The tenth time I saw my husband wrapped around his childhood sweetheart, something inside my skull detonated.

Images flooded in like a film on fast-forward, every frame searing through my mind. The same scene. The same cloying scent. And Oliver Delgado wearing that same look of blissful devotion.

I tightened my grip on the pregnancy test results in my hand. This time, I didn't bolt with tears burning my eyes.

And I didn't rush forward to slap Oliver across the face.

I had been reborn.

Reborn on my wedding anniversary. The tenth time I'd watched my husband perform his so-called "desensitization therapy" on Mamie Winfield with my own eyes.

In this life, Oliver still climbed out of bed with that same irritated scowl, shrugging on his shirt as he barked at me.

"Bernice, what are you doing lurking in the doorway like that? How am I supposed to help Mamie with her treatment if you're standing there?"

I unclenched my fists, letting the crescent marks in my palms sting, and thrust the pregnancy report at him with a cold smile.

"Oliver Delgado, I'm here to deliver our divorce papers."

"Before we finalize things, just sign this. The baby and I? You can have neither."

——

Mamie immediately sat up from Oliver's arms. Her cheeks were still flushed crimson, and her gaze flicked to me, all timid innocence.

"Bernice, please don't be angry. It's my fault for being so sickly. Oliver only holds me because he feels sorry for me. He's just treating my condition."

Her eyes reddened on cue. She leaned her delicate frame against Oliver's shoulder, then tilted her face just so, making sure I got a full view of the bruised trail of kiss marks down her neck.

In my last life, I'd swallowed it all when I saw this. I believed Mamie's allergies were real, that Oliver was just honoring their childhood bond by helping her.

I endured his nights away from home. I endured watching him murmur sweet reassurances to her.

But in the end, I discovered Mamie's allergy was a lie.

When I tried to expose the truth, she shoved me off the second-floor balcony. I died on impact. So did my baby.

And Oliver? He cradled his terrified Mamie and whispered, "Don't be scared. If anything comes of this, I'll sign a forgiveness statement as her next of kin. I'll protect you."

That tenth time, I'd still walked away clutching my heartbreak, too afraid to interrupt their "treatment."

It wasn't until after I died, when my spirit refused to leave, that I finally saw the messages between Mamie and her doctor:

"I've been taking allergy medication this whole time. Oliver doesn't suspect a thing. Once I've seduced him completely and he can't live without me, that idiot Bernice Barnes will have no choice but to step aside."

Now, all I wanted was to slap her across the face and kick Oliver down a flight of stairs so he could feel what it was like to have every bone in his body shatter.

And what I wanted, I did.

I walked straight up to Mamie and cracked my palm across her face so hard that five finger-shaped welts bloomed on her cheek.

"Going to put on a show again? Trust me, you were a much better actress in my dreams."

They both froze on the bed. In every past life, I'd been the one who turned scarlet and fled in a blind panic.

Three seconds passed. Then Oliver's roar hit me like a shockwave.

"Bernice Barnes, have you lost your mind? Mamie is a patient! How could you hit her?"

"What dreams? Are you having another one of your episodes? What kind of delusional nonsense is this?"

I smiled, rolling my wrist. Collecting a little interest on what I was owed felt surprisingly good.

"Hit her? She's openly seducing my husband and plotting to kill me and my child. You're telling me she doesn't deserve it?"

Oliver's expression darkened, as though he'd just heard the most absurd joke of his life.

"Are you throwing another jealous tantrum? I'm just helping Mamie with a medical procedure. 'Seducing'? Do you hear how ugly that sounds?"

Mamie chimed in with a pitiful, tear-choked whimper.

"Bernice, I know you've never liked me, but you can't just make up horrible accusations. Is Oliver wrong for being kind enough to treat my condition?"

I turned my cold smile on Mamie and seized her arm.

"Mamie Winfield, aren't you supposed to be allergic to men? One touch from a man and you break out in hives, can't breathe, go into anaphylactic shock?"

"Funny how you were moaning and laughing like that just now. Sounded pretty thrilling for someone with an allergy. Or was the whole thing fake?"

