Chapter 1

I found myself transported back to the day he confessed his feelings to me.

Brock Johnston said, "Teagan, be my girlfriend. Let me take care of you."

And he kept his promise.

For the next eight years, he treated me well. He was my boyfriend for six years and then my husband for two. He almost became a father, too. Sadly, I had a premature birth and, along with the baby, died on the operating table. In my final moments, Brock held my hand, his eyes red with desperation.

He pleaded, "You can't die. You can't leave me alone. If even you are gone, what am I supposed to do?"

I thought I was dead. But when I opened my eyes, I saw Brock again, still with that youthful, unpolished look.

He said, "Teagan, be my girlfriend. Let me take care of you." His tone was flat, his expression indifferent, showing neither anticipation nor anxiety. It didn't seem like a confession, but more like completing a duty. Because he didn't love me. The one he truly loved was my sister.

And my sister was about to die. The only thing she couldn't let go of was me. So Brock took it upon himself to bear this responsibility of mine for eight years.

Looking at him now, I remembered what his friend asked him at our wedding: "Is it really necessary? Your sister-in-law's been gone for five years. Are you seriously going to dedicate your whole life to this?"

Brock, with a cigarette in hand, said through the swirling smoke, "A lifetime means just that. Not a moment less." He had made a promise to my sister: "Don't worry, I'll take care of Teagan for life."

I took a deep breath. In my previous life, I walked the path everyone laid out for me. With this opportunity to start over, things need to be different.

"Brock, there's no need. I can take care of myself without troubling you."

Brock seemed caught off guard by my refusal. His brows knitted tightly, his gaze intense on me.

"Teagan..."

He wanted to say more, but I cut him off, "Brock, I'm going to see my sister. Are you coming?"

I noticed Brock's right thumb rubbing against his middle finger, a sign of his craving for a smoke. "You go ahead. I'll be there soon."