Chapter 2

The next ten years were a blur of hard work and quiet purpose. Gabby and I got married in a small, simple ceremony at the courthouse. It was awkward at first. We were two people bound by grief and a shared responsibility. We were living in the same house, raising a baby, but we were strangers.

Then, the unthinkable happened again.

Little A.J. died. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. The doctors said there was nothing anyone could have done. It was the same silent tragedy that had struck in my first life, but back then, my grief for Nicole was so overwhelming that the second loss barely registered as a separate event. It was just one giant, suffocating cloud of pain.

This time, I was clear-headed. And I had Gabby. We held each other through the funeral, a tiny casket this time. Our shared sorrow became the unexpected foundation of our relationship. The awkwardness between us melted away, replaced by a deep, unspoken understanding.

A year later, Matthew was born. Our son. He was a bright, curious baby from the start.

With my knowledge of the future, I made small, smart moves. I knew a local strip mall was going to be redeveloped, so I bought the cheap garage at the end of it before the news broke. I poured my savings into expanding my auto repair shop, hiring two more mechanics. I invested in a tech stock I remembered hearing about on the news just before it took off. It wasn't a lottery win, just enough to be comfortable, to be secure.

We weren't rich, but we were stable. Prosperous, for our small Pennsylvania town.

Gabby turned our house into a home. She was the opposite of her sister-loyal, kind, and completely without pretense. Our marriage, born from a desperate arrangement, became real. I fell in love with her quiet strength, her easy laugh, the way she loved Matthew with a fierce, protective energy.

All our extra money went into Matthew's education. He devoured books. He built complex machines out of scrap parts from my shop. He was special, and we knew it.

When he was nine, he took an entrance exam for a special program at Carnegie Mellon University. A few weeks later, a letter arrived. He had been accepted with a full scholarship.

The local paper ran a small story: "Local Boy, 9, Headed to Carnegie Mellon." They took a picture of the three of us, smiling, in front of my thriving shop, "Clark & Son's Auto."

I framed the article and hung it in my office. It was a testament to our new life. But I also knew it was a beacon. It was shining a light, calling the ghosts from the past right to our doorstep. I was ready for them.