Chapter 1: The Day I Woke Up Twice

Okay, so here’s the thing: I know how this sounds, but I really did get a second shot at life. In my last go-around, my boyfriend secretly changed my college application so I’d end up at the same university as him. I’d worked my butt off to get into Columbia University, but thanks to him, my application was switched to Dakota Valley Community College.

Back then, I’d spent hours hunched over the kitchen table, fingers numb from double-checking every detail on that application. Never once did I think someone I trusted would sabotage my future with just a few keystrokes. It’s wild. One little act, and everything changes. How can you be so sure you’re in control, only to realize someone else has been steering all along?

I wanted to retake the SATs. Just one more shot. But he said I didn’t love him.

He stood in the living room, arms crossed, giving me those puppy-dog eyes. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t even think about taking them again,” he’d said, voice low, almost trembling. That wasn’t a request. It was a dare—a guilt trip, all wrapped up in a whine. The kind of thing that knots your chest, spins your head, and makes you wonder if maybe you really are the problem.

I tried to talk about transferring to a four-year school. He just shrugged. Said community college credits were worthless.

He’d say it like he was doing me a favor, like he knew better. “Babe, what’s the point? Those credits won’t get you anywhere.” Sometimes he’d toss the course catalog onto the table, pages fluttering, like the noise alone could kill my plans. Looking back, I wish I’d thrown it right back at him.

Without a real diploma, I couldn’t find a good job. He gave me eighty bucks a month. That was supposed to cover groceries, cooking, even the utilities.

Eighty dollars. That’s what my ambition was worth to him—less than a tank of gas and a week’s groceries. He’d hand me the money with a smirk, acting like he was some big-shot provider. I’d stretch every cent. Sometimes, I skipped lunch so he could have seconds at dinner. Some nights, I’d stand at the stove, wondering if he even tasted the effort I put into every meal.

I was pregnant when he threw me out of the house. He’d already gotten together with a new intern at his company. On a day of heavy rain, he couldn’t even bear to give me an umbrella.

I still remember the sound of the rain pounding against the pavement, my shoes squelching with every step. My hands were shaking, my stomach twisted in knots. My whole world had shrunk to the size of a trash bag stuffed with my clothes, and he wouldn’t even spare me an umbrella. That kind of cruelty? It leaves a scar.

“An umbrella costs twelve dollars. Have you ever earned a cent?”

His words stung more than the rain. Twelve bucks. Less than a movie ticket. More than I was worth to him, apparently. I’d never felt smaller. I wanted to scream, to throw the umbrella in his smug face, but I just stood there, soaking, shivering, silent.

In the end, I fainted on the street. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of filling out my college application.

The world spun and blinked, and suddenly I was staring at the familiar glow of my bedroom desk lamp, the smell of fresh printer paper in the air. My heart hammered in my chest. I’d been given another chance. This time, I wasn’t going to waste it.

My boyfriend, who scored a 720 on the SATs, held my hand and said, “Babe, let’s go to the same college, okay? I can’t stand being apart from you.” His voice went all soft and needy.

His palm was sweaty, his grip a little too tight, as if he was afraid I’d slip away. His voice was syrupy-sweet, the kind that used to make me feel special. Back then, that tone made me melt. Now? It made my skin crawl. I could see right through him—every word rehearsed, every gesture calculated.

Back then, he still had thick hair and a strong build. When he spoke sweetly, the tenderness in his eyes could’ve drowned me.

He could turn on the charm whenever he wanted something. And I fell for it. Every time. His smile could melt ice, or so I thought. Now, all I saw was someone who’d use that smile to get his way, no matter the cost to anyone else.

In my previous life, I was a sucker for this. As long as he called me ‘babe’ once, I’d agree to anything.

It’s embarrassing, but I craved his approval. Just one ‘babe’ and I’d fold. I’d laugh off my own ambitions, just to keep him happy. I thought that was love. Now I know better.

But now, looking at him, all I could think of was what he’d look like after thirty—overweight, balding, so gross I wanted to throw up.

The image flashed in my mind—paunch straining against his shirt, greasy scalp, that sour smell of failure. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gagging. The future I’d once feared was now the warning that kept me sane.

I had to bite my tongue not to spit in his face. Instead, I replied coolly, “I want to go to the same college as you too. But our SAT scores are more than 600 points apart; you can’t get into the school I want.”

