I Died on His Wedding Day

I lay dying, fifty years of my life a bitter regret.

My wife, Chloe, whispered her final wish: "Scatter my ashes… with Ethan's."

Ethan. My half-brother. Even in her last breath, he was her focus.

My own heart gave out, not from illness, but from the crushing weight of a life wasted, a fifty-year mistake born of obligation.

All I felt was a cold, absolute despair, so much regret.

Then, blinding light.

I gasped, sitting bolt upright, in my own bed.

My hands were young, strong. My reflection showed a sharp, twenty-five-year-old face.

The expensive watch on the nightstand screamed the date: my wedding day.

The very day that started my gilded cage of a life.

But this time, a surge of something fierce ignited within me.