The house was filled with laughter.

Children were chatting. Relatives were exchanging stories. Plates clinked against tables as another family gathering carried on outside.

No one noticed the closed bedroom door.

Inside, Allora lay curled beneath a blanket, her body burning with fever.

Every breath felt heavy.

Her limbs refused to move.

For three days she had been unwell.

For three days she had heard everyone carrying on with their lives.

Not once had anyone opened the door and asked if she was alright.

Not once.

The sounds of celebration drifted through the walls.

She listened quietly.

Once, she would have been in the center of it all.

The beautiful daughter-in-law.

The capable wife.

The woman who remembered every birthday, every anniversary, every family preference.

The woman who spent her entire life taking care of everyone else.

Now she lay alone.

A bitter smile formed on her lips.

"What did I do wrong?"

The question escaped in a whisper.

She had asked herself that countless times over the years.

Had she caused James's death?

No.

The accident had been fate's cruelty.

Had she failed as a wife?

No.

She had supported Jordan through every promotion, every setback, every ambition.

Had she failed as a mother?

No.

She had sacrificed more than anyone would ever know.

Then where had it all gone wrong?

Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling.

Slowly, painfully, the answer arrived.

The mistake wasn't loving James.

The mistake wasn't becoming a widow.

The mistake was surrendering her life to other people's decisions.

After James died, she had been shattered.

Weak.

Lost.

Unable to think.

And during that weakness, others had chosen her future for her.

A future she had spent decades enduring.

Everyone said Jordan had done her a favor by marrying her.

Everyone said she should be grateful.

Everyone reminded her.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until even her own children believed it.

As though she were some burden their father had generously rescued.

No one ever considered that Jordan had gained something too.

No one ever wondered whether she had wanted that marriage.

No one ever asked.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

If she had remained alone...

If she had rebuilt her life herself...

If she had learned to stand again...

Would she have been happier?

The fever burned hotter.

The voices outside faded.

Her eyelids grew heavy.

There were no second chances in life.

No magical do-overs.

No way to return and choose differently.

At least...

That was what she believed.

As darkness swallowed her vision, she let go of every regret.

And closed her eyes.

For the last time.

The next thing she heard was screaming.

Loud.

Panicked.

Someone was crying.

A sharp headache exploded behind her eyes.

Sirens wailed somewhere nearby.

Allorra frowned.

Her body felt strange.

Lighter.

Younger.

Her eyes snapped open.

Bright lights blinded her.

People rushed past her.

Someone was calling her name.

"Allorra! Allorra!"

Her heart stopped.

She knew that voice.

Slowly, trembling, she looked around.

Wedding decorations.

White flowers.

Guests.

The reception hall.

The day James died.

The day her entire life had fallen apart.

Her hands shook.

She stared at them.

Smooth skin.

No wrinkles.

No signs of age.

Twenty-three.

She was twenty-three again.

A chill ran through her body.

Outside, sirens continued to howl.

The accident had already happened.

James was already gone.

Just as before.

Tears filled her eyes.

Not from grief.

From realization.

Fate had returned her to the exact moment everything began.

This time...

She would mourn James.

But she would not sacrifice her future.

She would not marry Jordan.

She would not hand over her choices.

She would build a life with her own hands.

And when the world tried to decide her fate again—

Allora would finally choose for herself.