No More Second Chances

No More Second Chances

Gavin

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The day I was finally supposed to marry Maria, the woman I' d loved for sixty years across two lifetimes, she died. Or so they told me. I stood at the altar, waiting, while the Texas sun beat down on the small chapel. Then her mother stumbled through the doors, face a mess of tears. "Matthew," she wailed, "There's been an accident. A terrible accident." "She's gone," her father choked out. My world tilted. How could she be gone? We'd loved until we were old and gray in our past life, then woke up young again, a gift. Now, it felt like a curse. A week after the funeral, my best friend Andrew told me someone saw Maria's twin celebrating. "She didn't look like Sylvia," he murmured. "She looked exactly like Maria." My hands stopped. Cold dread crept up my spine. I drove to the Chavez house, heart pounding. It was a party. An engagement party. And there, draped over my rival Wesley Fowler, was her. Maria. My Maria. The woman I had buried. She was laughing, looking radiant, vibrant, and very much alive. "Maria?" I choked out. She saw me, a flicker of shock in her eyes, then it vanished. "Do I know you?" she asked, her voice smooth, unfamiliar. "I'm Sylvia." The lie was so blatant, so shameless, it knocked the wind out of me. The crowd whispered, pity turning to suspicion. "You're lying," I whispered, reaching for her. "You're Maria." She flinched. "You're scaring me!" she cried, hiding behind Wesley. "Make him leave!" The whole town stared. I was the deranged, grieving fiancé. Wesley smirked. This was a setup. I had walked right into it. That night, Wesley came to my house. He told me Maria remembered our last life, too. Remembered the poverty. She chose him for his money. "And there's something else you should know," he added, his smile turning cruel. "The baby. Your first kid, in the last life. He wasn't yours, Matt. He was mine." My world shattered. Sixty years of love, history, our son – all a lie. The foundation of my entire existence collapsed. How could she do this? How could she choose this life, this man, and lie about everything, including our child? It was an unbearable betrayal. I was nothing. But in my despair, I found my grandfather' s Medal of Honor. With it, a letter: "If you ever find yourself lost, son, find General Duncan. He'll know what to do." I looked at the world that had betrayed me. I wasn' t going to rot here. I drove north, seeking a new beginning, a new path fueled by honor, not revenge. My old life was dead. It was time to build a new one.

Introduction

The day I was finally supposed to marry Maria, the woman I' d loved for sixty years across two lifetimes, she died. Or so they told me.

I stood at the altar, waiting, while the Texas sun beat down on the small chapel.

Then her mother stumbled through the doors, face a mess of tears. "Matthew," she wailed, "There's been an accident. A terrible accident."

"She's gone," her father choked out. My world tilted. How could she be gone? We'd loved until we were old and gray in our past life, then woke up young again, a gift. Now, it felt like a curse.

A week after the funeral, my best friend Andrew told me someone saw Maria's twin celebrating. "She didn't look like Sylvia," he murmured. "She looked exactly like Maria."

My hands stopped. Cold dread crept up my spine.

I drove to the Chavez house, heart pounding. It was a party. An engagement party.

And there, draped over my rival Wesley Fowler, was her.

Maria. My Maria. The woman I had buried. She was laughing, looking radiant, vibrant, and very much alive.

"Maria?" I choked out. She saw me, a flicker of shock in her eyes, then it vanished.

"Do I know you?" she asked, her voice smooth, unfamiliar. "I'm Sylvia."

The lie was so blatant, so shameless, it knocked the wind out of me. The crowd whispered, pity turning to suspicion.

"You're lying," I whispered, reaching for her. "You're Maria."

She flinched. "You're scaring me!" she cried, hiding behind Wesley. "Make him leave!"

The whole town stared. I was the deranged, grieving fiancé. Wesley smirked. This was a setup. I had walked right into it.

That night, Wesley came to my house. He told me Maria remembered our last life, too. Remembered the poverty. She chose him for his money.

"And there's something else you should know," he added, his smile turning cruel. "The baby. Your first kid, in the last life. He wasn't yours, Matt. He was mine."

My world shattered. Sixty years of love, history, our son – all a lie. The foundation of my entire existence collapsed.

How could she do this? How could she choose this life, this man, and lie about everything, including our child? It was an unbearable betrayal.

I was nothing. But in my despair, I found my grandfather' s Medal of Honor. With it, a letter: "If you ever find yourself lost, son, find General Duncan. He'll know what to do."

I looked at the world that had betrayed me. I wasn' t going to rot here. I drove north, seeking a new beginning, a new path fueled by honor, not revenge. My old life was dead. It was time to build a new one.

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The Truth About His Mistress

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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