Chapter 1 · Rewriting the Fall

Chapter 1

In my previous life, I ruined my hand to save him.

With that same hand, he held someone else's.

The moment we fell from the cliff, he pushed me down.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night it all happened.

This time, I didn't reach out. I just stood there and watched him fall.

But the next day, he showed up in front of me, perfectly fine.

"Savannah, where were you last night?" he asked, frowning. "I was looking for you all night."

I froze.

He wasn't dead.

Then who was the one that fell?

*****

I was jolted awake by the shrill ring of my phone.

When I opened my eyes, I just stared at the ceiling for a long time. I knew that chandelier.

It was round, white, with a circle of crystals around the edge. I'd bought it at IKEA for 100 dollars when I was twenty-five, back when I first moved into this apartment.

I just lay there in bed, not moving.

The phone kept ringing.

I picked it up and saw the caller ID: Giovanni Francis.

For a split second, my fingers froze.

That name was once etched into my bones, but later, I tore it out—flesh and all—and threw it into the deepest pit.

Memories from my previous life played out in my mind like a film reel.

In 2019, when I was twenty-two, I met him at a friend's party. He was handsome, funny, and spent three months winning me over. Eventually, I agreed to be his girlfriend.

We dated for three years, and he treated me like I was his whole world. I really believed he was my forever.

In 2023, he bought a used sports car—customized, of course—and spent almost all his savings on it. He wanted to take me out for a spin, and I was all in.

On March 16, 2024, he went out for dinner with his friends. By the time I got there, they'd already had a few drinks.

After dinner, he insisted on driving his friend home. I told him he shouldn't drive since he'd been drinking and suggested calling a designated driver, but he just waved it off, saying it was only a few miles.

I didn't push it.

At two in the morning, we were on a winding mountain road. He was speeding, missed a turn, and the car went straight over the guardrail.

For a split second, my mind went completely blank.

By the time I snapped out of it, we were already falling.

The car was wedged in a tree right at the cliff's edge. The door was twisted out of shape, and Giovanni was flung out, barely hanging onto a branch.

I crawled out and clung to his hand for dear life.

The branch was swaying, dirt was falling away beneath him, and below us was 300 feet.

I couldn't let go.

I'd sooner die than let go.

I held on for forty agonizing minutes before the rescue team finally arrived.

By the time they pulled Giovanni up, he was already unconscious. My right hand was ruined—tendons torn, nerves shredded from the strain.

The doctors said it would never heal. He told me if I'd held on just ten minutes longer, my hand would've been completely destroyed.

I said it was worth it.

When Giovanni woke up in the hospital and learned what had happened, he cried like a child. He said, "Savannah, I owe you everything in this life. In the next one, I'll work myself to the bone for you, whatever it takes."

I told Giovanni, "You don't owe me anything. Just stay alive for me, that's all I want."

In October 2024, we got married.

In 2025, he started staying out late more and more often.

In 2026, I found out he was cheating on me—with his colleague, Freya Gill.

I confronted him about it, and he insisted they were just colleagues. When I showed him the evidence, he just stood there in silence for a long time and finally muttered, "I'm sorry."

I forgave him.

But with cheating, once it happened, it never really stopped.

In 2027, he started up again. This time, it wasn't just one woman.

By 2028, he'd grown distant, coming home later and later. I thought it was my fault, so I bent over backwards trying to win him back.

In 2029, he asked for a divorce. I agreed, but only if he walked away with nothing. He refused. He wanted his share of everything.

So we ended up battling it out in court.

Halfway through the lawsuit in 2030, all sorts of "accidents" started happening to me.

First, I got hit by a car while I was out walking. The driver sped off, and I ended up on the ground with a broken leg.

Then there was a gas leak at my place, but I caught it just in time.

Next, someone swapped my blood pressure meds for sleeping pills, and I slept for three days straight.

I knew Giovanni was behind it all.

But I had no proof.

In 2031, he asked to meet and said he wanted to discuss the divorce. I agreed, and we met at a café out in the suburbs.

After we finished talking, he said he'd drive me home. I got in the car.

He started driving so fast that I couldn't even look out the window. Suddenly, he veered onto a winding mountain road, pressing down on the gas, picking up even more speed.

I stared at him, asking, "What are you doing?"

He didn't say a word.

Suddenly, the car crashed through the guardrail.

