I looked away. I had no right to ask for anything anyway.

By the time the burn was dressed, it was nearly eleven.

Spencer was sitting with Selma out in the hospital garden, his smile sweet, the two of them looking for all the world like a couple who'd grown old together.

This was supposed to be her life. In this lifetime, I hoped they'd make it all the way, gray hair and all.

When he saw me come out, his face darkened.

"Selma's exhausted. She should be home resting. This is all your fault and your endless drama."

"Selma's the one who told me to wait for you. You'd better thank her properly!"

"It's fine. Didn't you say Frieda was your best friend?"

Selma tried to smooth it over, awkward, but Spencer had never been any good at holding things in.

"Who knows what she's really after. That whole scene back at the restaurant, screaming like that, it was to get my attention, wasn't it?"

"Selma's been nothing but good to you. How do you have the nerve to go after her boyfriend?"

So that was what he thought of me. But in two lifetimes I'd never once thought of taking anything from Selma.

"Spencer, who do you think you are. I don't want him!"

I flagged down a cab and left without looking back.

I was still stewing when I got home. It wasn't until after my shower that I remembered there was something important I still hadn't told Selma.

I picked up my phone and found a message she'd sent me.

"Frieda, I'm so sorry about tonight, the way it all blew up. Spencer didn't mean it."

"Be careful not to get the burn wet, okay? You don't want a scar."

I never expected her to be the first to comfort me, to check on me. It moved me.

I typed it out before I'd even sorted my thoughts.

"Selma, whatever you do, don't go to Cohanville. Not even for your honeymoon."

In my last life, Selma went there to clear her head and was killed in a mugging. I couldn't let history repeat itself.

"Okay!"

"You believe me? You're not going to ask why?" I was a little stunned.

"I believe you, Frieda. I ran from the wedding three times, and all three times you brought him back to me. You'd never hurt me."

Even the woman I was supposed to be rivals with trusted me more than he did.

From start to finish, he had never been worth it.

"Thank you, Selma. This time, the two of you are going to be happy."

With that knot finally undone, I felt impossibly light, and the next day even my work went faster for it.

I'd just finished organizing the entire handover file when HR tossed a document at me.

"Mr. Sterling signed it. Bet you didn't see that coming!"

"And here we thought he'd keep you on, like last time?"

Last time I resigned, it was right after Selma ran from the wedding the second time.

When Spencer found out, he was furious, smashed up his office and fired more than a dozen people for running their mouths.

But I'd already bought my plane ticket when I learned my father had kidney disease.

"Frieda, the only doctor who can treat your father is one my family can bring in."

"I don't want to lose you as a friend."

"As long as you stay, I'll agree to anything. All right?"

So I withdrew my resignation and took every out-of-town account I could, just to see less of Spencer.

But Selma ran from the wedding a third time anyway.

Looking at that breezy signature of his, the old me would have felt like a knife was turning in my chest.

But now I was only relieved. I didn't even have to explain.

HR didn't find the disappointment she'd come looking for on my face, and walked off sulking.

Only the new intern was left, her face full of sympathy.

"Frieda, I saw it with my own eyes. Mr. Sterling was in such a rush he signed without reading a single word of it."

"Maybe you should still bring it up with him face to face."

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Spotting Spencer pushing through the door, I slid the approved resignation into the drawer without missing a beat.

"What are you hiding?" He tipped his chin at the drawer.

"Nothing!"

Seeing how short I was, he shrugged.

“You're really mad? Last night I was just anxious, worried Selma would take it the wrong way.”

“Since she trusts you, I won't hold it against you.”

“To make it up to you.”

“It's your birthday tomorrow. Same as always—I'll spend it with Selma first, then come find you.”

Selma and I share the same birthday, and every year he runs between us like he's working a double shift.

When I wouldn't let him in, he'd stand downstairs with a cake like an idiot, drawing every neighbor to their windows.

It mortified Selma. It mortified me too.

After enough years, I just stopped fighting it.

“No need. I have plans.”

I had no interest in arguing, but his long arm shot out across my path without warning.

“This is your last chance, so make it count. Once Selma and I are married, it's over.”

“Selma doesn't mind, but I have to keep some self-respect as a man.”

“Spending a birthday with another woman isn't right—not even if you're my buddy.”

So he knew it wasn't right.

Yet in my last life, after we married, no matter how good he was to me the rest of the year, on this one day he always flew to whatever city Selma might be in.

Just for the chance to spend her birthday with her.

Our first child died because he wasn't there, because we didn't get to the hospital in time.

And I never made a scene about it, because I blamed myself.

“Suit yourself!”

I knew he would never let it go unless I agreed.

But I wasn't going to live through a birthday like that a third time.

When I was carrying our second child, he stayed by my side.

I thought he'd finally let Selma go—then that day he got word that she had died.

The cake hit the floor hard, and the shards of glass sliced open my cheek.

After that, there was never another smile between us.

He walked out satisfied, and I paid the extra fare and booked my flight for tomorrow.

With everything ready, I grabbed a quick meal with a few of my closer coworkers and headed straight for the airport.

Spencer hadn't come into the office today. They said he was setting up Selma's birthday venue himself.

But none of that had anything to do with me anymore.

Just as I was about to enter the departures terminal, he called.

“I'm at your door. Why are the lights off?”

“Selma mentioned today that you're going to the United States?”

“Quit lying, would you? Trying to bait me again?”

“I really am leaving.”

He started to argue, but the boarding announcement reached his ear.

His voice broke apart in an instant:

“Frieda, you're leaving?”

“Stop this, just because I said a few harsh things?”

Before I could answer, a deafening screech of tires tore across the ground behind me.

Metal slammed into metal. Glass shattered.

The crash split Spencer's head with sudden pain, countless broken images forcing their way into his mind.

From the dropped phone came the man's frantic, unhinged screaming:

“Frieda!”

“Frieda, what's happening?”

“Say something!”