Chapter 1

Ethan Miller' s eyes snapped open.

The ceiling was unfamiliar, a cheap motel kind of white. Sunlight, harsh and unwelcome, sliced through a gap in the thin curtains.

A car horn blared outside.

"Are you going to sleep all day, Ethan?"

The voice was sharp, impatient. Chloe' s voice.

He turned his head.

She stood by the window, arms crossed, already dressed. Chloe. But not the Chloe he knew. Not the tired, thirty-something woman whose eyes held a decade of quiet disappointment.

This Chloe was twenty-two, vibrant, her dark hair pulled back in a careless ponytail. The faded band t-shirt and ripped jeans were an old memory.

A memory from ten years ago.

The image of twisted metal, shattering glass, Chloe' s hand pushing him hard, her face a mask of terror for him, not herself – it seared through his mind.

Then the hospital, the beeping machines, the doctor' s grave face. "She didn' t make it, Mr. Miller. She saved you."

Grief, raw and suffocating, clawed at his throat. He was here. Ten years ago. The day they were supposed to elope.

Chloe sighed, tapping her foot. "Seriously, are you sick or something? You' ve been staring at the wall for five minutes."

Her disdain was familiar. It was the background music of their last few years together. But seeing it on this young face, before all the damage was done, it felt different. Sharper.

"Chloe," he managed, his voice raspy.

She raised an eyebrow. "What? Did you forget my name?"

He sat up, the cheap bedspread scratching his skin. "No. I just... I remember."

"Remember what? That we' re supposed to be in Somerville by noon to get this over with?" she asked, her tone laced with bitterness. "Don' t worry, I haven' t forgotten our little arrangement."

He looked at her, really looked at her. The fire in her eyes was for Ryan Peterson, her supposed true love. He knew that now. He hadn' t understood it then, not fully.

"Chloe, about this elopement..." he started.

"What about it?" she cut him off. "Second thoughts? Don' t tell me you' re backing out now. My parents would have a field day, and frankly, I don' t need more drama."

She thought he was still the passive, insecure kid from back then, easily swayed by her parents, by her.

"Do you even want to marry me, Chloe?" he asked, the question blunt, stripped of any pretense.

She scoffed. "Does it matter what I want? This whole thing is a setup. My parents want me with someone 'stable' like you. You get their approval, maybe a foot in the door with my dad' s company. I get... well, I get to stop hearing about how Ryan is going to ruin my life."

Her words were like ice picks, but he felt a strange calm. He knew this already. He' d lived through ten years of it.

"You love Ryan," he stated, not a question.

Chloe' s eyes narrowed. "What' s it to you? Ryan understands me. He gets my music. You... you' re just what my parents ordered." She glanced at her phone, a small, hopeful smile touching her lips for a fraction of a second. Ryan' s picture was probably her wallpaper.

"So, if you had a choice, a real choice, you' d be with him?" Ethan pressed.

"Of course, I would!" she snapped, then her expression turned wary. "Why are you asking all this now? Trying to get me to say I don' t want to marry you so you can play the good guy and call it off? Save it, Ethan. We have a deal. Let' s just get to Nevada, sign the papers, and go back to pretending this is what we both want."

Their original plan, the one that led to a decade of misery for her and a slow, eroding guilt for him. The elopement was her parents' idea of a compromise after she' d threatened to run off with Ryan. They saw Ethan as the lesser evil, someone manageable. They thought a quick, out-of-state marriage would solidify things before Chloe could change her mind or Ryan could mess things up further.

He remembered the drive. The silence. Her looking out the window, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek when she thought he wasn' t looking.

He remembered their wedding night. Separate beds in another cheap motel.

He remembered the years that followed: her polite detachment, his desperate attempts to connect, the growing chasm between them. Her music career, sacrificed for a business degree she hated, then a job at her father' s firm. Her resentment, a constant, simmering presence.

And then the accident. Her scream. Her sacrifice.

His fault. All of it.

He' d woken up in the hospital days later, a doctor telling him about the coma, the vivid dream state. And then, a chillingly clear memory, or instruction, had surfaced from the depths of his unconscious: "Thirty-six hours. Her three deepest regrets. Fix them, or she stays dead. And you might not wake up."

He looked at Chloe, her young face set in lines of defiance and unhappiness. This was his chance. Not for himself, but for her.

"Okay," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Let' s go."

Chloe looked suspicious. "Just like that? No more weird questions?"

"No more questions," Ethan confirmed. He had answers now, terrible ones.

He got out of bed, his mind racing. The first regret, the one that echoed through all the others: marrying him. He had to stop it, but not in a way that made her hate him more, or that played into her parents' hands.

He saw her small suitcase by the door. His own duffel bag lay beside it.

He walked into the tiny bathroom, splashed cold water on his face. Looking in the mirror, he saw his younger self, but his eyes held the weariness of a man ten years older, a man who had lost everything.

He had to make her believe he was still the same insecure Ethan, at least for a little while longer.

When he came out, Chloe was on her phone, her back to him. He could hear the low murmur of her voice, softer now, almost tender. Ryan.

"Yeah, I' m on my way... No, he' s just being Ethan... Don' t worry, it' ll be fine... I miss you too."

She hung up, her expression softening for a moment before she turned and saw him. The mask of indifference slammed back into place.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Almost," Ethan said. He walked over to his duffel bag, rummaged inside, and pulled out a small, official-looking document. It was a pre-filled marriage license application for Clark County, Nevada, which they were supposed to complete and file. Her parents' lawyer had prepared it. All it needed were their signatures and a few final details.

He picked up a pen from the cheap motel desk.

Chloe watched him, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. Maybe she thought he was finally going to commit, to sign his name and seal their fate.

He looked at the line for "Groom' s Name." Ethan Miller.

Then he looked at the line for "Bride' s Name." Chloe Davis.

With a steady hand, fueled by a grief so profound it felt like a physical weight, and a love that now demanded the ultimate sacrifice, he made an alteration.

He carefully, neatly, crossed out "Ethan Miller."

In its place, he wrote "Ryan Peterson."

He left the bride' s name untouched. Chloe Davis.

He knew it was a crazy, desperate move. He didn' t know if it would work, or what the immediate consequences would be. But it was a start. A way to address her first, most fundamental regret.

He folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"Okay," he said, turning to her with a manufactured calm. "I' m ready now."