Chapter 1

Ava Rodriguez gasped for air. Her chest tightened, a vise crushing her lungs.

Leo, her six-year-old, watched, his small face pale with terror. "Mommy?"

She fumbled for her EpiPen, her vision blurring. Anaphylactic shock. Fast.

"Call... Mark," she choked out. "Nine... one... one."

Leo, bless his brave heart, grabbed her phone. His tiny fingers fumbled with the screen.

He pressed the call button for Mark.

"Daddy! Mommy can't breathe! She looks really bad!" Leo cried into the phone.

Mark's voice came through, distant, annoyed. "She's probably just having a panic attack, Leo. Give her the EpiPen. I'm at a networking thing with Chloe. I'll be home soon."

"No, Daddy! It's serious! She said call 911!"

"Okay, okay, I'll call an ambulance for her," Mark said, but his tone was dismissive.

A few minutes later, as Ava drifted in a haze of pain, Mark called back. Leo put the phone to her ear.

"Ava? Listen, Chloe tripped. Twisted her ankle real bad. The ambulance I called for you, I'm diverting it to her. She's closer, and she's in a lot of pain. You just use your EpiPen, you'll be fine."

Ava's world fractured. Chloe. Always Chloe.

Leo, hearing this, screamed. "No! Mommy needs help!" He dropped the phone and bolted for the door, probably trying to get Mrs. Henderson next door.

A horn blared. A sickening thud.

Ava, through the fog, heard a different kind of scream, not Leo's.

Then, silence.

Her own breath hitched, a final, ragged gasp. Her spirit felt like it was tearing away, floating above.

She saw Leo. Lying on the street. Still.

Paramedics were suddenly there, working on her, then rushing to Leo. Too late.

The image burned into her soul: Leo, small and broken, because Mark chose Chloe.

Devastation. A word too small. Horror. Grief. Guilt that she couldn't save him.

Her heart, or what was left of it, shattered into a million pieces.

She watched, a ghost in her own tragedy, as they covered Leo with a sheet.

Mark. This was his fault. His neglect. His monstrous selfishness.

Chloe. That woman.

If she had another chance. If she could go back.

She would never let Mark Thompson into her life. She would protect Leo.

She would make them pay.

The pain was absolute. A bitter, consuming regret.

"Mark," her spirit whispered, a vow of cold fury, "if there's a next life, I will never know you."

Ava's eyes snapped open.

She was on her living room floor. Her chest ached, but she could breathe.

Her hands trembled. She touched her throat. No swelling.

Leo.

She scrambled up, her heart pounding. "Leo!"

He ran in from his room, eyes wide. "Mommy? You okay? You were making funny noises."

She grabbed him, hugged him so tight he squeaked. Alive. He was alive.

Her eyes, she knew, were probably bloodshot. Her hands still shook.

The memory of the street, the thud, the sheet... it was too real.

She looked at the calendar on the wall. Today's date. The same day.

It hadn't happened yet.

A miracle. A terrifying, second chance.

Disorientation warred with a fierce, protective determination.

She would not let that future happen.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. A notification. Instagram.

Chloe Davis.

Ava's blood ran cold. She picked it up, her finger hovering over the app.

She had to know.

Chloe's story: a lavish dinner. Mark, smiling beside her.

And on Chloe's hand, a new, glittering ring. A "promise ring."

The caption: "Building a future with someone who truly sees my potential. So grateful for his support in launching my wellness brand! #NewBeginnings #SupportSystem."

The date stamp on the post: last night.

Renewed pain. Anger. Disgust.

He was already "building a future" with Chloe while married to her, while Leo was alive and well.

How could he? How could any man be so devoid of basic decency?

The key turned in the lock. Mark walked in, whistling.

He stopped when he saw her face.

"Hey, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He smelled faintly of Chloe's cloying perfume. A smudge of lipstick, not her shade, was on his collar. He was always so careless.

"You're overreacting," he'd always say. That was his favorite phrase. It grated on her nerves, a physical aversion.

"Mark," Ava began, her voice tight. "We need to talk."

"If I told you I almost died today, Mark, and Leo almost died, because you were with Chloe, what would you say?" Ava asked, her voice dangerously calm.

He frowned. "What are you talking about? That's a crazy thing to say. Are you feeling okay?"

She saw the blankness in his eyes. The utter lack of comprehension.

He wouldn't get it. He would never get it.

The weariness was a heavy cloak. The bitterness, a familiar taste.

She had wasted years.

"I want a divorce, Mark," she said, the words tasting like freedom.