My Husband Tried to Kill Me for His Mistress

On the day of the college entrance exam, my daughter and my best friend’s son walked into the school together. Meanwhile, my best friend, Megan Bacon, handed me a freshly tailored green gown.

“Wearing matching gowns is a sign of good luck,” she said with a smile. “Let’s both wear one for a successful start.”

But that so-called “good luck” became my worst nightmare.

Just as we sent the kids off at the school gate, my gown suddenly tore apart in front of the crowd—ripping right down the middle. I was left exposed, humiliated, with no place to hide. My daughter quickly took off her jacket to cover me, but the damage was done. The laughter, the whispers, the judgment—it all hit her harder than it hit me.

When the results came out, she didn’t even pass the entrance exam—not even for a junior college.

Weeks later, numb and broken, she climbed to the rooftop and jumped.

I watched her fall. And I couldn’t do anything.

The next day, I died of a heart attack. But even in death, I had no answers.

Until now.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back—back on the morning of the college entrance exam.

——

“Jackie! Hurry and change! The kids will be late!” Megan’s familiar voice called out, just as before. She was holding two identical gowns in her hands, smiling as if nothing had happened.

I froze.

The same green gowns. The same moment.

Was this my second chance?

She handed me one of the dresses. “Green means smooth sailing. Our kids will breeze through the exams!”

But all I could think about was that day. How my dress tore for no reason. How hers didn’t. How my daughter fell into despair while her son—who always lagged behind in school—miraculously topped the exam and got into Harvard.

She barely visited me after my daughter died. I always thought grief had kept her away. But now I wasn’t so sure.

Could she have… done something?

My hands trembled as I took the gown from her. My heart pounded with suspicion.

No. I had to be sure.

“Megan, could you grab my underwear from the bathroom? The ones I washed last night should be dry.”

“Such a troublemaker,” she said playfully, walking out of the room.

The moment she was gone, I picked up the gown she left on the bed—her gown.

We were the same size, same build. The dresses were identical. But if something had been done to one of them…

I swapped the gowns.

When she returned, she tossed the underwear at me, annoyed. “Here. Got it.”

“Thanks!” I smiled, slipping into the dress I knew was meant for her.

She didn’t start dressing until she saw me fully changed. That alone made my stomach twist.

If this dress tears today… I’ll know.

And if it doesn’t—then I’ll know something even worse.

This time, I won’t let the truth stay buried.