Chapter 1: Mashed Potatoes and Second Chances

The school bully was picking on someone in the cafeteria. The smell of stale fries and spilled juice hung heavy in the air, and for a second, my stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from the electric jolt of adrenaline. I didn’t even have to see him; I could feel it, that prickling sense that something bad was about to happen.

The noise of the lunchroom faded into the background. In its place: that familiar, tense buzz when trouble’s brewing. The clatter of trays and laughter melted away as my attention zeroed in on the scene unfolding across the room.

I set down my fork, but my hand hovered for a moment. Was I really about to do this? I swallowed hard, then stood up, legs stiff but determined.

My heart was pounding, but I didn’t even think. There’s only so much you can take before you have to do something about it.

I grabbed my lunch tray and, without thinking twice, brought it crashing down on the bully’s head. The smack echoed, louder than I’d expected—mashed potatoes flew everywhere, and for a split second, all I could think was, Sorry about the potatoes.

The tray made a loud, hollow smack. Mashed potatoes and gravy splattered across the table and the bully’s shirt. Everyone turned to stare. Bits of green beans stuck to his hair. His face twisted in shock and rage. A couple of kids gasped. For a second, I almost felt bad—but only for the potatoes.

I let out a short, cold laugh, sharp and defiant.

My hands were shaking, but my voice was steady. Cold, even. “Really, Dylan? You going to glare at me now? Go ahead. I’m not scared of you.”

"Dylan Ward, don’t you ever get tired of being such a jerk?" I shot back, voice level but loaded.

The words hung in the air, sharp as glass. I let them settle for a heartbeat, feeling the weight of every eye on me. I didn’t raise my voice, but everyone heard. Some kid in the back let out a low whistle.

Yeah. After my husband killed me, I found myself back on this very day in my sophomore year at Maple Heights High.

It’s weird, waking up in a body you thought you’d left behind. The cafeteria smelled like pizza, sweat, and cleaning spray. Instant déjà vu. I still couldn’t believe it. But here I was: sixteen again, in the same ugly blue hoodie, watching my fate rewind.

In my previous life, my husband had been the school bully. I paused, letting the truth hit me all over again. It stung, every time.

Back then, I thought I could fix him. I thought love was enough. Turns out, some things are broken for a reason. Period.

After that, the cafeteria went dead silent.

You could’ve heard a pin drop. Even the lunch ladies froze, their ladles mid-air. All eyes locked on us. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

"Wifey, you…" Dylan’s buddy looked grim. He always called me that, even though we weren’t actually together. It always made my skin crawl.

The guy—Chad, I think—looked at me like I’d just grown a second head. His voice wavered. He couldn’t decide if he should be scared or mad. "Wifey, what’re you doing?"

"Dylan, we’re done." I shook off his hand, feeling a surge of finality, and walked out of the cafeteria.

My legs felt rubbery, but I kept my head high. They were all still staring. I didn’t look back. Not this time.