Chapter 2

The first thing I felt was the scratchy wool of a blanket against my cheek. The second was a deep, gut-wrenching sob that wasn't my own. My eyes snapped open. I wasn't in the white room. I was on the couch in my living room, the one with the floral pattern I always hated.

Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. My head throbbed. What was happening?

"Sarah, honey? Can you hear me?"

It was Martha, my mother-in-law. Her voice was thick with fake sympathy. I sat up, my body aching. The last thing I remembered was the sharp, final pressure of the noose.

Then I saw it. Across the room, two police officers stood with their hats in their hands, their expressions grim. Between them was a black body bag on a gurney.

My blood ran cold. I knew this day. I had lived this day before.

It was the day they brought Mark' s body to my house, telling me it was David.

I looked at the calendar on the wall. October 14th. Three days before the memorial service. Three days before I would confront David at the cabin. The day it all began.

I wasn' t dead. I was back.

"I' m so sorry, Sarah," Martha said, putting her arm around me. "David is gone."

I looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. The practiced sadness in her eyes, the slight, triumphant curl of her lip she couldn't quite hide. She was in on it. She had always been in on it.

I played my part. I let out a cry, burying my face in my hands. But this time, the tears weren't for a lost husband. They were tears of rage. I had a second chance. A chance to save Billy. A chance to make them pay.

"I need a moment alone," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Please."

The officers nodded understandingly. Martha squeezed my shoulder. "Of course, dear. I' ll be right outside."

As they left, closing the living room door behind them, I crept toward it. I didn' t open it. I pressed my ear against the wood, holding my breath.

I could hear them whispering in the hallway.

"Is she stable?" It was David' s voice. Not from a phone, but from right there. He was pretending to be a concerned friend or a fellow officer, standing just out of my sight.

"She' s fragile, but she bought it," Martha replied, her voice low and sharp. "She' ll break, just like we planned. By the time you and Emily are married, everyone will think she' s completely mad. We' ll have her committed, and Billy will be ours."

"Good," David said. "Make sure she doesn' t get near the body. I can' t have her noticing anything. Mark didn' t have my scar."

The words hit me like physical blows, even though I already knew them. Hearing the cold, calculated plan laid out so plainly ignited a fire in my chest.

A flash of memory seared through my mind. The first time around, I had run out into the hall screaming. I had clawed at the body bag, trying to show them. "That' s not him! That' s Mark!" I had yelled, my voice raw.

David had stepped forward, his face a perfect picture of a shocked, grieving brother. He and Martha had held me, restraining me, telling the other officers how my grief was making me delirious. They had looked at me with such pity. That was the moment they planted the first seed of my supposed insanity.

I had played right into their hands.

Not this time.

This time, I was not the grieving widow. I was the executioner.

I backed away from the door, my movements silent. I went to the window and looked out at the familiar street. Everything was the same, yet everything was different. I held the knowledge of the future like a weapon in my hands.

David thought he was in control. He thought I was a pawn in his game. He had no idea the game had changed. He had no idea that the woman he was trying to destroy had already been to hell and back.

I walked over to the family photo on the mantelpiece. Me, David, and a smiling, gap-toothed Billy on his shoulders. I traced my son' s face with my finger.

"I will not lose you again," I whispered to the photo. "I swear it."

My grief was real, but it was not for David. It was for the man in that bag, his brother, an honest cop used as a prop in a sick play. It was for the son I had almost lost forever.

My plan began to form, clear and sharp in my mind. David wanted to fake his death. Fine. I would give him the funeral of a lifetime. He wanted to be free of his responsibilities. Fine. I would free him of every last dollar he had. He wanted to ruin my life.

He had no idea. I was going to burn his world to the ground.