The hospital room was quiet—too quiet.
The kind of silence that only follows after hope has already walked out the door.
Amara's breaths came in short, ragged gasps. Her hand trembled as she gripped the sweat-soaked hospital sheet, her swollen belly rising and falling with the strain of every breath. Pain tore through her like fire, but the deeper agony was emotional—not physical.
Where was he?
Where was her husband?
The man she had loved with everything—her heart, her soul, her youth—was nowhere to be found when she needed him most.
"Ma'am, stay with us!" a nurse urged, her voice tight with panic. Another was adjusting wires and calling for the doctor.
But Amara knew.
She could feel it.
She was dying.
"Please…" she whispered hoarsely, barely louder than a breath. "Save my baby… please…"
The words burned her throat, but she forced them out with the last bits of strength she had left. The nurse gave her a weak smile, the kind that tried to hide the truth.
A loud beep filled the room as a monitor flatlined for a second—then flickered back.
Amara clutched her belly with shaking fingers. She wasn't ready to die. Not yet. Not like this.
She had so many things left unsaid.
So many secrets buried.
She had been married to Caleb Donovan, the cold-hearted billionaire CEO of Donovan Group. The man who swept her into his world of gold and power—and left her abandoned like a dirty secret.
Their marriage had never been built on love. It was a deal. A show. A lie.
And yet, somehow, Amara had fallen for him.
Stupid. Foolish. Blind.
And now she was dying, alone in a hospital bed, carrying the child of a man who probably didn't even remember her birthday.
A tear slid down her cheek.
She reached for her phone on the bedside table with the last bit of strength she had. Her vision blurred, but she managed to unlock it and start a voice recording.
"My name is Amara Levi…" she whispered.
Her voice cracked as another wave of pain slammed into her chest.
"If anyone finds this… tell my baby I loved them. More than anything. Tell Caleb…"
She stopped.
What was she going to say? That she forgave him? That she wanted him to raise their child?
No.
He didn't deserve either of them.
Her hand slipped. The phone fell to the floor with a soft thud. She didn't have the strength to pick it up.
Her vision dimmed. The machines screamed again.
And then everything faded… to black.
---
But that wasn't the end.
A strange warmth pulsed through her.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
She gasped—sitting up in bed.
But not the hospital bed.
Her bed.
Her old bed.
The small one in her first apartment. The room was dimly lit by soft daylight filtering through the purple curtains she remembered tossing out two years ago. Her cracked mirror hung on the wall—exactly where it used to be before Caleb bought her a luxury condo.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her face. Her belly—flat.
No blood. No pain.
"What… what is this?" she whispered.
She stumbled to the dresser and grabbed her phone. The screen blinked:
Date: August 18, 2023.
Her knees buckled.
This was two years ago.
The day before everything started to fall apart.
Before the fake engagement.
Before the humiliation.
Before the pregnancy.
Before the death.
Her phone buzzed again.
📱 Caleb Donovan: "Dinner tonight. Don't be late."
The message nearly made her drop the phone.
How could this be happening?
She was dead. She had died. She remembered the pain, the coldness, the regret.
But now…
She was back.
Alive. And with a second chance.
A sharp knock on the door snapped her back to reality. Her roommate, Jenna, peeked in. "You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
Amara laughed softly—bitterly.
"Something like that."
She turned back to the mirror. Her reflection stared at her—young, unbroken, but haunted.
This time, she wasn't going to be the fool.
She wasn't going to fall for his fake kindness, his twisted games.
She would protect herself. She would protect her child.
And most of all—
Caleb Donovan would never get the chance to ruin her again.
Rain lashed against the windows of the hospital room, the sky weeping as if mourning alongside her. Arabella's breathing grew shallower with every passing second, her frail hand clinging weakly to the last remnants of life. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood from the wound on her abdomen. Her hospital gown clung to her trembling body, damp with sweat and pain.
The machines beside her beeped steadily, indifferent to her suffering. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the pendant around her neck—a small silver locket. Inside it was a photo of her baby. Her son. The only thing that had kept her fighting this long.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, warm rivers of regret and sorrow. She whispered a name into the void.
"Leonardo..."
His name tasted like betrayal on her tongue, but her heart still clung to him in a way she hated. He had abandoned her. He had believed the lies instead of her truth. And now, here she was—bleeding out on a cold hospital bed, carrying his child… alone.
The door creaked open.
