2. Back To Her Senses

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“NOO!” Joanne startled awake, shoving the strong hands off her frail shoulders as she tried to get as far away from the monster, only to topple off the chair. “OWW!” 

She opened her eyes and looked around. She was in the dining room of the penthouse she shared with Reagan after their marriage.

He used to live in the Knight mansion but moved here a week before the wedding. He probably believed that she was not good enough to be the lady of the Knight household.

She didn’t mind. After all, anything was better than living under the same roof as Rowena Knight. She hated Joanne with the kind of passion enough to set her on fire.

 She looked down at her belly in fear. Flat. It was flat. Her baby was gone.

“What?” She pulled up her shirt and looked for wounds, scars, anything. 

“Hey, what's wrong?”

The voice that was so familiar to her. 

The voice that caused such an adverse reaction in her soul. 

She looked up, her eyes filled with so much hatred that Reagan took a step back. 

“Are you okay?” He asked cautiously. “Why are you acting like this?” 

“You monster!” She was on her feet and had her hands around his throat in half a moment. “You heartless monster! I hate you! You killed my child! YOU KILLED MY BABY!” 

Reagan was taken aback by her sudden hysteria. 

Firstly, he had never seen his meek, timid wife so worked up before. Not to mention, this LOUD. 

And secondly, what the hell was she on about? What child? 

Reagan pulled her off of him, even though her adrenaline had made her extremely strong all of a sudden. 

He tossed her onto the couch and pinned her down with his own body before she could get oriented. 

“Calm. Down.” His voice was hard as steel.

Joanne wriggled under him, not an ounce of rationality left in her after the ordeal she had gone through minutes ago. 

“Let go of me!” She screamed at him before head-butting him right in the nose. 

Reagan moaned in pain as he clutched his nose, red and bleeding. “Joanne, are you out of your fucking mind?” 

She used his moment of weakness to escape his grip. She picked up a vase and held it towards him. “Stay away from me or I will kill you.” 

Reagan looked up from the couch, where he sat crouched and putting pressure on his bleeding and surely broken nose. “What drug are you on? What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Joanne’s eyes flickered unsteadily, taking in her surroundings and trying to orient herself.

She was in the penthouse. It did not seem like a dream. Neither did her death. But where was she then?

Was she in hell? Was being stuck with her cruel husband her hell-loop? Did she go to hell for being so stupid as to marry someone like Reagan Knight which inadvertently led to the death of an innocent life?

Or was this heaven? And whatever this was to make her get peace by killing Reagan Knight with her own hands?

“Oh my god, Regy baby!” 

Joanne whipped around to see Pauline, Reagan’s bitchy big sister barge in, pushing her aside to get to her precious baby brother, squishing his face between her hands. “What happened to you? Who did this to you?” 

She turned to glare at Joanne. “You bitch!” 

Joanne gaped at her sister-in-law. She remembered the outfit she was wearing clearly. It was the dress that won her ‘Best dressed Mama bear’ at her daughter, Kimberly’s, school. And the sash was right there. 

BEST DRESSED MAMA BEAR!

But how was that possible? 

The contest was half an year ago.

What kind of hell-loop was this? Was Joanne going to be tortured with Pauline’s repetitive gloating of her victory as well? Could it get any worse? 

“Bitch, what have you done to my baby?” Pauline shrieked, getting off the couch. It was obvious that she was ready to throw hands. 

And Joanne really thought that this might be the day when Pauline would get to do what she always wanted to. But just as she took a threatening step forward, Reagan pulled her back down. 

“Don’t bother. She had some weird dream and is now acting crazy.”  

Weird dream? Some weird dream? 

There was no way it was some weird dream. 

In fact, the chances of this moment being a weird dream was more likely than what had happened. 

Joanne resisted the urge to pinch herself to see which one was real. 

She took a deep breath. She didn’t know anymore. This moment felt real. But so did her death. 

And she remembered this moment very clearly from the past as well. 

Well, it was not identical. 

She looked over at the dining table where Reagan’s favorite dinner and birthday cake was laid out. 

And she remembered very clearly how this moment had turned out six months ago. 

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Joanne jolted awake at the thoughtless rough shaking of her shoulder. 

She looked up, her eyes blurry with sleep. 

Reagan looked down at her, the usual dislike visible on his face. 

“What's with this new drama?” 

Joanne shuffled to her feet, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

“It's not. I just made your favorite dinner and cake because it's your birthday.” 

Reagan let out a cruel laugh, clapping slowly. “Let me guess. You want a medal and a check for being the textbook perfect wife huh?”

“That's not what-” 

He grabbed her by her shoulders.

“Listen here, Joanne Ramsay, do whatever you want but you will never be able to trick me into liking you! You are just a bitch who sold herself to me. Do. Not. Forget. That.” 

That’s when Pauline had walked in. “Wow, Kathryn outdid herself tonight. That smells amazing.” 

“My ‘affectionate’ wife made it herself.” From the way he spoke, it was obvious that he did not believe that she had cooked the meal herself. He was convinced that it was one of her ploys. 

“Don’t you have an ounce of shame, bitch?” Pauline sneered. She turned to her precious brother. “I won the best dressed Mama bear award today. And I want to go out and celebrate with you, because we all know you are my first baby!” 

She hooked her arm to his. “Let’s go.” 

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That had been an excuse. He was being taken to his surprise birthday party. And his biggest surprise was the re-entry of Serena Cole into his life. 

She gulped. 

Was she in the past? 

How was this possible? It was impossible, wasn’t it? 

Or was this really a weird, ridiculous dream?

“Oh my god, you need to go to the ER. And call the cops on this feral bitch!” Pauline yelled. “Where is my fucking phone?” 

“Pauline, calm down. The bleeding has stopped. And I will go to the hospital. The person responsible for my condition will take me.” He looked dead-seriously at Joanne. 

Joanne huffed. “You wish.” 

Pauline glowered, ready to strike, “What did you say, bitch?” 

“I said, get out of my house right now or I will file a verbal abuse suit against you.” 

Pauline opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of the water. “Wh-what? You punch my brother and you dare to threaten me? You bi-”

“I would mind my language if I were you.” Joanne spat out. She then turned to her husband who was too quiet - probably too shocked to speak. “And you. There is no way in hell I am taking you to the hospital. I could help with a broken jaw if you want though.” 

She didn’t wait to hear his response as she turned on her heels and walked away to her bedroom, only to stop midway and turn back. 

“Back to your senses, I hope.” Pauline sneered. 

“Yeah, finally back to my senses.” Joanne stated before trotting over to the dining table, picking up the steak and cake she had prepared and dumping it in the garbage disposal before locking herself up in her room. 

Joanne collapsed on her bed, curling up in a fetal position - angry, painful tears bubbling out of her burning eyes. Her arms desperately wound around her abdomen. 

Was this a dream? Would she wake up from it now? Or would she never wake up? 

She looked down at her flat belly. 

If she was really in the past, her little girl was in there right now. 

She was currently two months pregnant. 

If - IF - this was actually happening… If this was her second chance and she was actually six months into the past, she was leaving. She was leaving this hellhole and protecting herself and her daughter. 

If this was her second chance, she was going to make sure all the promises she made to her unborn daughter would be kept. 

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