Rebirth Of Love

The lingering smell of lilies and expensive cologne wasn't what I expected on my wedding day, not after the reek of gasoline and burning flesh that had been my last memory.

My thirty-year marriage to Olivia ended in a blaze, not of passion, but of pure, unadulterated hatred, as she and our son watched me burn alive in my hospital bed.

"Alex and I could have lived happily ever after!" Olivia shrieked, her face a mask of venom. "James isn' t your son. You were just the pathetic fool who paid for everything!" Then she dropped the lighter.

The world erupted in agony, a searing pain consuming every nerve. Why? That was my last thought as I watched them walk away, their silhouettes framed by the flames devouring me.

Then a violent jolt. The pain was gone. I was standing, healthy, in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, staring at my thirty-years-younger self in a gilded mirror. It was my wedding night. I was alive, I was young, and I was back at the very beginning of the nightmare.

Olivia' s frantic voice pierced the air, "Alex, no! Don' t do this!" Alex Peterson – her childhood sweetheart, the name now echoing with the fresh horror of her final confession.