Five

Fidelia woke with a violent gasp, her lungs burning as if she had truly been drowning all over again. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it wanted to escape this nightmare.

Her hands flew to her face, frantically feeling for the oxygen mask that wasn’t there. She pressed a palm to her chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat. She gulped down air desperately, trying to steady herself.

‘I’m alive. I’m breathing. I can’t believe it.’

The prayer she had screamed in those final moments — begging for one more chance — had actually been answered. Someone up there must have a sense of humor.

She snatched her phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up.

4th of November 2024.

WHAT!!!

The phone slipped from her trembling fingers.

November 2024. Eight whole months before the wedding. Eight months before Bridget yanked her hair and cracked her skull. Eight months before Silas stood over her hospital bed and pulled the oxygen mask off like it was nothing.

She had traveled back in time. Eight months before they killed her.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no—”

She restarted the phone. The date didn’t change. The walls of her bedroom looked wrong — the curtains she had replaced in January were still the old ugly ones. She scanned the ceiling. The crack from the earthquake wasn’t there yet.

It was real. She had really gone back.

Fidelia pressed her palms against her eyes, but the memories refused to leave: Silas’s cold, expressionless face as he watched her suffocate. Bridget’s satisfied smile. Alice’s calculated cruelty.

‘They killed me. My own family killed me.’

The thought should have shattered her. Should have sent her spiraling into tears and self-pity.

Instead, something sharp and ice-cold crystallized in her chest.

‘You all killed me once.’

Fidelia slowly lowered her hands. Her reflection stared back from the darkened window. She looked at the girl in the glass with a deep frown and spoke out loud, voice low and steady:

“I won’t let you do it again.”

She stood on unsteady legs, walked to her desk, and opened her laptop. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for only a second before they started flying across the keys, eyes fierce with brand-new purpose.

They thought she was weak, naive and easy to manipulate.

Worst than that, they thought she was easy to kill.

She was going to let them keep thinking that.

Fidelia Crawford had died once.

The woman they would meet tomorrow at breakfast would be someone else entirely.

…………..

The next morning, Fidelia woke up in her bed, steeling herself for the day she had once lived like a fool.

Today was the day Silas proposed to her. The day she had said yes without hesitation.

She held her phone, jaw tight, replaying every future memory. A sound came from the door.

“Fidelia, breakfast is ready… Are you awake?”

Bridget didn’t even wait for a reply before walking away. Hearing that voice, the anger deep inside Fidelia started boiling over.

That was her stepsister Bridget — the one who had nearly killed her. No. The one who did kill her. Along with Alice and Silas. All of them had planned it.

They were the only family she had, yet they had made her life hell since she was small. What exactly had I done wrong? Fidelia wondered bitterly. Yes, she was adopted, but was this the fate of every adopted child, or had she just drawn the short straw in this nightmare family?

She was still lost in dark thoughts when her phone rang. Caller ID: Babe.

Her stomach twisted. For a split second, her stupid heart still ached for the man she had once loved.

Then the memories crashed in: the cold look in his eyes, the oxygen mask in his hands, the flatline.

Her jaw clenched hard.

You’re not real. You never were.

The phone rang again. This time she picked up.

‘You’re not real. You never were.’

The phone rang again. This time she picked up.

She had decided to hear what Silas was going to say.