Last life, my six-year-old cousin Kevin sneaked into the cockpit and crashed the plane. 106 people died — including me. His parents blamed everyone but themselves. The aunt who'd treated me like a slave never shed a single tear.
This life, I woke up the moment we took off.
This time, I didn't give up my seat. I didn't drag him back. I let him show the whole cabin exactly who he was — and made sure his mother answered for every scream.
Spoiled brats grow up. Mine won't.
