Chapter 1

The shrill, piercing beep of a carbon monoxide detector was the last sound Ava Miller heard.

It was Christmas Eve, and she was thirty years old. The city outside her cramped, old apartment was alive with festive lights and the distant sound of carols, but inside, it was just cold. The building' s heating was faulty, a cheap fix that had failed on the coldest night of the year. She had tried to call her ex-husband, Liam, not for help, but just to hear their son' s voice.

"The subscriber you have dialed is not available. Please try again later."

The robotic voice was colder than the air in the room. Liam was probably with his new wife, Chloe, the celebrated food critic he' d left her for. And their son, five-year-old Leo, was with them. Leo, who had once clung to her legs and called her the best cook in the world, now refused her calls. He' d told her last week that Chloe' s food was better, that Chloe was more fun. Liam had stood by and said nothing.

Ava' s vision started to blur at the edges. A profound sleepiness washed over her, a heavy blanket she didn' t have the strength to push away. Her gaze fell on a framed photograph on her nightstand. It was her at twenty-two, beaming, her face flushed with victory as she held a heavy, prestigious culinary trophy. She was a promising young chef then, full of dreams, her whole life ahead of her. Before Liam. Before Leo. Before she gave it all up for a love that was never returned.

Her last thought was a simple, bitter regret. I should have just cooked.

Then, darkness.

A searing pain ripped through her body, a wave of agony so intense it felt like she was being torn apart. It was a sharp, primal hurt that shocked her back into consciousness. She gasped, her lungs burning, and the world came rushing back not as a cold, dark apartment, but as a sterile, bright hospital room. The smell of antiseptic filled her nostrils.

She looked down. Her stomach was no longer flat. It was round and swollen with pregnancy, and the pain was centered there, a relentless, crushing pressure. A nurse was shouting instructions, her voice urgent.

"Push, Ava! You' re almost there! Just one more big push!"

Ava' s mind reeled with confusion. This wasn' t right. She had died. She remembered the cold, the silence, the photograph. But this pain was real, this room was real. It was the pain of childbirth, a memory she hadn' t felt in five years.

With a final, desperate cry, the pressure subsided. A moment later, the sharp, wailing cry of a newborn filled the room.

"It' s a boy! Congratulations, he' s beautiful."

They placed the small, screaming bundle on her chest. Ava stared at him, her heart pounding with a mixture of terror and disbelief. She knew this moment. She was twenty-five years old again. She had just given birth to Leo. She was back.

The joy and relief that should have filled her were absent. Instead, a cold dread settled in her stomach. The memories of her first life flooded her mind, a torrent of painful images. She saw Liam' s growing indifference, the nights she waited up for him, the culinary school acceptance letter she' d thrown away. She saw him introducing her to Chloe at a party, his eyes lingering on the other woman. She saw the divorce papers on their kitchen table, his cool, detached voice explaining that he' d never really loved her.

And she saw Leo, her beautiful son, turning away from her on a park bench, his small face set in a stubborn frown as he ran to Chloe. She heard his voice on the phone, telling her he was too busy to talk.

The pain from that life was more real than the lingering ache of childbirth. Tears streamed down her face, but they weren't tears of happiness. They were tears of rage and grief for the woman she had allowed herself to become.

No, she thought, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Not again. I will not live that life again.

The door to her room opened, and Liam walked in, followed by his mother, Brenda. Liam was handsome and charismatic, his smile a well-practiced tool he used to get what he wanted. Brenda was a socialite, perfectly coiffed and dressed in expensive clothes, her face a mask of polite condescension.

"Ava, you look exhausted," Brenda said, her eyes scanning Ava' s disheveled hair and pale face with disapproval. She didn' t even glance at the baby. "You must get your rest. Appearance is so important."

Liam gave Ava a quick, distracted peck on the forehead. "Good job, Ava. I have a meeting I have to get back to, but I' ll check in later."

He looked at the baby on her chest with a flicker of something unreadable-not joy, not pride, but perhaps mild inconvenience. He didn' t offer to hold him. In her past life, Ava had begged him to stay, to share this moment. This time, she just watched him, her heart a block of ice.

The nurse, sensing the tension, gently lifted the baby from Ava' s chest. "Would you like to hold your son, Mom?"

Ava looked at the small, wrinkled face of her newborn son. Her son, who would grow up to shun her, to break her heart in a way Liam never could. A wave of detachment washed over her. She felt a strange distance from this child, a protective wall her reborn mind had already built. In her first life, she had poured every ounce of her being into him, hoping to fill the void Liam left. It had been a mistake.

"Not right now," she said, her voice flat and tired. "I need to rest."

The nurse looked surprised but didn't press.

Later that evening, after Brenda had left and the nurses had taken Leo to the nursery, Liam returned. He sat in the chair by her bed, scrolling through emails on his phone.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, not looking up.

"Tired," Ava replied.

"The doctor said you and Leo are healthy. That' s good," he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Brenda has arranged for a nanny to start next week. It' ll give you time to recover."

In her past life, she had argued, insisting she wanted to do it all herself. This time, she just nodded. "Okay."

Liam finally looked up, a faint frown on his face. He seemed to notice her lack of enthusiasm, her coldness. "Is something wrong, Ava? You' re being very quiet."

She met his gaze directly, and for the first time, she saw him clearly. Not as the man she loved, but as a self-centered stranger who valued status and convenience above all else. "I just gave birth, Liam. I' m tired."

He seemed to accept the answer and went back to his phone. The silence in the room was heavy and final.

When it was time to leave the hospital, Liam was impatient. He frowned at the bag of things Ava needed to carry and made a small, irritated sound when the nurse showed her how to buckle Leo into the car seat.

"Can we hurry this up? I have a conference call in an hour," he muttered.

As he held the car door open for her, his hand brushed against her arm, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, as if touching her was an unpleasant chore. In that tiny, dismissive gesture, Ava' s last sliver of hope for this marriage died. It wasn' t just a loveless union; it was a cage. And this time, she was going to find the key and let herself out. She would not let her love for this man, or even the child he gave her, dictate her life and lead her to another cold, lonely death.