My Second Chance, His Last

My Second Chance, His Last

Marrvelous

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The Northwood University acceptance letter felt heavy in my hand. It was a golden ticket, meant for both me and Ethan. We were young, hopeful, ready to build our future together. But I'd already lived this life once, and it ended with Ethan's hands around my throat. He blamed me for Tiffany Bell's death, his forever crush. Now, Tiffany beamed, announcing she wasn't going to Northwood. And Ethan, standing beside me with his own acceptance letter, chose to follow her instead. "Northwood can wait. You're more important," he told Tiffany. He dropped his future onto the coffee table like trash. "You wouldn't understand, Sarah. This is something I have to do," he said to me, already casting me aside. His obsession to "save" Tiffany was already in motion. His twisted narrative was forming, just as it had before. He thought he was rewriting his past, but he was mirroring the delusion that killed me. A cold wave washed over me – he was convinced of his heroic path, even if it meant abandoning our shared dream. How could he not see he was stepping onto the same dangerous road? This man, who had crushed me once, was now alienating me, with a smirk on his face. I wouldn't beg him this time. My survival was paramount. I was back, and this second chance was mine to seize. Let him chase his ghost; I was going to rewrite my own destiny, without him.

Introduction

The Northwood University acceptance letter felt heavy in my hand.

It was a golden ticket, meant for both me and Ethan.

We were young, hopeful, ready to build our future together.

But I'd already lived this life once, and it ended with Ethan's hands around my throat.

He blamed me for Tiffany Bell's death, his forever crush.

Now, Tiffany beamed, announcing she wasn't going to Northwood.

And Ethan, standing beside me with his own acceptance letter, chose to follow her instead.

"Northwood can wait. You're more important," he told Tiffany.

He dropped his future onto the coffee table like trash.

"You wouldn't understand, Sarah. This is something I have to do," he said to me, already casting me aside.

His obsession to "save" Tiffany was already in motion.

His twisted narrative was forming, just as it had before.

He thought he was rewriting his past, but he was mirroring the delusion that killed me.

A cold wave washed over me – he was convinced of his heroic path, even if it meant abandoning our shared dream.

How could he not see he was stepping onto the same dangerous road?

This man, who had crushed me once, was now alienating me, with a smirk on his face.

I wouldn't beg him this time.

My survival was paramount.

I was back, and this second chance was mine to seize.

Let him chase his ghost; I was going to rewrite my own destiny, without him.

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The drug pulsed through my veins, every inch of my body screaming for release, yet my husband, Ethan, stood over me, his face etched with familiar disgust. Just thirty minutes earlier, his childhood sweetheart, Scarlett, had forced 99 pills down my throat, challenging me: if Ethan was still repulsed by my 200-pound body, even under the aphrodisiac's influence, I had to sign the divorce papers. Scarlett' s taunt echoed: "I bet even if you strip naked and beg like a dog, he won't touch your two-hundred-pound body!" Consumed by the drug, I sank to the floor, pressing my lips against Ethan' s polished shoes, begging for help, for the man who once swore to protect me. He commanded, cold and devoid of emotion: "Use your mouth. Unbuckle my belt." He promised to help if I complied. My heart, already shattered, splintered as I fumbled with his belt, a memory piercing through the haze: I had endured agonizing experimental treatments, nearly dying, to cure the rare disease that was killing him. He had vowed eternal gratitude, promised to cherish me forever. But the cure had ravaged my metabolism, ballooning my body and his affection dwindled just as fast. Then, his sneer: "You really think I'd touch this? You' re disgusting. Trying to manipulate me with drugs? You' re pathetic." He kicked me away, walking out, leaving me to burn while Scarlett posted a triumphant selfie with him: "He's mine. Alone." I was just a placeholder, a life-saving tool that had outlived its usefulness. The fire inside raged, but a chilling resolve hardened. I wouldn't die here. A numb voice whispered: "I will erase Ava Miller, the hopeful artist, the loving wife, the pathetic, two-hundred-pound woman begging on the floor. I will leave this life behind and become someone else. Someone powerful."

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