Chapter 1

1

Okay, so picture this: It's Groundhog Day, but instead of a furry rodent, I'm stuck reliving the same freaking life. My ex, Kevin, and I died in a car wreck. I woke up, bam, back before we even started dating. Last time around, we were married for seven years, seven years of me going through fertility treatments, you name it, hoping for a baby. He just kept blaming me, saying I couldn't give him the perfect little family. Non-stop fighting.

This time? I'm letting him go. We both acted like we didn't know each other, just brushed past in the crowd. Fast forward seven years, and guess where I see him again? At my daughter's dance recital at her preschool. He's rolling up in some fancy new SUV, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my car. He sees me and can't help himself. "Well, well, if it isn't Sarah. Looks like you finally managed to lay an egg."

I just ignored him, looking over at the little boy standing next to him. I knew the truth. The reason we couldn't have kids wasn't me.

...

My second encounter with Kevin was at my daughter's pre-school dance thing. He was decked out in a custom suit that screamed "I make way more money than you," acting like hot stuff. All the other parents were practically drooling, showering him with compliments.

"Mr. Miller, isn't it? My kid goes to school with your son. I'm so impressed!"

Then some lady got nosy. "Mr. Miller, you and your wife seem so happy. Any plans to add another kid to the mix?"

Kevin actually smiled. "My wife is pregnant, a few more months, and I'm going to be a Dad again."

Everyone started congratulating him. Mrs. Davis, the teacher, was looking at me, way in the back. "Ma'am, are you a parent? The parents' seats are up front!"

Of course, everyone turned to stare. "Sure." I walked up and sat in an empty seat in the front row. Kevin's face went stiff. "Sarah? I can't believe you have a kid."

I glanced at him. "Yeah, I have a daughter."

He looked like I'd slapped him, then laughed. "Adopted, right? Or a step-daughter? Whatever she is, coming to your kid's preschool recital dressed like you got your clothes at a garage sale? Talk about embarrassing her."

Before I could say anything, a sweet little voice called out, "Mommy, look at me!"