What Was Once Mine

I hid behind the wall, shrinking into myself and shaking as I covered my mouth. My younger brother Morgan Emerson's gruesome death still flashed before my eyes.

"Once the pregnancy has stabilized, we'll get our marriage license," my husband, Gabriel Fuller, promised Sonia Westley.

I didn't lose my mind when I heard these words again. After I'd stormed up to Gabriel and confronted him in my last life, he'd been so worried Sonia would find out that she was a side piece that he shot me in the jaw.

That memory had me hiding further in the shadows.

Gabriel held Sonia close to him and turned to leave. I waited until I was sure they wouldn't turn back before entering the consultation room with my test results.

The doctor pointed out kindly, "Ms. Emerson, given how thin your uterine wall is, it'll be hard for you to conceive after you abort this baby."

I stared at my two-month prenatal test results. All I could think about was the tenderness brimming in Gabriel's eyes when he pressed his ear to Sonia's baby bump.

I'd fallen for that same look ten years ago. I'd passed up the chance to further my studies abroad and given up my dreams of becoming a pianist for Gabriel. My hands, classically trained for the piano, had since learned to pull triggers instead.

Over time, I grew used to a life of bloodshed and treading on the edge of the knife.

But then Sonia came along and reduced all my efforts to a joke.

When I didn't respond, the doctor continued, "Does your husband know about your special circumstances, Ms. Emerson?"

I looked up, my gaze meeting the doctor's as I said calmly, "My husband's dead."

An hour later, I was ashen-faced as I walked out of the hospital, bracing a hand against the wall to keep myself upright. When color returned to my lips, I fished out my phone and gave Morgan's caretaker, Ian Leefolt, a call.

"Ian, have Morgan transferred to a private sanatorium in Greenburg by this week. Keep it low, and make sure Mr. Fuller doesn't hear even a whisper about it."

I also had one of my confidantes draw up a set of divorce papers.

I'd only just made the arrangements when one of my subordinates forwarded all of the information on Sonia to me.

In my previous life, I'd hated Sonia's guts and refused to even look at a picture of her.

Now that I'd been reborn, I approached this with far more composure. For the first time, I grew curious about what kind of person Sonia was and how she managed to ensnare someone like Gabriel, who'd seen all kinds of women in his life.

I clicked to open the zip file. A footage popped up, and in it was a young lady playing a wistful, romantic tune on an old piano, set in an even older, practically derelict church. Sunlight played over her dress, faded from too many washes, and she looked as pure and innocent as a chamomile after the rain.

Half of Gabriel's profile showed up in the footage, but even then, I could see the gentle, bewitched look in his eyes.

I paused the footage, then ran into the restroom to dry-heave.

How ridiculous! Gabriel had fallen for the person I'd been ten years ago.

…

It was almost sunset when I left the hospital.

I was still in a daze as I drove down the street, but just as I was about to turn at the junction, an out-of-control truck barreled toward me. I quickly steered to avoid the collision, but to no avail.

Before I knew it, my world was spinning violently.