Chapter 2: Back to the Moment of Betrayal

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Savannah was about to start college and I was throwing her a celebration. The air smelled like frosting and hope, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d lost my mind.

The room looked just like it had all those years ago—balloons bobbing on strings, a sheet cake from the grocery store, the sugary scent of cheap punch in the air. I rubbed my eyes, half-convinced I was dreaming. My heart thudded in my chest, unsure if I should laugh or cry.

A bitter little sound escaped me. I didn’t know if I was amused or just plain broken.

Looking at the woman I once loved most—the one who’d hurt me deeper than anyone else—I couldn’t help but let out a dark laugh. Fate really does have a twisted sense of humor. The taste of it was sour in my mouth.

She was standing by the window, sunlight in her hair, looking just as young and hopeful as she did back then. I felt old and tired, even though my body was twenty-nine again. My soul felt ancient.

Why was I brought back to this moment? The question rattled around in my head, making my skin crawl.

Was it a chance to fix things, or just another round of punishment? I didn’t know. All I felt was the weight of everything I’d lost. It pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.

Just to watch the woman I cherished hide everything from me and fall into someone else’s arms all over again? The thought made my chest ache. Was I doomed to repeat this?

I couldn’t bear the thought of going through it twice. The pain was still fresh, the wounds barely scabbed over. My heart felt raw.

Her heart and her body—I’d never have either. That truth landed like a stone in my stomach.

That truth settled over me like a shroud. I’d been chasing a ghost, loving someone who was never really mine. The realization hollowed me out.

At least in my last life, I made it to my sixties. How many more years could I even hurt? The question made me shiver.

The thought made me laugh—dark and humorless. Maybe this was my punishment: to live with the knowledge and the ache, year after year. I let the bitterness settle in my bones.

But now, I was only twenty-nine. A whole lifetime stretched out ahead, and all I wanted was for it to be over already.

A whole lifetime ahead, and all I wanted was to skip to the end. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I almost laughed at the absurdity.

Taking a deep breath, I couldn’t keep the sadness from leaking out. It was there in every exhale, heavy and sharp.

I closed my eyes, let it wash over me. No more pretending. No more lies. Just the truth, bare and cold.

Forget it. Let her have her happiness. This time, I’d let go. My chest ached with the effort, but I meant it.

I whispered it like a prayer, hoping the universe was listening. Maybe this time, I’d get it right. Maybe this time, I’d be free.

I set down my knife and fork, ready to leave. My hands trembled, but I forced myself to move.

The clink of silverware on china was louder than I expected. It felt like the end of something big, even though it was just dinner. The final note of a song I never wanted to hear again.

Just then, Savannah looked up and said, her voice carefully even, “Tomorrow’s my graduation party. My mom says you have to come, no matter what.”

Her voice was steady, almost businesslike, but I could see the effort behind it. She was running through lines in her head, trying to keep things normal, to hold the world together for just a little longer.

“And… later, can you give me a ride home?” She hesitated, the words catching. There was a flicker of hope—or maybe just habit. She was used to leaning on me, even if love was never part of the deal.

I looked at Savannah in confusion. My eyebrows knit together, unsure if I’d missed something.

I tried to read her face, searching for some sign of the girl I thought I knew. But she was a closed book, as always. Her expression gave nothing away.

In my last life, I was the one who’d offered to throw her a party and drive her home. Now, the script had flipped, and I wasn’t sure how to react.

I remembered the nervous excitement, the way I’d rehearsed what I’d say, how I’d ask if she needed anything. I thought I was being thoughtful. Turns out, I was just playing my part, a character in her story.

On the way back, I couldn’t hold back and kissed her. We got swept up in the moment—reckless, needy, desperate for something real. We ended up sleeping together in the car, the windows fogged and our hearts pounding.

It was reckless, messy, the kind of thing you see in movies. For a moment, I believed we were in love, that this was the start of something real. That belief felt sweet and stupid now.

