On New Year’s Eve, my husband’s "one who got away" showed up at our house and turned on the gas valves. I didn’t rush downstairs to call him for help. Because in my previous life, Mark saved me and our son, but his first love, Jolene, died because she wasn't treated in time. On the surface, he said it didn't matter. He was unnervingly patient, taking care of me with a tenderness I’d never seen before. But on the day I was discharged from the hospital, he drugged my parents and our son with sleeping pills. Then, he turned on the gas, letting the fumes take them all while they slept. Before I drifted into that final, dark sleep, I heard his hysterical laughter. "You and that brat are the reason Jolene is dead. Your parents are just as guilty for bringing a curse like you into this world. Your whole bloodline deserves to end!" "I’ve finally avenged her! I’m going to make sure you feel every ounce of the agony she suffered!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on New Year’s Eve. … A pungent, acrid smell flooded my nostrils. My vision blurred, and my head spun so violently I could barely keep my footing. A small, choked sob pulled me back to reality. "Mommy, I’m scared." I looked down to see my son, Toby, gripping my leggings with trembling hands. That’s when I knew. I had really come back. I dragged my leaden limbs toward the door, intending to shut off the gas valve in the kitchen. The bedroom door was locked from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. In my last life, the door had been fine. What changed? I pounded on the wood with everything I had. From the other side, Jolene’s voice came through, muffled but dripping with malice. "Save your breath, Claire. No one is coming for you." "Jolene! Open this door!" I screamed, my throat already raw from the fumes. "This is murder!" Outside, she let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "It’s a tragic accident, honey. You forgot to turn off the stove while cooking. What does that have to do with me?" Same old Jolene. Always the victim, always shifting the blame. And Mark? He always swallowed her lies like they were gospel. I used to wonder why. It wasn't until I checked the GPS on Toby’s smart-watch in my past life that I realized they had been sleeping together behind my back for months. I had planned to wait until after the holidays to file for divorce. I never expected Jolene to be this psychotic—she couldn't even wait for the new year. She broke in while we were sleeping and turned our home into a gas chamber. But I was awake now. And I would not let her touch my son. "Jolene, do you really think you’re going to walk away from this?" I yelled. "If I die, they’ll find you. They’ll trace everything!" "Open the damn door!" There was a flicker of hesitation in her silence. But it was gone in a second. "I checked," she said, her voice dropping to a smug whisper. "The cameras in the hallway are 'malfunctioning.' I wore a mask and a hoodie. No one saw me. I’m not making the same mistakes I made last time." My blood ran cold. Last time? She remembered too. Jolene had also come back. That’s why the door was locked. She was making sure there was no escape. "Just die already," she spat. Then, I heard her footsteps retreating. A moment later, the heavy thud of the front door shaking echoed through the apartment. Then came a frantic rattling. She was trying to leave, but she couldn't. Our neighbor’s kid had a sensory habit of mashing the buttons on our smart lock. If you hit too many wrong codes, the deadbolt engaged into a hard-lock mode that could only be opened with a physical backup key. That brat’s annoying habit had just trapped Jolene in this poison-filled apartment with us. And the backup key? It was right here, in my bedroom nightstand. "Jolene, open this door right now. It’s the only way we both survive!" "In your dreams! I am never letting you out to take Mark away from me again!" It was pathetic. Even with her lungs filling with gas, her only thought was her obsession with my husband. The air was getting thicker, shimmering with invisible lethality. Toby’s breathing was becoming shallow, his little face turning a terrifying shade of pale. I couldn't let history repeat itself. I crawled toward the window on my hands and knees. I didn't have the strength to heave it open, so I grabbed a heavy glass paperweight from my desk and smashed it against the pane. The crash was loud enough to alert the neighbor who usually watered his balcony plants around this time. Within minutes, I heard the sound of the front door being kicked. I thought it was help. Then I heard Mark’s voice, along with a few of his low-life friends. "Jolene? Oh my god, Jolene! Are you okay?" Mark roared, his voice thick with panic. Jolene let out a weak, performative whimper. "It’s… it’s Claire… she tried to…" "I’m getting you to the ER! Hang on!" "Mark, wait! Your wife is still in the bedroom!" That was Nate, the neighbor’s son. His voice was frantic. "The door is locked and the gas is everywhere! You have to get her out!" I waited for the sound of the lock turning. Instead, I heard my husband’s cold, mocking sneer. "She’s fine. She’s faking it." "She’s done this a dozen times, Nate. Anything for a little attention. But taking it this far? Putting Jolene in danger? I’m