Chapter 3
Morning sunlight streamed through the old window panes, warm on my face.
It carried that familiar scent of fresh laundry and the soap Mom always used.
I opened my eyes, confused.
Right away I saw the faded celebrity poster on the wall and the floral curtains I'd loved as a teenager.
This wasn't the cold house I shared with Benedict.
This was my old bedroom—the one I had before I got married.
I shot upright and looked around.
The same desk, the same dresser. My desk calendar was open, with a date circled in red pen.
August 15th, 1983.
My breath caught in my throat.
This was the day. The day Claire drowned trying to save Benedict.
The door creaked open.
"Olivia, girl, you planning to sleep all day? The sun's been up forever." A gentle, familiar voice drifted in.
I turned slowly, stiffly, toward the doorway. There she stood, wearing a simple cotton blouse, her hair pulled back in two loose braids.
It was Cecilia.
She was young, alive, untouched by the ocean.
Tears flooded my eyes and spilled over like a dam breaking.
I didn't even bother with shoes. I stumbled out of bed and threw my arms around her, sobbing loud and messy.
"Cecilia! Cecilia!" I cried, my voice shaking.
I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing her in like I'd never let go.
She was real. And she was here.
She froze for a second, startled, then patted my back awkwardly.
"Hey, hey, what's going on? Bad dream?" she asked.
Her voice was a little husky from sleep, but it was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
"Yeah," I choked out. "The longest, worst dream ever."
It was a nightmare that lasted forty years.
She wiped my tears with her thumbs, looking worried. "Okay, okay, it's over now. Dreams aren't real. Go wash up. Mom's got breakfast ready downstairs."
I nodded hard, clinging to her hand like I'd never let go.
I followed her out of the room. Mom was in the kitchen, the sizzle of frying eggs filling the air.
Dad was out in the yard watering his prized roses, humming some old tune under his breath.
Everything matched the happiest memories I had buried deep inside.
This wasn't a dream.
I was really here.
I'd been given a second chance.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms, the sharp pain proving this was real.
This time, I would protect my family—no matter what.
Especially my sister.
At breakfast, Mom slid a fried egg onto my plate and said, casual as anything, "Olivia, honey, have you noticed Benedict's been off lately?
"He looks like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Haven't seen him smile in days."
My stomach dropped.
In my old life, I'd bought the whole act. I'd thought Benedict was heartbroken because I hadn't fallen for him yet.
He'd ask me on long walks, quote sad poetry, play the tortured soul. I was just a naive girl who ate it up. I fell hard and fast.
Now I knew better. He wasn't chasing me. He was setting the stage for his big dramatic "suicide" by the ocean, and he needed a believable reason to be out there.
I was nothing but the perfect excuse. The idiot pawn in his game.
"Mom, whatever's going on with him has nothing to do with me," I said coolly, pushing the food around my plate.
Mom blinked, clearly not expecting that. Cecilia glanced at me, a little surprised too.
She set her fork down and smiled. "Mom, Olivia's just shy. Anyway, I'm heading into town this afternoon to pick up a few things."
My heart slammed against my ribs. My fork nearly slipped.
In my old life, that was exactly what happened. Cecilia went to town, took the coastal road home, and "happened" to run into Benedict pretending to throw himself into the waves.
"Cecilia," I said quickly, "let me come with you."
She laughed and ruffled my hair. "Sweetie, no need. You stay home. I'll be back before you know it."
No. Absolutely not.
I couldn't let her go anywhere near that beach.
My mind raced.
Tell her straight-up that Benedict was planning some fake suicide stunt?
She'd think I'd lost it.
I needed something foolproof, something that would keep her away from the ocean today no matter what.
That lying bastard could keep his date with death all by himself.