The Woman Who Could Call Fire

The antiseptic smell was the last thing I remembered.

In my "other" life, the one that ended in blood and despair, I died from late-stage cancer in an unpaid hospital bed.

My parents, Sarah and Robert, cried. They held my hand, promising to take care of everything, just as they had for years while I diligently sent them money for my health insurance.

But they lied. The money was gone, squandered on a secret life.

My father finally broke, confessing they' d adopted a son, Liam, channeling all my money to him, building a new family on the foundation of my slow death.

The betrayal shattered something inside me. The weight of the kitchen knife, my mother' s scream, then nothing.

Until I blinked.