The Day I Died Twice Chapter 03

The Day I Died Twice Chapter 03

I buckled Mabel into her booster seat and climbed into the front beside the man who had already murdered our daughter once.

The entire drive, I smiled. I laughed at his jokes. I rested my hand on his thigh like a wife still in love.

Nathaniel glanced over, surprised. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I just have a feeling,” I said, watching the trees streak past, “that today’s going to change everything.”

He missed the edge in my voice. He always did. That had forever been his blind spot—he thought I was soft. He thought I was stupid. He thought a woman who loved her family that fiercely couldn’t possibly be dangerous.

He was about to find out otherwise.

We rolled up to the lake house at noon. It was exactly as I remembered—the cheerful blue shutters, the dock reaching into the water like a pointing finger, the cabin next door where Marissa was already “vacationing.”

She was out on her porch when we arrived, pretending to read. Long legs, sundress, that rehearsed look of a stranger.

In my last life, I’d waved at her like a friendly neighbor.

This time, I memorized her face and thought: I know what you did.

“Why don’t you ladies get acquainted?” Nathaniel said breezily, lugging our bags. “I’ve got some calls to make.”

—

Of course he did.

Marissa drifted over, all warmth and white teeth. “Hi! I’m Marissa. Looks like we’re cabin neighbors for the weekend.”

“Lucky us,” I said.

Mabel tugged at my sleeve. “Mommy, can I go on the dock?”

Every cell in my body screamed.

“No, sweetheart.” I crouched down to her level. “New rule this weekend. You don’t go near the water unless you’re holding my hand. Not for one single second. Do you understand me?”

She blinked at the force in my voice, then nodded solemnly. “Okay, Mommy.”

I caught Marissa watching us, and for half a heartbeat, her smile slipped.

Good. Let her sweat.

The afternoon edged toward two o’clock—the hour I’d died reliving a thousand times.

At 1:45, right on cue, Nathaniel appeared with his phone. “Honey, it’s your mother. She sounds upset—she’s been trying to reach you. Take it inside where it’s quiet?”

He held out the phone.

In my last life, I’d grabbed it and rushed inside, leaving Mabel alone for three minutes.

—

Three minutes was all it took.

This time, I looked at the phone. Then at him. Then I smiled.

“Tell my mom I’ll call her right back,” I said. “I’m not leaving Mabel’s side for anything.”

The mask flickered.

“Sweetheart, she’s crying. It sounds serious—”

“Then it can wait three minutes.” I pulled Mabel onto my lap and folded both arms around her. “Some things matter more than a phone call. Don’t they, Nathaniel?”

His jaw tightened. The plan was coming apart in his hands, and he couldn’t figure out why.

“Marissa,” he said abruptly, “could you hold Mabel for a sec while my wife takes this call? It really does sound urgent—”

“No,” I said, sweet as honey. “She stays with me.”

A long, dangerous silence.

Then Mabel—my brilliant, oblivious baby—piped up: “Daddy, why is Marissa wearing the bracelet you gave Mommy for Christmas?”

The world stopped.

I looked at Marissa’s wrist.

And there it was—the diamond tennis bracelet Nathaniel had given me last December. The one I’d thought I’d lost.

—

The one that had been on Marissa’s wrist the whole time.