Not long after, Savannah told me she was pregnant. The words hit me like a jolt, sending my mind spinning.

She called me late at night, voice shaking. I was so sure it was mine. I started planning our future before she even finished her sentence. My heart leapt, blind and hopeful.

I was over the moon, wanting nothing more than to drop everything and fly to her college town, to take care of her, to build a life together. I wanted to be her anchor.

I called my mom, told my buddies at work. I was ready to be a dad, to build a life together. I thought it was finally happening. I let myself dream.

But Savannah turned me down. The hope inside me fizzled, replaced by confusion and hurt.

She said she needed time, that she’d handle things on her own. I thought she was just scared. I had no idea what was really going on. The truth was still hiding in the shadows.

Later, my daughter told me Savannah had gotten pregnant half a month before we ever slept together. The timeline made no sense. My stomach dropped.

During her pregnancy, Tyler was the one by her side every step of the way. I was just a name on a check.

He was the one holding her hand at doctor’s appointments, the one she called when she was scared. I was just the guy footing the bill. My presence was a formality.

I was involved too—because they used my money. The whole thing was a joke. I was a silent partner in their secret life.

But now, Savannah was the one bringing up both things—the party and the ride home. I wondered what she was after this time.

She was rewriting history, or maybe just testing the waters. I couldn’t tell what game she was playing. Was she really that shameless?

I tried to find an answer in her eyes. I watched her closely, searching for any crack in her armor, any sign of real feeling.

I searched for guilt, for gratitude, for anything that would make sense. But she just looked away, as if I was a stranger. The wall was back up.

But she didn’t give me the chance. After a quick glance, she looked away. I felt invisible.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward. I felt like an intruder in my own life, a guest in my own story.

Still, I noticed something different—her eyes had lost their shyness and grown steadier. There was a new edge to her, something I couldn’t name.

There was a confidence there now, a kind of resolve I hadn’t seen before. Maybe she was finally done pretending. Maybe I was seeing the real Savannah for the first time.

She wasn’t the same Savannah anymore. I felt the shift, and it made me uneasy.

It was like looking at someone you used to know, but can’t quite place. The past and present blurred together, leaving me unmoored. I felt adrift.

“I’m busy. You all can handle the party yourselves.” My words were flat, almost bored, but inside I was bracing myself. I wanted her to know I was done playing along.

“You live close by. Walk home yourself.” I didn’t bother softening the blow.

I could see the hurt flicker across her face, but I didn’t let myself care. Not this time. I looked away, refusing to give in.

“I’m your benefactor. If people see us being this close, they’ll start talking.” The words were sharp, meant to cut. I was drawing a line.

In a small town, gossip spreads faster than wildfire. I wasn’t about to give them more fuel. I’d learned my lesson.

With that, I left. My heart thudded, but I kept walking.

I didn’t look back. For once, I put myself first. The weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter.

Through the big front window, I saw Savannah turn and watch me leave, her face stunned. Her mouth hung open, eyes wide with disbelief.

She looked lost, like a kid left behind at the bus stop. I almost felt sorry for her—almost. But I kept going.

Later that evening, her mother called. The phone buzzed in my hand, the screen lighting up with her name. My stomach tightened.

Her number popped up on my phone, the same as always. I considered letting it ring, but old habits die hard. I pressed accept, my voice tight.

She insisted I had to come tomorrow and even said she’d saved a seat of honor for me. The words sounded rehearsed, like she’d practiced in front of the mirror.

I could hear the excitement in her voice, the hope that I’d say yes. She always wanted things to look good for the neighbors. Image was everything to her.

I smiled and said it wasn’t necessary, that I wouldn’t have time tomorrow. My tone was polite, but my heart wasn’t in it.

I tried to sound casual, like it was no big deal. But inside, I was bracing for the fallout. I could feel the storm coming.

Her mother got anxious, asking all sorts of questions, even offering to move the party to another day so I could make it. She wouldn’t let it go.

