In my past life, a horrific car crash on our wedding anniversary took my husband’s life and left me paralyzed, bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my days. My daughter turned her back on me, convinced that I was the one who had killed her father. Years later, during a solitary visit to his grave at the hilltop cemetery, a sudden torrential downpour caught me off guard. Unable to move my useless legs, I froze to death alone in the storm. Then, in the blink of an eye, I was back to a time when my husband was still healthy and whole. Desperate to see him, I rushed home, only to hear the voice of my dog, Buster, echoing in my mind. "Thank God, she’s back. They killed her in the last life." "I’ll get them this time. I’ll rip their throats out." It turned out I wasn't the only one who had traveled back in time. So had my dog. 1 A piercing cold gripped my chest. The suffocating sensation of drowning in ice made me gasp for air, my head snapping upright as I breathed in ragged, desperate gulps. Beside me in the passenger seat, Buster was barking frantically. The familiar steering wheel, the hum of the engine, the grey afternoon light... everything felt surreal. Wasn't I dead? Where was I? Hey babe, don't worry about taking off for our anniversary. Focus on work, but don't forget to pick up Kathy! A text message from my husband, Marcus, flashed on my dashboard screen. It was the exact same message from that fateful day. A cold sweat broke out across my shoulders as the truth settled in. I had traveled back. I was back on the very day of the crash. All I wanted was to see Marcus. The man who had died so young in my previous life, the one I had cherished as my devoted, gentle partner. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal, weaving through the suburban traffic toward home. Next to me, Buster kept whining and barking, his fluffy white coat rustling against the leather seat. The noise scraped at my frayed nerves. "Hush, buddy, quiet down," I muttered, reaching over to stroke his head to soothe him. The moment my palm touched his fur, my foot slammed onto the brake. The car screeched to a halt by the curb. Because I heard a voice. A voice that came from nowhere, yet echoed clearly in my head. She's alive. She's really alive. They haven't hurt her yet. This time, I'll protect her. I'll make them pay. Was I losing my mind? Was the shock of returning to the living causing me to hallucinate? I stared at the fluffy Samoyed beside me. His dark, intelligent eyes were locked onto mine, filled with an intensity no ordinary dog should possess. In my past life, Buster was the only one who stayed by my side until my bitter end. I clapped my hands gently in a specific rhythm. It was a silly little trick I used to play with him after I lost the use of my legs, back when I couldn't move much. Whenever I clapped, he would pant happily, place his heavy paw over my right hand, and nudge it as if joining in. Now, Buster let out a soft whine, extended his pink tongue, and firmly placed his paw over my right hand. Don't go back, Valerie. Please. If you go back, bad things will happen. The realization turned my blood to ice. A deep, primal dread crept up my spine, leaving me shivering despite the car's heater. I wasn't dreaming. The dog had returned too. The distant hum of city traffic and the feel of my fully functional, pain-free legs reminded me that I was indeed alive, whole, and healthy. Why did he say I was murdered? I remembered this day vividly. A few days prior, Marcus's younger brother, Luke, had come over begging for a loan. Without my consent, Marcus emptied our joint savings account to hand over the cash. We had a massive screaming match about it. Hoping to salvage our marriage, I had swapped shifts with a coworker to surprise Marcus on our anniversary with a weekend getaway, just the two of us. Instead, we ended up in that horrific crash. I was mangled, and Marcus died on the operating table. Pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle began to align in my mind. I remembered his reaction when I told him about the surprise trip. His face had gone pale, his jaw tightening in a way I had dismissed as mere stress. Why would Buster say I was murdered? Was the car crash not an accident? They're planning it again. They want to divorce you and leave you with nothing. Let me loose. I'll rip his throat out! Had Marcus been cheating on me all along? I pulled into the dim, concrete underground parking garage of our apartment building but couldn't bring myself to step out. If I still had any doubts about Buster's telepathic warnings, the sight waiting for me in the shadows of the garage shattered them completely. In the far corner, near the service elevator, stood Marcus. And he wasn't alone. He was wrapped tightly around a woman, their low, intimate whispers echoing clearly in the quiet concrete cavern. Because of the angle and the dim lighting, I couldn't make out her face. "Don't worry about it," Marcus's voice drifted over, dripping with a smug confidence I had never heard before. "Valerie is oblivious. She believes whatever I tell her. Besides, I control the accounts. By the time we file, she won't have a single penny left to her name." The distance muffled some of their words, but the fragments I caught were enough to turn my soul to ash. He didn't recognize my car because I had borrowed a coworker's sedan for the trip. He had no idea I was sitting in the dark, watching him dismantle our fifteen-year marriage with a laugh. For the first time in our long marriage, I realized I didn't know the man I slept next to at all. My mind flashed back to when my father was hospitalized years ago. All our savings were under Marcus's control, and the mounting medical bills had been suffocating. Marcus had