Chapter 1

I woke up young again, in 1983.

My old life, over thirty years with Mark, our theater supply company, it all felt like a vivid dream I just surfaced from.

The air in my childhood bedroom in Brattleboro, Vermont, smelled the same, that mix of old wood and my mother' s potpourri.

My first thought was Mark.

He had to be here too, somewhere. We died together, a stupid car accident on a snowy road. If I was back, he had to be.

Hope, sharp and sudden, filled my chest. We could do it all again, maybe better this time.

The community center dance. That' s where we first met, clumsy teenagers fumbling through a slow song.

I had to go. I had to find him.

I found a dress in the closet, something vaguely eighties, and rushed out.

The gym was noisy, streamers hanging, a local band playing a passable cover of a Journey song.

My eyes scanned every face, my heart thumping against my ribs.

Then I saw him.

Mark.

Younger, yes, but unmistakably him. His dark hair, the way he held his shoulders.

He walked in, and for a second, our eyes met.

Or I thought they did.

A wave of relief washed over me, so strong I almost stumbled.

He was here.

He started walking, not towards me, but deeper into the crowd.

My smile froze.

He moved with a confidence I didn' t remember from his youth, or even much of our later years.

He walked right past me, so close I could have reached out and touched his arm.

He didn' t even glance my way.

He stopped in front of Tiffany Hayes.

Tiffany, the golden girl of Brattleboro, daughter of the man who owned half the businesses in town. Pretty, popular, and always a little out of reach for most of us.

Mark smiled at her, a charming, practiced smile I' d rarely seen directed at me in three decades.

"Tiffany," he said, his voice smooth. "Would you like to dance?"

Tiffany giggled, a light, airy sound.

"I'd love to, Mark."

They moved onto the dance floor.

I stood there, rooted to the spot. The music, the laughter, it all faded into a dull roar.

It wasn't just that he didn't recognize me.

He had chosen someone else.

Instantly.

The hope that had soared moments before crashed, leaving a hollow ache. This wasn't a new beginning with him.

This was something else entirely.

Something I hadn't prepared for.

My past life, our shared history, it meant nothing to him now.

Or worse, he remembered it and was actively choosing to discard it.

The realization was a cold shock, settling deep in my bones.

He was changing his path.

And I wasn't on it.