The darkness wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, the same as before.

I floated in that void, weightless, timeless, until the familiar sounds began to break through the silence.

The soft chirping of birds, a melody of life resuming once more, and then—her voice.

My wife’s voice, as sweet and gentle as ever, calling me back to reality.

I opened my eyes, and there they were—Sarah and Chloe, smiling at me, bathed in the golden morning light that filtered through the curtains.

The same day, the same moment. Again.

Confusion, anxiety, fear—each emotion crashed over me like a tidal wave.

But I couldn’t afford to drown in them.

Not this time.

I pushed those feelings aside, forcing myself to accept this twisted reality as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After all, what choice did I have?

This was my life now, a loop I couldn’t escape.

Determined, I resolved to spend my day with my family and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, just as we had before.

But this time, I wasn’t going to let anything slip through the cracks.

I made sure to double-check the gas pipes, inspecting every inch with a meticulous eye until I was certain there would be no leaks.

I couldn’t risk another mistake.

Not when so much was at stake.

And somehow, against all odds, I managed to protect that day.

The hours passed without incident, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, I allowed myself a small sigh of relief.

But even as I exhaled, a gnawing anxiety gnawed at the back of my mind, reminding me that this victory was fragile.

The days that followed were filled with the same hypervigilance.

I kept the car in pristine condition, checking and rechecking every detail to ensure it was safe.

I watched over my wife and daughter with an intensity that bordered on paranoia, making sure they were healthy, that they didn’t fall ill, that nothing could harm them.

On the roads, whether I was driving or walking, my senses were heightened, my eyes constantly scanning for potential dangers.

Every intersection, every turn, every pedestrian—nothing escaped my notice.

I couldn’t afford to let my guard down, not even for a second.

And so, the days passed—one after another, each one a cautious step forward.

A week went by without any accidents, without any tragedies.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I began to feel a glimmer of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, I had finally broken free of the cycle.

Maybe this time, I had truly protected them.

But even as I tried to convince myself of that, the anxiety lingered, a constant undercurrent in my thoughts.

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I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still wrong, that the other shoe was about to drop.

Each night, as I lay in bed with Sarah beside me and Chloe safely tucked in, I couldn’t fully relax.

My mind kept replaying the horrors I had witnessed, the losses I had endured, and the fear that it could all happen again.

It was as if I was living in a waking nightmare, where every small victory was tinged with the dread of an inevitable failure.

The days had passed uneventfully, with a strange calm settling over our lives.

I had allowed myself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, the worst was behind us.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

It was Chloe’s parents-teacher meeting at her kindergarten, a day meant for celebration, for pride in our daughter’s progress.

Sarah and I took her hand as we walked through the school gates, greeted by the bright chatter of other parents and the laughter of children.

The atmosphere was light, filled with the promise of a day spent together, enjoying games and activities.

We joined in the sports events—relay races, football, and more.

Chloe’s laughter was contagious, and I found myself lost in the joy of the moment, running alongside her and Sarah.

But in my enthusiasm, I didn’t notice the uneven ground beneath my feet.

With a sharp twist, I felt a searing pain shoot through my foot.

I had injured myself, and the pain was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

I tried to brush it off, to not dampen Chloe’s spirits, but it was clear the injury was more serious than I wanted to admit.

As the day wound down, we decided it was time to head home.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the playground, and I could feel the exhaustion settling in my bones.

My foot throbbed with every step, a constant reminder of my carelessness.

On our way back, we passed a construction site.

Chloe’s eyes lit up at the sight of the towering cranes and the crumbling building they were demolishing.

She tugged at Sarah’s hand, begging to stop and watch for just a moment.

I hesitated, my instincts telling me to keep moving, to not linger.

But her excitement was infectious, and I couldn’t bear to say no.

So we stopped, standing at the edge of the site, watching as the machinery tore into the old structure.

And that was our mistake.

I didn’t notice the loose debris, the way the building groaned under the strain of the demolition.

I was too focused on Chloe’s wide-eyed wonder, on Sarah’s soft smile as she held our daughter close.

But in an instant, the ground trembled beneath us, and I heard a crack—a sound that froze my blood.

Time seemed to slow as I looked up, seeing the massive chunk of debris breaking free, plummeting toward us.

