Chapter 2

The silence in the dining room was heavy, thick with shock. I stared back at my parents, my heart pounding with a strange, exhilarating power. For thirty years, I had swallowed their casual cruelty, their blatant favoritism. I had choked on the injustice of it all until it had literally killed me. Not this time. This time, their words would not be the final verdict on my life.

I thought of the long, lonely evenings in my first life, the hollow ache of being married to a man who barely saw me, the constant, draining effort to win a shred of affection from parents who only had eyes for Clara. Their concern was never for me, only for the family's image, for the business ties that my marriage to David secured. The hypocrisy of it all tasted bitter in my mouth.

David finally broke the silence. He cleared his throat, his expression unreadable. "Eleanor is just tired," he said to the table, his voice a smooth, diplomatic balm over the wound I had just opened. "The move has been stressful for her." He was managing the situation, not defending me. He was smoothing things over, making me the hysterical, overwrought wife, a role I knew all too well. His words subtly pushed me back into my box, the one labeled 'difficult' and 'emotional'.

I felt a surge of frustration. It was an old, familiar feeling, being spoken for, being explained away. I didn't want his placid intervention. I wanted him to see me, to hear me. But he was looking at his parents, reassuring them, not me. Defeated, I pushed my chair back from the table. "Excuse me," I mumbled, not looking at anyone. I needed to be alone. I escaped to the quiet of the guest bedroom, the suffocating atmosphere of the dining room left behind. The room felt like a cage, gilded and pristine, but a cage nonetheless.

Later, the door opened. It was David. He closed it behind him, his posture stiff. "What was that all about, Eleanor?" he asked, his voice low and laced with annoyance. "You can't just cause a scene like that. My parents were embarrassed."

His words hit a raw nerve. Embarrassed? That was all he cared about? Not the truth of what I said, not the decades of pain that lay behind it. "I was just speaking the truth," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Something no one in that room seems to value."

"The truth?" He scoffed. "The truth is you're my wife. You have a duty to uphold the family's reputation. Our reputation." He stood there, cold and unyielding, and in that moment, I remembered all the times he had chosen his family, his career, his reputation over me. His indifference had been a slow, steady poison.

I looked at his handsome, unfeeling face and felt nothing but a vast, empty distance between us. The hope that had flickered in me, the foolish idea that maybe this time could be different, died. I had learned to live with this coldness before. I could do it again. But this time, I wouldn't let it destroy me. "Fine," I said, my voice flat. "I'll remember my duty." I turned away from him, a silent dismissal. My acceptance of his coldness seemed to be the only language he understood.

The next day, I tried to fall back into a routine. I went back to my part-time job at the local library, the familiar scent of books a small comfort. But everything felt strange, overlaid with the knowledge of my past, or future, life. An unexpected interaction broke my reverie. Clara showed up, a bright, false smile on her face. "Eleanor! I brought you lunch. I was so worried about you after last night."

Before I could respond, a sudden commotion erupted from the front of the library. My boss, Mr. Henderson, was shouting. "Who was responsible for shelving the history section yesterday? A first edition has gone missing!" His eyes scanned the room and landed on me. One of the other librarians pointed a trembling finger in my direction. "Eleanor was the last one there," she said. "I saw her." The accusation hung in the air, heavy and immediate. Mr. Henderson' s face hardened. "Mrs. Vance, a word in my office. Now." I felt a familiar dread creep in. My past was repeating itself, and Clara was standing right there, watching it all unfold with a look of perfect, calculated concern.