Reborn to Watch Him Regret Choosing My Twin Chapter 01

Reborn to Watch Him Regret Choosing My Twin Chapter 01

The night of my engagement, I pushed open the door and found my childhood sweetheart Sterling Sawyer in bed with my barely conscious sister Mira Nash.

Afterward, my parents urged me to give the marriage to her. I asked him only one thing.

“Were you conscious?”

He didn’t speak for a long moment.

“Yes. Don’t blame her.”

That’s when I knew. He’d come back too.

I nodded. My sister got exactly what she wanted and married him.

The day of their wedding, I still couldn’t bring myself to call him my brother-in-law.

So before the ceremony even started, I bought a plane ticket and left.

I spent three years abroad, clearing my head. My sister’s social media was a daily highlight reel of married bliss.

Sometimes it was a warm glass of milk on her nightstand when she woke up. Other times, it was him in an apron, cooking in the kitchen, caught in profile.

Every caption dripped with smug satisfaction.

[My husband looks so damn hot when he cooks. Thank God I don’t have to just watch him through a screen—I get the real thing now.]

That post got no likes from our parents or mutual friends. I knew it was meant for me alone.

I liked it anyway.

Her latest post was a photo of prenatal vitamins. The caption was simple. [Trying for a baby.]

Everyone liked that one. My parents cooed in the comments.

[Don’t push yourself too hard, sweetheart. Just let it happen.]

[Mira’s trying for a baby? Damn, guess I missed my shot.]

One comment stuck out like a sore thumb.

[Wait, trying for a baby? Wasn’t it Clara who got married three years ago? When did Mira get married?]

I recognized her. Our college roommate, stuck abroad during the wedding. She never made it back in time.

That comment vanished fast. She posted again right underneath.

[Wishing Mira all the baby dust! Let me Venmo you that wedding gift right now.]

I let out a bitter laugh. Everyone was pretending to have amnesia about what happened, scrubbing every trace of me from memory.

I shut off my phone, took a deep breath, and looked out past the balcony at the blue expanse of Lake Geneva.

The lone tree in the middle of the lake stood like an island, unable to reach the shore, unable to touch the mountains. They called it “The Lonely Tree.”

Sterling and I—we had a good life together in the last timeline.

The three of us grew up side by side. My sister and I are twins.

Since we were kids, even our parents mixed us up. Only he could always walk straight to me and call me “my little Clara.”

He knew our parents doted on my sister because of her fragile health, so he never hid his favoritism toward me.

Birthday gifts were only for me. He only waited for me after school. Every time someone asked if he ever grabbed the wrong twin, he’d snap back. “How do they even look alike? My Clara’s way cuter!”

My sister overheard him that day. She was standing right outside the classroom.

After school, she locked me in a bathroom stall and pretended to be me. She ran to the school gates and kissed Sterling square on the lips.

By the time someone let me out, I saw Sterling’s storm-dark face and my sister standing behind him, head bowed, eyes red-rimmed.

Back then, I thought that was it. I thought we were forever.

We grew up and got engaged, the natural next step.

But on our wedding night, my sister drugged herself and sent Sterling a message. [If you don’t come, I’ll just find some random guy.]

When I saw that message, the fear of losing him made me delete it without thinking.

The next morning, my sister climbed onto the balcony, clutching the torn remains of her nightgown.

She looked at me before she jumped. “Clara Nash. I hope you’re happy.”

Then she stepped off.

The sting across my face was blinding. My mother’s hand was still raised, ready to hit me again.

But Sterling grabbed her wrist, hard.

“Mom. This isn’t Clara’s fault.”

He said it was his own repeated rejections that pushed her over the edge. He took all the blame.

I threw myself at my parents, begging them to stop hitting him.

For the next twenty years, I gave birth to our son. He was never close to me.

I didn’t know why until the day Sterling died.

I held his hand, practically sobbing myself to death beside his hospital bed. My son rushed back from school and looked at me with contempt.

“Crocodile tears. If it weren’t for you, Dad wouldn’t have wasted away. He died too young because of you.”

My head snapped up, but he refused to say another word.

It was Sterling. He pulled his hand from mine, stared out the window, and whispered his final plea.

“Clara Nash. In our next life, don’t delete your sister’s message. Okay?”