The Sergeant Major's Surprise Bride

My father's eyes always gleamed when he spoke of the family pact.

Whichever daughter got the higher SAT scores and into a prestigious university would marry Mark Johnson, the town's golden boy.

The loser would marry David Wilson, a rumored delinquent from the poorer side of town.

This wasn't just a family discussion; this was a replay.

In my first life, I was the smart one. I got the top scores, the prestigious university acceptance. I married Mark, lived in a beautiful house.

But "golden boy" Mark turned into a monster.

After my sister Jessica, forced to marry David, died of an overdose, Mark blamed me. He became cruel, then violent.

When I was pregnant with his child, he pushed me from our balcony.

"If you hadn't rigged the scores, Jessica would be alive!" he'd screamed, his face twisted.

Then darkness.

I remember the fall, the pain, the utter betrayal. My perfect life had been a terrifying lie.

Killed by the man I married, carrying his child.

How could a dream turn into such a brutal nightmare?

But then I was back. Living it all again.

This time, I remembered everything.

This time, I would not repeat the past.

This time, I would not marry Mark Johnson. Even if it meant marrying the outcast, David Wilson.

The pact was simple, my father had said, his eyes gleaming.

The Miller family had a rule.

Whichever daughter got the higher SAT scores, the one who got into a prestigious university, she would marry Mark Johnson.

Mark was the son of Mr. Johnson, the richest businessman in our small town. He was handsome, the town's golden boy.

The daughter with the lower scores, the one who failed, would marry David Wilson.

David lived in the poorer area bordering ours, a place people whispered about. He was rumored to be a delinquent, maybe even disfigured, "damaged goods."

I stood there, listening, a cold dread coiling in my stomach.

This wasn't just a family discussion. This was a replay.

I had lived this before.

In my first life, I was the smart one, the hardworking one. I got the top scores. I married Mark.

My sister, Jessica, was forced to marry David. She couldn't handle it. She died, an overdose they said.

And Mark, my handsome, successful Mark, he changed.

He blamed me. He became attentive, then cruel.

When I was pregnant with his child, he pushed me from the balcony of our expensive house.

"If you hadn't rigged the scores, Jessica would be alive!" he'd screamed, his face twisted. "This is what you owe her!"

Then darkness.

Now, I was back. Living it again. But this time, I knew.

This time, I would not marry Mark Johnson.

Even if it meant marrying the outcast.

Mark, in this new timeline, was already working his angles. He secretly tutored Jessica for her SATs.

He wanted her to win. Or so it seemed.

On the day of my final SAT attempt, the one that could have secured me a scholarship, Mark made his move.

He'd asked me to meet him near the old town library, said he had something important for my studies.

It was a lie.

The door to the storage room in the library's basement clicked shut behind me. Locked.

My phone was conveniently out of reach, left in my bag in the main hall at his suggestion.

I screamed until my throat was raw. No one came.

I missed the exam.

My fate was sealed. Marriage to David Wilson.

My parents were furious. My mother wrung her hands, her face pale. My father just stared at me with cold disappointment.

"How could you be so careless, Sarah? So irresponsible?" Mother cried.

"She's just lazy," Father said, his voice flat. "Always was, compared to Jessica."

Jessica, of course, was triumphant. She had her acceptance letter to a good state university. She would marry Mark.

Everyone in town, my family, they all expected me to break down, to cause a scene, to refuse.

Instead, I was calm. I started packing a small bag.

If marrying David Wilson meant avoiding Mark, meant living, then I would do it.

I remembered that first life so clearly.

The high scores, the wedding to Mark, the beautiful house.

Then Jessica's death. The whispers. The way David Wilson, her husband in that life, just disappeared after, fueling rumors he was troubled, maybe even guilty.

Mark's growing obsession with me, his cloying attention after Jessica was gone.

Then the pregnancy. His rage. The fall. The pain.

No. Not again.

As I folded a simple dress, Mark himself appeared in my doorway.

He looked handsome, concerned. A complete lie.

"Sarah," he said, his voice smooth and worried. "You can't go through with this. Marrying him?"

He tried to take my hand.

I pulled away. "It's decided, Mark."

"But it doesn't have to be. We can fix this."

I just looked at him, my face blank. "There's nothing to fix."

He wanted to stop me. He, who had engineered this outcome. His motives were always twisted.

Grandma Rose was the only one who showed any real distress for me.

She came into my room, her face etched with worry. "Sarah, child, David Wilson? Are you sure about this?"

Jessica flitted past my open door, waving her acceptance letter like a victory flag. "Mark is taking me out to celebrate tonight! He's already talking about honeymoon destinations!"

My parents were cooing over Jessica in the living room.

"Such a good girl, our Jessica," Mother said, loud enough for me to hear. "So focused. Not like some people."

"A disappointment," Father added. "Missing her exam like that. Just plain lazy."

Grandma Rose touched my arm. I flinched. The bruises from being tied up in that storage room were still tender, hidden under my long sleeves.

She'd seen them when I finally got home, hours later, after a janitor found me.

She'd tried to show my parents, but they brushed it off. "She probably just fell," Father said. "Clumsy." They didn't want to believe Mark, their golden boy son-in-law-to-be, could do such a thing. They feared his father's influence too much.

"Oh, Sarah," Grandma Rose whispered, her eyes sad. She remembered things. "You were always so kind to Mark, even when you were little. Remember when you helped him with that science project he was failing? You lent him the money you earned at the diner for his supplies."

I nodded, a lump in my throat. I had been kind. I had been a fool.

"Marrying David is fine, Grandma," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "It won't kill me."

The unspoken part hung in the air: Marrying Mark would.

Later, I worked my shift at the local diner. It was a small place, but the tips helped. I'd always paid for my own things.

The bell above the door jingled, and in walked Mark and Jessica.

They chose the most expensive booth, the one by the window.

Mark loudly ordered the steak, the loaded baked potato, the cheesecake for dessert.

Jessica, preening, showed off a new diamond bracelet. "Mark is just spoiling me! He already put a down payment on a little house for us, just outside of town. And look, he said this car is an early wedding present!"

She dangled a set of keys with a shiny new car logo.

It was the small-town equivalent of a king's ransom. New car, jewelry, a house.

She then turned her gaze to me, as I refilled their water glasses. "So, Sarah," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "What about David? Has he given you any... well, any gifts?"

I kept my face neutral. "No."

"Oh, that's a shame," Jessica said, loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. "Mark, don't you think you should give Sarah something? A little consolation prize? So she isn't too embarrassed at her own wedding?"

Mark looked at me, a condescending smile on his face. He pulled out his wallet. "Yeah, Sarah. Don't want you feeling left out."

He fumbled for a moment, then pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. "Here. Get yourself something nice."