Chapter 2

The next day, the consequences of my choice became the talk of the town. Sarah wasn't bailed out. She spent the night in a holding cell and was charged with misdemeanor assault and disturbing the peace from the bar fight. It wasn't a huge crime, but in our small town, it was a scandal.

Because I hadn't intervened, Mark hadn't been placated. He didn't step in to "fix" things for her. She was on her own, truly on her own, for the first time.

The narrative quickly formed, and I was cast as the villain.

"Did you hear about Alex?" I heard someone whisper at the grocery store. "He just left her there. After all those years."

"I always thought he was such a nice boy. Guess you never know."

"Poor Sarah. She must be devastated. He just dropped her when she needed him most."

My parents were worried, asking if I was okay, if I was sure about my decision. I just nodded and told them not to worry. I was focused. I sent in my application to my first-choice university, the one I'd given up on last time. I started outlining a software project I'd been dreaming of for years. I was building my new life, brick by brick, while the echoes of my old one tried to tear it down.

A week later, Sarah was out, bailed out by her parents who had to scrape the money together. I knew a confrontation was coming. I was walking home from the library when I saw her waiting for me at the end of my street.

She looked different. Harder. The soft victimhood she usually wore was replaced by a sharp, simmering anger.

"You," she said, her voice low.

"Sarah," I acknowledged, stopping a few feet away.

"You left me in there," she said, her voice rising. "You left me in a cell. Do you know what that was like?"

"You put yourself there," I said calmly.

"No!" she screamed, and her composure finally broke. "You did! You knew what would happen! You knew!"

I froze. The way she said it... you knew. It wasn't a normal accusation. It was something more.

Her eyes bored into mine, and a wild, terrifying realization dawned on her face, and then on mine.

"You remember," I whispered, the words barely audible.

A hysterical laugh escaped her lips. It was a raw, ugly sound. "Oh, I remember. I remember everything. I remember twenty years of you holding me back, of you smothering me with your 'kindness.' I remember you getting in the way of me and Mark."

My world tilted on its axis. She was reborn, too. This wasn't just me trying to escape a traumatic past. She had lived that life, seen how it ended, and she was... choosing it again?

"And I remember how you died," she added, her voice dropping to a malicious whisper. "Begging for me to help you."

The air went out of my lungs. The confirmation was a physical blow. She wasn't just a victim of her own bad choices. She was an active participant. She had seen the ultimate destination of the path she was on, and she was sprinting toward it with her eyes wide open.

"So you know what Mark is," I said, my voice flat. "You know what he does. What he did to me."

"Mark loves me," she insisted, her eyes shining with a fanatic's zeal. "He protects me. What happened to you... that was your own fault. You shouldn't have provoked him."

I felt a strange, cold calm settle over me. The last vestiges of any lingering pity or confusion vanished. It was all so simple now. This wasn't a tragedy. It was a choice. Her choice.

"Okay," I said.

She blinked, thrown off by my simple acceptance. "Okay? That's it? You're not going to try and 'save' me? You're not going to fight for me?"

"No," I said, and I meant it more than I had ever meant anything in either of my lives. "I'm not. Your life is your own, Sarah. Good luck with it."

I started to walk away.

"You're doing this because you still love me!" she screamed at my back. "This is all some twisted game to get my attention!"

I didn't turn around. I just kept walking.

That night, I couldn't sleep. The memory of my death played in my mind, but this time, it was different. It wasn't just a haze of pain. It was a crystal-clear documentary of my own foolishness.

I remembered the years leading up to it. Sarah's constant drama. Me, always swooping in. Her son, Daniel-Mark's son-looking at me with a detached coolness he learned from his father. I remembered spending my life's savings on her failed businesses, on Mark's legal troubles, on a house she never made a home.

I remembered the final confrontation. It wasn't about me provoking Mark. It was about me finally saying "no." I had discovered Mark was using one of my company's software loopholes for a money-laundering scheme. I was going to report him. I told Sarah first, naively believing she would finally see the light.

Instead, she called him. She told him everything. She led me to that warehouse under the pretense of talking things out.

She stood there, holding her son's hand, and watched Mark's men hold me down.

"He's not your father, Daniel," she had told the boy, her voice clear and steady as I bled on the floor. "Mark is your father. Remember that. We protect our family."

The memory didn't hurt anymore. It was just data. It was the reason. It was the justification for every "no" I would ever say to her again. My past wasn't a wound. It was a lesson. And I had finally learned it.