The Sinful Secret

The first time Chloe died, I wasn't there.

I was in the library, trying to finish a paper, when a text from our friend Emily shattered my world: "Something happened at the dorm. Come back. Now."

I ran, only to find flashing lights and yellow tape around our building. Emily, pale and shaking, whispered the horror: "It' s Chloe. She… she fell."

The university moved with chilling speed, declaring it a tragic suicide, scrubbing every trace of her from our room as if she never existed. My best friend, gone.

But I knew Chloe. She wouldn't just jump. The bruises, the whispered phone calls to a blocked number that made her face tighten with fear-they screamed something else.

I tried to tell the police, but they dismissed it, already closing the case. The university wanted me quiet, gone, just like Chloe' s memory.

In a haze of grief and rage, I remembered her hidden burner phone and secret journal. I knew they held the truth. That night, I snuck back into our room, found them, and a terrifyingly large man in a dark suit appeared, attacking me.

I woke up with a throbbing head, confused, but the buzzing alarm clock confirmed it: Wednesday, 7:00 AM. May 18th.

Then I saw her. Chloe, alive, humming at her desk. I had woken up three days in the past.

This was my second chance. I could save her.

But I failed. Even knowing, even running, I was too late. I watched her fall again, this time on a Wednesday.