Reborn to Rewrite: The Paramedic's Vengeance

The pain was a memory, sharp and final, then nothing.

Now, air filled my lungs in a gasping shock, and I was back in my old, small bedroom.

Sunlight, the same damn sunlight from that cursed morning, streamed through the window, my paramedic uniform folded on the chair.

I was plunged back into the day Victoria Belmont, the woman I married, first entered my life.

In my previous existence, she and her lover, Dylan Vance, had revealed it was all a lie: she claimed she was never sick, that my family's "Healing Aura" was a sham, and that my mother and I conspired to fake her illness to trap her in marriage.

They tortured me until I was nothing, then left me to die in a desolate wasteland.

The aftermath ripped through my innocent family: my dad' s hardware store bankrupted, my kind mother, Maria, driven to madness.

I learned too late that Sarah Miller, a quiet librarian, was my true savior, not the manipulative Belmonts.

The raw agony of betrayal, the humiliation, the sheer injustice of my family's ruin-it was a horror that had followed me even into death. How could I have been so utterly blind to the monsters masked by wealth and charm?

But now, I was whole.

I was back. And when the familiar knock echoed from downstairs-"Ethan, dear, Mrs. Belmont is here to see you"-I steeled myself.

Her voice, not yet broken by grief, sounded like a death knell for their future. This time, I' d write a different ending.

The pain was a memory, sharp and final, then nothing.

Now, air filled my lungs, a gasp, a shock.

I sat up, not in the desolate wasteland where they left me, but in my old, small bedroom.

Sunlight, the same damn sunlight from that cursed morning, streamed through the window.

My hands, they weren't broken, not scarred.

I was whole.

My paramedic uniform lay folded on the chair.

The calendar on the wall read the date Mrs. Belmont first came.

My first life, a horror show.

My mother, Maria, a kind soul, believed the Belmonts saved me from a childhood accident.

She told them about my "Healing Aura," a family secret, a miracle cure for those I truly committed to, usually through marriage.

I married Victoria Belmont, Vicky, to "cure" her rare autoimmune disease, a debt I thought I owed.

A month later, she was "cured."

Gifts rained down.

Then, my birthday.

Vicky, beautiful and cruel, with her lover Dylan Vance, told me it was all a lie.

She was never sick, or so she claimed Dylan convinced her.

They said Mom and I faked her illness to get into their wealthy family, to separate her from Dylan.

They tortured me, left me to die.

My parents, ruined. Dad' s hardware store bankrupted, Mom driven mad.

I learned too late Sarah Miller, a quiet librarian, was my true savior, not the Belmonts.

Now, I was back.

A knock on the door.

"Ethan, dear, Mrs. Belmont is here to see you," Mom called.

Her voice, not yet broken by grief.

I steeled myself. This time, it would be different.

I walked downstairs.

Mrs. Belmont sat on our worn sofa, elegant and cold.

"Ethan," she began, her voice smooth, "your mother has told me about your... gift."

"It's an old family superstition, Mrs. Belmont," I said, my voice even. "Vicky needs proper medical treatment."

Mom looked surprised, "Ethan, what are you saying?"

"It' s just stories, Mom."

Mrs. Belmont' s eyes narrowed. "Even if it's a small chance, for Victoria, I must try."

Before I could refuse again, the front door burst open.

Vicky.

She looked exactly as I remembered, beautiful, arrogant, and radiating malice.

And she was staring at me with a dawning, horrified recognition.

"You!" she shrieked, pointing a finger. "You and your mother! You' re trying it again! Fabricating my illness to trap me, to keep me from Dylan!"

She threw a medical report onto the coffee table. "See, Mother? I' m perfectly healthy! This is a recent check-up!"

A clean bill of health, likely from a remission or a paid-off doctor. Dylan's work, no doubt.

Mrs. Belmont snatched the report, her face a mixture of confusion and hope. "Victoria, are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure! He' s a conman!" Vicky screamed.

Mrs. Belmont looked at me, her expression hardening. "Get out of my sight. And stay away from my daughter."

Mom started to protest, "Mrs. Belmont, please..."

"Enough, Maria," I said, gently touching her arm. "We' ll leave."

