Chapter 2

I woke up gasping.

The smell of stale lilies and cheap wood filled my nostrils.

I was in my old, lumpy bed in the trailer.

Sunlight, weak and gray, filtered through the grimy window.

"She's finally awake."

It was Mrs. Henderson, our neighbor, her voice hushed with pity.

"Poor child. Losing her parents like that. And at such a young age to be taking on her brother."

My parents.

The mine collapse.

It was the day of their supposed funeral.

My head throbbed, not from a blow, but from the impossible memory.

I sat up.

The cheap black dress I was meant to wear was laid out on the chair.

It happened.

The draft party, the revelation, the men.

I died.

And now I was back.

Back at the beginning of their lie.

A coldness settled deep in my bones. This wasn't grief. It was something else.

Something sharp.

The official story. The town's pity. It all felt like a play, and I was the only one who knew the script had been rewritten.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Henderson asked, her brow furrowed. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Just a bad dream."

But I knew.

This was no dream. This was a second chance.

And I knew exactly what I was going to do.