Chapter 2

"You should save the special film for truly important moments, Sarah," Jess said, her voice sweet, a little too eager.

Ethan nodded. "Yeah, don't waste it all tonight. Maybe your parents first, or a really special shot of yourself with the app's success."

Their words echoed from my first life, the same suggestions, the same subtle steering.

They didn't want their pictures taken with that film, not yet.

They wanted the good stuff from my loved ones, from me.

"Great idea," I said, my voice bright. "I'll do just that."

I remembered everything from before.

The way my mom, Carol, looked in that first photo, so full of life, her smile so warm. Then, the accident. The closed casket.

My dad, David, strong and kind, who loved his bookstore almost as much as us. Then, the stroke, the vacant stare in the hospital bed, the way his hand felt limp in mine.

GatherGround, my creation, my pride. The frantic calls, the news reports of the data breach, the angry users, the investors pulling out. The empty office.

And me.

The reflection in the mirror I barely recognized. The dull hair, the raw skin, the extra pounds I couldn't shed, the exhaustion that clung to me like a shroud.

I remembered Ethan' s face when he left.

"It's not you, Sarah, it's just... all this bad luck. I need someone stable."

His ambition, his opportunism, I saw it clearly now. He wasn't loyal to me, he was loyal to my success, my social standing. When that crumbled, so did his affection.

He was already looking for his next step up, and I was a weight.

I remembered seeing Jess' s posts.

Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Riley, suddenly vibrant. Mr. Riley, who' d been fading from aggressive MS, was now shown hiking. Mrs. Riley, whose life revolved around dialysis for her failing kidneys, was pictured at a family dinner, beaming, no sign of her illness.

Jess herself looked... different. Confident. Prosperous.

She posted about a "lucky break" in her photography, a "generous anonymous patron."

It was my mom's health, my dad's vitality, my company's future, my own life force, fueling their miraculous recovery, their sudden comfort.

They took it all.

And in my final moments, as that truck bore down, the fleeting spirit of me understood. The camera was the conduit. Jess gifted it, her envy a corrosive acid I' d been too blind to see. Ethan, her willing partner, eager for a share of the stolen prosperity.

My "best friend" and my "loving boyfriend."

The memory was a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

But I was back.

The music thumped. People laughed.

Jess was watching me, a small, expectant smile on her face.

Ethan squeezed my shoulder. "You okay, babe? You look a little pale."

"Just overwhelmed," I said, forcing a light laugh. "It's a lot to take in. The party, the app, this amazing gift."

I looked at the camera in my hands. It felt cold, evil.

"I need some air," I told them. "And maybe a glass of water."

I walked away, leaving them standing there, their plan just beginning, or so they thought.

I needed to think.

I needed a new plan.

My first move was simple. The next morning, I went online.

I bought an identical vintage instant camera. The same model, same look.

And several packs of perfectly ordinary instant film.

They wouldn't know the difference.