The Second Chance She Stole

My mother' s voice, thick with religious fervor, announced her latest decree for SAT season: 100 days of no secular music, no TV, no internet.

This wasn't the first time.

I remembered falling down the stairs, Molly's raging accusations still ringing in my ears, right before the darkness consumed me.

Now, I was 16 again, trapped in the same suffocating reality, but with the chilling knowledge of how it all ended for me.

My twin sister, Molly, quickly embraced Mama's extreme rules, her 'pious' facade masking pure laziness, while I quietly perfected my escape plan.

As Molly spiraled into isolation at school, earning the nickname "Amish Girl," my mother, Debra, only tightened her grip, even forbidding basic hygiene.

The SAT scores revealed my 1580 against Molly's dismal 850, shattering Mama's carefully crafted image, especially on live stream.

Instead of facing reality, Mama demanded I sacrifice my Duke acceptance, "for Molly's sake," a sister who had literally killed me in my past life.

How could my own mother expect me to give up my entire future, again, for the one who destroyed me?

Why was I back?

This time, I wouldn't argue, I wouldn't compromise, and I certainly wouldn't die for their delusions.

This time, I was getting out, even if it meant watching them burn their own lives to the ground.

I jolted awake, my heart hammering against my ribs. The air in our small house was thick and still, smelling of old wood and my mother' s lemon-scented floor cleaner.

My mother, Debra, stood in the doorway of the room I shared with my twin sister, Molly. Her hands were clasped in front of her, a look of righteous certainty on her face.

"Girls," she announced, her voice filled with the kind of gravity she usually reserved for Sunday sermons. "The Lord has spoken to me. For the next one hundred days, until your SAT exams are complete, there will be no secular music. No television. No internet, unless it is for approved school assignments."

Molly, already awake in the bed next to mine, sat up straight. "Of course, Mama. That' s a wonderful idea."

I said nothing. My throat was dry, and a cold dread was spreading through me. This wasn' t a new rule. This was an old one.

I recognized the faded floral wallpaper, the crack in the ceiling that looked like a crooked smile, the exact way the morning light hit the worn-out rug. I was sixteen again.

Debra beamed at Molly. "You see, Gabrielle? Your sister understands. She is a child of God, open to His guidance."

Her eyes then fell on me, her smile tightening. "You would do well to follow her example. The SAT is a gift from the Lord. Worldly distractions will only crowd out the Holy Spirit' s guidance and make you forget everything you' ve studied."

I remembered. In my first life, I had argued. I had pleaded for reason, for a single hour of internet to unwind, for music to help me study. My arguments only branded me as rebellious, as ungrateful.

This time, I just nodded slowly. "Okay, Mama."

Debra looked momentarily surprised by my easy compliance, but she recovered quickly, her expression softening into one of pity. "Good. It' s for your own good."

She turned and left, her footsteps creaking down the hallway.

The last memory of my previous life was sharp and brutal. Molly, after failing her own SATs, had screamed at me. I had secretly helped her plagiarize a major essay because she was a social pariah, unable to function at school. She repaid me by blaming me for her failure, accusing me of "introducing sin" into her study habits with the internet. Her eyes were wild with rage. Then came the shove, the sickening fall down the stairs, and the darkness.

Now, I was back. Reborn into the moment it all began.

Molly turned to me, her face a mask of piety. "You should show Mama more respect, Gabby. Her faith is what keeps this family together."

In my first life, I would have snapped back, pointing out the hypocrisy. Now, I just looked at her. I saw the laziness behind her eyes, the envy she tried so hard to hide.

I shrugged and got out of bed. "I' m going to the library."

Her mask slipped for a second, replaced by confusion. "The library? But Mama just said-"

"To study," I cut her off, my voice flat. "For the SATs."

I walked past her, pulling on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt. I didn' t look back. This time, there would be no empathy for Molly. No secret help. No arguments with my mother. This time, I was getting out. Alone.

The next morning, I was at the kitchen table with a practice SAT book when my mother confronted me.

"Gabrielle, what is this?" she asked, holding up a CD case she' d found in my room. It was a classical music compilation, something I used for background noise.

"It' s music, Mama. No lyrics. It helps me focus."

"The devil works in subtle ways," she declared, her voice rising. "Even a melody without words can carry a worldly spirit. It plants seeds of pride and distraction. Pastor John said that true focus comes only from silent prayer."

I looked from her fanatical eyes to Molly, who was sitting across from me, slowly eating a bowl of oatmeal. Molly just stared down at her food, a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

"Okay," I said, closing my textbook. I didn' t have the energy to fight a battle I had already lost once before. It was pointless.

"I' m going to the library," I announced.

My mother sighed, a long, theatrical sound of a long-suffering parent. "Why must you always run away from this house? Molly is content to study here, in a godly environment."

"The library has more books," I said simply. It also had computers with internet access, a fact I chose not to mention.

As I was about to leave, Molly looked up. "Gabby, I was thinking... maybe we could study together? You' re so good at math. You could help me."

I remembered the last time I helped her. It ended with my death.

"No," I said, my voice cold. "I study better alone."

I walked out the door before either of them could say another word. At the library, I was relentless. I spent hours on the public computers, running through online practice tests, downloading study guides, and secretly working on my college applications. I filled out the FAFSA, wrote my personal essays, and researched scholarships my mother would never approve of.

Molly, meanwhile, found her own way to pass the time. I came home one afternoon to find her on the porch swing, a thick book in her lap. It had a plain brown cover, the kind you' d put on a bible. But as she turned a page, I caught a glimpse of the cover art beneath: a shirtless man with flowing hair embracing a woman in a torn dress. Romance novels. Her own quiet rebellion was one of deceit, not defiance.

Later that week, she cornered me in the hallway. "People at school are starting to talk."

"About what?" I asked, not really caring.

"About me. I don' t know any of the new songs or TV shows. Jessica asked me if I' d seen that new vampire movie and I didn' t know what she was talking about. They' re calling me the Amish Girl." Her voice was a whiny complaint.

"So watch TV," I said, shrugging.

"I can' t! Mama would kill me! You' re the one who' s always at the library. You could just... I don' t know, print out some stuff for me? About pop culture? So I don' t sound like a total freak?"

I looked straight at her. "Molly, you agreed with Mama' s rule. You told her it was a wonderful idea. You said I should have more faith. This is the life you chose. Live with it."

I pushed past her and went into our room, closing the door behind me. I could hear her let out a frustrated hiss on the other side. This time, she was completely on her own.