She was relentless, talking over me, trying to fix what she didn’t understand. I almost admired her persistence. Almost.

I politely refused and made myself clear. I didn’t leave any room for hope or misunderstanding.

I chose my words carefully, not wanting to leave any room for hope. I wanted her to know I meant it.

“A benefactor shouldn’t get too close to the person they’re helping.” The words tasted like ash. I forced them out anyway.

It was the truth, or at least the truth I needed to believe. I needed distance—needed to be free.

“And most importantly, now that Savannah’s finished high school, my support ends here.” I let the words drop, final as a gavel.

I let the words hang in the air, final and unyielding. I wasn’t going back.

On the other end, her mother sounded uneasy, asking if something had happened between us, and finally, she even brought up Tyler. I could hear the worry, the suspicion growing.

I could hear the worry in her voice, the suspicion. She was piecing things together, but not fast enough. I almost felt sorry for her.

“Is it Tyler? Did Savannah fight with you because of that kid?” Her voice sharpened on his name, like she was spitting out a curse.

She said his name like it was a curse, like he was the reason for all her troubles. The blame was always someone else’s.

“Listen to me, Jackson, Tyler’s not good enough for Savannah. If she tries to get together with him, I’ll tan her hide!” The threat was real, but so was her desperation.

I almost laughed. If only she knew. The irony of it all was almost too much.

“No, Mrs. Brooks, you’re overthinking it. That’s all.” I kept my answer short, not giving her anything to hold onto.

I kept my tone even, refusing to give her anything to hold onto. I wanted the conversation over.

I hung up, finally enjoying some peace and quiet. The silence was a balm.

The silence was a relief, like stepping into a cool room after a day in the sun. I let myself breathe for the first time in weeks. My shoulders dropped.

Savannah and Tyler had grown up together; everyone in Maple Heights knew it. Their names were always paired, like peanut butter and jelly.

They were inseparable as kids—bike rides, creek fishing, backyard barbecues. Their names were always said together, like a single word. The whole town watched them grow up side by side.

But her mother looked down on him. She never thought he was good enough for her daughter.

He came from the wrong side of the tracks, never had much, but he had a good heart. That wasn’t enough for Mrs. Brooks. She wanted more for Savannah—at least, that’s what she said.

When I was paying for Savannah’s high school and college, people in town called me her benefactor—no way Tyler could compare. I wore the title like a badge, thinking it meant something.

They’d nod at me at church, shake my hand at the Fourth of July parade, always with a hint of envy. I thought I’d earned their respect. Turns out, respect doesn’t buy love. Not even close.

Later, when Savannah finished grad school, Tyler made something of himself too, thanks to her help. He started to matter in ways he never had before.

He started a business, got his act together. People started seeing him differently, but by then, it was too late for me. My window had closed.

But after Savannah died and their story came out, I became the villain—the guy who tried to buy love and broke up a pair of star-crossed lovers. The whole town had an opinion, and none of them were on my side.

It was a small town tragedy, and I was the bad guy in the retelling. Folks stopped making eye contact at the grocery store. Even the mailman seemed to pity me. I felt their stares everywhere I went.

I scoffed and shook my head at the memory.

I let out a cold laugh, but before I could think more, Savannah called. Her name flashed on my phone, bringing a wave of old memories.

Her number ended in 4431—I’d picked it for her, thinking it would bring good luck. I always had a thing about numbers. 4431 felt lucky, like a promise that things would go smoothly. Now, it just felt like a bad joke.

“Are you home?” Her voice was sharp, almost panicked, as soon as the call connected. I felt my pulse quicken.

There was urgency in her voice, a hint of something unsaid. My hand tightened around the phone.

I was silent for a long time. “No.” I lied without thinking, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.

I hesitated, unsure of what she wanted. My guard was up. I didn’t trust her anymore.

“But I saw your truck outside.” Her voice was sharper now, calling me out. My heart skipped a beat.