I realized that this wasn't an accident. It was murder.

While the car plummeted, I screamed, and he laughed.

And then I saw his face. The face I once loved was now warped and monstrous, like a demon straight out of hell.

Chapter 1

In my previous life, I ruined my hand to save him.

With that same hand, he held someone else's.

The moment we fell from the cliff, he pushed me down.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night it all happened.

This time, I didn't reach out. I just stood there and watched him fall.

But the next day, he showed up in front of me, perfectly fine.

"Savannah, where were you last night?" he asked, frowning. "I was looking for you all night."

I froze.

He wasn't dead.

Then who was the one that fell?

*****

I was jolted awake by the shrill ring of my phone.

When I opened my eyes, I just stared at the ceiling for a long time. I knew that chandelier.

It was round, white, with a circle of crystals around the edge. I'd bought it at IKEA for 100 dollars when I was twenty-five, back when I first moved into this apartment.

I just lay there in bed, not moving.

The phone kept ringing.

I picked it up and saw the caller ID: Giovanni Francis.

For a split second, my fingers froze.

That name was once etched into my bones, but later, I tore it out—flesh and all—and threw it into the deepest pit.

Memories from my previous life played out in my mind like a film reel.

In 2019, when I was twenty-two, I met him at a friend's party. He was handsome, funny, and spent three months winning me over. Eventually, I agreed to be his girlfriend.

We dated for three years, and he treated me like I was his whole world. I really believed he was my forever.

In 2023, he bought a used sports car—customized, of course—and spent almost all his savings on it. He wanted to take me out for a spin, and I was all in.

On March 16, 2024, he went out for dinner with his friends. By the time I got there, they'd already had a few drinks.

I didn't push it.

At two in the morning, we were on a winding mountain road. He was speeding, missed a turn, and the car went straight over the guardrail.

For a split second, my mind went completely blank.

By the time I snapped out of it, we were already falling.

The car was wedged in a tree right at the cliff's edge. The door was twisted out of shape, and Giovanni was flung out, barely hanging onto a branch.

I crawled out and clung to his hand for dear life.

The branch was swaying, dirt was falling away beneath him, and below us was 300 feet.

I couldn't let go.

I'd sooner die than let go.

I held on for forty agonizing minutes before the rescue team finally arrived.

By the time they pulled Giovanni up, he was already unconscious. My right hand was ruined—tendons torn, nerves shredded from the strain.

The doctors said it would never heal. He told me if I'd held on just ten minutes longer, my hand would've been completely destroyed.

I said it was worth it.

I told Giovanni, "You don't owe me anything. Just stay alive for me, that's all I want."

In October 2024, we got married.

In 2025, he started staying out late more and more often.

In 2026, I found out he was cheating on me—with his colleague, Freya Gill.

I confronted him about it, and he insisted they were just colleagues. When I showed him the evidence, he just stood there in silence for a long time and finally muttered, "I'm sorry."

I forgave him.

But with cheating, once it happened, it never really stopped.

In 2027, he started up again. This time, it wasn't just one woman.

By 2028, he'd grown distant, coming home later and later. I thought it was my fault, so I bent over backwards trying to win him back.

In 2029, he asked for a divorce. I agreed, but only if he walked away with nothing. He refused. He wanted his share of everything.

So we ended up battling it out in court.

Halfway through the lawsuit in 2030, all sorts of "accidents" started happening to me.

First, I got hit by a car while I was out walking. The driver sped off, and I ended up on the ground with a broken leg.

Then there was a gas leak at my place, but I caught it just in time.

Next, someone swapped my blood pressure meds for sleeping pills, and I slept for three days straight.

I knew Giovanni was behind it all.

But I had no proof.

In 2031, he asked to meet and said he wanted to discuss the divorce. I agreed, and we met at a café out in the suburbs.

After we finished talking, he said he'd drive me home. I got in the car.

He started driving so fast that I couldn't even look out the window. Suddenly, he veered onto a winding mountain road, pressing down on the gas, picking up even more speed.

I stared at him, asking, "What are you doing?"

He didn't say a word.

Suddenly, the car crashed through the guardrail.

I realized that this wasn't an accident. It was murder.

While the car plummeted, I screamed, and he laughed.

And then I saw his face. The face I once loved was now warped and monstrous, like a demon straight out of hell.