After Rebirth, I Cleared My Name Through a Drunk Driving Incident Chapter 03

After Rebirth, I Cleared My Name Through a Drunk Driving Incident Chapter 03

They made me get out of the car. A few people on the roadside had already stopped to watch. Other drivers were lined up behind me.

I made sure to look pissed off. Not hysterical. Not dramatic. Just impatient and sharp.

“I only had two swallows. What’s the big deal?”

“I wasn’t speeding. I didn’t hit anybody.”

“Don’t you people ever get tired of this?”

I knew exactly what I was doing. The more difficult I looked, the less likely they were to brush me off. And I needed them to remember me. Clearly.

Registration. Body cam footage. Paperwork. Impound. Every step mattered.

By the time the whole process got going, the timeline was lining up perfectly with 8:30. That was when I blacked out in my last life. That was also when the medical examiner said Jessica died.

“Ma’am, DUI is a serious offense. You’re coming to the station for further processing,” the officer said. “And with that attitude, you need time to cool off.”

I lowered my head and stayed quiet, acting stubborn. The body cam was aimed right at me.

Minute by minute, the clock kept moving. I checked my phone without making it obvious.

8:28. Two minutes left.

They took me over for registration. Then they had me sign.

At exactly 8:30, I wrote my name.

I lived. This time, at 8:30, I was in police custody.

I let out a long breath. My whole body went weak. All that rage, all that fear, all that helplessness from my last life finally cracked open just a little.

I hadn’t gone home. I hadn’t gone into the garage. I hadn’t blacked out. I hadn’t woken up beside a corpse.

For the first time, I was safe.

That night, they put me in a holding cell. The metal door shut. The room was tiny and cold, lit by one ugly fluorescent light.

I leaned against the wall and stayed awake all night.

Jessica was still going to die. That part hadn’t changed. So who killed her? Why her? And why frame me?

The hallway camera. The skin cells. The neighbor’s testimony. None of that was random.

This wasn’t some crime of passion. This was a planned murder. A planned setup.

Whoever did this didn’t just want Jessica dead. They wanted me dead too. They wanted me ruined.

The more I thought about it, the colder I felt. Someone close to me had done this. Maybe my husband. Maybe someone around us. Maybe both.

But whoever it was, I swore this much. In this life, I was not taking the fall again. I was not dying for someone else’s crime. I was going to drag the real killer out of the dark myself.

That night felt endless. There were no windows, so I couldn’t tell if it was still dark outside or already morning. The clock on the wall kept ticking. Every sound hit my nerves like a hammer.

I replayed my last life over and over. The arrest. The trial. The conviction. The execution.

Mark had cried in court. He’d cried for the media. He’d cried in front of relatives. He looked so broken that everyone pitied him. Everyone hated me.

But now I remembered something. Every time he cried, he never looked me in the eye. And when he pointed at me, his hand was shaking. Not because he was heartbroken. Because he was guilty.

Back then, I was too destroyed to notice.

Sometime after three in the morning, I dozed off. I dreamed of Jessica. She stood in front of me covered in blood, her mouth moving like she was trying to speak, but no sound came out. I kept calling her name. She just kept walking farther away.

I woke up drenched in sweat. Dawn had to be close.

I sat on the hard bed and stared at the iron door. I didn’t know what was happening outside. But I could guess. Mark had already started moving.

Sure enough, after sunrise, someone opened the door. “Claire Mitchell. Come out.”

I thought it was just standard processing. I was ready to deal with the DUI.

But the second I stepped outside, I saw a group of detectives waiting for me.