Chapter 1

The smell of antiseptic was the last thing I remembered, a clean, sharp scent that couldn't cover the rot inside me. In my other life, the one that ended in blood and despair, I died in a hospital bed that wasn't paid for. Dr. Evans had given me the news with a practiced sadness in his eyes, late-stage cancer, a battle I might have fought if I'd had the money. But I had no money. I had no insurance.

My mother, Sarah, had cried. Her tears looked real. She held my hand, her skin soft, and told me they had always taken care of everything. "Don't you worry, sweetie," she had said, "We'll figure it out."

They didn't. They couldn't. Because they were the ones who had done it. For years, I had transferred money to them, a generous portion of my marketing executive salary, for my health insurance, for their mortgage, for anything they asked for. I was the good daughter, the successful one. They promised they were paying the premiums. They lied. The money was gone, and so was my future. The last conversation I had with them was a screaming match in their perfect, renovated living room, the one I had paid for. That was when my father, Robert, finally broke and told me about the boy, Liam. Their son. The son they adopted in secret, the son they had funneled all my money to, building a new family on the foundation of my slow death.

The betrayal was so total, so absolute, it broke something in my mind. I remember the weight of the kitchen knife in my hand, the coldness of it. I remember my mother' s scream and my father' s shocked face. Then, nothing. That was the end of that story.

But then, I blinked.

Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window, warm on my face. My husband, David, was sleeping peacefully beside me, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The air was still. My body felt... healthy. There was no dull ache in my bones, no fatigue clinging to me like a wet coat. I looked at the calendar on my nightstand. June 14th. A full year before Dr. Evans would deliver my death sentence.

A shudder went through me, so violent it almost shook the bed. It wasn't a dream. The memories were too clear, the smell of blood too real in my mind. I had a second chance. A terrifying, undeserved second chance.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I had to breathe. In and out. I slipped out of bed, my feet silent on the hardwood floor, and walked to the window. The world outside was bright and ordinary. Cars drove by. A neighbor was watering his lawn. Life was happening, and this time, I was going to be in it.

The first choice. The one that changed everything. In my past life, I ignored the renewal notice from the insurance company that came in the mail yesterday. I had tossed it on the counter, assuming my parents would handle it like always. I had trusted them.

This time, I would not.

I walked into the kitchen. The letter was right where I remembered it, a crisp white envelope on the granite countertop. My hands trembled as I picked it up. This time, I would handle it myself. This simple act felt like an earthquake.

I took my phone and stepped out onto the back porch. The morning air was cool. I needed to do this now, before I lost my nerve. I dialed my mother' s number.

She picked up on the second ring, her voice syrupy sweet. "Chloe, honey! What a nice surprise to hear from you this early."

"Hi, Mom," I said, my own voice sounding strange and distant. "I'm calling about the health insurance."

I braced for the questions, the protests, the gentle manipulation. 'Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about that, we've got it.' That' s what she should have said.

But she didn't. There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause on the other end of the line. "Oh," she said, and the single word was filled with something I couldn't place. Relief? "Oh, okay, honey. If you want to take care of that yourself, that's perfectly fine. It will certainly take a load off our minds."

I was so stunned I couldn't speak. This wasn't right. It was too easy. My mind raced, trying to understand this new development. In my memory, she had insisted, claiming it was no bother at all. The script was wrong.

"Actually, Chloe," she continued, her voice regaining its usual warmth, "since you called, your father and I were just talking. We're thinking of doing a little work on the house, redoing the kitchen. Things are a bit tight right now, and we were wondering if you could help us out. Maybe twenty thousand? It would just be a loan, of course."

There it was. The hook. The financial request, coming right on the heels of my decision. It was so transparent now, so disgustingly clear. They didn't care about the insurance because they were already in trouble. They needed cash.

In my old life, I would have said yes without a second thought. I would have felt proud to be able to help. But I wasn't that person anymore.

"Sure, Mom," I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "I'll transfer the money today."

"Oh, thank you, sweetie! You're the best daughter a mother could ask for. We love you so much."

The line went dead. I stood on the porch, my phone clutched in my hand, a cold dread seeping into my bones. Her easy agreement wasn't a good sign, it was a confirmation. They were already deep in their lies. I had just bought myself a ticket to the truth. I watched an imaginary car, their car, drive away in my mind, leaving me alone with a secret that was only just beginning to unravel. The sun was rising, but my world felt darker than ever.