When my husband’s star student threatened to jump from the roof for the second time, I didn't rush forward to save her. Instead, I took a step back. I felt the cold wind whipping against the hem of my coat, a stark contrast to the heat of the panic below. Down on the pavement, my husband, Robert, looked like he’d seen a ghost. His face was a mask of primal terror as he craned his neck, screaming up at me. “Don’t you dare move back! Hannah, what are you doing? Grab her! Pull her down!” In my previous life, at this exact heartbeat of a second, I had lunged forward. I’d tried to tackle Macy before she could slip. But the moment my fingers brushed her sweater, she had twisted, her small, nimble hands finding my shoulders. She didn't slip. She pushed. As I fell toward the asphalt, I saw her face. There was no fear. Just a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. “Hannah,” she had whispered, her voice lost to the wind but clear in my mind, “with you out of the way, I finally get what I want. I’ll take such good care of Professor Matt for you. You can die in peace.” After my death, Robert had shut himself away for three days, refusing to eat or speak. I’d spent my existence as a ghost believing he was mourning me, hoping he would find justice. Instead, he used his influence to claim she’d had a "psychotic break." He helped Macy vanish from the police reports. A year later, they were married. My mother, broken by the loss of her only daughter, ended her own life, leaving my father to wander the streets with a protest sign, a shell of a man seeking a truth no one wanted to hear. Then, I opened my eyes. And I was back on the roof. 1 “Hannah! Did you hear me? Save her!” Robert, usually the picture of academic composure, had eyes rimmed with red. He was gasping for air, his command sharp and serrated. He didn't care about the ledge. He didn't care about the height. He didn't care about me. Just like last time. After I hit the ground, I died instantly. Robert hadn't even looked at my body. He’d hurried Macy away, shielding her from the "trauma" of the scene. Ten years of marriage. Ten years of building a life, a home, a family. I realized then that to him, my life was a bargain-bin commodity. The hatred burned through my veins, cold and electric. I gave him one look—flat and empty—and turned my back on the edge. “Hannah, please!” Macy’s voice rose in a shrill, bird-like peck. “I’m so lost. Everything hurts. Please, just help me.” Tears streamed down her face. She looked like a terrified lamb, the perfect picture of a girl pushed to the brink. Below us, the crowd of students and faculty began to roar with moral indignation. “Professor Matt’s wife, don’t leave! Talk to her!” “She’s so young! She needs you!” “She looks up to you like a big sister! You can’t just walk away!” I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my chest. Macy wasn't going to jump. She had spent six months stalking my life, faking "cries for help" three times already. She didn't want to die; she wanted me to die. And these people, with their cheap sympathy and their cell phone cameras, were handing her the weapon. The tension in my body was a physical weight. My temples throbbed. “Hannah, I’m an orphan,” Macy wailed, her voice projecting perfectly for the crowd below. “You and Robert… you’re all I have. You’re like the sister I never had. I know I’m not meeting your standards, but the pressure is too much! Death is the only way out!” She was good. She’d lost her mother young, her father had skipped town, and she’d grown up in the shadow of a grandmother who collected scrap metal to pay for her books. I had started sponsoring her in middle school. In high school, I’d paid for the best tutors to get her into this elite university. But Macy was a parasite. She started with shy, blushing refusals of my help. Then came the expectations. The latest iPhone. Designer bags. Jewelry. And finally, she wanted my husband. She wanted my life. Robert’s voice broke the air again, stripped of his usual gentlemanly veneer. “Hannah! A life is on the line! I don't care what your grievance is—save her now!” The crowd took up the chant. “Apologize to her! Don’t be the reason she jumps!” “If she falls, it’s on your hands, Hannah! You’ll never wash it off!” Macy caught my eye, a flash of triumph glinting through her tears. She dangled one foot over the edge, creating the illusion of a wobble. “Ah!” she screamed, pitching forward slightly. The collective gasp from below was deafening. I saw the lenses of a dozen phones pointed up at us. “Hannah, please,” Macy whimpered, extending a hand toward me. “My legs are numb. I’m slipping. Just grab my hand. Just one pull and I’ll come back over.” Her voice was thick with fake terror, but her eyes were wide with a predatory hunger. I knew if I moved an inch closer, she’d drag me down with her. I didn't say a word. I turned and walked toward the rooftop exit. Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of boots—the fire department had finally arrived. Macy’s eyes widened in genuine shock. She hadn't expected me to simply leave the stage. 