Chapter 1

The first thing I remembered from my last life was the end. The cloying, sweet smell of chloroform, the rough burlap sack over my head, and my mother' s voice, as clear as a bell, saying, "Twenty thousand is a bit low, Pops. She' s a college girl, real smart."

Then came the pain, the tearing, the final, brutal silence in a dusty, grease-stained room.

My spirit lingered, a wisp of cold fury. I heard my mother, Brenda, at my unmarked grave in the junkyard. She wasn't crying. She was complaining to my uncle Rick. "Kevin needed a start in life," she' d said, her voice laced with righteous indignation. "Chloe was just selfish, always thinking about that stupid school. She brought this on herself."

I had given her everything. My college fund, my future, my body, and finally, my life. For nothing.

So when I woke up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the gentle hum of medical equipment, I knew where I was. I was back. Back at the beginning of the end.

Brenda was in the hospital bed, a picture of frail tragedy. A social worker with a kind, tired face was explaining the diagnosis. Chronic kidney disease. End-stage. She needed dialysis immediately, three times a week, to live. A transplant was the only long-term solution.

The performance began right on cue.

"Oh, no," Brenda wailed, clutching the social worker' s hand. Her eyes, expertly filled with tears, found mine. "I can't. We don't have the money. My son, Kevin... he has his whole future ahead of him. My Chloe, she has her scholarship, her only way out. I can't be a burden."

She looked at me, her gaze a heavy, manipulative weight. "I'll just... I'll let nature take its course. Save the money for the kids."

In my first life, this was my breaking point. I had thrown myself at her feet, sobbing, promising to quit school, to work, to do anything to save her.

This time, I stood up.

I walked over to her bed, my face a calm, placid mask.

"Okay, Mom."

Brenda' s theatrical sobs hitched. The social worker blinked, confused.

"If that's what you want, I respect your decision," I continued, my voice even. "You've always sacrificed so much for us. It's time you did what you think is best."

I turned to the stunned social worker. "My mother has made her choice. We'll be taking her home."

The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the faint beeping of the monitor. Brenda stared at me, her jaw slack, the tears forgotten. She had expected a fight, a tearful plea, a daughter she could break.

She didn't get one.