When I woke up, I was lying on our sofa. The phantom terror of the fall still clutched at my heart.
Liam emerged from the kitchen carrying a slice of cake, and I scrambled to my feet with a strangled cry.
To my horror, all my wounds were gone. There was no pain. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
Liam looked at me, his expression as gentle as ever. "Whoa, did I scare you? Come on, eat your cake. You've been talking about this place for ages, so I lined up first thing this morning to get it. Happy birthday, my beautiful Ava. May all your days be this happy."
When I saw his perfectly intact hands, I broke out in a cold sweat. I had been reborn. It was the day of Liam's accident. The bloody scenes from my past life were seared into my memory. Every instinct screamed at me. *Run. Get away from him. He's a monster.*
He didn't understand, thinking he'd done something to upset me.
He chased me out of the apartment building, still holding the piece of cake. The faster I ran, the clearer my head became, and I slowly skidded to a stop.
Today was my birthday, the day of the accident. But nothing had happened yet.
Our original plan was to go to the conservatory tonight. If I didn't insist he go to the final rehearsal... if I kept Liam in my sight... if the tragedy never occurred, we could have everything back!
Memories of the love we shared, the music we made, flooded my mind. I still loved him. I realized I had to change everything.
I turned to look at him as he jogged toward me, his forehead beaded with sweat. "I have a surprise for you, too," I said, forcing a smile. "What do you think?"
"Still such a tease," he chuckled. "That's my girl. Scare me like that again, and... and you won't get any of my cake!"
He scraped a bit of frosting from the cake and held it to my lips. The sweetness on my tongue tasted like ash. But he was still so perfect. The brilliant, loving man I knew, not the monster from my memories.
After lunch, I used my birthday wish as an excuse to keep him with me all day. He wouldn't have to leave the house. We snuggled on the sofa, watching old movies.
With every tick of the clock's second hand, my anxiety tightened its grip.
When the clock struck six, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Liam gave me a strange look. "You look like you're heading into battle. Why so tense? Is it the graduation recital? Don't worry, okay? I'm here. I'll make sure you graduate with honors."
I smiled at him, a wave of reassurance washing over me.
"Oh, by the way, our dean just texted," Liam said. "A scout from the New York Philharmonic is coming tonight. The dean wants us at the conservatory for one last rehearsal."
My heart leaped into my throat. I grabbed his arm. "No! I'm not going! I don't want to practice today."
Seeing the concern in his eyes, as if he were looking at a patient, I softened my tone, coaxing him. "It's a rare day off, and I just want to spend it with you. Don't tell me you don't want that too."
He stroked my hair. "Don't be silly. It's your day; you call the shots."
We stayed like that until 8 p.m. I thought we were in the clear, so I went to the bathroom to wash my face. Then I heard Liam's phone ring. He answered, and I vaguely heard him say, "Yes, Dean. I'll be right there..."
I called out through the glass door, "Are you going out?"
He was already pulling on his coat and scarf. "The dean said the scout changed his schedule. Tonight's the last chance. This could land us careers in New York! Where's your sheet music? I'll grab it with my compositions."
A familiar dread began to creep in.
But the location was different, I told myself. The time was different. In my past life, the accident happened in the afternoon.
The anxiety didn't fade after he left. I called him every ten minutes, urging him to come home early. An hour later, my calls went straight to voicemail. I knew. Something had happened.
Ignoring my wet hair, I threw on clothes and raced to the conservatory, only to be told Liam had left an hour ago. I ran through the streets, clinging to a desperate hope that I could somehow stop it. But I was too late.
Amid the screams, under the dim streetlights, I saw it happen all over again: the stage equipment toppling, crushing his hands beneath its weight. The bloody scene made my blood run cold.
"The staff was a rookie, part of the stage setup crew. He's devastated. They've offered five million in compensation. You should probably settle this privately," a police officer told me outside the ICU.
My control snapped and I slapped him across the face. "Settle privately? How can we? He's a pianist! How does he play without his hands? You didn't just take his hands—you took his life! You took my life!"
My best friend, Chloe Miller, grabbed me. "Ava, don't be like this. We can figure out the rest later, Ava. His hands, his career... none of it matters if he dies! What would you even tell his parents?"
I was on the verge of a breakdown. "Then take my life! I don't want him like this! I want him back to normal! I want him to have his hands!"
Chloe slapped me, hard. "Wake up, Ava Sinclair! The accident happened. What can you do? Liam is inside fighting for his life, waiting for you to make a decision, and you're out here drowning in self-pity. What good is that?"
I collapsed onto the floor, the cold tiles leaching the last of my warmth. I was a walking corpse, hollowed out and waiting for the devil to claim my soul.
Fear consumed my heart, but Chloe kept repeating that as long as Liam was alive, there was hope. I slumped against her shoulder and sobbed. She didn't understand. All hope was already lost.
