1 It all started with those four words Cormac sent right before he vanished into the deep: "I want to go home." For five years, Elena took over his mantle as a deep-sea salvage expert, scouring those same dark waters for any trace of him. She searched until her own luck ran out. As her husband and the executor of her estate, the lawyer sat me down after the accident. "Mrs. Rhodes revised her will fourteen times," he said, his voice as dry as the parchment in his hands. "The final version has one specific directive." He looked at me with a mix of pity and professional detachment. "She left her entire estate to you, Brooks. But she requested—no, she mandated—that she be buried in the same plot as Cormac Prescott." At the funeral, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and hushed scandals. People whispered as they passed the two caskets. "What a tragedy," a woman murmured. "They were so perfectly matched. Soulmates, really." Elena’s parents didn’t even try to hide their resentment. Her mother’s face was a mask of grief and fury as she hissed at me, "If it weren't for you and that ridiculous engagement, they would have been together years ago. None of this would have happened." I stared at the twin headstones. I thought about those fourteen revisions. The only thing she never changed was the requirement to be buried with him. In the final version, she had mentioned me exactly once—a footnote at the very beginning. I realized then that no matter how hard I ran to catch up to them, I was never written into their ending. I was just the static between their frequencies. After the service, my car hydroplaned on the rain-slicked highway. As the world spun into a blur of metal and glass, I didn't feel afraid. I felt a strange, hollow sense of relief. Then, I woke up. The air was salty, humid, and smelled of expensive sunblock. I was standing on a pier. Walking a few paces ahead of me were Elena and Cormac. I took a long, shaky breath. This was the island trip—the one right before Cormac’s "disappearance" in my previous life. Cormac noticed I’d slowed down. He turned back, waving a hand with that effortless, boyish charm that always made me feel small. "Hey, Brooks! Move it or lose it!" Elena stood beside him. She was wearing the cerulean beach dress I’d picked out for her, but standing next to Cormac in his blue-and-white linen shirt, they looked like a curated set. A matching pair. I silently zipped up my windbreaker, hiding the pale yellow shirt I wore underneath—a color that felt suddenly, jarringly out of place. "Come on," Cormac teased, his voice full of that playful energy Elena loved. "The zoo closes at five, and I want to see the lions!" Elena gave him a fond, indulgent smile. When she looked at me, her expression shifted into a silent, impatient urge to keep up. She had completely forgotten. This trip was supposed to be our getaway—the one we’d talked about for a year. I’d spent months pulling double shifts to clear a week of vacation, booked the flights the second they went on sale, and fought for the reservation at the resort. But six hours into the trip, Cormac had "accidentally" shown up at the same hotel. Our romantic getaway had instantly become a trio. When I finally caught up to them, Elena reached out and ruffled my hair, a gesture that felt more like she was petting a golden retriever than greeting a fiancé. "You’re so lethargic today. What’s up?" "Nothing," I said, my voice flat. "Just the sun." She didn’t push. She immediately turned back to Cormac to discuss the itinerary. They both loved "optimized" living—every vacation was a series of tactical strikes on tourist attractions. Listening to them debate the best route to the exhibit, I suddenly spoke up. "I’m going back to the hotel." Elena didn’t even look up from the map. "Brooks, don’t mess with the schedule. We’ve only got three hours." She caught herself and blinked, finally looking at me. I usually followed her lead without question. I was the "easygoing" one, the one who didn't mind if my plans were overwritten by Cormac’s "better" ideas. But the weight of a lifetime of being second-best was pressing down on my chest. I turned to walk away. Elena grabbed my wrist, her grip firm. "What is wrong with you today? We agreed yesterday that Cormac’s plan was better. It’s more efficient." My arm felt trapped in her hold. A familiar sense of powerlessness washed over me. In Elena’s world, Cormac’s way was the gold standard. Whether it was choosing a career path, buying groceries, or planning a wedding, "Cormac suggested" was the final word. Elena’s tone sharpened as she kept prodding me for an explanation. I didn't want to argue. I just pulled off my sun-shirt. "I have a UV allergy," I said. "Can I go now?" My arms and neck, which I’d neglected to coat in sunblock while worrying about their luggage, were covered in angry, raised red welts. Elena’s grip loosened instantly. Cormac let out