Chapter 1

I woke up young again, in my old room, the one with the faded floral wallpaper.

It was the 1980s, I could tell by the music drifting from the radio downstairs.

My name was Sarah, just turned nineteen.

The biggest thing, the thing that made my heart pound, was Mark.

Mark, my Mark.

We' d been married over seventy years in the life before this one.

A whole lifetime, side by side.

I remembered every wrinkle on his face, the way he sipped his coffee, everything.

Now, he was young too, somewhere in this small town.

My chest ached with a hopeful, familiar love.

This time, I thought, we could make it even more perfect.

Music flowed through me easier in this new life, notes and words coming to me like old friends.

My acoustic guitar felt like an extension of my soul.

Mom, she was my rock, then and now. A hardworking single mom, slinging hash at the diner, but always with a smile for me and an uncanny ability to see right through people.

Soon, I noticed things about Mark.

He was always a bit of a slacker in our last life, content with simple things.

But this new Mark, this young Mark, he was different.

He hit the books, got straight A's.

No one in his family had ever even thought about college, but Mark was suddenly talking about getting out, making something of himself.

He got a scholarship, a full ride to a state university a few hours away.

A small, cold feeling started in my stomach.

Could it be? Was he reborn too?

He never cared about academics before, never had that kind of ambition.

This Mark was aiming for a different life.

My hope flickered, but I pushed the doubt down.

He was still my Mark.

Our past life, I' d always called it our golden love story.

We met as kids, clumsy and shy.

He' d asked me to the homecoming dance after a football game. I remembered the scratchy wool of his borrowed jacket.

We married young, built a small life in this very town.

He worked at the mill, I kept house, raised our two kids.

There were hard times, sure, money was tight, arguments happened.

But through it all, I believed our love was the constant, the bedrock.

Seventy years. You don' t spend seventy years with someone without a deep, unbreakable bond.

Or so I thought.

I treasured those memories, held them close like a worn, soft blanket.

He used to say, "You're my everything, Sarah."

And I believed him with all my heart.

So, when Mark left for college, I started counting the days until his first break.

Thanksgiving, then Christmas.

He' d come home.

He' d see me.

And that spark, that recognition, it would be there.

I imagined him walking up my porch steps, a little older, a little more worldly from college, but his eyes lighting up when he saw me.

Just like that day, long ago in our past life, when he came back from a short work trip and told me he couldn' t live without me.

That' s when he' d proposed.

I pictured a similar scene, a replay of our perfect beginning.

My guitar became my confidante, songs of waiting and hoping filled my room.

Mom would listen, a soft smile on her face, but sometimes I' d catch a flicker of something else in her eyes, something I couldn' t quite name.

Worry, maybe.

But I was too lost in my dreams of reunion to pay it much mind.

He was coming home.

And everything would fall back into place.