My Fiancé, My Murderer

The Greyhound bus hummed, a low rumble promising a new life at the Boeing apprenticeship program, far from this dead-end town.

My fiancé, Jake, stood blocking the bus depot doorway, radiating control, scanning the street for Brittany Smith.

But this wasn't the first time I'd lived this moment; in my last life, Jake’s hands had closed around my throat on our wedding night, his eyes blazing, blaming me for Brittany's tragic end.

Now, I was back at the same bus stop, and he was once again holding everyone’s acceptance letters and bus tickets hostage, waiting for her, wielding a Zippo as a…