been the one to insist on the surgery, rushing home to handle the wire transfer. But later, he came back empty-handed, looking exasperated. "I'm so sorry, honey," he had pleaded, his eyes watery. "I was so worried about your dad, I got distracted by some guy cutting in line at the bank. I messed up the PIN and locked the account. The bank locked us out for a week." He had held me close, apologizing over and over. Distracted by grief, I hadn't doubted him for a second, feeling deeply touched by how much he seemed to care. I actually felt lucky to have married such a sensitive, caring husband. In the end, we couldn't raise the funds in time, even after begging every friend and relative we knew. My father passed away in that cold hospital room. I could still smell the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant, still feel his frail, trembling hand holding mine through the oxygen mask, whispering that he didn't blame me. Tears blurred my vision as the memory pierced my chest. The pain of losing him was still an open, bleeding wound. A sharp bark from Buster pulled me back to the present. Go get them, Valerie! Let's get them! She's the one who caused the crash last time. I know it! Buster, in his loyal canine mind, associated that woman's presence with my demise. But I wasn't as brave as my dog. I looked at Buster, his fur bristling, his small body tense and ready to fight. I felt a bittersweet mixture of gratitude and profound sorrow. Hearing my dog's thoughts had exposed a lifetime of betrayal. The husband I had mourned for years had been wearing a mask all along. I couldn't just walk up to them. They had already headed up to the apartment. Standing near the stairwell, I could hear their muffled laughter echoing down the hallway. If I were younger, I would have charged in, screamed, and clawed at both of them until my knuckles bled. But I was a mother now, and the man inside was my daughter's father. I needed to keep my composure. I needed strategy, not a screaming match that would leave me vulnerable. I pulled out my phone, sent Marcus a quick text saying my shift ran late, and quietly led Buster out of the building toward a nearby park. Sensing the heavy, suffocating silence hanging over me, Buster quieted down, his tail drooping as he trotted beside me. He kept nudging my knee with his wet nose, trying to offer what little comfort he could. My mind was a chaotic storm. Fifteen years of marriage, gone in an instant. I realized I had spent over a decade living a lie, willfully blind to the truth. He had never respected my family. I remembered when my mother first fell ill. My parents were simple, hardworking farmers with barely any savings to their name. Once I secured a stable corporate job, I began sending them monthly allowances, ensuring they lived comfortably. After marrying Marcus, I trusted him to handle the transfers. During a visit home, my cousin Toby took me aside, looking nervous. "Valerie," he had whispered, glancing around. "Maybe you should just transfer the monthly money directly to me to give to your parents. I know Marcus is busy, and... well, it might be easier. Not saying he's doing it on purpose, but sometimes the dates are way off, or the amount is..." Toby trailed off, shifting on his feet, clearly uncomfortable but trying to warn me without causing a family feud. When I brought it up with Marcus, he blew up. He threw a massive tantrum, sobbing about how I didn't trust him, packing a suitcase and claiming his pure intentions had been insulted. I had felt so guilty back then, thinking I had broken his heart. Now, I saw it for what it was: the desperate panic of a thief caught in the act. After my parents passed, Toby finally told me the truth at the funeral. "You need to watch your back around Marcus, Valerie. He barely sent them anything. Your parents were still selling vegetables at the local market just to pay for groceries..." It is a sad truth that we believe the lies that make us feel safe. I closed my eyes as the memories burned. Sitting on a damp park bench, I began to plan my next move. Checking my watch, I figured enough time had passed for his mistress to slip away. I remembered what the highway patrol officer had muttered to his partner while I lay bleeding in the wreckage of our car in the previous life. I opened my eyes, stood up, and walked back toward the apartment. When I opened the door, Marcus was standing in the kitchen, wearing a neat apron and stirring a pan. I noted the slightly disheveled sofa cushions and the rumpled hem of his shirt but kept my mouth shut. "I thought you had to pull an overtime shift," Marcus said, his tone slightly tight as he plated a dish heavy with red chili peppers. Our daughter was in middle school, yet he still forgot that I had a severe allergy to spicy peppers. Clearly, someone else in his life loved spicy food. "Tomorrow is our anniversary," I said with a tight smile. "I wanted to surprise you." Marcus's smile faltered, turning stiff. Suddenly, Buster lunged. He bolted into the kitchen, barking fiercely. Startled, Marcus tripped over his own feet, sending the plate of peppers crashing to the floor as he tumbled backward. Buster stood over him, baring his teeth in a low, vicious snarl. I hate him. I want to tear him apart! "Jesus! What is wrong with this damn dog?!" Marcus yelled, scrambling back against the cabinets, clutching his chest. "I told you we shouldn't have adopted this mutt! Look at this mess. He's completely out of control!" "Buster, stop. Back to your bed," I said, my voice deliberately flat. Buster gave a final, resentful grunt and trotted back to his corner. "Dogs have a way of sensing a person's true nature," I remarked softly. Marcus froze, a flicker of panic darting across his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean? You're