On the first day of winter break, Mom asked me to pick up my little sister from kindergarten. But as soon as I reached the entrance, the teacher pointed to the only little boy left and said, “Here to pick up your child? Good, this is the only one left. Hurry up and take him home.” I was stunned. But there was no one else in the whole kindergarten. I sighed, figuring someone must have picked up the wrong child, and simply took him home. My family didn’t make a fuss either. They casually said they’d switch him back the next day. But the next day, Mom pointed at the little boy and said, “Qingqing, hurry up and take your little sister to school.” Everyone in the family acted like they were possessed, insisting the boy was my sister. I argued with my parents and got the teacher to back me up. I checked the security footage, called the police, and demanded that they arrest the boy. Instead, my dad had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. “Qingqing! Can you stop making a scene? Look how scared you’ve made your sister. Let Dad get you some help, okay?” Mom wiped away her tears. “Qingqing, don’t scare me…” They sent me to a mental health facility to make me normal again. But I escaped to find my sister, dragged the little boy onto the rooftop to demand answers, and then fell to my death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I went to pick up my sister from school.
