Chapter 3

The Petersons owned a small parcel of land just outside town, unused for years.

"It's not much, Ava," Mrs. Peterson said, her hands calloused from a lifetime of work, "but if you want to try your hand at gardening, it's yours to use."

It was more than enough. With my mother's heirloom seeds, the ones Sharon had grudgingly handed over, and my grandfather's old tractor, now mine, I had a plan.

David helped me get the old tractor running. It coughed and sputtered, but the engine was sound, a testament to my grandfather's care.

I remembered the feel of the earth in my hands, the satisfaction of nurturing life from a tiny seed. My first life's knowledge was my greatest asset.

I started small, an organic vegetable garden. No pesticides, no shortcuts. Just hard work and the wisdom passed down through generations.

The unique varieties from my mother' s seeds – purple carrots, striped tomatoes, beans I hadn't seen since my first childhood – thrived under my care.

Soon, I was selling my produce at the local farmers' market.

At first, people were curious. Then, they tasted the difference. My vegetables were vibrant, flavorful, real.

"Ava's Organics" slowly became a name whispered with appreciation.

David, true to his word, was a supportive partner. He worked long hours at the auto parts plant but always found time to ask about the farm, to help with heavy lifting, his quiet pride in my efforts a balm to old wounds.

Our home was modest, but it was peaceful. A stark contrast to the chaos I knew Chloe was experiencing.

One Sunday, a family obligation forced David and me to visit my childhood home. Sharon' s home.

Chloe was there, a storm cloud in human form.

She had a fading bruise on her cheek. Mike, clearly, was not living up to her fantasy of an easy life without my guidance.

Her eyes, when they landed on me, were filled with a venom that was chillingly familiar.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. High-and-Mighty," Chloe spat, her voice loud enough for Sharon and David to hear.

Sharon shushed her, embarrassed.

Chloe ignored her, her gaze fixed on me, then flicking to David.

"Enjoying your stable foreman, Ava? Enjoy David while you can, before he ends up a cripple!"

The words hung in the air, ugly and specific.

David froze. His eyes shot to me, then to Chloe, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

He didn' t understand the reference, not fully. But the malice was unmistakable.

I felt a cold dread. Chloe wasn't just jealous. She was actively wishing for David's first-life tragedy to repeat itself.

The confrontation was brief but brutal. I stood my ground, David by my side, his hand protectively on my arm.

"Chloe," I said, my voice steady, "your bitterness is your own making. Don't project it onto us."

She just laughed, a harsh, grating sound, before storming off.

Sharon wrung her hands, offering weak apologies.

But the damage was done. Chloe had shown her hand, and David had seen a glimpse of the darkness I'd lived with.