a dramatic gasp. "Man, I didn't know it was that bad! Why didn't you say something?" I forced a thin smile. In my last life, I hadn't been allergic. But after two hours of chasing Cormac’s "optimized" walking tour in the midday heat, my body was literally rejecting this life. "We came all this way," Cormac said, his voice dropping into a dejected pout. "This sucks." Elena frowned, her eyes darting between Cormac’s disappointment and my ruined skin. Suddenly, she pulled me toward the taxi stand. "Cormac, go to the zoo. I’ll take him back to the room and get him settled." I was stunned. "I can take a cab by myself, Elena." She gave a soft, dismissive laugh. "Don’t be silly. I’d worry too much." As we drove away, leaving Cormac standing on the curb, a surreal feeling settled over me. For the first time in my memory, I wasn't the one being left behind. Back at the hotel, Elena went out to find a pharmacy. I followed her to the door, wanting to offer a genuine thank you for choosing me for once. But through the cracked door, I heard her on the phone. Her voice was that low, intimate honey-tone she usually reserved for me in our early days. "Don't worry about him, Cor. Just keep going. You’ve been looking forward to the big cat exhibit for weeks. Don't let this ruin your mood." She turned and saw me. She didn't look guilty, just slightly surprised. "Why aren't you resting?" I looked down at my feet, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh bubbling up in my throat. Why did I think anything had changed? "Go find Cormac," I said. "I’m fine now." She tightened her grip on the bag of ointment she'd just bought. "Brooks, don't start. I'm your fiancée. I'm here, aren't I?" "I'm serious, Elena. Go." She studied me for a long beat, searching for the usual flash of hurt or anger. Finding none, she set the medicine on the nightstand. "Okay. Make sure you use the cream." I nodded. "I'll bring you back some fresh coconut water," she added, her voice lighter now that the obligation was lifted. That night, she didn't come back to the room. I turned on the local cable channel and saw them. It was a "Couple's Challenge" hosted by the island's tourism board at the beach pier. They were tearing through the obstacles with terrifying synchronicity. At the final stage, the host’s voice boomed over the speakers: "And for the grand prize, our leaders just need to share a three-minute kiss!" I felt my heart contract. On the screen, Elena and Cormac shared a look. It was electric. I couldn't tell who moved first, but in a heartbeat, they were locked together. It wasn't a staged kiss for a prize. It was desperate, hungry, and lingering. The crowd went wild. The host was gushing, "This pair is incredible! They look like they're enjoying the process more than the prize!" I snapped the TV off. The black screen reflected my pale, ghostly face. When they finally returned, they saw the TV was warm. Cormac looked frantic, his words tripping over each other. "Brooks, man, that show... it was so physical. We knew you weren't up for it with the rash, so we didn't want to make you feel bad by asking." Elena just nodded, her face calm. "You wouldn't have enjoyed it anyway. You don't really get the competitive side of things." She’d used that line on me a thousand times. You wouldn't get it. She used it to explain why I wasn't invited to their late-night "brainstorming" sessions, why she only went skydiving with him, why their inside jokes felt like a wall I couldn't climb. "Whatever you say," I replied quietly. Elena sighed and pulled a small shell bracelet from her pocket. "Stop being moody. We did the whole thing just to get you this. I know you like the local crafts." Cormac beamed. "Yeah! We both thought it was totally your style." The shells were beautiful, sure. But it was a participation trophy. The actual grand prize for that contest was a five-course candlelight dinner and a night in the honeymoon suite. They didn't mention that. Elena ran her fingers through my hair, leaning in close. "I just want you to be happy, Brooks. To get everything you want." Her voice was so sincere, so reminiscent of the woman I’d fallen in love with three years ago. Back then, she didn't think I was "simple." Back then, she loved my slow pace. On her twenty-fifth birthday, she’d given me a hand-polished pearl bracelet she’d made herself. She’d made a wish: To give Brooks a hundred more gifts. But then she started asking Cormac what I liked. Slowly, every gift for me came with a "thank you" gift for Cormac. Then the gifts were the same. Then, eventually, the gifts stopped coming to me at all. Until our wedding day in the last life. Cormac had promised me a "wedding gift" I’d never forget. I waited for it all morning, only to find out the gift was his "disappearance"—a deep-sea dive he took because he "couldn't bear" to see us wed. From that day on, Elena blamed me for his death. I never received another gift from her. But every year on Cormac’s birthday, she’d bring a beautifully wrapped package to his cenotaph. Now, as she whispered in my ear, asking what else I wanted, I reached down and unclasped the shell bracelet. "I want to break up," I said. The room went tomb-quiet. Cormac was the first to find his voice, his tone trembling. "Are you mad at me, Brooks? It was just a game. We didn't mean anything by the kiss." I didn't look at him. Elena opened her mouth to speak, but Cormac suddenly burst into tears and ran out of the room. