Chapter 1

I remember the fall.

The sharp, brutal push from my husband, David. The brief sensation of weightlessness, then the sickening crack as my head hit the marble staircase. The last thing I saw was his face, twisted not with remorse, but with a grief-fueled rage. His father's final, wheezing words were the poison that drove him to it.

"She did this... Sarah... with her rabbit food... I could have lived to a hundred..."

Those were Richard Sterling's last lies. My father-in-law, the tech mogul who thought his fortune made him immortal, blamed me for the consequences of his own self-indulgence. And David, my husband, the man who swore to protect me, believed him. He chose his father's dying delusion over our life together. The darkness that swallowed me was absolute, an unjust end to a life spent trying to do the right thing.

Then, I felt the sunlight on my face.

It was warm, a gentle caress that felt impossible. I opened my eyes, not to the sterile white of a hospital ceiling or the void of the afterlife, but to the familiar silk sheets of my own bed. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed. 8:15 AM. October 12th.

My breath caught in my throat.

October 12th. The day it all began. The day Richard Sterling, after weeks of ignoring symptoms, was finally dragged to a doctor and diagnosed with severe type 2 diabetes. The day I, in my previous life, had stepped up, full of a dietitian's naive optimism, ready to save him.

A slow smile spread across my face, a feeling so foreign and sharp it almost hurt. I had been given a second chance. Not a chance to save him, but a chance to save myself.

This time, I would do nothing.

I would let him eat his cake.

My father-in-law, Richard, was a man built on excess. He ran his tech empire with an iron fist and treated his body like a dumpster for his every whim. Sugary sodas for breakfast, decadent pastries for lunch, a pint of premium ice cream before bed. He believed his wealth was a shield, that the rules of biology simply didn't apply to him. His wife, Eleanor, my mother-in-law, enabled his every craving, treating his self-destructive habits as the charming quirks of a powerful man. She loved him, but her love was a soft pillow smothering any chance of a healthy future.

And David, my husband, was the weakest of them all. He worshipped his father, mistaking stubbornness for strength. He saw any attempt to impose limits on Richard as an attack on the family's honor, a threat to the comfortable, opulent world his father's success had built.

In my first life, I had poured my soul into helping Richard. I spent countless hours crafting delicious, healthy meals that he would sneer at and dump in the trash. I coordinated with his doctors, managed his medications, and pleaded with him to take a simple walk. My reward was his constant resentment, Eleanor's whispered accusations that I was starving him, and David's growing impatience with the "unpleasantness" I was causing.

I fought for his health and for family harmony. I got a broken neck for my efforts.

This time would be different. This time, I would sit back and watch the show. With a knowing smile, I got out of bed, ready for the curtains to rise on the first act of their self-inflicted tragedy.