The email sat in his inbox like a tiny glowing miracle.
Subject: RE: AUDITION RESULTS — Ethan Hale
Ethan stared at it as if it were a bomb that might explode if he clicked too fast. His heart thudded in his chest, loud enough that he swore the neighbours could probably hear it. He hadn't even expected a reply yet. It had only been three days since his callback, and three days in the acting world usually meant one thing:
You didn't get it.
He hovered his mouse over the email, but froze, panic clawing at him. What if it said no? What if this second life was just another cruel cosmic joke? What if nothing changed? What if he still failed?
He shut the laptop quickly, breathing hard.
No. Not yet. Not like this.
He needed a moment. He needed steady ground first.
He stood up, pacing the length of his room—no, his old room. The posters, the scuffed carpet, the dusty guitar… all of it felt like a memory someone else had lived. The eighteen-year-old Ethan had been too scared to hope. Too insecure to fight. Too lost to know what he wanted.
But this Ethan?
This Ethan had lived through disappointment.
Through fear.
Through years of being overlooked.
Through an entire life unlived.
If the email said no, he would survive.
But the truth was…
He wanted this so badly he could taste it.
He wanted a win.
He needed one.
Eventually, he sat back down. His hands shook a little as he opened the laptop again. He clicked the email.
It popped open, and for a heartbeat, everything inside him went silent—his breath, his heartbeat, his fears.
Then he read:
"Ethan — Congratulations. The team was very impressed with your callback. We would love to book you for the role of EMT #3 for ER Episode 7, Season 8."
His brain short-circuited.
He blinked twice.
Then a third time.
Then he laughed — a shaky, disbelieving breath that escaped him before he could stop it.
He reread the lines again—word for word.
The meaning didn't change.
He got the part.
A tiny, tiny part.
Two lines.
Maybe three if they rewrote something on set.
But it was a part.
A real job.
On a real show.
In his second life, the very first yes.
His hands covered his face as he exhaled shakily, overwhelmed with relief. A warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading outward, dissolving the years of bitterness and self-doubt from his first life.
He wasn't failing this time.
He wasn't invisible this time.
He wasn't a ghost drifting through auditions hoping someone might look his way.
He got a yes.
The universe had actually given him a yes.
He felt himself laugh again—bigger this time. Real. Almost hysterical but in the best possible way.
There was a knock on the door.
"Ethan? You okay in there?"
His mother's voice, concerned.
Ethan quickly wiped his face, trying to steady his breathing.
"Y-Yeah!" he called back. "Yeah, I'm good. Just… studying."
"Well, you're invited to dinner at the Martins' tonight. Be ready by six!"
"Okay!"
He heard her footsteps retreat.
Ethan closed the laptop gently, almost reverently, as if afraid the email might vanish if he moved too quickly.
He let himself fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
EMT #3.
It wasn't glamorous.
It wasn't world-changing.
It wasn't the breakout role that would put him next to DiCaprio or Phoenix or Bale.
But it was a start.
And God, did that matter?
He spent the next hour reading the script pages repeatedly, letting the words sink into him until they felt like his own bones. He read his lines, then the cues, then the atmosphere of the scene. He imagined the set. The lights. The bustle of the ER stage. He had watched ER religiously in his first life; it had been the comfort show during the worst years of his downward spiral.
And now he was going to be part of it.
It felt surreal.
When he couldn't sit still anymore, he walked downstairs. His father was fixing something in the garage, grease on his hands, humming off-key to old rock songs.
"Dad," Ethan said quietly.
His father looked up. "Yeah?"
"I… got a part. On a show. A real one."
The wrench paused mid-air.
His father blinked, trying to process the words.
"A part? On… what show?"
"ER," Ethan said softly.
His father dropped the wrench.
"ER? Like… the ER? NBC's ER? The one your mom watches every Thursday night?"
"Yeah." Ethan nodded, smiling a little. "That one."
His father stared at him for a long moment — a very long moment — then broke into a grin so wide it looked painful.
"Son, that's… that's amazing!" He stepped forward and pulled Ethan into a hug, patting his back with sturdy, excited hands. "Jesus, Ethan, that's incredible! A real TV show! Good lord, that's my boy!"
Ethan felt something twist inside him — something emotional, something fragile. His father had never gotten to say anything like this in his first life. There had been no big wins to celebrate. No good news. No breakthroughs.
But now here they were, in a garage filled with the smell of engine oil and metal, celebrating something Ethan once believed was impossible.
His father stepped back, eyes shining.
"You worked hard, son. I'm proud of you."
Those words hit him with more force than the email had.
He tried to steady himself.
"Thanks," he whispered.
That evening, Ethan dressed carefully for dinner at the Martins' house. He put on a clean shirt, fixed his hair, checked the mirror twice to make sure he looked normal and not like someone whose life had just changed forever.
The Martins were longtime family friends, the kind who showed up for birthdays with too much food and stayed too long talking about the old neighbourhood. When Ethan arrived, the house was loud with laughter and clinking silverware.
Mrs Martin hugged him tightly. "You look handsome, sweetie!"
Mr Martin clapped him on the back. "How's school? College plans?"
Ethan opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again.
He couldn't exactly say, Actually, I'm skipping college to become one of the greatest supporting actors in Hollywood.
So he smiled.
"I'm figuring things out."
During dinner, conversations swirled around him — grades, jobs, the rising gas prices, how weird it was that people were buying DVDs now. Ethan listened quietly, but his mind wasn't in 2001 suburbia.
His mind was already on set.
He imagined the camera hovering over the hospital gurney. The director giving notes. Nurses rushing past. George Clooney wasn't on the show anymore, but Noah Wyle, Laura Innes, and Anthony Edwards were still there.
People he had admired.
People he would stand beside.
It was surreal.
He nearly jumped when his mother said, "Ethan, honey? You're quiet tonight. Everything okay?"
He blinked.
"Oh—yeah. Yeah, everything's fine."
But he could tell she sensed more.
Her eyes softened.
After dinner, while everyone else migrated to the living room, his mother pulled him aside.
"You seem… lighter today," she said. "Like something good happened."
Ethan hesitated.
Then he let himself tell her softly:
"I booked a small role on ER."
Her hands flew to her mouth.
"What?"
He nodded, and she hugged him fiercely.
"Oh, baby. That's wonderful. I'm so happy for you!"
He held her tightly, remembering how much he had missed this — not just her presence, but her genuine joy. In his old life, she had watched him break over and over, powerless to help. But now she looked at him as if he had reopened the future.
And he had.
Later that night, walking home under the suburban streetlights, Ethan felt the air shift around him. It was crisp, warm, filled with the faint hum of summer.
He whispered to himself:
"This is the beginning."
In his first life, he had never gotten a "yes" this early. Back then, everything had been struggle, rejection, heartbreak, and exhaustion. There had been no momentum, no breakthrough, no sign the universe was ever going to let him win.
But this time?
This time, the universe had cracked open.
And Ethan was stepping through.
The yes wasn't the end goal.
It wasn't even close.
But it was proof.
Proof he could change everything.
Proof his second life wasn't a cruel dream.
Proof that fate — or whatever force had sent him back — believed he still had a story worth telling.
Ethan walked the last stretch home with a smile that refused to fade.
Tomorrow, he would prepare.
Tomorrow, he would start again.
Tomorrow, he would prove he belonged in this world of shining lights and fragile dreams.
Tonight, though?
Tonight was the first yes.
And he would never forget it.