Chapter 4

Tiffany scoffed, a perfect picture of offended innocence.

"Inside your head? Sarah, are you feeling okay? Maybe your bad score affected you more than you thought."

Her friends giggled.

Chad put a protective arm around Tiffany.

"Seriously, Sarah, back off. You're just jealous because Tiff did great and you bombed."

His words were like a slap.

Jealous? After what they did to me?

The pain of his betrayal, fresh from my first life, mixed with the current insult.

It was too much.

"Chad," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "We're done."

He looked taken aback. "What? What are you talking about? We haven't been 'us' for a while, Sarah, not since you got so... intense."

He meant since I started secretly dating him, while he was already grooming Tiffany as his next step up.

"No," I said, my voice firm. "I mean we are done. You and me. This whole charade. I'm breaking up with you."

It was a symbolic gesture, as he'd already publicly discarded me in my first life, but saying it now, to his face, felt like reclaiming a tiny piece of myself.

He actually looked stunned for a moment, then he laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound.

"Break up with me? You think you're in a position to break up with anyone, Sarah? Look at you. You're falling apart."

He gestured to me, then to Tiffany, who was watching with a smug, victorious expression.

"Tiff's going places. I'm going with her. What have you got?"

That was my cue in the old life to crumble.

But this wasn't the old life.

I didn't say anything about my family's hidden wealth. Not yet. That wasn't the point.

The point was my sanity, my mother.

I just looked at him, a coldness settling in my heart where affection used to be.

"You'll see," I said softly.

I turned and walked away, leaving them sputtering.

That evening, I sat my parents down in the living room.

My mother, her face etched with worry since she' d heard about my mock SAT scores. My father, quiet, observant.

"Mom, Dad," I began, my voice trembling. "I have to tell you something. And you're going to think I'm crazy."

And then, the words poured out.

Everything.

The first life. The cheating accusations. Tiffany and Chad. The public shaming.

Grandma's cancer worsening, her death. Dad's accident while trying to clear my name.

My own descent into despair, the years of mental anguish, the final, desperate act.

And then waking up, back here, on mock SAT day.

My plan to fail. Tiffany' s impossible perfect score, mirroring my unique mistakes.

When I finished, silence filled the room.

My mother' s face was pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and horror.

My father, who I always thought of as stoic and emotionally reserved, looked utterly devastated.

He was the first to speak, his voice hoarse.

"Sarah... my little girl..."

He reached out, his hand shaking, and took mine. It was warm, strong.

"I believe you," he said, his gaze unwavering. "Every word."

My mother started to cry, soft, heartbroken sobs.

"My baby," she whispered, pulling me into a hug. "All that suffering... and we didn't know."

"But you're here now," Dad said, his voice hardening with a protective anger I' d rarely seen. "And they will not touch you. Not this time."

He stood up, pacing the room.

"This Tiffany Hayes... this Chad Wilson... they will not destroy our family again."

Then he looked at me, a new understanding in his eyes.

"There's something else you don't know, Sarah," he said. "About our family. About me."

He explained then. His tech company, a niche software firm he' d built from the ground up. The successful apps.

He wasn't just comfortably well-off. He was a millionaire. Many times over.

He' d kept it quiet, wanting me to grow up grounded, without the pressures of wealth.

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

All this time, I had no idea.

"This changes things," Dad said, a grim set to his jaw. "We have resources. We can fight this. We can find out how she's doing it."

My mother then told us she' d had a doctor's appointment that morning. A routine check-up.

They' d found a nodule on her thyroid.

Thyroid cancer.

The same diagnosis as before.

But this time, it was early. Very early.

And this time, she wouldn't have the crushing stress of my public downfall.

Her prognosis, the doctor said, was excellent. Treatable.

A wave of relief, so profound it almost buckled my knees, washed over me.

This. This was why I was back.

To save her. To save all of us.

"We'll protect you, Sarah," Dad said, his arm around Mom, both of them looking at me with fierce love. "Whatever it takes."