Chapter 1

The scream died in my throat, a ghost of a sound from a life already lost.

My eyes snapped open.

Sunlight, weak autumn sunlight, filtered through the bedroom curtains.

Not the blinding white of a blizzard. Not the suffocating dark of a snow-choked grave.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum against the silence.

I was in my bed. Michael, my husband, slept beside me, his breathing even.

Down the hall, Lily, my five-year-old, would be stirring, ready for cartoons and pancakes.

But the memories, they weren't a dream.

The ice-cold dread was too real. Lily' s small, still face. Michael' s broken body in the snow. The snarling faces of Frank, Brenda, Billy, and Jimmy.

And Jessie. My adopted daughter, Jessie, siding with them.

It had all happened. It was all going to happen.

Today.

The thought hit me like a physical blow. Today was the day the blizzard warnings began. The day Jessie first whined about wanting to see her "real" family.

A tremor went through me. I was back.

I swung my legs out of bed, my movements stiff.

Downstairs, I heard it. Jessie's voice, already sharp with entitlement.

"Mom! Are you even awake? I need to pack!"

I walked to the top of the stairs. Jessie, eighteen and radiating impatience, stood in the foyer, surrounded by open suitcases. Designer bags Sarah had bought her.

She was stuffing my expensive cashmere sweaters into one.

"Jessie," I said. My voice was flat, devoid of the warmth it held in that other life.

She looked up, annoyed. "Finally. I need those new boots you got, the ones I haven't worn yet. And the good camera. My family doesn't have nice things, you know. I want to bring them stuff."

Her "poor" biological parents. Neglectful, crude, users.

"And I need cash," she continued, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "At least five hundred. For travel and, you know, spending money for them."

She gestured vaguely. "You have plenty."

In my first life, I would have fussed, trying to make sure she had everything, trying to buy her affection, her loyalty.

Now, all I felt was a cold, hard resolve.

"Of course, honey," I said, the endearment tasting like ash. "Your filial piety is admirable."

The irony was lost on her. Her eyes lit up. "So you'll give me the money? And the good stuff?"

"Everything you need," I promised.

Everything she deserved.