I had would disappear. This time, I picked up my phone and called emergency services. "My mother is experiencing chest tightness and shortness of breath. Please send an ambulance to Pinecrest Apartments, Building 7, Unit 1601." My mother stopped crying, and she stared at me in disbelief. I calmly said, "Medical emergencies are for doctors to handle." She sat down on the edge of my bed, her eyes slowly turning red. It was not from feeling hurt. It was hatred. I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door. Behind me, she asked, "Where are you going?" "An airport hotel." "You don't fly until tomorrow afternoon. You're leaving tonight?" "Yeah." She suddenly rushed forward and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was far too strong for someone who was supposedly sick. "Are you really that desperate to get away from me?" I slowly pried her fingers off my wrist. "I'm not getting away from you. I'm going to live my own life." The moment the door closed behind me, I heard a glass shatter inside. I did not look back. Chapter 3 Outside the airport hotel window, the lights on the tarmac stayed on all night. After taking a shower, I slipped my passport and boarding pass into the money belt around my waist. My laptop sat open on the desk. On the screen was a live feed from my house. My mother had not gone to the hospital. When the ambulance arrived downstairs, she told the paramedics that she had only gotten emotional after an argument with her son. She even smiled and apologized. "Sorry. My kid was just being overly worried." After the paramedics left, she sat alone in the living room for a long time. At 11:06 pm, she changed clothes and left the apartment. She came back at 11:34 pm. This time, she was carrying a black plastic bag. I zoomed in on the feed. Inside were candles, a lighter, and two bottles labeled 'Heavy-Duty Stain Remover'. My fingertips went cold. It turned out that the fire in my previous life had not been some spur-of-the-moment decision. She had bought everything ahead of time. At 11:49 pm, she climbed onto a chair and reached up to remove the old smoke detector. She thought taking out the battery would keep the alarm from going off. However, I had replaced it that afternoon. The new detector was connected to my phone and the building's security system. At 12:02 am, she turned on the gas stove and struck a match. Nothing happened. The gas had already been shut off. She crouched down to check it and discovered that the main valve had been shut off. Her expression on the security feed looked frighteningly dark. She stood there for several seconds. Then, suddenly, she smiled. That smile sent a chill down my spine. It was like watching an actor realize the props had been switched but decide to finish the performance anyway. She walked over to the entryway and poured the two bottles of liquid onto the floor. It was not a huge amount. If the fire were put out quickly, it would probably only damage the doorway and the edge of the kitchen. However, it would be frightening enough. It would be more than enough to make me rush back from the airport. At 12:08 am, she lit a candle. The flame touched the floor, and a bright tongue of fire shot up instantly. At that exact second, my phone rang. The caller ID flashed with one word—'Mom'. I stared at it, my chest tightening as if a wire were slowly winding around it. She had called me like this in my previous life too. I could still hear the way her sobs had broken through the phone, tearing me apart as she told me she was trapped inside, that the smoke was everywhere. Then she said the words that sent me running back without a second thought. "Joshua, you're all I have." So, I rushed home and ran straight into the flames, the very fire she had started with her own hands. This time, I answered the call. My mother's screams immediately exploded through the phone. "Joshua! There's a fire! The house is on fire! I can't open the door! Come back and save me!" On the security feed, she stood just outside the main bedroom. The door was wide open, and so was the balcony. She even had a wet towel pressed over her mouth and nose. She stood well back from the flames where she was perfectly safe. She was not trapped. She was waiting for me to come home, counting on me to panic, rush inside, and throw myself into the smoke to save her. I closed my eyes. Somewhere inside me, a little kid was still desperately trying to save his mom. However, another voice was colder. 'She isn't waiting for you to save her. She's waiting for you to destroy yourself.' I picked up my backup phone and called 911. "There's a fire at Pinecrest Apartments, Building 7, Unit 1601. The fire started at the entrance, near the kitchen. It appears someone deliberately used a flammable substance to start it." The dispatcher immediately began asking for details. I kept my eyes on the security feed and answered slowly, one word at a time. "The main gas valve has already been shut off. All highly flammable alcohol-based liquids were removed from the apartment beforehand. There's one woman inside. She's 53 years old and is near the door to the main bedroom. She's able to move on her own, but she's emotionally unstable. "Please have the firefighters enter through the north stairwell and notify building management to evacuate the residents on the same floor." The dispatcher asked, "Where are you right now?" "At Starlight Hotel near Nebula City Airport." "And who are you?" "I'm the homeowner, and I'm the woman's son." My voice sounded hoarse, but it did not shake. "I have a complete live security feed. Please let the professionals save her. I'm not going back into that fire."