Chapter 2

The drive to our new home was silent. It was a spacious, modern house in a quiet, affluent suburb, a place chosen for us by Thompson' s agency, I now realized. It was meant to look perfect, the home of a brilliant astrophysicist and his elegant wife. In my first life, I had tried so hard to fill the silence, to make this house a home. I' d talk about my day, about the stars, about anything to get a reaction from Sophia. I usually failed. This time, I didn' t bother.

I carried my bags to the guest room. It was a large, comfortable room, but its purpose was clear. Separation.

Sophia stood in the hallway, watching me. "What are you doing? That' s the guest room."

"It' s my room," I said without looking at her. "This is a business arrangement, a matter of national security. We don' t need to pretend when we' re alone. You have your mission, and I have my work. Let' s keep it professional."

I saw a flicker of something in her eyes-surprise, maybe even a hint of hurt-but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She just nodded, a single, sharp movement. "Fine."

The next few weeks fell into a strange, tense routine. I threw myself into my work at the observatory. The Manticore Project was my sanctuary. Staring into the deep black of space, mapping the faint whispers of distant galaxies, I could almost forget the hollow reality of my life on Earth. My knowledge from the future gave me an edge. I knew which theories would pan out, which celestial events were coming. I solved complex equations that had baffled me for years in my previous life. My colleagues were amazed. They called my progress a breakthrough, a stroke of genius. For me, it was just memory.

I avoided Sophia as much as possible. We were two ghosts haunting the same beautiful, empty house. We had breakfast at opposite ends of a long dining table, the clink of silverware the only sound. We passed in the hallways with polite, empty nods. It was a cold war fought with silence. It was, I had to admit, less painful than the one-sided effort of my first life. There was no hope, and therefore, no disappointment.

One evening, I was working late in my home office, reviewing a data stream from the Arecibo telescope. The door was slightly ajar. I heard Sophia' s voice from the living room. It was low, but I could hear the urgency in it. She was on the phone.

"The asset is getting restless," she said. "He' s pushing for more access. He mentions Miller' s project constantly. I think he' s getting suspicious of our arrangement."

The asset. Liam Carter. And he was interested in my work. A cold chill ran down my spine. Thompson' s words came back to me: Your work has... applications.

"I' m managing it," Sophia continued. "I' ll meet with him tomorrow. The park, a public place. I can keep him calm. But Thompson needs to give me more latitude. I can' t keep him at arm' s length forever without blowing my cover."

A pause. "I know it' s a risk. But it' s the only way. I have it under control."

She hung up. I sat frozen in my chair, the numbers on my screen blurring together. She was meeting him. To "keep him calm." The words twisted in my gut. Cover story or not, the thought of her with him, of her using that soft, reassuring tone with him, was agonizing. It was the same pattern as before. The secret meetings, the hushed phone calls. Only now, I knew the official reason for them. It didn' t make it any less painful.

The next day, I couldn' t focus. The equations seemed meaningless. Her words echoed in my head. I' ll meet with him tomorrow. The park. Against my better judgment, I left the observatory early. I had to see. I had to know what this "management" looked like.

I drove to the park she had mentioned. It was a sprawling green space with a lake in the center. I found them easily. They were sitting on a bench by the water, just like any other couple enjoying a sunny afternoon. My car was parked far enough away that they wouldn't notice me. I watched them through a pair of binoculars I kept in my glove compartment for bird watching.

Liam was leaning in close to her, his expression intense, pleading. He reached out and took her hand. My own hands clenched on the steering wheel. Sophia didn' t pull away immediately. She let him hold her hand for a moment, a pained look on her face.

Then, she smiled at him.

It was a small, sad smile, but it was more emotion than she had ever shown me in this life or the last. It was a smile of shared history, of intimacy. To an outsider, they looked like lovers having a difficult conversation. To me, it was a dagger to the heart. This was her job. This was her mission. I knew that. But watching her play the part so convincingly, watching her give another man the warmth I had craved for a decade, shattered the fragile peace I had built around myself.

He said something, and she laughed. A real laugh. The sound didn't reach me, but I saw her shoulders shake, her head tilt back. It was the most beautiful, terrible thing I had ever seen.

I had died. I had come back. And I was still losing my wife to another man. The mission, the cover, national security-it all faded away. All I could feel was the profound, soul-crushing weight of betrayal. It didn' t matter that it was a lie for a greater good. It felt real. The pain was real. I started the car and drove away, the image of her smile burned into my mind. The second chance was a curse. It was just a longer, more detailed version of the hell I had already lived.