2 “Hannah!” As soon as I stepped out of the building’s lobby, Robert was there. He grabbed my arm, his grip so tight I felt the bone groan. “You’re so incredibly selfish,” he hissed, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and relief. “I don't even recognize you. I am beyond disappointed.” I looked into his eyes, searching for a trace of the man I’d loved. There was nothing but a stranger. “Then let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice as steady as a heartbeat. Robert recoiled as if I’d slapped him. The blood drained from his face. “What the hell are you talking about? You almost let a girl die, and you have the nerve to bring up divorce?” I opened my mouth to respond, but something hard and heavy struck me in the forehead. “You mean woman! Why are you mean to Macy? I hate you! I wish you weren't my mom!” My son, Mitch, stood there, his face contorted in a sneer. He was standing right next to his father, a united front against me, all for the sake of the girl who had just tried to kill me. Blood began to trickle down my face. Robert’s expression flickered with a brief, ugly shame, but before he could reach for me, the paramedics emerged with Macy. She was being supported by two firemen, looking frail and broken. Robert and Mitch didn't hesitate. They didn't even look at me. They rushed toward her. The three of them huddled together, Macy crying into Robert’s chest while Mitch clung to her hand. To any observer, they looked like a grieving family. My colleagues stood around, stunned, their eyes filled with a pity that felt like an insult. I wiped the blood from my eye, turned around, and walked to my car. I spent the afternoon at the ER, getting three stitches and calling a divorce lawyer. As I was leaving the hospital, I ran into them again. They were bringing Macy to see a psychiatrist on the fourth floor. Robert was the picture of a devoted guardian. Mitch, usually a whirlwind of restless energy, was standing quietly, listening intently to the doctor’s instructions as if his life depended on it. A sharp, familiar pain stabbed at my heart. For years, Robert had been "too busy" for us. Research, lectures, projects—he was so busy he hadn't even made it to the hospital the day Mitch was born. I’d raised our son alone, but Mitch resented me for the rules, the structure, the parenting. He preferred Macy, who took him to arcades and let him eat junk food. When my vision cleared, Mitch was standing in front of Macy, guarding her from me with a suspicious glare. “Hey! What are you doing here?” he snapped. “You’re probably planning something mean again!” “Don’t you touch her,” he added, his voice full of a child’s cruel bravado. “If you do, I’ll make Dad leave you for real!” He smiled, knowing exactly where to twist the knife. He remembered. When Mitch was six, Robert had a brief "entanglement" with a grad student. I’d lost my mind. I’d screamed, cried, even held a knife to my own wrist in a moment of sheer, shattered desperation. Back then, Mitch had hugged my legs and cried, “Mom, don’t be scared. Even if Dad leaves, I’ll always be with you. I’ll protect you forever.” I looked at him now. He would never understand that the only reason I’d fought so hard to keep this family together was for him. I didn't say a word. I just turned and walked away. I saw the confusion flicker in Mitch’s eyes—the realization that his threats didn't have a target anymore. Behind him, Robert’s face darkened. For the first time in our marriage, I hadn't even glanced at him. 3 They brought Macy home. Renting her a separate apartment wasn't enough anymore; now, they were moving her into my sanctuary. Macy caught my cold gaze and huddled closer to Robert, her shoulders trembling with practiced fear. Mitch immediately raised his voice. “Don’t worry, Macy. Dad and I are here. No one’s kicking you out!” Robert frowned at me, his voice heavy with "academic" authority. “Macy is traumatized, Hannah. As an educator yourself, you should have the grace to show some compassion to a student.” Compassion? Or a clear path to your bed? I looked at Mitch and kept the thought to myself. “She’s twenty-two,” I said calmly. “She’s months away from graduation. I’m stopping my financial sponsorship. Today.” Over the years, between tuition, tutors, and the designer "gifts" she’d lifted from my closet, I’d spent well over three hundred thousand dollars on her. I wasn't going to throw another cent into a black hole. Macy’s head snapped up. Her eyes went wide with genuine panic. Tears began to flow—a well-practiced reflex. “Professor Matt… Hannah… am I such a burden? Maybe I should just leave. I’ll go live on the street, it’s fine.” She made a move toward the door. Robert grabbed her arm, spinning on me with a snarl. “Hannah, what is wrong with you? We aren't hurting for money! She’s sick, and you’re being a monster!” Mitch lunged at me, his small fists thumping against my thighs. “Mean woman! Bad woman! Get out! This isn't your house!” I stood there, numb, watching the son I nearly died to bring into this world treat me like an intruder. My heart didn't break; it turned to ash. “Mitch, stop it. That’s your mother!” Robert pulled the boy back, but his eyes stayed on me, devoid of warmth. “If you can’t handle this, maybe you should go stay somewhere else for a few days. Until you’ve regained your senses.” The silence that followed was chilling. We had built this life together. Back when Robert’s stipend was barely enough for groceries, I was the one working double shifts at the learning center. I took the difficult classes no other teacher wanted just to afford the down payment on this house. Back then, Robert used to worry about me. He’d turn off my alarms and beg me to sleep. “Hannah, a house isn't worth your health,” he’d say. Now, he was kicking me out of the home I’d paid for to make room for his mistress-in-waiting. It was perfect. Macy stood behind them, her arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. Her eyes said everything: Husband? Son? They’re mine now. You’re nothing. I didn't argue. I didn't tell her that this house was bought in my name before the marriage. I didn't tell her that when the divorce finalized, they would be the ones on the street. I needed to leave so the security cameras could record exactly what happened when I wasn't there. “Hannah,” Robert called out as I reached