Chapter 2

I woke up on a Tuesday.

Specifically, the Tuesday after my twenty-ninth birthday. I knew this because a half-wilted bouquet of flowers from my husband, Mark, sat on my dresser. I remembered this day. It was the day my mother called to complain about Kevin for the third time that week.

The phone rang right on cue. I let it go to voicemail, already knowing the contents. Kevin was still unemployed, spending his days playing video games in his childhood bedroom. He refused to go on dates. He was a drain on her finances. It was the same script, a tired drama they performed daily.

I swung my legs out of bed and walked into the living room. Mark was at the kitchen counter, pouring two cups of coffee. He was the starkest contrast to my family-kind, grounded, and genuinely supportive. He looked up and smiled.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Your mom called."

"I know," I said, taking the mug from him. "Let me guess. Kevin is a national treasure who is too good for the modern workforce and the women in it."

Mark chuckled. "You nailed it. She also mentioned something about a blind date she' s trying to set him up on. A woman named Brenda."

Brenda. The name sparked a memory. In my past life, the Brenda date had been a catastrophe. Brenda was sharp and independent, and she had seen right through Kevin and Eleanor' s nonsense. The confrontation had sent Kevin into a week-long sulk, which ended with him declaring all women were harpies and he was better off alone. It was one of the first bricks in the wall of misogyny he built around himself.

An idea, cold and perfect, began to form in my mind.

Later that day, I went to my mother' s house. Just as I remembered, the scene was one of domestic tragedy. Kevin was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, screaming at a television screen. Eleanor was fluttering around him, offering snacks he waved away with an irritated grunt.

"He just has so much potential, Sarah," she said to me in a hushed, conspiratorial tone in the kitchen. "But he' s so sensitive. These modern women, they' re just too aggressive for him. They don' t appreciate a man like my Kevin."

"Maybe the problem isn' t the women, Mom," I said, keeping my tone neutral.

"Don' t you start," she snapped. "I set him up with a lovely girl, Brenda. Her mother says she' s very successful. But Kevin refuses to even call her."

Right on cue, Kevin stomped into the kitchen, having died in his game. "I' m not calling her! I saw her picture. She looks like she has opinions. I don' t want to deal with that. Why can' t I just have a kid without all the hassle? The inheritance is what matters, right? I just need to produce an heir. The rest is just noise."

His words hit me like a physical blow, an echo from the future, or rather, the past. It was the same entitled, selfish worldview that had led him to murder me. He saw women, relationships, and even his own children as nothing more than tools to get what he wanted.

The memory of my mother' s cold eyes, of the trophy in Kevin' s hand, flashed in my mind. The rage was a solid thing in my chest, but I pushed it down, transforming it into a placid, helpful expression.

"You know," I said, leaning against the counter as if a brilliant thought had just struck me. "It' s a shame you can' t just do it yourself, Kevin."

He scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, think about it," I said, weaving the web. "You' re so special. Mom always says so. Superior genes. Maybe you don' t need a woman. In this day and age, with science being what it is... who knows? Maybe there' s a way for a superior man to just... bypass the middleman."

I said it with a hint of a laugh, making it sound like a ridiculous sci-fi fantasy.

Kevin looked at me, his lazy eyes showing a flicker of interest. He was vain and stupid enough to believe he was superior. The idea would appeal directly to his ego.

He hesitated. "That' s crazy."

But it was Eleanor who took the bait. Her eyes lit up with that familiar, manic gleam of greed.

"Sarah, what are you talking about? Is that a real thing?"

"Oh, I don' t know, Mom," I said, feigning nonchalance. "I' m a bio-ethicist, not a fertility specialist. But I hear things. Experimental procedures. Very cutting-edge. Very exclusive."

"Exclusive?" Eleanor' s voice was a whisper. The word was like a drug to her.

"Of course," I said, now directing my words to Kevin, who was listening intently. "It wouldn' t be for just anyone. It would be for men who are... genetically unique. The next step, you know? A way to ensure a pure bloodline. No woman to get in the way, no divorce to split the assets, no custody battles. Just you, your son, and the inheritance. All of it."

I had tailored my pitch perfectly to their twin desires: Kevin' s god complex and Eleanor' s greed.

Kevin' s hesitation vanished, replaced by the same feverish excitement I had seen in his hospital room in my past life.

"A pure bloodline," he repeated, the words tasting sweet in his mouth. "My own heir. No woman."

Eleanor clasped her hands together, her face a mask of pure ecstasy. "Oh, Kevin! My brilliant boy! I always knew you were destined for greatness. Sarah, you have to find out more. You' re the scientist! Find a doctor who does this. Money is no object!"

The plan was set. The hook was in. They were already swimming eagerly towards the lure.

"I' ll see what I can find," I said, my voice dripping with false sincerity.

I left their house with a feeling of dark, triumphant satisfaction. They thought I was helping them achieve their twisted dream. In reality, I was just handing them the script to their own destruction. And I couldn't wait for the show to begin.

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