Chapter 1

Because I knew my husband, Victor Harlan, would bring his widowed sister-in-law back to live with us, I quietly moved out of base family housing after I was given my second chance at life.

Because I knew he would hand over his entire service allowance to Sandra, I raised Tina alone — never asking him for a single dollar.

When Tina's fever spiked and her life hung by a thread, the hospital called Victor because the bill had gone unpaid.

He arrived breathless, his face tight with fury.

"No money for treatment and you didn't think to tell me? She nearly died, Ellie!"

I watched his jaw work and looked away.

"It was nothing. Didn't want to trouble you."

Because in my first life, trying to stop Victor and Sandra from destroying everything, we spent ten years tearing each other apart.

Sandra had racked up crushing gambling debts, and when I told Victor, he called me a liar. He kicked me hard enough to crack two of my ribs.

To protect his brother’s fragile, sickly wife, he turned my parents into enemies of the household and drove them to their graves.

In despair, I walked into the river. My child was left behind and starved to death.

In that life, fighting for his love cost me everyone I had.

In this life, I want nothing from him — not his love, not his attention, not even his pity.

…

Victor's voice was barely controlled.

"Ellie Gould. Our daughter almost died. And you call that nothing?"

I kept my mouth shut.

He stepped closer, jaw clenched.

"Talk to me."

I laughed, low and quiet.

"What would you like me to say, Victor? That you've been sending your entire allowance to Sandra every month without keeping a cent?"

"Or that you used your last leave to spend three days with her instead of coming home for Tina's birthday?"

He took a half-step back. The look on his face was one I had never seen there before — something close to disbelief.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by a familiar cough.

"Ellie, please don't blame Vic. It's all my fault. I never should have taken that money—"

Sandra braced herself against the doorframe, pale-faced and frail.

Victor's throat moved. When he turned toward her, his voice had already softened.

"Sandra, what are you doing here? The ward is full of germs — your lungs can't take it."

Sandra pushed herself to the observation window and pressed her hands to the glass, eyes red.

"It's my fault. The money that should have gone to Tina's care — it went to my prescriptions."

Victor caught her elbow gently, his voice full of a tenderness I had not heard in years.

"Tina's going to be fine. You need to go back and rest. I'll handle things here."

I watched them move away together, then turned and held Tina tightly against my chest.

"Ma'am." The nurse stopped me at the desk. "I'm sorry, but without payment—"

"Give me a little more time. I'll have the money."

She looked at me the way people look at someone they feel sorry for.

"She can't wait much longer."

I squeezed the few coins in my pocket and walked out of the hospital.

In my first life, I had carried Tina through a winter just like this one — burning with fever — and knelt on the hospital floor in front of Victor, begging him to save our daughter.

He had looked down at me with disgust.

"Get up. Have you no dignity? Look at yourself."

Sandra had stood behind him, her voice small and careful, driving every word like a nail.

"Vic, Ellie's just scared. It's my fault really. But my leg has started hurting again—"

She beat at her own bad leg, and Victor turned to her without hesitation.

I had grabbed his arm. He shook me off and walked out.

The cold had gone all the way into my bones, but I did not stop walking.

This time, I would not hand my life or Tina's to a man who could not see what was right in front of him.

I went to the pawnshop and left my mother's silver brooch on the counter.

Then I ran back to the hospital and paid the bill.

Past midnight, Tina's fever finally began to break.

I folded my arms on the edge of her bed and drifted off.

I woke to a familiar presence standing over me.

Victor spoke first, his voice rough. "Did you pay?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get the money?"

"Pawned the brooch."

I kept my voice flat, as if I had given away something worthless rather than the last thing my mother had left me.

He was quiet for a long time.

"That brooch belonged to your mother, Ellie. How could you just—"

"What else was I supposed to do?"

I turned and looked him in the eye.

"Wait for you to save a little from Sandra's prescriptions and grocery runs?"

His face flushed dark.

"Watch your mouth! Sandra is sick! My brother died young and she's been alone ever since — of course I look after her. Is that a crime?"

Again. That sentence. I had heard it so many times in my first life I could recite it in my sleep.

"She's fragile,"

I repeated, slowly, and let the irony carry itself.

"So Tina and I are supposed to be the durable ones?"