After what felt like centuries of drifting in endless darkness, I finally saw it—a light.
At first, it was just a faint glow in the distance. But then I felt it—something pulling me, dragging me out of the darkness and into the light against my will. Everything around me was muffled, chaotic. I could hear screaming—a woman's voice, raw and pained. Another voice, calmer but urgent, was telling her to push.
Then suddenly, I was out. Fully. It felt like hours had passed just trying to escape that dark void.
My lungs burned. The air felt sharp and unfamiliar. I took my first breath—and it hurt. Instinctively, I cried. I couldn't help it. All I could hear was my own tiny, panicked wailing—until I heard something else.
"We're losing her!"
That voice—terrified, trembling. A man followed, pleading, his voice cracking. "What's happening? What do you mean we're losing her?!"
In that moment, the pieces came together. The light. The pain. The voices.
I had been reborn.
And the woman—the one screaming—she was dying.
My vision was blurry, my body weak, but my mind was racing. I saw a hazy silhouette leaning over me—a man. His voice matched the one begging just moments ago. My father? Maybe. Or some kind of male relative. I couldn't know for sure, but the grief in his voice felt real. Heavy.
Still, even in the haze, I felt something strange—happiness. Not because of the pain around me, but because I had a second chance. A new life. A new beginning. I could relive everything. Do it right this time. Grow stronger. Smarter. Better.
All I could think about… was basketball.
I had my memories. That was my advantage. I could become one of the greats. But for now, I was just a baby. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. All I could do was wait… and plan.
Two days later
They told me she didn't make it.
My mother—who I barely knew—was gone. And as strange as it sounds, I didn't feel much. I didn't know her. I hadn't even seen her face clearly. But I felt bad that I didn't feel more. Guilty, almost. She gave me life, after all. She was supposed to raise me, protect me… but she never got the chance.
I also felt a heavy sadness for the man—my new father. His eyes were hollow when he carried me home. His grip was gentle, but his heart felt broken. When we arrived, other people were waiting—family, I guessed. They lit up when they saw me, cooed over me, touched my tiny hands.
But when my father gave them the news, his voice shaking, the whole room fell apart.
Tears. Wails. Silence.
It was a sad day. One of those moments that imprints on people forever.
Weeks passed
My father tried to keep it together. I could see the pain behind his eyes, the way he'd sit beside my crib and just stare off into space, as if replaying memories he couldn't let go of. He was trying, though. He fed me. Held me. Sang to me quietly at night.
He was grieving—but he hadn't given up.
And me? I was stuck in a crib, unable to speak, move, or do anything but think. Think about the future. About basketball. About what I'd do differently this time.
This was my second chance… and I wasn't going to waste it.