Chapter Two: The List

I didn’t sleep that night.

How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I was back there again on the floor, bleeding out, Diane’s silhouette looming over me, her words echoing like venom in my skull.

“You were never meant to shine brighter than me.”

It had sounded petty at the time, almost childish. But there was a finality to it. A hatred that only festered when envy metastasizes in silence. The kind of hatred that kills.

And she did kill me.

But I’m not dead anymore.

I’m not even twenty-five anymore.

I’m twenty-two.

It still doesn’t make sense. None of this does. But I’m here — breathing, blinking, aching — in the body of my younger self, living in the apartment I once hated and loved all at once.

I watched the sunrise through the dusty slats of the window blinds, the light casting soft golden patterns on the peeling white paint of the wall. For a moment, I just stared. The sunrise felt like proof. Proof that I wasn’t trapped in some surreal afterlife. That this… this was earth.

This was life.

But what do you do when life hands you a second chance?

I didn’t have an answer. Not yet.

So I got out of bed.

Slower this time, like I didn’t want to scare reality into disappearing.

I padded across the room barefoot and sat down at my tiny desk. My old journal lay there — a faded pink notebook with a unicorn sticker on the corner. Diane always teased me about it, said it was childish. But I liked it. It reminded me of a time before life got complicated.

Before Robert. Before betrayal. Before I forgot who I was.

I opened the journal, flipped past old scribbles and poems written in the haze of heartbreak, until I reached a fresh page.

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked up the pen.

Then, slowly… I started to write.

> My Bucket List

Because if life gives you a do-over, you don’t waste it.

1. Go to a party. A real one. Loud music, strangers, drinks, dancing until my feet ache the kind Diane never let me go to.

2. Take myself out to dinner. No compromise. No shared plates. Just me, dressing up and loving it.

3. Learn to drive. And actually get my license this time.

4. Buy a red dress. The kind that screams confidence and power.

5. Travel somewhere spontaneous even if it’s just the next city over.

6. Learn how to say “no” without guilt.

7. Kiss someone who makes my heart race.

8. Forgive myself for all the things I let slide.

9. Tell the truth. About Diane. About Robert. About myself.

10. Figure out what I really want and go after it.

When I finished writing, I sat back in my chair.

It felt… real. Heavy in a way that filled me, not weighed me down. Like each item was a promise. A spark waiting to ignite.

I touched the list gently, whispering under my breath like I was afraid someone might hear.

“Whatever it is that brought me back... you’re probably watching, aren’t you?”

I let the silence stretch around me. The air didn’t shift. The walls didn’t speak. But something in my chest stirred …… a quiet certainty that I wasn’t alone. That this return was no accident.

“I’m going to live this time,” I said. “Not just survive. I’ll enjoy every moment I spend on earth. I won’t waste it like before.”

I didn’t mean that my past life was worthless. But I had let fear steer me too many times. Let Diane dim me. Let Robert use me.

I didn’t even know who I was back then. I was so desperate to be loved, I made myself small for people who didn’t deserve me.

This time… I would be different.

And yet I couldn’t pretend I was suddenly brave.

Even after writing that list, I was still terrified.

Terrified that I might be wrong. That this was all a hallucination. That maybe I’d wake up back on the floor in a pool of blood, and this was just my brain’s way of easing me into death.

But the scar was real.

I checked it again pale and thin, just below my collarbone. A memory written in skin. That alone kept me anchored.

Still, I didn’t rush into joy.

Change wasn’t immediate. It was slow and uncomfortable, like stepping into shoes you haven’t worn in years. They fit, but they pinch in new places.

Even writing the bucket list that small act of defiance felt dangerous.

But I needed to start somewhere.

And if I was honest, I’d already decided what came first. Even before I wrote it down.

The party.

Diane never let me attend one. Not unless she was there to control how I looked, how I spoke, how much attention I got. She always found reasons to cancel. “It’s not safe.” “You won’t enjoy it.” “They’re not your kind of people.”

But I realized something last night — she wasn’t protecting me. She was afraid of what would happen if I stepped into a space where she couldn’t dim my shine.

She was scared of who I might become.

Now I finally understood why.

Because even in her absence, even with three years shaved off the future, I felt different. I wasn’t the same girl who used to seek her approval. I wasn’t the same girl who folded in on herself when someone else raised their voice.

No.

That Emma was gone. She died on that cold floor.

This Emma was born of fire.

Still scared.

Still figuring it out.

But fire, nonetheless.

I stared at my list again and traced the first item with my finger.

Go to a party.

Simple.

Basic.

But revolutionary.

I didn’t know which party yet. I wasn’t going tonight. I wasn’t ready to walk into the world just yet not before making sense of the battlefield that used to be my heart.

But I would go. Soon.

Maybe even tomorrow.

That was enough for now.

---

Later that afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. My hands were steadier now. My heartbeat no longer galloped every time I heard Diane’s footsteps down the hall.

She came home around 5:30 PM, slightly flustered, tossing her heels aside and complaining about traffic like everything was normal.

And to her, it was.

She didn’t know she was a murderer not yet.

She didn’t know I’d seen the darkest version of her.

She didn’t know I was no longer the girl who idolized her.

I watched her, quietly. Every little movement. The way she laughed into her phone. The way she checked her lipstick in the mirror. The way she paused when she noticed my gaze, then shrugged it off.

If she noticed anything strange about me, she didn’t mention it.

And I didn’t say anything either.

I couldn’t. Not yet.

I needed time to understand how to navigate this new existence. What to change. What to preserve. What to destroy.

She smiled at me that evening and asked, “Feeling better?”

I nodded.

Lied.

“Yeah. Just needed some rest.”

She accepted the answer too easily. The same way she used to accept my silence, my shrinking, my obedience.

But not this time.

Because I wasn’t shrinking anymore.

I was learning.

Planning.

Becoming.

---

That night, I showered and sat on the edge of my bed with the list in my lap again. I re-read every word. And something shifted inside me.

I didn’t need permission to want things.

I didn’t need to ask if it was okay to live.

This time, I was claiming my space even if I had to fight for every inch of it.

Whatever brought me back...

It didn’t do so for me to repeat old mistakes.

It did it so I could rewrite everything.