She caught me in a lie, just like that. I felt exposed, caught red-handed. I swallowed hard, searching for words.

Right after she said that, someone knocked on my door. The sound echoed in the quiet house, making me jump.

The knock was soft but insistent. I knew it was her before I even looked. My stomach twisted.

After hesitating for a moment, I opened it. My hand hovered over the knob, and for a second, I almost turned away.

Savannah came in like she’d done it a hundred times before, kicked off her shoes, and sat on the couch—her favorite spot by the window. The cushions still had her imprint.

She curled up, knees tucked under her, staring out at the street. It was like watching a memory play out in real time. I felt like a ghost in my own home.

Everything felt so natural. The air between us was thick with old routines. I wondered if she felt it too.

There was a strange comfort in the familiarity. For a moment, I almost forgot everything that had happened. The old ache stirred inside me.

She said nothing. I stayed silent too. The space between us filled with all the things we’d never said.

After a few minutes, Savannah finally spoke, her voice quiet. It was barely more than a whisper, fragile and tentative.

Her words barely above a whisper, as if she was afraid to break the spell. I leaned in, straining to hear.

“My parents look down on Tyler. They think his family’s too poor.” The words came out in a rush, as if she’d been holding them in for years. I watched her face carefully.

Her voice trembled, but she held my gaze. It was the first honest thing she’d said in a long time. For a moment, I saw the girl she used to be.

I couldn’t help but laugh. The sound was raw, scraping out of my throat before I could stop it. It wasn’t funny, but I laughed anyway.

The sound was harsh, unexpected. I shook my head, unable to believe this was where we’d landed. Was this really what we’d come to?

So after all that silence, this was her first sentence? I almost wanted to clap, to give her points for timing.

“Being poor doesn’t matter. As long as two people really love each other, that’s enough.” I tried to sound wise, but the words tasted bitter. I didn’t believe them, not anymore. Not after everything.

“Your mom’ll come around eventually. It’s just a matter of time.” The words felt hollow, but I forced a smile anyway. I knew better.

I forced a smile, knowing full well it would take a lifetime—and then some. The weight of it pressed on me.

Yeah, about forty years—then she let you two be buried together. I wanted to say it out loud, but bit my tongue.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Sometimes, love stories only get happy endings in the afterlife. I almost laughed at the thought.

Savannah bit her lip and said softly, “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked, and for a second, I saw the girl I used to love.

Her apology hung in the air, fragile and unexpected. I waited for the catch, the other shoe to drop. I didn’t trust it.

That apology—I never heard it in my last life, not even at the end. The words stung, more than I wanted to admit.

Hearing it now felt like a cruel joke. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to laugh or cry.

I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat. Some wounds never heal. I let the silence stretch between us.

I smiled and shook my head. “It’s fine. Since we’re both back, go after your own happiness.” My voice was gentle, but my heart was heavy.

I meant it, or at least I wanted to. Maybe this was my chance to let go, to finally put myself first. The idea felt foreign, but freeing.

I opened the door and looked at her. My hand hovered on the knob, the gesture gentle but final. I was giving her an out—and myself, too.

Savannah nodded but didn’t move. Her eyes searched mine, but I had nothing left to give.

She hesitated, eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t give. The moment stretched out, awkward and raw.

“Do you hate me?” she asked. Her voice was small, uncertain, barely more than a whisper.

Her voice was small, uncertain. For a moment, she sounded like the girl I used to know. My chest tightened.

“I do, but that was in my last life.” I let the words hang, hoping she’d hear the truth in them.

I let the words hang, hoping she’d understand the weight behind them. I wasn’t sure if she did.

She fell silent again. The quiet between us was thick, almost suffocating.

After a while, she said, “Can you sponsor me through college?” The question landed like a slap. I blinked, stunned.

The question caught me off guard. I stared at her, unsure if she was joking. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Me? I mouthed the word, disbelief flooding me. Did she really mean it?

