Chapter 2

I walked back inside, the floorboards cold under my feet. David was still asleep. I looked at his face, the peaceful expression, the complete trust. A wave of guilt washed over me. I was living in a nightmare he knew nothing about, and I didn't know how to tell him without sounding insane. 'Honey, I think I died and came back to life, and by the way, my parents are trying to kill me.'

I needed to know what he knew, if anything.

Later that morning, over coffee, I tried to be casual. "I spoke to my mom this morning," I said, watching his face for any reaction.

He took a sip of his coffee. "Oh yeah? How are they?"

"They're fine. They're thinking of renovating the kitchen."

"Again?" David raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they just do that a few years ago?"

"I guess they want something new," I said, shrugging. "Anyway, I told her I was going to start handling my own health insurance from now on."

I held my breath. This was the test.

David just nodded, his expression unchanged. "Good. It's probably for the best. You know how they can be about details. It'll be easier if you just manage it yourself." He reached across the small table and squeezed my hand. "Are you okay? You seem a little on edge."

His reaction was so normal, so perfectly supportive. It was exactly what a loving husband would say. And it terrified me. His calmness made my horrific memories feel like a delusion. For a moment, a sliver of doubt slid into my heart. What if I was wrong? What if it was all just a stress-induced nightmare, a product of my high-pressure job? Maybe my parents were just a little flaky, a little needy, but not monsters.

I forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind with the new campaign at work."

He accepted it easily, his trust in me as solid and unquestioning as ever. That trust, which used to be my comfort, now felt like a heavy weight. I was deceiving him, too, just by staying silent. The confusion churned in my stomach. I felt lost, questioning the one thing that felt absolutely real: the memory of my own death.

Later that day, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my mother.

'Thank you so much for the money, honey! You are our angel. The work has already started! So exciting! We love you!'

Attached was a photo. It was a blurry picture of a half-demolished kitchen cabinet, a crowbar leaning against the wall. It was meant to be proof, a quick snapshot to show her gratefulness. But my eyes snagged on something in the corner of the frame, partially hidden behind a dusty tarp.

It was a small, bright blue plastic dinosaur.

My blood ran cold. It wasn't an old toy from my childhood, forgotten in a corner. It was a 'Dino-Mite,' from a popular kids' show that had only started airing six months ago. I knew because my firm had handled the initial marketing launch. It was a toy for a toddler, a little boy's toy.

My parents didn't have any toddlers in their lives. They had no grandchildren. Their friends' grandchildren were all grown. There was absolutely no reason for that toy to be in their house.

Unless Liam already existed.

The doubt vanished, replaced by a cold, hard certainty. The memory was real. It was all real. And it was happening again, right now. The picture wasn't a thank you note, it was a mistake. A crack in their perfect facade.

My hands were steady now. The confusion was gone, replaced by a clear, sharp purpose. I couldn't just wait for the truth to come to me this time. I had to go to it. I had to see it with my own eyes.

I texted David. 'Hey, change of plans for the weekend. I think I'm going to drive up and surprise my parents. Check on the renovation.'

I would go there. I would walk into that house, and I would find out what that little blue dinosaur was doing there. The hunt had begun.