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes darting toward me, and then she bolted after him. I followed them at a distance, my footsteps silent on the carpeted hall. I found them on the balcony. Elena was holding him, his face buried in her neck, completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing right there. "It’s my fault," Cormac sobbed. "I shouldn't have pushed her to enter. Brooks saw... he knows. He'll never forgive us." Elena stroked his back, her voice a soothing murmur. "It’s okay. He’s just sensitive. Give him a few days, I’ll talk him around." "But what about the wedding? What if he leaves?" Elena paused. "I’m going to marry him, Cormac. But you're the one I belong to. He’s... he’s steady. He’s simple. He’s not going anywhere. He doesn't have the heart to leave us." I felt my breath hitch. Suddenly, a memory from the first timeline clicked into place—a piece of a puzzle I’d been too blind to see. At our wedding rehearsal dinner in the previous life, everyone had been drinking heavily. Elena had walked Cormac to his car while the rest of the wedding party trailed behind. I’d been standing in the shadows when I heard one of her bridesmaids laugh. "I can't believe she's actually going through with it. Brooks is such a downgrade from Cormac. He’s so... bland." Another friend had chimed in, "Well, you marry the boring ones for stability, right? He’s a 'safe harbor.' Besides, the guy is so oblivious, she could do anything and he’d just smile and say thank you." I had stood there, frozen. I’d seen Elena turn around, her face a mask of shock, and she’d actually slapped the girl. But the damage was done. I spent the next five years trying to be less "bland." I changed my clothes, my hobbies, my hair. I tried to mirror Cormac. The first time Elena saw the "new" me, she had frozen. She’d smiled, but it was a brittle, pained thing. "You look... different. It's good to try new styles, I guess." I’d ignored the itching of the expensive wool suits and the heavy watches, thinking I was winning. But after Cormac died, she’d snapped. She’d thrown a heavy glass ashtray at my head, screaming, "Do you think you can replace him? Do you have any idea how pathetic you look trying to mimic a dead man?" The scar on my hairline still throbbed in phantom pain. Everyone had hated me. Elena’s parents blamed me for their "surrogate son's" death. My own parents thought I was the interloper who broke up a perfect pair. Elena’s friends treated me like a ghost at my own table. And yet, Cormac had chosen to dive. Elena had chosen to propose to me. I was just the tool they used to punish each other. I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone. I called my father. "Dad," I said, "I'm calling off the wedding." My father didn't ask if I was okay. He barked, "Do you have any idea how that makes Cormac look? People will think he’s a homewrecker! Think about the family's reputation!" I was stunned. "What about my happiness, Dad?" "You've always been the resilient one, Brooks. You'll get over it in a week. Cormac is sensitive. He can't handle this kind of drama." I hung up. Everyone assumed I didn't care because I didn't scream. But I remembered everything. I remembered being the "easy" child who was ignored while Cormac (our neighbor and my parents' favorite) was celebrated. I remembered the look of hollow longing on Elena's face as we said our vows. I walked to the ferry terminal and bought a ticket off the island. On the way, I called a realtor. I wanted to sell the house—the one we’d bought together for our future. But since the deed hadn't been finalized, I needed to file for a title search. I spent hours at the County Clerk's office. When I finally got to the window and handed over my paperwork, the clerk frowned. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rhodes. You don't have the standing to request this." I blinked. "I don't understand. I paid half the down payment." The clerk shook her head and pushed the papers back. "The property is not registered in your name, sir." I stepped out of line, my mind a white void. I called a friend in real estate to dig deeper. While I waited, Elena’s texts started flooding in. I ignored them. Finally, the call came. "Brooks... the house. It’s not in your name. Or Elena’s." My heart plummeted. "Then whose is it?"
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