acting weird today." "Nothing. Go ahead and eat. I'm not hungry." I walked into our bedroom and immediately began rummaging through the dresser drawers, searching for our financial documents. A terrifying suspicion was taking root in my mind. Marcus followed me, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, his posture defensive. "What are you looking for? Let me help you." "Our savings records," I replied smoothly. "Kathy wants to enroll in that summer camp, and my firm's payroll is delayed this month. I need to pull some funds from our joint account." "You spoil that girl too much," Marcus grumbled, shifting his body to block the small safe in the closet. "And what do you mean your payroll is delayed? Is your business partner not covering his share?" He stood firmly between me and the documents. "Why the hesitation?" I asked, looking him dead in the eye. "Is there a ghost in our accounts, or did someone spend my hard-earned money on another woman?" Marcus's face flushed. "Don't be ridiculous! Luke wanted to make an investment. It's a high-yield opportunity, and I thought it was a great chance for us to make some passive income, so I put some of our funds into it." There it was. The exact same lie from my previous life. That investment was nothing but a classic Ponzi scheme, a black hole designed to swallow our money. "Oh. You should have told me sooner," I said, keeping my tone perfectly casual. My calm reaction caught him off guard. Throughout our marriage, I had always despised his freeloading brother and adamantly opposed giving him money. But it didn't matter now. Whatever they had taken, I would make them vomit back up, penny by penny. At that moment, I still naively believed a standard divorce court could settle this neatly. Relieved by my lack of suspicion, Marcus smiled warmly and leaned in to plant a kiss on my cheek. "Babe, I knew you'd understand. You're the best." The second he turned his back, I scrubbed my cheek with the back of my hand until the skin burned. The touch of his lips made my stomach turn. He disgusted me. Once Marcus left the apartment, I immediately bypassed the safe and searched the top shelf of the closet for our insurance policies. In my past life, it wasn't until after the crash that I discovered Marcus had been quietly taking out hefty accidental death policies on me every single year. He had only taken one out on himself in our final year together. I was the insured, and he was the sole beneficiary of my policy. Meanwhile, his policy named Kathy as his beneficiary. After the crash, the insurance investigators had aggressively questioned me, hinting at a potential fraud scheme. But because Marcus was the one who had died, I had screamed at them, defending his memory in a fit of grief-stricken rage. I had spent three days fighting for my life in the ICU. By the time I woke up, Marcus had already been cremated. Paralyzed and drowning in sorrow, I hadn't paid any attention to the subsequent insurance payouts. I had signed over the power of attorney to his brother, Luke. By the time I was discharged, our entire savings had supposedly been swallowed by medical bills. The remaining estate went entirely into a trust for Kathy, leaving me completely penniless, surviving on meager government aid for years. But now, looking at the pattern, a chilling thought emerged. If what Buster thought and what Marcus said in the garage were true, then maybe Marcus hadn't died at all in that crash. Buster trotted into the bedroom, gently tugging at the cuff of my jeans, urging me to follow him. He led me to his dog bed in the corner of the living room and began scratching frantically at the heavy cushion until he flipped it over. Tucked into the lining was a small, glossy photograph. He nudged it toward me with his nose. Look, Valerie! Look at her! She's the one who drove the car that hit us! "Buster, why would you say that?" I muttered. Before I could process the image of the dark-haired woman, my phone rang. It was Kathy's homeroom teacher, Brenda, who was married to one of my old college friends. "Hi Valerie," Brenda said, her voice hesitant over the line. "We had the school health screenings today, and Kathy's blood report came back as Type B. I might be misremembering, but didn't you and Marcus mention you both are Type A?" My world shattered in a deafening silence. I was an educated woman. I could have handled infidelity. I could have processed the end of a fifteen-year marriage and fought for a clean break. He was still the father of my child, or so I had believed. Up until that exact second, I had been trying to rationalize his betrayal, wondering if my long hours at work had driven him into another woman's arms. But if Kathy wasn't my biological daughter... then the betrayal had started before we even walked down the aisle. A cold shiver racked my frame. My mind went blank, a high-pitched ring echoing in my ears. In my past life, after Marcus passed, Kathy was taken in by his parents. For the next ten years, she refused to see me, screaming that she hated me, that she wished I had died instead of her father. I had spent a decade drowning in guilt, sending his parents exorbitant child support payments while living like a ghost myself. "Valerie? Are you still there?" Brenda's voice broke through the static in my head. "I just wanted to check in. Kathy's been bragging to her classmates that her dad is preparing their immigration papers for Europe. I thought I'd ask if you guys were moving, or if there was just some clerical error on her blood card." My breath caught, my heart stuttering to a halt. I tried to speak, but my throat was entirely dry. I managed a strained thank-you before quietly hanging up.
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