Was she serious? After everything, she still wanted my help? I felt anger rising in my chest.

I almost laughed out of anger. After cheating on me for a lifetime, now she wanted me to keep paying her way after a single apology? The nerve of it made my jaw clench.

The nerve of it was almost impressive. Some people never change. I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing.

I almost laughed at the sheer nerve.

I shook my head, biting back a bitter smile. This was a new low. I didn’t think she could surprise me anymore.

“Just treat it as a loan. Once I finish school, I’ll pay you back tenfold.” Her voice was steady, like she believed every word.

She looked me right in the eye, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I almost admired her audacity.

Her confidence was almost convincing. But I’d heard it all before. I wasn’t falling for it again.

I asked, “Didn’t you borrow enough from me in our last life?” My voice was cold, sharper than I intended. I didn’t care.

My voice was cold, sharper than I intended. But I didn’t care. I wanted her to feel it.

Savannah paused, then sneered, “Sorry, but the one I love really is Tyler.” Her eyes flashed, daring me to argue.

There it was—the truth, plain and unvarnished. I almost respected her honesty. Almost.

“Then you shouldn’t have led me on, wasted my whole life, and made me the villain who kept you two apart, even in death.” The words tumbled out, sharp and raw.

The words spilled out before I could stop them. Years of pain condensed into a single sentence. My hands shook.

My emotions nearly got the best of me. I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my voice steady.

I clenched my fists, fighting to keep my voice steady. I wouldn’t let her see me break. Not this time.

I took a deep breath and went on, “I’ve made things clear with your mom, and now with you. From now on, let’s not have any more contact. Please leave.” The finality in my words surprised even me.

I stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. I was done being her safety net. My heart felt lighter, but also bruised.

Savannah got angry. Her face twisted, eyes narrowing. The mask dropped.

Her eyes flashed, lips pressed into a thin line. For once, she dropped the act. I saw the real Savannah, and she was furious.

“Jackson, in my last life, I couldn’t be with the one I loved because of you. We were only buried together after I died.” Her voice shook with accusation, painting me as the villain.

Her voice trembled with accusation, as if I was the villain in her story. I felt the sting of her blame.

“If you loved me so much, why can’t you let us be together in this life too?” The question was absurd, but she asked it anyway. My mouth fell open.

The question was absurd, but she asked it anyway. I stared at her, stunned by her audacity. Was she serious?

I wondered if I’d misheard. My mind spun, trying to make sense of her logic.

It was like she’d rewritten history, cast herself as the victim, me as the jailer. The gall of it made my blood boil.

I almost laughed, but the anger choked me. She really believed it. I felt my hands tremble with rage.

She tricked me into thinking she was working out of town, when really she was living with Tyler. I raised their child, played both mom and dad, and ended up dying alone, hated by everyone. The injustice of it burned.

I carried the weight of her secrets, paid the price for her happiness. In the end, I was left with nothing. My hands curled into fists.

She got to be buried with her true love. And me? I was left with nothing but memories and regret.

All I got was a legacy of regret. That truth sat heavy in my chest.

Now she was blaming me? My jaw clenched. Was there no end to her nerve?

The injustice of it burned. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let her see me cry. I blinked hard, fighting the sting in my eyes.

“So what, you think I should’ve bought you two a house and a car, thrown you a wedding, and given you a few million to start your life together?” My voice dripped sarcasm, the words sharp as knives.

The sarcasm dripped from my words. I was done playing the fool. My patience was gone.

Savannah tried to explain. She reached for my arm, desperation in her eyes. I pulled away, refusing her touch.

“That’s not what I mean. I just think, since I spent a lifetime with you in the last life, out of gratitude, you should help us in this one.” Her logic twisted around itself, but she sounded sincere.

Her logic was twisted, but she believed it. I shook my head, unable to process the entitlement. My lips curled in disbelief.

I let out a hollow laugh. I couldn’t believe I was hearing this.

