My Sweetest Escape

My last breath was a ragged gasp at 48, my heart giving out from sheer exhaustion.

The final image burned into my mind: my husband, Matthew, laughing at a lavish birthday party with Stella, his mistress, who had gotten rich from a real estate boom built on my stolen money.

Then, I woke up, 23 again, weeks before my wedding to that very man.

In my first life, I was a trusting fool, sacrificing everything for a man who drained me dry and used my inheritance to fund his mistress's rise.

I realized the cruel irony: his opulent life was built on my hidden sweat, my endless labor, while I toiled for a family that wasn't even truly mine.

This time, things would be different. This time, I would protect what was mine and claim the life they stole.

My last breath was a ragged gasp in a sterile, white hospital room. I was 48. My heart just gave out from exhaustion. The final image burned into my mind was Matthew, my husband, laughing at a lavish birthday party. He was celebrating with Stella, his mistress, who had become a millionaire from a real estate boom.

Then, I woke up.

Sunlight streamed through the familiar floral curtains of my small bedroom. My calendar, a freebie from the local hardware store, read "1998." I was 23 again, just weeks away from my wedding.

I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding, but this time with adrenaline, not failure. I was back. I had a second chance.

In my first life, I was a fool. I gave everything to Matthew Scott. I sacrificed my own future, my career, my health, all for a man who saw me as a convenience. He drained me dry.

Not this time.

This time, I had a plan. A simple, two-point plan.

First, I would protect my assets. Every single penny.

Second, I would get as far away from Matthew and his parasitic lover, Stella, as humanly possible. I would live the life they stole from me.

I threw off the covers. The first test was right here, in this room. Under a loose floorboard beneath my bed was a small metal box. Inside was my entire life savings: $10,000. It was money for the wedding and a down payment on a future we never really had.

In my previous life, Matthew had come to me with a sad story about a "can't-miss" investment opportunity that went bad. He claimed he'd lost all our money. I, the trusting idiot, believed him. I spent years feeling guilty about that "lost" money.

The truth? He gave every last dollar to Stella Todd. She used it to buy a small house in an up-and-coming neighborhood on the edge of town. That house was the foundation of her future wealth. While she got rich, I was stuck caring for Matthew's disabled mother, working dead-end jobs, and raising our children in a cramped, dilapidated house we could barely afford. I had labored myself to death for them.

Now, my hands trembled as I lifted the floorboard. The box was there. I pried it open.

Ten thousand dollars, in neat stacks of twenties and fifties, stared back at me. It was all there.

A cold, hard smile spread across my face. The game had just begun, but this time, I knew all the rules.

I got dressed and walked out into the small duplex I shared with Matthew. He wasn't home yet, probably still at the factory where he worked as an engineer. His college degree made him a big deal in our small Rust Belt town, a place where most people, like me, worked with their hands.

I went to the local diner for a coffee, my mind racing. I needed to confirm my suspicions. The diner was the town's gossip hub, and it didn't disappoint.

Two women in the booth behind me were talking.

"Did you see Matthew Scott with Stella Todd again? Down by the department store."

"I did. He's buying her all sorts of things. I feel sorry for his fiancée, Annabel. She's such a sweet girl."

Sweet and stupid, I thought, sipping my coffee. The words didn't sting this time. They were just a confirmation of a reality I already knew.

I paid for my coffee and walked straight to Miller's Department Store. I didn't have to wait long. I saw them near the home goods section, standing close, his hand on the small of her back. Stella, with her practiced look of fragile beauty, was pointing at a set of expensive dishes.

I ducked behind a rack of winter coats, my heart a cold, steady drum. I could hear their conversation clearly.

"Matthew, are you sure we can afford this?" Stella asked, her voice a soft, manipulative whisper. "Annabel's money... what if she says no?"

"Don't you worry about Annabel," Matthew said, his tone confident and dismissive. "She'll do anything I say. I've got her completely wrapped around my finger. I just need to convince her to give her factory job to you. It's a union job, stable. You and Kevin need that."

Kevin was Stella's son. She was a young widow, a fact she used to its full advantage.

Stella's face lit up. "And the house?"

"Even better," Matthew bragged. "Her father was a union foreman, died in that accident a few years back. The union has a benefit for his family-the right to buy one of the old foreman houses for next to nothing. She doesn't even know about it yet. I'll get her to sign the rights over to me after the wedding, and the house will be yours. A proper home for you and my son."

My son. The words hit me, but not with pain. With clarity. He already saw her son as his. I was just the bank.

My first instinct, the old Annabel's instinct, was to run. To go to the bus station and just disappear.

But the new Annabel, the one forged in a lifetime of regret, had a better idea.

I turned and walked out of the department store, not towards the bus station, but straight to the union hall downtown.