Chapter 1

Cold water hit my face.

I jolted awake, my cheek stinging.

Leo, my son, stood over me, a dripping glass in his hand. He looked small, maybe six or seven.

"Get up, Mom. Grandma Carol says you're lazy."

His voice was a child's, sharp and unthinking.

But I wasn't in the diner's break room. This wasn't 2005.

My head throbbed. The last thing I remembered was the filthy Philadelphia alley, the freezing rain, Amelia's smiling face.

"You were always so easy to fool, Chloe."

Then, darkness. That was 2014.

Carol Bishop, my mother-in-law, stormed in.

Her face, a mask of permanent disapproval, was younger, fewer lines than I remembered.

"Sleeping on the job again, Chloe? You think this diner runs itself?"

She snatched the few crumpled dollar bills from the table beside the lumpy sofa. My tips.

"Mark would be so ashamed of you. His hero firefighter legacy, and his wife is a bum."

Mark. My dead husband. Heroic firefighter Mark Bishop, died in a warehouse blaze in 2004.

But I knew Mark wasn't dead. I'd seen him.

I sat up, my body aching but not with the chill of near death.

This room, the faded floral wallpaper, the smell of stale grease – it was the back room of Oakhaven Eats.

My old job. A job I hadn't worked in years.

A calendar on the wall read: October 2005.

A year after Mark's supposed death. Nine years before Amelia watched me die.

The shock hit me, a cold wave, then a burning clarity.

I was back. I was alive, in the past.

The elaborate deception, Mark alive, Amelia stealing my life, Carol complicit – it wasn't just a final, taunting revelation. It was a future I had already lived and died through.

The memories flooded me, sharp and cruel.

Oakhaven, Pennsylvania, a town bleeding hope.

Me, raising Leo alone, believing Mark was a hero.

Carol's daily abuse, her stealing my meager earnings.

Leo's growing resentment, fed by Carol's poison.

Grueling hours at this very diner, my hands raw, my spirit worn thin.

Then the trip to Philadelphia, a desperate attempt to find some peace, some answers.

And finding them. Mark, alive and thriving. With Amelia.

Amelia, my adoptive sister, the quiet girl I'd tried to protect.

She had taken everything. My husband, my future, even my identity.

The alley in 2014. Rain, so cold it felt like ice.

I'd confronted them, Mark, Amelia, even Carol was there, living comfortably.

Leo, a teenager then, had looked at me with such hatred.

"You're a liar! Dad's a hero! Amelia is more of a mother to me than you ever were!"

He'd disowned me. Left me there.

Amelia had knelt beside me as I lay broken and shivering.

"He never loved you, Chloe. It was always me. I took your SAT scores, your UPenn acceptance. I even took your father's story. Captain Davis sounds so much better attached to me, don't you think?"

Her words, a final twist of the knife.

Then, the cold, the emptiness. My death.

Now, in 2005, fury replaced the remembered despair.

A cold, hard resolve settled in my chest.

I looked at Carol, her hand still clutching my tips.

"I need that money, Carol." My voice was flat, devoid of the fear she usually inspired.

She scoffed. "Need it for what? More daydreaming?"

Leo piped up, "Yeah, Mom, Grandma needs it for bills."

He was already parroting her, already on their side.

The pain of that future betrayal lanced through me, but I pushed it down.

This time, things would be different.

I remembered how Carol always had an excuse for Mark's "hero fund" contributions never quite adding up.

How she'd always find ways to take any extra cash I made.

It wasn't just about her being greedy. She was actively supporting their new life in Philadelphia.

She knew Mark was alive. She was part of it from the start.

My earnings weren't just paying Oakhaven bills; they were funding their comfort while I starved.

The bitterness was a familiar taste.

I stood up, my legs a little shaky, but my gaze firm.

"I'm going to Philadelphia," I announced.

Carol's eyes narrowed. "Philadelphia? What for?"

"To apply for firefighter widow benefits," I said, the lie smooth on my tongue. "And to talk to the city. Mark died because of unsafe conditions. They need to answer for that."

It was a reckless plan, but it was a start. I needed to get to them.

This time, I wouldn't be a grieving, broken victim.

This time, I knew the truth. And I would make them pay.

Carol's expression shifted from suspicion to a flicker of something else. Greed?

"Benefits? There might be something in that," she mused, almost to herself.

Then, looking at me, "You can't go alone. You'll mess it up."

"I'm taking Leo," I said, my mind racing. He was a child now. Maybe I could still save him from their influence. Or, more cynically, he was my ticket. My grieving widow act would be more convincing with a fatherless child.

Carol looked surprised. "Leo? Why him?"

"He's Mark's son. They need to see the child whose father they let die."

It was a calculated move. A piece of the strategy forming in my mind.

Carol, after a moment, nodded slowly. "Fine. But don't you dare make a fool of yourself."

I wouldn't. Not this time.