I laughed, a sound with no humor in it. Some people never change. The emptiness in my chest grew.

“Savannah, first of all, I don’t see your companionship in my last life as a favor. It was torture, you understand?” My voice cracked on the last word, the pain finally breaking through.

My voice broke on the last word. I let the pain show, just for a moment. My eyes burned.

“And besides, now that I’ve cut things off and let you be with Tyler, how have I not helped you?” I spread my hands, daring her to argue. She had nothing.

I spread my hands, as if inviting her to argue. She had nothing. The silence between us grew.

Savannah pressed her lips together, then demanded, “My family’s poor, Tyler’s family’s poor. Without money, I can’t go to college or get a grad degree. How are we supposed to live?” Her voice was sharp, almost pleading. I felt nothing but exhaustion.

Her voice was sharp, almost pleading. I felt nothing but exhaustion. My shoulders slumped.

I can’t even describe how I felt right then. Words failed me. I just wanted it to be over.

It was a mix of anger, pity, and something like relief. I was finally free. The weight started to lift.

I couldn’t stop laughing. The sound burst out of me, wild and a little unhinged. I didn’t care who heard.

I laughed at my own terrible judgment, and at Savannah’s shamelessness and naivete. The absurdity of it all was overwhelming.

All those years of believing in fairy tales, of thinking love could be bought. What a joke. I shook my head, bitter amusement twisting my mouth.

“So in the end, you just want a free ride so you two can have a good life?” I spelled it out, making sure she heard every word.

“No, I won’t let you pay for nothing. I’ll pay you back, ten times, a hundred times. I’ll even write you an IOU, okay?” She sounded desperate, as if the words could fix everything.

She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, already scribbled with numbers. I almost laughed at the absurdity. Was she really serious?

You say you’ll pay, but you never do. I just shook my head and asked, “After you tricked me for a whole lifetime, do you still think I’m an idiot?”

My voice was cold, final. I was done being her mark. I felt a strange peace settle over me.

Savannah squeezed her eyes shut, her face full of disgust. Her features twisted, like she’d just bitten into something rotten.

She looked like she’d swallowed something bitter, but I didn’t care. I watched her, unmoved.

“Then how about I give you a child?” Her words were crude, desperate, and made my skin crawl.

The words hung in the air, vulgar and desperate. I recoiled, disgusted by the offer.

“Get out!” I shouted, my patience finally snapping. My voice echoed through the room.

I pointed at the door, completely losing it. My hand shook with rage.

My voice was loud, echoing off the walls. I’d never felt so angry, so betrayed. My chest heaved with every breath.

At first, I just thought Savannah was shameless. But after hearing that, I found her utterly disgusting. My stomach churned.

The offer was an insult, a final slap in the face. I wanted her gone, wanted the whole mess gone.

I felt sad for my past self, and couldn’t help but laugh at myself—I really was a joke. The sound was bitter, hollow.

I sat down, head in my hands, the weight of everything crashing down on me. I let myself grieve, just for a moment. My shoulders shook.

Savannah left, but not before rattling off a bunch of things she thought made sense. She muttered on her way out, trying to justify herself.

She muttered excuses, half-hearted apologies, promises she’d never keep. I barely heard her over the pounding in my ears. The door clicked shut behind her.

I slammed the door behind her. The sound echoed, sharp and satisfying. I locked it, just in case.

That night, I deleted every trace of Savannah from my phone. The act felt ceremonial, like erasing a bad dream.

Photos, messages, even her number. It was like scrubbing a stain that never quite comes out. I pressed delete over and over, until my hands hurt.

I should thank her for coming today. If not for her, I might have kept hoping. She gave me the closure I needed, even if it hurt.

Thank her for giving me the resolve to cut her out of my life for good. The thought was bittersweet, but I clung to it.

Sometimes, the best gift someone can give you is the chance to walk away. I let myself breathe, really breathe, for the first time in years.