Panic surged through me, and I acted on instinct.

With every ounce of strength I had, I pushed Sarah and Chloe out of the way, sending them sprawling to safety.

But my foot—my damn injured foot—betrayed me.

I couldn’t move fast enough.

The weight of the debris crashed down upon me, the metal rods piercing through my body like daggers.

The pain was indescribable, a searing agony that stole the breath from my lungs.

I heard Sarah scream, saw the terror in Chloe’s eyes as they turned back toward me.

But there was nothing they could do.

The world around me blurred, the colors fading to gray as the blood pooled beneath me.

Even as the paramedics arrived, as they rushed me to the hospital, I knew it was too late.

The darkness was already closing in, swallowing the light, the sounds, the faces of those I loved.

I tried to hold on, tried to stay conscious, but the pain was too much.

My vision dimmed, the world slipping away from me.

But even as the darkness claimed me, there was a small, bitter comfort.

Sarah and Chloe—they were safe.

They had survived, and that was all that mattered.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I didn’t die with the weight of failure crushing my soul.

I had saved them. My family was alive.

And then, as always, the darkness consumed me entirely, pulling me into its endless void.

When I opened my eyes again, the familiar chirping of birds greeted me.

The same soft morning light filtered through the curtains, the same sweet voices of my wife and daughter, coaxing me from sleep.

I was back, as I always was, to face the day again.

But the weight in my chest was heavier than ever.

Despite all my efforts, my vigilance, my endless attempts to change our fate, it had all been in vain.

About a month and a half later, I lost them again.

It had been a normal day, like any other.

Mrs. Thomas, Sarah, and Chloe had gone to the mall for some shopping, a simple, harmless outing that should have brought nothing but joy.

I had to stay behind, due to some company work and couldn’t go with them.

I remember the call, the way my heart plummeted as I heard the frantic voice on the other end, the words that seemed to echo endlessly in my mind.

There had been an accident.

A technical fault in the elevator, they said.

It had plummeted, the cables snapping under the weight, sending everyone inside crashing to the ground.

Many people were injured, some gravely.

Among them were the three people who meant the most to me—Mrs. Thomas, my beloved Sarah, and my precious Chloe.

I rushed to the hospital, my mind a blur of panic and dread.

But the moment I arrived, I knew.

The looks on the doctors’ faces, the silence that met me as I stumbled into the emergency room—it all told me what I refused to hear.

They were gone.

All of them.

Gone in an instant, their lives snuffed out by a cruel twist of fate.

The same fate I had been fighting against for what felt like an eternity.

I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

The grief was too deep, too overwhelming to express.

It settled in my chest like a stone, crushing the breath from my lungs, leaving me hollow.

I walked through the days that followed like a ghost, a shell of the man I once was.

The world around me seemed dull, lifeless, as if all the color had been drained from it.

There was nothing left for me here, nothing but the relentless cycle of death and return.

So I started it again. The only way I knew how.

Slitting my wrists was painful, but it was nothing compared to the agony of losing them over and over again.

It was a release, a way to escape the torment, if only for a little while.

I watched the blood pool around me, felt the life slowly drain from my body, and welcomed the darkness that crept in from the edges of my vision.

It was less terrifying than jumping from a building, less final.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

The darkness came for me, just as it always did, and soon I was back.

Back in the same bed, in the same room, with the same chirping of birds and the same morning light.

Back to the voices of my wife and daughter, blissfully unaware of the nightmare that awaited them.

I tried again. I tried for months, each day a desperate attempt to keep them safe, to protect them from a fate I couldn’t escape.

But no matter what I did, no matter how careful I was, it was never enough.

I lost them again.

The cycle was endless, relentless.

And I was trapped, doomed to repeat the same futile struggle, over and over.

The despair grew with each failure, each loss, until I didn’t know how much more I could take.

But every time, the darkness would come, and I would welcome it.

And every time, I would open my eyes to the same morning, the same voices, the same love that I could never seem to hold onto.

And with every return, I asked myself the same question: How much longer could I go on like this?

How many more times would I lose them before the darkness finally took me for good?

But there were no answers.

Only the same cycle, the same pain, and the same desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

But it never was.