for my keys. “Your mother’s care… I’m still paying for the private facility and the advanced equipment. If you want her to stay comfortable, you’ll start acting like a wife again.” I froze. I turned slowly to look at him. My mother had late-stage ALS. She was on a ventilator. Robert’s brother sat on the board of the best private hospital in the state. He was using my dying mother as a hostage. I walked back across the room and slapped him so hard my palm went numb. Macy shrieked and tried to lung at me, but Robert, surprisingly, held her back. He just stared at me, his jaw tight. I walked out the door. For the next week, I stayed at the hospital with my mother. I watched the footage from my home security app. Macy had fully moved in. She was cooking in my kitchen, wearing my robes. She even slipped into the master bedroom late at night. I watched Mitch eat greasy takeout—the kind of food his sensitive stomach couldn't handle, the kind I’d spent years carefully avoiding. He looked at the camera and shouted, “Macy, I wish you were my real mom!” I didn't call. I didn't text. Two weeks later, Robert messaged me: “You can come home now. This is getting ridiculous.” I ignored it. The next day: “I sent Macy back to the dorms. Come back. The house is a mess and Mitch needs you.” I still didn't reply. 4 That afternoon, Macy burst into my office at the university. She looked like she’d been through a thresher—bruises on her arms, hair disheveled. She collapsed onto her knees in front of my desk. “Hannah, please! Please let me go!” Before I could breathe, a man stormed in after her. My stomach dropped. It was Greg Scott—a guy from Macy’s hometown, a known lowlife who had stalked her years ago. I’d paid for her legal fees to get a restraining order against him back in the day. How was he here? Robert followed right behind him. Macy scrambled into Robert’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “Robert, save me! Hannah… she told Greg where I was! She’s trying to sell me to him! He’s a monster!” Macy’s lip was bleeding. Her shirt was torn at the collar. She looked like a victim. Robert’s face turned a terrifying shade of purple. He glared at me and then at Greg. Greg, playing his part perfectly, looked at me with a sleazy grin. “Thanks for the tip, Mrs. Matt. And for the cash. I’ll take her off your hands now.” “What are you talking about?” I stood up, my heart hammering. Greg didn't answer. He lunged for Macy. “Your grandpa sold you to my family years ago, girl! We let you finish school, but it’s time to come home and start having babies!” He grabbed her arm. Robert didn't hesitate. He threw a haymaker that caught Greg right in the temple. Greg hit the floor, scrambled up, and ran out of the office, howling in pain. It was a farce. A cheap, poorly acted play. But Robert was fully immersed. He turned on me, his eyes glowing with a dark, predatory light. He pinned me against my desk, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “Get on your knees,” he rasped. “Apologize to her. Now.” The pain in my arms was excruciating. “They’re lying, Robert! Use your brain! Why would I ever contact that man?” His grip tightened. He looked like he was on the verge of snapping. But then Macy began to slap herself across the face. “It’s my fault!” she wailed. “I thought you loved me like a sister, Hannah! Why do you keep trying to destroy me? Do you want me to just die?” “THEN DIE!” I screamed, the frustration finally boiling over. Robert threw me to the ground. He looked at me with utter loathing. “I am so done with you, Hannah. You want to play hardball? Fine.” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. My blood ran cold. “What are you doing?” “Is this Director Sterling at the hospital? Yeah. Pull the ventilator in Room 436. Now.” “NO!” I scrambled toward him, clawing at his legs. “Robert, please! You’ll kill her! Don’t do this!” He kicked my hand away, his voice devoid of any humanity. “Kneel. Apologize to Macy. Maybe I’ll call them back.” My brain felt like it was being split by a chisel. The world blurred. I stood up, a ghost in my own body, and walked over to Macy. She looked up at me, a tiny, sickening smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. I dropped to my knees. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, each word tasting like ash. “It’s all my fault.” Macy reached out, pretending to be the bigger person, and pulled me into a hug. “I forgive you, Hannah,” she whispered into my ear, her voice a venomous hiss. “But you should probably get to the hospital. If you run, you might catch her before the lights go out.” I shoved her away. She fell back with a cry of "pain," but I was already out the door. “Hannah! Running won’t save you!” Robert yelled after me. I drove like a maniac, my vision tunneled. I reached the hospital ten minutes later, drenched in sweat. As I reached the hallway of the intensive care unit, the doors to Room 436 opened. A nurse was slowly wheeling out a gurney covered in a white sheet. The world went black. I stumbled forward, my legs giving out. I reached out and pulled back the sheet. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and jagged, echoing through the sterile halls. “MAMA!” At that exact moment, across town, Robert’s heart skipped a beat. He looked at his phone, a strange sense of dread pooling in his stomach. Before he could call Hannah, he got a call from the hospital director. “Mr. Matt? I’m calling about Hannah’s mother. The body is being moved. Do you have instructions for the morgue?” The world tilted. Robert’s breath hitched. But I never actually got through to the director earlier… the call hadn't connected. How was she dead?
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