done with her games." Mark’s "bros" chimed in, their voices echoing in the hallway. "Seriously, Claire is a piece of work. Remember how she trapped Mark into that marriage? She’s finally getting what’s coming to her." "She’s the queen of playing the victim. If Jolene hadn't come back from London, Mark would still be under that psycho's thumb. Let her stew in there for a minute." My lungs were burning. Toby had gone limp in my arms. I didn't care about their insults. I just wanted my son to live. I used the last of my strength to crawl to the door and hammered on it once, hard. A final signal. A heavy silence fell over the hallway. Nate spoke up, his voice stern. "Even if she’s 'faking,' you can't just leave her in a gas-filled room, Mark. That’s insane." Mark groaned, his impatience palpable. "I told you, it’s an act! You’re so worried about her—what, you two got something going on? Is that kid even mine, or is he some neighborly side-project?" "You… you prick! That’s your wife! How can you joke about her life?" The words cut deeper than the lack of oxygen. In my last life, he had at least pretended to care. Now, he had convinced himself I was a monster just to justify his own betrayal. He wouldn't even give me the chance to breathe, let alone explain. My only hope was Nate. I heard his footsteps rushing toward the door. But then, the sound of a scuffle. Mark’s friends were holding him back. "Take it easy, Nate. You really want to catch a charge for 'saving' a woman who’s clearly just trying to ruin her husband's New Year?" One of them kicked the door back, laughing. "Hey, Claire! Nice try with the gas! But maybe next time, don't lock yourself in the one room that isn't getting any airflow! You’re a terrible actress!" They all thought I was the villain. Every single one of them. The gas was starting to win. My brain felt like it was being wrapped in wet cotton. I looked down at Toby. He wasn't moving. No. Not again. I wouldn't let him die. Not for these people. I dragged my body up and slammed my fist against the door. Again. And again. A rhythmic, desperate plea. "Does that sound like acting to you?" I heard one of the friends mutter, his voice losing its edge. "She’s been at it a long time. Maybe she’s actually stuck?" "Please," Mark snapped. "You remember the time she called me crying saying Toby was in the hospital just to get me to bail on a client meeting? It was a head cold. She’s a liar." "The ambulance is downstairs for Jolene. I’m taking her now. Claire can sit in there and think about what she’s done. I’m done being her puppet." No. Don't go. Save Toby. My throat was a desert. I couldn't make a sound. I just kept hitting the door, praying he had one shred of humanity left for his son. The footsteps approached the door. A glimmer of hope. Then, through the wood, Mark’s voice boomed—not with concern, but with pure, unadulterated rage. "Claire, stop it! Stop the damn banging! It’s New Year’s Eve—can't you give me one night of peace without a mental breakdown? I don't believe you anymore! I’m done!" I knew he wasn't the man I married anymore. But five years… surely five years earned us a look through the door? I reached for the handle, but he delivered a violent kick to the other side. The force sent me sprawling backward. I gasped in shock, and a lungful of concentrated gas rushed into my system. My nerves went numb. My mind was sharp, screaming, but my body was a statue. "Go ahead, Mark," I heard one of them say. "We’ll stay here and make sure she doesn't follow you to harass Jolene at the hospital." The distant wail of the ambulance siren grew louder, then began to fade. No. Please. Toby was five. If he survived the hypoxia, the brain damage could be permanent. He’d be a shell of himself. With a final, agonizing surge of will, I lifted my hand and slapped the door frame. "Save… him…" It was a raspy, broken croak. Nate must have heard me. He started shouting at the others. "Get out of my way! I’m breaking the door down!" "You touch that door and it’s trespassing, kid! You’ll go to jail!" "GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!" A woman’s scream pierced through the chaos. My mother. "What are you doing to my daughter? Why are you blocking her door?!" Tears finally stung my eyes. They were here. I tapped the door one last time and the world went black. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my mother’s heartbroken cry. "Claire! My baby girl!" And my father’s roar of command. "Get the paramedics up here now! Move!" I drifted through a long, feverish dream of the life I’d lived with Mark. We met in college. He was the golden boy, the one everyone wanted. I was the one who actually got him. When he accepted my confession, I thought I’d won the lottery. Five years of marriage, a beautiful son—I thought I was living the dream. Until the day I followed Toby’s watch to a cat cafe. Mark was inside, laughing with Jolene, while our son played outside alone. I had been ready to confront him, to demand a divorce. But then New Year’s Eve happened. In my first life, Mark had played the hero. He saved us, but Jolene died of smoke inhalation because he was "too late" for her. He spent the rest of his life punishing us for her death. In this life, he didn't even try to save me. He blocked my rescue. He