Arabella's eyes fluttered weakly toward it, expecting a nurse or perhaps an angel to escort her to the afterlife. Instead, a shadowy figure stepped into the room.
"You're still alive?" the voice sneered.
It was Veronica. Her supposed best friend, her former bridesmaid, and the woman who had orchestrated her downfall. Her eyes gleamed with malice as she approached the bedside.
Arabella didn't have the strength to respond, but her eyes narrowed with loathing.
"You look surprised," Veronica chuckled, pulling off her gloves with the smug satisfaction of a victor. "I always knew you were too soft to survive this world. Did you really think Leonardo would believe you over me?"
Arabella's lips parted, but no words came. Her throat was dry, her voice gone.
"Don't worry," Veronica continued, leaning in close, her perfume choking. "You'll be gone soon. And once you're out of the picture, Leonardo will finally be mine. Your baby? Oh, I'm sure it won't survive either. But I'll take good care of your legacy… starting with your husband."
Arabella's eyes welled with fresh tears—not out of fear, but fury. Her fingers twitched as if her body wanted to fight back, but she couldn't even lift her hand.
"You'll pay for this…" she croaked with the last ounce of strength she could muster.
Veronica smirked. "No, darling. You'll die forgotten, with nothing but lies to keep you company."
The machines began to wail—a rapid beeping of alarms. Arabella's vision blurred. The lights above her dimmed, or maybe it was her sight fading.
Memories flooded her mind in a kaleidoscope of pain and joy—her wedding day, the first time Leonardo smiled at her, the moment she found out she was pregnant, and the day he turned his back on her.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she mouthed a silent prayer—not for herself, but for her unborn child. Please let him live. Please, someone, protect my baby.
Then, the world went dark.
---
The light returned in a flash. But it wasn't the sterile white of a hospital room—it was sunlight, warm and golden, pouring in through floral curtains. The sound of birds chirping filled her ears.
Arabella's eyes flew open. She gasped and sat up, her hand going instinctively to her abdomen.
Flat.
No wound. No pain.
Her breathing came in short, panicked bursts. She looked around.
This was her old room. Her bedroom from before she married Leonardo.
Everything was exactly as she remembered. The pale blue walls, the white vanity, the old books stacked neatly on her nightstand. A calendar hung above her desk—her heart nearly stopped when she read the date.
Three years ago.
"No..." she whispered.
Was this heaven? A dream? Or...
Her fingers trembled as she stood, legs unsteady but functional. She rushed to the mirror. The reflection staring back at her was younger—no bruises, no hollow cheeks from stress and betrayal. Her eyes, though filled with shock, still held a spark of life.
She wasn't dead.
She had been reborn.
---
Hours passed before she gathered the courage to step outside. The world moved around her like a memory in motion. People greeted her, unaware of the torment she had endured in another timeline. She tried to smile, tried to keep herself from crying at every familiar face she thought she'd never see again.
Arabella didn't know how this had happened, but one thing was clear: she had been given a second chance.
This time, she would not be naïve.
She wouldn't let Leonardo manipulate her heart.
She wouldn't let Veronica anywhere near her life.
Most importantly, she would protect her child—no matter what it took.
---
Later that evening, she sat alone on her bed, staring at her journal. In her past life, she had stopped writing after her marriage. But now, she needed it—needed to plan, to remember, to stay focused.
She opened to a fresh page and wrote:
> "They think I'm weak. That I'll fall again. But I'm not the same Arabella. This time, I'll make them regret every betrayal. And I'll make sure my baby is born into a world where he'll never suffer like I did."
She paused, tapping the pen against the edge of the book.
There were so many things she had to remember. So many traps she now saw clearly.
Veronica would soon approach her with fake friendship.
Leonardo's mother would sow the first seeds of distrust.
And Leonardo… he would pretend to love her, only to cast her aside when she needed him most.
But not this time.
This time, Arabella would play the game—and win.
Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts.
It was a message from Elina—her best friend, her true best friend. The one person who had always stood by her side until Veronica twisted the truth.
> Elina: Hey girl! Movie night tomorrow? I miss you already.
Arabella smiled, tears stinging her eyes.
> Arabella: I'd love that. Miss you too.
This time, she would cherish the people who truly loved her. She wouldn't let the poison of lies break her relationships again.
---
The next morning, Arabella stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her outfit. Confidence radiated from her posture, even though her heart still carried scars no one else could see.
She wasn't sure what fate had in store for her now, but she was ready to fight.
Ready to rewrite her story.