Maya keeps reliving the same week over and over again. She's always sent back in time after witnessing her best friend, Katie, suffer a tragic fate. Desperate to end this horrific loop, Maya tries every possible solution, but to no avail. After a startling revelation, Maya realizes the full truth of Katie's demise.

I watch the same horrific scene play out every week. Sunday, at exactly 1:36 pm, I open the door. A warm Autumn breeze drifts into the tiny brownstone. Sunlight shines through the open windows, casting tiny rays across the hardwood floor. At first, I would call her name, and it would echo throughout the silent house. Now I don’t say a word, knowing no one will answer. A tight knot forms in my stomach, despite being the fourth time. I let the door close behind me. I have to move, but my body is frozen. A second goes by, then a minute, then five. I take a deep breath. It’s time.
    Normally I would check the kitchen to see if she’s cooking, to see if she’s so invested in a dish that she didn’t hear me come in. Next, I would peer into the family room. Maybe she’s reading and in a completely different world. After the family room, I would go to her room. I’d knock on the door and wait. I’d knock again, louder this time, in case she has her headphones in. I would open the door to find our unfinished English project on the bed. Not anymore. Now I know exactly where to go. My feet slowly move towards the bathroom.
The wood creaks beneath my boots. I take a deep breath and clench my fists. It’s time. You can do this, Maya. I reassure myself, but my hand shakes as I reach for the doorknob. I twist the knob and the door swings open. My heart jumps every time, even though I know what to expect. I don’t scream like the first two times or sob like the third. Instead, I try to desensitize myself. My eyes scan the familiar scene, trying to take in every detail, every crucial piece of information. Despite my efforts, I get a huge lump in my throat, and my eyes start to water. I swallow the lump and continue to look for anything I missed.
My eyes drift to the bathtub, and I draw in a sharp breath. Light brown hair fans out in the water. Her soft brown eyes are closed, but her mouth is slightly parted. A limp body lays in a pool of red water. Hanging on the side of the tub is an outstretched arm with multiple cuts down the wrist. A trail of blood seeps down the side of the tub and collects into a tiny pool on the rug. Katie, why? I silently ask the body. I know the only way I’ll get any answers is to figure this out. I have to figure this out, so I can prevent it. I have to.
    I scan the bathroom, but to no avail. Everything looks normal, no missing pills, no suicide letter, no signs of struggle, nothing. What am I missing? The first time I screamed and called 911, but before they arrived I was sent back. The second time I tried to save her, I talked to Katie, got closer to her. I thought maybe she would tell me what’s wrong. I hoped Katie would tell me the thoughts and feelings that would prone her to end her life. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Katie seemed to go on as normal. She seemed happy, but looks can be deceiving. The third time, I confessed that I knew Katie wanted to commit suicide. I told her it’s okay, that she can get help. She only gave me a perplexed look, said she was fine and continued on as normal. This time I let the week play out as usual. I observed and desperately searched for what I was missing; a sign, clues, anything, that could help me solve this horrific puzzle.
    Finally, I take a deep breath, there’s only one option left, the option I’ve been dreading all along. I’ve been avoiding investigating the body all this time. I thought I could save Katie without interfering with her corpse, but I’ve done everything I can. Hopefully, this last resort will yield something useful. I inch closer to her body. My skin tingles and I feel nauseous. The trails of blood on her wrists have stopped dripping. I move closer despite wanting to run. I crouch down and take a shaky breath to calm my nerves. The deep cuts stare back at me as I examine her wrist. I force myself to look at each slash and the skin around it. Something’s slightly off. Wait a minute. Upon closer look, I realize the direction is strange. I look at my own wrist and imagine cutting it. The angle doesn’t make sense, it’s vertical, but it looks like it started from the upper part of her arm. I doubt one would cut up their arm, normally people cut down. The realization creeps in. It’s starting to make sense now. I don’t think this was a suicide, it was a murder.