As I turned to go, Vicky stepped in front of me, her eyes blazing.

"You think you can fool me again?" she hissed.

Then, she staggered.

A cough, a small, delicate sound at first, then a wracking spasm.

She clutched her chest, her face paling.

Blood, dark red, frothed at her lips and splattered onto our cheap rug.

Mrs. Belmont gasped, "Victoria!"

Vicky stared at me, her eyes wide with a new kind of terror.

"You... you' re different," she choked out, blood staining her chin. "You remember too. You' re doing this to me!"

I looked at her, at the real, undeniable sickness consuming her.

"I want nothing to do with you, Victoria," I said, my voice flat. "You were never my savior. Stay away from me and my family."

I walked out, Mom following, leaving the Belmonts to their dawning nightmare.

This time, I knew who to save. And who to destroy.

The wail of a siren cut through the quiet afternoon.

An ambulance, lights flashing, sped past my street.

It turned onto Elm Street. Sarah Miller' s street.

A cold dread gripped me. In my first life, Sarah died today.

The day of my wedding to Vicky. A critical heart condition, they said.

No. Not this time.

I sprinted, my paramedic instincts kicking in, my heart pounding for a different reason.

I had to reach her.

Vicky' s words echoed, "You remember too."

She knew. And she was unpredictable.

As I neared Sarah' s small, neat house, a black SUV screeched to a halt beside me.

Two large men in dark suits jumped out.

"Ethan James?" one grunted.

Before I could answer, they grabbed me.

I fought, but they were professionals.

A sharp pain in my neck, then darkness.

I woke up in a lavishly furnished room, not a hospital.

Sunlight streamed through barred windows. A guesthouse. A Belmont guesthouse.

My head throbbed.

The door opened and Vicky stalked in, Dylan smirking behind her.

She looked pale, a handkerchief pressed to her lips, but her eyes burned with manic fury.

"Trying to run to your little charity case?" she sneered. "Did you think I wouldn' t find out?"

"What do you want, Vicky?" I asked, my voice rough.

"You' re obsessed with me, Ethan," she declared, a wild look in her eyes. "You' re trying to sabotage my wedding to Dylan. You can' t stand to see me happy."

Dylan put a possessive arm around her. "He' s just jealous, babe. He knows he can' t have you."

"Let me go, Vicky. This is kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?" She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "I' m protecting myself. You' ll stay here until after my wedding. Then, maybe I' ll let you go, if you behave."

She believed her own delusions. That I, after what she did, could still want her.

"You' re insane," I said.

"And you' re a liar!" she shrieked. "Dylan told me everything in our last life! How your mother bribed doctors, how you faked my illness, all to get your hands on our money!"

"Dylan is the liar, Vicky. He manipulated you then, and he' s doing it now."

"Shut up!" Dylan snapped. "She loves me. We were meant to be."

Vicky swayed, and Dylan steadied her. "You' ll stay put, Ethan. Don' t make this harder than it needs to be."

They left, locking the door.

I scanned the room. No obvious escape.

But they underestimated me. I wasn't the broken man from my past life.

I still had my paramedic training, my wits. And I had a burner phone I always kept stashed in my boot for emergencies. They hadn't found it.

I pulled it out, fingers flying.

"911, what' s your emergency?"

"I' ve been kidnapped. My name is Ethan James. I' m being held at a Belmont property, a guesthouse near their main estate."

I gave them the details, the names.

It didn' t take long.

The sound of sirens, closer this time.

Vicky burst back in, her face contorted with rage. "You called the police? How dare you!"

The police were at the door, their voices firm.

Vicky had no choice. She was furious, but she had to let them in.

"He' s a stalker!" she tried to tell the officers. "He' s obsessed with me!"

I calmly explained the situation. The officers were skeptical of her story, especially with my clear head and their knowledge of the Belmonts' reputation.

They escorted me out.

As I passed Vicky, her eyes promised retribution.

"You' ll pay for this, Ethan," she seethed, her voice low and dangerous. "You and your whole pathetic family."

I met her gaze, unwavering. "I' m not afraid of you anymore, Vicky."

But I knew this was far from over. Her revenge would be swift and brutal.

And Sarah was still in danger.