The Butterfly Effect of Ava

The afternoon sun warmed my art studio, a sanctuary I' d built for myself, far from my chaotic family.

Life was good, my canvas humming with color, ready for final touches.

Then, the phone rang, a cold dread seizing me as Leo' s name flashed across the screen.

He demanded money, as always, his voice a familiar, entitled growl.

Our conversation was sharp, escalating quickly, ending with his chilling threat: "I'm outside your building. Come down here right now, or I'm coming up." A cold fear snaked down my spine; this was my sanctuary, not his to invade.

He was waiting, his face thin and angry. When I refused him, he sneered, calling me "little miss perfect artist," shoving me. I stumbled, caught off balance, and then he shoved me again, harder.

I fell backward, right into the street. Everything happened at once: the screech of tires, a blaring horn, blinding headlights.

A massive force slammed into me, pain exploding through every nerve. Then, only darkness.

I died. But then I opened my eyes. Confined to a tiny, unfamiliar body, in my old childhood bedroom, the calendar on the wall screamed 2007.

I was seven years old again.

It wasn't a dream. It was a second chance. A chance to change everything. A chance to stop Leo from becoming the monster who would one day cause my death.