Chapter 1

The last thing I heard was Richard, my husband of forty years, his voice clear, not fumbling like an Alzheimer's patient.

"Once Ellie's gone, we can finally get married."

He was talking to Brenda, his high school flame, the woman who had moved into our home.

"She had me for forty years, I don't owe her anything, the rest of my life is for you."

My life.

I was sixty-five, dying in my own bed, diabetes eating me from the inside, my heart too weak from stress.

For three years, I'd been his punching bag, emotional and sometimes physical.

His "Alzheimer's" only made him violent towards me.

Jess, my daughter, she made me care for Brenda too, Brenda who was here "to help Rick."

Help him get rid of me.

The pain in my chest flared, a final, sharp agony, and then, nothing.

Darkness.

Then, a jolt.

My eyes snapped open.

Sunlight, too bright, streamed through a window I knew.

My bedroom window.

But the floral curtains were ones I'd replaced years ago.

I sat up, my body feeling… lighter, less burdened by the constant ache.

I looked at my hands, not the thin, papery skin of a dying woman, but fuller, stronger.

My reflection in the dresser mirror showed me, Ellie Miller, but younger, maybe early sixties.

The room was mine, but from years past.

A calendar on the wall, one I vaguely remembered, showed a date: June 15th.

Three years. I was three years younger.

A wave of nausea hit me, not from illness, but from impossible understanding.

Then I heard Jess downstairs, her voice too cheerful.

"Mom, are you coming down? Brenda's here, Dad's so excited for the barbecue!"

Brenda.

The barbecue.

The day Brenda arrived, the day Rick's "condition" supposedly needed her expert, loving care.

The day my previous, miserable three years began.

No.

Not again.

This time, things would be different.

I remembered every lie, every hidden smirk, every moment of pain.

And I remembered Richard' s clear, triumphant voice.

"The rest of my life is for you."

We'll see about that, Richard.

We'll just see.