Mamie's face drained of color. Her eyes rimmed red in an instant, and she threw herself into Oliver's arms, sobbing with theatrical anguish.

"Oliver, look at what she's saying to me! How can she be so cruel? My allergy is real. You're the only one who can touch me." She turned her tear-streaked face toward me. "If you hate me that much, if you want me gone, I'll go. Right now."

"I'll just spend the rest of my life alone. Become a nun."

She slid off the bed barefoot, hands covering her face, making a show of bolting for the door.

Oliver reacted instantly. He jumped off the bed and caught her in his arms, pulling her close. Then he turned and shoved me square in the chest.

"Bernice, I understand you're jealous, but you don't get to be this vicious. You'd really drive Mamie away? Condemn her to a lifetime of loneliness?"

"She has a rare condition. Do you have any idea how much she's suffered? She finally found me, the one person who can help her. You're both women. Can't you show a shred of compassion?"

I stumbled backward and slammed into the wall. Pain shot through my spine, sharp and rigid. A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"Oliver Delgado, you really think you're something special, don't you? 'The one person.' You actually believe you're some kind of miracle cure?"

I whipped out my phone and aimed it at the two of them tangled together. The shutter clicked. Once. Twice.

"Tell you what. I'll send these to a medical specialist and ask what kind of allergy gets treated like this. Aren't you worried someone might die from the exertion?"

Oliver panicked. He lunged at me, grabbing for the phone.

"Bernice, have you lost your mind? If those photos get out, Mamie's reputation is finished!"

He seized my wrist and clamped down on my fingers, trying to pry the phone loose.

The pain bit into my hand, sharp and immediate. My heart went cold.

In my last life, he had been exactly the same. Protecting Mamie without question, without limit. When she'd thrown a cup of scalding water in my face, his first concern had been whether she had burned her hand.

I lowered my head and sank my teeth into the back of his hand, biting down until I felt skin give way against my teeth.

Oliver yelped and released my wrist, but only to grab my shoulders and pin me against the wall. His voice came out low and vicious.

"Bernice. Delete those photos. Now. Or you're not walking out of this room."

I smiled. Cold and thin. My thumb hovered over the send button, and I pressed down just enough for him to see.

"Is that so? Then let's play a little game. I dare you to strangle me right here."

"If you don't let go, my finger might just slip. I'm a journalist, Oliver. If this lands in my press group chat, that's on you."

He released me like I'd burned him. He stood frozen in place, swallowing hard.

"Fine. I'm not touching you. Just delete the photos."

For a man who served as Operations Director of a Fortune 500 company, Oliver Delgado had sweat beading on his forehead.

He knew the power of the internet. If those photos went viral, the whole world would be buzzing. Desensitization therapy. How cutting-edge. His precious darling's name would be dragged through the mud.

Mamie's eyes darted. Then she dropped to her knees with a thud.

"Please, Bernice. You've misunderstood. Oliver really was giving me treatment. Maybe I'm better now. Maybe the allergy is gone."

Oliver nodded frantically, his voice clipped with impatience.

"Bernice, this is great news. I was just about to tell you. I didn't expect you to barge in and blow everything out of proportion."

He reached for my arm, his tone shifting to something coaxing, almost sweet.

"It's over now. Mamie's condition has stabilized. From here on out, I can focus on you and the baby. No more misunderstandings."

"Stop being so paranoid all the time. You're making yourself crazy."

His face was inches from mine. And all I could see were the images from my last life, flashing through my mind like a reel that wouldn't stop.

Me, lying on the cold tile floor. Him, cradling his childhood sweetheart, whispering that it wasn't her fault. Telling her I'd been unstable because of the pregnancy. That I'd fallen down the stairs on my own. That he would sign the statement clearing her of any wrongdoing.

Five hours of emergency surgery. When I finally came to, my hand drifted to my stomach—flat, hollow, empty. Oliver was nowhere to be found. He'd been with Mamie the entire time, giving her his so-called desensitization therapy.

