The Sister Who Stole My Second Life

The first thing I heard was a bell.

It rang loudly, followed by the noise of chairs scraping against the floor and students talking all around me.

I frowned.

Why was it so noisy?

My head throbbed as I slowly opened my eyes. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, yet something about it felt strangely familiar. White walls. Blue curtains. Rows of wooden desks.

A classroom.

I blinked several times, trying to understand what I was seeing.

Then I sat up abruptly.

My hands flew to my chest.

I was breathing.

I was alive.

But that was impossible.

I remembered the rain falling against the windshield. I remembered the blinding headlights, the terrible screech of tires, and the sound of metal crushing against metal.

Most of all, I remembered the pain.

I had been dying.

No, I had died.

I was certain of it.

“Are you okay?”

A girl sitting beside me leaned closer, studying my face with concern.

I stared at her.

I knew that face.

I knew the classroom, the uniforms, and even the faded noticeboard hanging beside the door.

My stomach twisted.

This was Westbridge High School.

The school I had attended years ago.

Before university. Before my relationship. Before the beautiful life everyone believed I had lived.

Before everything fell apart.

I looked down at myself.

My hands were smaller than I remembered, and my fingers were free of the engagement ring I had worn until the day I died.

I touched my face, then my hair.

Long, naturally black strands fell over my shoulders.

I had not seen myself looking this young in years.

“What day is it?” I whispered.

The girl beside me frowned. “Monday. Why are you asking me that?”

“What date?”

She gave me an even stranger look before telling me.

The moment I heard the date, my entire body went cold.

Three years earlier.

I had returned to the past by three whole years.

Before the mistakes that had destroyed my life.

Before I had fallen in love with the man who smiled so beautifully in front of other people and made me cry when we were alone.

Before I had mistaken expensive gifts for love and jealousy for protection.

My breathing became uneven.

I pressed a hand against my mouth, struggling to stop the tears gathering in my eyes.

Was this a dream?

Had I survived the accident somehow?

I pinched my arm hard enough to hurt.

“Ouch!”

The girl beside me jumped. “What is wrong with you today?”

I barely heard her.

I was alive.

I was actually alive again.

And if my memories were correct, there was still time to change everything.

I would never date him again.

Never trust his sweet words.

Never spend another night wondering what I had done wrong when he was the one hurting me.

I would never sacrifice my future to make a man feel important.

This time, I would choose myself.

The classroom door opened, and our teacher walked in carrying a stack of books.

“Everyone, settle down. We have an announcement before the next lesson.”

The students gradually returned to their seats.

I lowered my head, trying to control my emotions.

Then I heard a familiar voice from the doorway.

“Sorry, sir. We were held up.”

My blood ran cold.

I knew that voice.

I had heard it whisper promises into my ear. I had heard it apologize after hurting me, only to repeat the same cruelty days later.

I had heard it tell other people how much he loved me.

Slowly, I lifted my head.

He stood beside the classroom door, dressed in the school uniform as if he had stepped straight out of my memories. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his handsome face carried that effortless smile that made teachers forgive him and girls turn to look twice.

Alexander Hayes.

The boy I had once loved.

The man I had married in my first life.

The man who had made me feel like the luckiest woman alive in public and the loneliest woman alive in private.

He glanced around the classroom.

Then his eyes found mine.

His smile widened.

“Sorry, sir,” he repeated charmingly. “It won't happen again.”

The teacher shook his head. “Just take your seat, Alexander.”

Alexander walked down the aisle, greeting a few classmates before stopping beside my desk.

For a moment, he simply looked at me.

Then he leaned closer.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Those three words used to make my heart race.

I used to spend hours replaying the way he said them, convinced that no one could ever love me the way he did.

Now, all I felt was a cold emptiness.

I moved my chair slightly away from him.

His smile faltered.

“What's wrong?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

“Are you upset with me?”

I looked directly into his eyes.

There was no recognition in them. No memory of the life we had shared or the suffering he had caused me.

To him, I was simply the girl he had known at school.

He didn't remember our marriage.

He didn't remember the tears, the lies, or the betrayal.

Only I remembered.

And perhaps that was a gift.

Because this time, I knew exactly who he was.

“No,” I answered, turning away from him. “I'm not upset with you.”

I paused before adding, “I just don't want to talk to you.”

Silence settled between us.

Alexander stared at me as though I had spoken a language he didn't understand.

Then he gave a small laugh.

“Okay. I'll see you later.”

He walked toward his seat, but I could feel his eyes lingering on me.

I didn't look back.

For the first time in my life, I had turned away from Alexander Hayes without worrying about whether he would be angry.

A strange sense of freedom filled my chest.

But before I could enjoy it, the classroom door opened again.

This time, the girl who entered made my heart stop.

Long blonde hair fell down her back. Her beautiful face was almost identical to mine, except for the color of her eyes and hair. She wore the same uniform, carrying herself with the confidence of someone who believed the world would always give her what she wanted.

My twin sister.

She scanned the classroom until she found me.

Then she smiled.

I remembered that smile, too.

I remembered the envy hidden behind it. I remembered the arguments, the accusations, and the terrible choices that had eventually torn our lives apart.

She was alive.

She had returned, just as I had.

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Alexander before returning to me.

Something changed in her expression.

It was subtle, but I noticed it.

She was remembering.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

If she remembered our first life, then she also remembered the men we had loved—and the lives we had wished we could exchange.

She walked toward me, her smile growing sweeter with every step.

“Good morning, sis,” she said.

I stared at her, unable to tell whether I wanted to cry or scream.

She leaned down beside my ear.

“I've been thinking,” she whispered. “This time, I'm going to get the life I deserve.”

Then she straightened and walked away.

I watched her take her seat, my heart pounding.

I knew exactly what she meant.

And for the first time since waking up, I felt afraid.

Because my sister had been given a second chance, too.

And she had no intention of wasting it.