Mystery of the Half-Scratched Lottery Ticket

At my eighteenth birthday celebration, my cousin gave me a half-scratched lottery ticket as a coming-of-age gift.

When he realized I'd won twenty dollars, he suddenly demanded to buy the ticket from me for two hundred thousand.

Something about it felt wrong, and I refused.

Then he snapped. Like a man gone mad, he cursed me, wishing me dead, and in front of all the guests, shoved me off the balcony.

Dozens of people watched, including my own parents, silently condoning him—joining in, shouting that I deserved to die.

And then I opened my eyes… and I was back half an hour earlier.

My cousin sneered, tossing the lottery ticket toward me, speaking the same familiar words.

"Cathy, don't call me stingy—this lottery ticket's worth a million! I already scratched half of it for you, carefully eliminating all the wrong choices. Whatever's left is all yours to win."

I reached out instinctively for the half-scratched ticket… then froze and hurriedly dropped it.

The clock on the wall read eleven o'clock—exactly half an hour before my death.

No one knew I had been reborn.

Today was supposed to be my eighteenth birthday, a coming-of-age celebration. My parents had invited all the relatives. Among them was my cousin, who had always looked down on me—and now he was humiliating me with a half-scratched lottery ticket.

I was seething, barely able to contain my shame, but the relatives around me smiled indulgently and coaxed me, saying, "We're family. Go ahead, scratch it."

Trapped, I had no choice but to scratch the ticket. Twenty dollars.

My cousin, who had been waiting to see me embarrassed, suddenly went wild. He demanded—on the spot—two hundred thousand dollars for the ticket.

I had been cautious all my life, trained by school campaigns on fraud prevention, and I knew my cousin disliked me. A sudden offer of two hundred thousand dollars had to be a trap. I refused immediately.

Then he snapped. "Bitch! Slut! Bastard!" His venomous words cut through me like knives.

I was paralyzed with fear as he screamed that if I didn't hand over the ticket, I deserved to die. He shoved me backward with all his strength, pushing me out the window. I screamed for help.

But the relatives who had been smiling just moments ago were gone. Their faces twisted with malice. Even my parents joined in, shouting that I deserved to die.

I fell from the balcony, dying instantly.

Until my last breath, I never understood what I had done wrong.

Perhaps fate had mercy on me, letting me live again.

I refused my cousin without hesitation. "No thanks, Harry. Keep your million for yourself."

Harry Grant's smile vanished, replaced by rage. "Cathy, you're ungrateful. You think turning eighteen makes you independent enough to disrespect me?"

My mother snatched up the ticket from the floor, scolding me. "You fool! Money this big, and you don't take it?"

Our family wasn't wealthy like my cousin's, and his high-paying job only made my parents feel inferior. They always acted humble in front of him, and the other relatives quickly joined in.

"Cathy, your cousin's being generous. Just take it. Who knows—you could really win a million."

I wanted to refuse again, but when I met my cousin's dark, dangerous gaze, I hesitated. Was I brave enough to say no again—or would he throw me off the balcony this time?

Reluctantly, I took the ticket. "I'll scratch it at home. We've gathered for my birthday—I don't want my gift to hold up the rest of the celebration."

My cousin wasn't satisfied. "Cathy, if you don't want it, just say so! Stop making excuses and embarrassing me!"

His mother glared at me. "Drama queen—take it or leave it!"

His father lit a cigarette and smirked. "Big shot after getting into college, huh?"

That one comment sent my parents into a panic. They redirected their anger at me. "Cathy! Who taught you to be so ungrateful? Harry is being generous, and you're making excuses!"

I struggled, but my mother pressed my hand against the ticket. Her fingernail dug into it, tearing off the surface. Blood dripped from my finger.

She didn't flinch, staring at the scratched area with intensity. Then she shouted, "It's a winner! Twenty dollars!"

My heart sank. Everyone's eyes were on me.

My cousin slammed the table and lunged at me, staring at my hand in his pocket. "Holy shit—it actually won!"

And then, just like last time, he said the exact same words.

"Cathy, I'll give you two hundred thousand dollars. Sell the ticket to me."