accused me of being a whore. Every sacrifice I made for five years—the career I paused, the nights I stayed up—meant nothing. He traded it all for Jolene’s whispers. My heart throbbed with a sharp, physical pain. I jolted awake. My parents were by my side, their faces etched with exhaustion and relief. "She’s awake," my mom whispered, clutching my hand. I was alive. The moment I could sit up, I demanded to see Toby. He was still unconscious, but the doctors said we got to him just in time. The damage wasn't permanent. A miracle. On my way back from the pediatric wing, I ran into Mark’s parents. They tried to push past my parents to see Toby. "Get out!" my father barked. "Your son disowned that boy the second he let him rot in a gas-filled room. You don't get to play grandparents now!" My mother-in-law looked distraught. "He’s our grandson! Mark was just… he was confused!" My father-in-law tried a different tactic when he saw me. "Claire, stop this. Whatever Mark did, I’ll make it right. You’re stressed, taking care of the house alone… Mark is under a lot of pressure at the firm. You have to be the bigger person." Just then, Mark appeared, supporting Jolene as they walked out of another room. He must have caught the tail end of the conversation. "She’s the 'bigger person'? Please. This whole thing was her own damn fault." His parents turned on Jolene, their faces souring. "Mark, what is this? This woman has brought nothing but trouble to our family!" Mark stood his ground, his chin tilted defiantly. "Jolene and I are just friends. We have nothing to hide. Unlike Claire, who probably had Nate over the second I left for work." I almost laughed. The audacity. To stand there in a hospital hallway and claim "innocence" while his wife and son were nearly killed by his negligence. Jolene, ever the actress, let out a soft, dainty cough. "I never thought Claire would misunderstand us so much… she invited me over just to… to do that to me…" She started to cry. "It’s all my fault. Claire, I’m so sorry. I just got back to the States and I had no one else to turn to but Mark…" Mark cut her off, pulling her closer. "You did nothing wrong. It was Claire’s jealousy. Her sick, twisted mind did this to you." It was a revelation. Mark, the cold, stoic businessman, was capable of such fierce protection—it just was never for me. He didn't even care about his own flesh and blood anymore. The last flickering spark of affection I had for him died right then and there. "Mark," I said, my voice steady and cold as ice. "I want a divorce." Mark froze. For a second, he looked stunned. But the mask of rage returned quickly. "Is this another performance? You almost killed our son to get a reaction, and now you’re threatening me with divorce? Fine. You want out? Leave. But Toby stays with me. And you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back." I stared at him, my eyes burning. "You will never take my son from me." "I raised him while you were out 'working' or playing house with her. You think you can just claim him now? Not a chance." Jolene’s eyes darted between us. "But Claire, Mark is his father. A boy needs his father, doesn't he?" She was poking the bear. Mark’s jaw tightened. "The boy stays." My mother-in-law chimed in, suddenly emboldened. "Claire, you’re clearly unstable. You can't take our grandson. You’ve been a housewife for five years—how are you going to support him?" Jolene nodded sympathetically. "Exactly. You have no income, Claire. Toby would suffer with you." I turned my gaze to Jolene. It was a look that would have withered a normal person. "I’ve handled his schooling, his therapy, his nutrition, and every single milestone for five years. Mark doesn't even know the name of his pediatrician. You think I’m the one who can't raise him?" "And as for money? Don't you worry about his lifestyle. You won't be part of it." My father-in-law stepped in my way. "You aren't taking that boy out of this city, Claire. I have friends in the DA’s office. I’ll make sure of it." The masks were all off now. The "supportive" in-laws who praised me for being a devoted mother were now ready to crush me the moment I demanded my rights. "I know you have connections," I said, leaning in. "But we live in a world of social media and public records now. Let’s see how your 'connections' handle the video of your son leaving his family to die in a gas leak." They sputtered, losing ground. Mark stepped forward, looking like he was about to explode. "You want to play hardball, Claire? Fine. Don't blame me when I take everything you’ve ever cared about." I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a stranger. "I’m coming for you, Mark. And you, Jolene. Neither of you is getting away with this." Jolene flinched, hiding behind Mark’s sleeve. She deliberately stepped into my path as I tried to walk away. I reached out to brush her aside, barely touching the fabric of her coat. Jolene suddenly shrieked and threw herself backward, as if I’d shoved her with all my might. Mark caught her instantly. His eyes were red with fury. "You dare lay a hand on her? Right in front of me?!" He raised his hand, his palm flat and swinging toward my face.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "391758", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel