Chapter 1

I died from a brain aneurysm, triggered by the shock of my life falling apart.

One moment, I was a widow grieving my husband, Ethan. The next, his ex-girlfriend, Jessica, was on my doorstep with a little boy and a marriage certificate that predated mine.

Ethan was a bigamist.

The house, the money, everything I thought was ours, was legally hers. I was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on my back and the permanent limp I got from saving his life. The shame and the betrayal were too much. Then, blackness.

I woke up with a gasp, the floral pattern of my bedroom wallpaper sharp and clear. My leg throbbed with a familiar, deep ache, but my heart pounded with a terror that was brand new.

The date on the calendar read August 14th, 1992.

The day before my wedding.

I was alive. I was back.

The bedroom door opened and Ethan walked in, his handsome face tight with annoyance. He was an engineer from a rich family, a world away from my small Appalachian town. He was only here to oversee the mine' s closure.

"Sarah, we need to talk," he said, not meeting my eyes.

In my first life, I' d been so eager to please him, so grateful for his attention. Now, I saw the weakness in his jaw, the self-interest in his eyes.

"My aunt called," he continued, pacing the small room. "She pulled some strings and got that receptionist job for you at the city office."

I remembered this. It was my ticket out of this dead-end town, a lifeline.

"But," he said, finally stopping to look at me, "I think we should give it to Jessica."

My breath caught. Jessica. His ex. The woman who had followed him here, claiming to be a recent, heartbroken divorcée.

"She' s all alone, Sarah. She' s vulnerable. She needs it more than you do. You' ll have me to take care of you."

In my first life, I screamed. I cried. I accused him of still loving her. I fought for that job, and I lost. The fight created a rift between us that never healed. It was the first of many sacrifices I made for him.

This time, I looked at him, my expression unreadable. The memories of my death, of his son with another woman, of being left with nothing, were a cold, hard stone in my chest.

I nodded slowly.

"Okay, Ethan."

He stopped, his mouth slightly open. He was prepared for a fight, for tears, for a storm of emotion. He didn't know what to do with my calm agreement.

"Okay?" he repeated, confused. "Just like that?"

"Yes," I said, my voice even. "If Jessica needs it more, she should have it. You're right. She' s had a hard time."

I watched the surprise on his face turn into a smug satisfaction. He thought he had won so easily. He thought I was being selfless, dutiful.

He had no idea.

He smiled, a relieved, patronizing smile that made my stomach turn. "I knew you'd understand, Sarah. You have such a good heart."

He came over to hug me, but I shifted, my leg giving a sharp twinge. "I'm just a little tired, Ethan. The pain is acting up today."

He backed away immediately, his concern as shallow as a puddle. "Of course. You rest. I'll go tell Jessica the good news. She'll be so grateful."

He left the room, whistling.

I stared at the closed door, my hands clenched into fists. I had given him the job, the argument, everything he wanted.

And in doing so, I had just taken my first real step toward my own freedom. This time, I wasn't choosing him. I was choosing me.