Chapter 1

Before Graham Santana took his last breath, he left the courtyard house he'd spent twenty-five years and 10 million dollars designing to my stepsister, Molly Russell—his one true love.

His will cut deep, every word a stab to my heart.

It read, "Chelsea, I gave you forty years of marriage. That should be enough. Don't fight Molly for it. And Archie? He's my son with Molly, conceived through artificial insemination. He has nothing to do with you. He called you Mom for over twenty years. That should be enough for you."

Forty years of marriage, and I quit my respectable job just to look after him—a guy who was absolutely hopeless at handling even the basics of daily life.

He wouldn't even bother to pick up a bottle of soy sauce if it fell over. I took care of all the daily chores and hassles, just so he could focus on his designs without a worry.

Archie was sickly and a handful since he was little, and when he hit his teens, he was a full-blown rebel. I poured every ounce of effort into raising him right, got him into a prestigious university, and even helped him with his kids after he got married.

But he was always distant, giving me attitude whenever things didn't go his way, never showing me even a hint of respect.

Then Molly showed up. She was in her sixties but looked every bit the rich socialite at forty—flawless makeup, dressed to the nines in luxury brands, oozing confidence.

She flashed a smug smile, waving the deed to the courtyard house with her name on it.

Molly said, "Chelsea, that marriage you clung to so desperately? I didn't even want it back then. For forty years, Graham spent a month traveling with me every year, and all his bonuses went straight into my pocket. You were just scraping by on his pitiful paycheck."

"Oh, and Archie? He's known I'm his real mom for ages. He only kept you around just to babysit for free," she added.

Unable to breathe, I died, consumed by bitterness.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at that moment, bringing Graham home—and there he was, totally mesmerized by Molly standing at the door.

The blood I'd just spat out was still hot on my lips, Molly's smug laughter echoing in my ears, and my heart still felt like it was being ripped to shreds.

When I blinked again, it was suddenly the summer of 1988.

The old fan overhead was creaking away as I stood at the front door in my pale blue floral dress, a freshly bought popsicle still in my hand.

Standing before me was Graham, forty years younger, in his white shirt and black pants, looking every bit the heartthrob with those sharp, handsome features.

"Chelsea, who's this?" Mom poked her head out from the kitchen.

I whipped around and saw my old home, both familiar and strange. The calendar on the wall spelled it out: June 18th, 1988.

Today was the day I brought Graham, my boyfriend of a year, home to meet the folks.

It was the day Graham first laid eyes on Molly.

Molly was my half-sister, the other woman I could never escape, the shadow in my marriage for forty years.

"Chelsea, I heard you're bringing your boyfriend home today?" Molly chirped from the doorway.

Every nerve in me tensed as I turned to see Molly—just nineteen years old.

She rocked the trendiest red dress, her braids draped over her chest, eyes sparkling with that youthful charm, just as dazzling as in my memories.

I watched as Graham's eyes lit up with a spark I'd never seen before, not once in our whole year together.

"And this is..." Graham's voice softened in a way I'd never heard before.

"My sister, Molly," I managed to say, my voice dry and hollow.

Memories came flooding back.

In my last life, this was the exact moment Graham fell for Molly at first sight.

But at the time, I thought it was just my boyfriend admiring my sister out of courtesy.

How laughable—forty years spent lying to myself.

"Hi, Graham," Molly greeted him, her voice sweet and confident.

She reached out her hand, eyes fixed on Graham with a look I only now understood, full of challenge and the certainty that she'd get what she wanted.

In my last life, it was this very afternoon that I personally pushed Graham right into Molly's arms.

I was busy helping Mom get dinner ready, so I asked Molly to entertain Graham for me.

They were having a great time chatting in the courtyard, and I naively thought it was just innocent small talk between my sister and my boyfriend.

"Chelsea?" Graham gave my arm a gentle tap, pulling me back to reality.

I jerked my hand away, and the melted popsicle dripped onto the ground, forming a little wet spot.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

I looked at the face I'd been obsessed with for forty years, the same one that had ended up destroying me, and out of nowhere, I just laughed.

"Graham, let's break up." The words just came out.

And as soon as I said it, it was like a weight had finally lifted off my chest. I felt freer than I ever had in my life.

Graham froze, and Molly's eyes went wide, though I caught a quick spark of joy flickering across her face.

"Why?" Graham looked at me like I'd just dropped a bomb. "Weren't we just fine a minute ago?"

Staring him down, I said each word slow and steady, "Because I don't love you anymore."

Half of that was the truth. The other half? Not so much.