The video she'd sent still burned behind my eyelids. The two of them tangled together, skin against skin, no space between them.

And beneath it, a message:

"Since you lost the baby, how about I give Oliver one instead? Think of it as my way of thanking him for working so hard to cure me."

The memory alone sent white-hot fury surging through my veins. I swung my leg and drove my foot straight into Oliver's crotch with every ounce of strength I had.

"Oliver, I just had a dream." My voice was ice. "In it, Mamie's allergy was fake. The two of you conspired to kill my baby. Tell me—do you think that was heaven sending me a warning? Exposing what a pair of lying, backstabbing monsters you really are?"

Oliver doubled over instantly, clutching himself, his knees hitting the floor. Panic flickered across his face before he could mask it.

"Bernice, that's insane. It was just a dream. You're clearly having some kind of mental breakdown to even come up with something like that."

Mamie jumped in, her voice trembling with practiced indignation.

"You're slandering us just because you want Oliver all to yourself. He's not your property. The tighter you cling, the faster he'll run."

Then, right on cue, she swayed on her feet, eyelids fluttering, the picture of a woman on the verge of collapse.

"Oliver... I think I'm having another episode..."

He caught her immediately, pulling her into his arms, then turned on me with a snarl.

"Bernice, you've gone too far! Look what you've done to her! She's fragile—if something happens, can you live with that?"

"Mamie's right. You just want to own me. Let me make something clear: I'm your husband, not your possession. Stop trying to guilt-trip me with your little games."

I watched them—the perfect picture of two souls united against a common enemy. My fingertips were cold as stone. Everything inside me had frozen into a single, crystalline emotion.

Hatred.

I locked my gaze on him, and my voice came out flat and lethal.

"Oliver, whether it's real or a dream, you know the truth better than anyone. And everything you owe me? I'm going to collect. Every last cent. With interest."

I turned, pulled the door shut behind me with a sharp crack, sealing Mamie's crocodile tears and Oliver's self-righteous complaints on the other side.

Starting today, I was done. Done being the lovesick fool who forgave everything. Done being the Bernice Barnes who swallowed her pride and called it devotion.

I was taking back everything that belonged to me.

I would make the world see Mamie Winfield for the shameless, scheming fraud she was. And I would make Oliver Delgado realize exactly who the real fool had been all along.

I went downstairs. For the first time in years, I didn't make breakfast. Didn't tidy the living room. Instead, I moved fast—packed my essentials, then pulled the memory cards from the surveillance cameras.

I'd installed hidden cameras in the living room and entryway ages ago, a security precaution. I'd never thought twice about them. Now they were the most critical evidence I had.

I walked out the front door and drove straight to a law firm. I hired an attorney to draft divorce papers, tucked my prenatal exam records safely away, then headed to the hospital to consult a specialist about contact allergies.

The doctor couldn't have been more definitive. Allergic reactions triggered by contact with the opposite sex were extraordinarily rare. Even in documented cases, the patient would never be immune to just one specific man. And the idea of "desensitizing" through intimate physical contact? Medically absurd. The entire premise violated basic science.

Armed with the doctor's professional opinion, I let out a cold, bitter laugh.

Mamie's lie wouldn't survive five minutes of scrutiny. And Oliver—an operations director at a Fortune 500 company, a man who prided himself on his intellect—he hadn't been fooled. He'd known all along. He simply enjoyed the arrangement too much to question it.

I found a computer repair shop and had them pull the footage from the memory cards. Even though I'd braced myself for what I'd see, the tears still came, streaming down my face in hot, relentless lines.

No wonder I'd been sick all the time in my past life. No wonder the dizziness and exhaustion had worsened after I got pregnant—so much so that Mamie barely had to push before I tumbled down those stairs.

No wonder, even after the miscarriage, I'd been bedridden for months, wasting away until I coughed up blood and died.

And through all of it, Oliver had told me it was my own fault. That my mental state was the problem. That I was acting like a lunatic.

I grabbed my bag and headed straight for First General Hospital. An hour later, the test results were in my hands.