Chapter 3

Panic clawed at my throat.

I ran outside, screaming her name.

The street was quiet, neighbors peeking from windows.

"Emily! Emily!"

A cold dread, sickeningly familiar, washed over me.

The park.

I ran. Faster than I thought possible.

The park pond.

Just like before.

And there, a small crowd was gathering.

Police cars, lights flashing.

I pushed through.

And saw her.

A small, still form by the water's edge.

My Emily.

A guttural sob tore from my chest.

No. Not again. Please, God, not again.

Then Mark arrived, Carol, his mother, beside him.

Their faces were masks of horror.

Mark saw me, saw Emily.

His face contorted with a rage I'd never seen.

"You!" he screamed, lunging at me.

His fist connected with my jaw.

Pain exploded, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my heart.

Carol was screaming, incoherent.

"She did it! She killed her own daughter!"

The crowd murmured, phones out, recording.

Social media would have a field day. Again.

Detective Reynolds, his face grim, approached me.

The same detective.

"Sarah Miller," he said, his voice flat. "We have security footage."

He held up a tablet.

The screen showed the park.

A woman. Me.

Leading Emily to the pond.

Pushing her.

The same footage. The exact same impossible footage.

"How?" I whispered, my mind reeling. "How is this happening again?"

Reynolds didn't answer. He just looked at me with cold, hard eyes.

"You're under arrest for the murder of Emily Miller."