I kept my tone even, my face blank. Inside, my heart was pounding, but I wouldn’t let him see me sweat. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on him, wanted to see him squirm for once. The words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass.

In my previous life, I never mentioned my grades in front of him, just to protect his self-esteem.

I used to tiptoe around his insecurities. Always shrinking myself, just to make him feel bigger. I thought I was being kind, but really, I was just making myself small. Not anymore.

Over time, he stopped thinking hard work in school was anything special. Instead, he often mocked me for only knowing how to study, saying that in the real world it was worthless.

He’d roll his eyes when I brought home another A. “You think that’ll matter when you’re out there hustling?” he’d say. After a while, I started to believe him. But now, I see it for what it was—envy, plain and simple.

Not this time. I didn’t make him get a 720.

I felt a flicker of satisfaction. Finally, he’d have to face his own mess. No more hiding behind me, no more dragging me down to his level. I’d worked too hard for too long to let him steal my future again.

My boyfriend didn’t expect me to be so blunt. His face turned pale, and he tried to grab my hand again: “I can’t get into the college you want, but you can apply to the one I’m going to.”

His fingers reached for mine, desperate, clammy. I pulled away, just enough to make him notice. For a moment, he looked lost, like a kid whose favorite toy had been taken away. Almost pitiful. Almost.

“Dakota Valley Community College—what do you think?”

He said it like he was offering me a golden ticket, his voice hopeful, eyes wide. In another life, I might have hesitated, afraid to disappoint him. Not this time.

In my previous life, he also suggested this school. I couldn’t bring myself to refuse him directly, so I just said I’d think about it.

I remember the way my stomach twisted as I mumbled, “I’ll think about it.” I didn’t want to hurt him, so I hurt myself instead. It’s funny, the things you’ll do for love—or what you think is love.

That night, he secretly logged into my account and changed my application from Columbia University to that community college.

I’d trusted him with my passwords, never thinking he’d use them against me. When the acceptance letter arrived, it felt like a punch to the gut. The betrayal was so complete, I didn’t even know how to be angry. I just felt hollow. Like there was nothing left inside.

By the time I got the acceptance letter, it was too late.

The envelope was thick, the paper crisp, but the words inside were a death sentence. My dreams, gone with the click of a mouse. I stared at it for hours, willing it to change, but it never did.

I originally planned to retake the SATs, but my boyfriend got down on his knees, crying that he only loved me too much and couldn’t stand being apart. He begged me not to be so selfish and only think about my own future.

He sobbed, clutching my hands, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t leave me, Cassie. Don’t be selfish.” His words echoed in my mind, twisting into guilt. Every time. He made his neediness sound like devotion, and I was too naïve to see the difference.

Just one word—‘love’—was enough to erase ten years of hard work.

Love. That word had power over me—more than any grade or diploma. I let it wash everything away: ambition, pride, even common sense. I let him talk me into settling for less, all because I wanted to believe he loved me.

Now, just thinking about it, hatred surged in my chest. Like a tidal wave I could barely hold back. I could have just refused him and broken up, but I hated him too much to let him off that easily.

My fists clenched at my sides. Nails digging in. I wanted him to feel just a fraction of what he’d put me through. Breaking up would be too easy—a clean cut, no scars. I wanted him to suffer, to see what it was like to lose everything.

So I chuckled and answered his earlier question: “Not really.”

My voice was light, almost playful. I watched his expression shift, confusion flickering across his face. For once, I was in control, and it felt good.

“I know you look down on community colleges, but, Cassie, a diploma is just a train ticket,” my boyfriend started repeating something he’d read online. “Ivy League is first class, state school is business, a bachelor’s is coach, community college is a standing ticket… But in the end, we all reach the same destination.”

He recited the words like they were gospel, as if repeating them enough times would make them true. I could practically see the smug internet quote running through his head. It was the kind of logic that only works if you’ve never had to fight for a seat on that train.

“I’m different. I’ll be with you for life.” My boyfriend vowed, “Are you really going to give up a lifelong partner for a ‘train ticket’?”

He leaned in, voice low and earnest. “I’ll always be here, Cassie. We’re forever.” The promise sounded sweet. All I heard was a trap. I’d believed him once, and it cost me everything.

A lifetime.

How could he say that?

The word echoed in my mind, heavy and hollow. Five years, and he’d thrown me away like yesterday’s news. But here he was, promising forever as if it meant anything. I almost laughed out loud.

After five years together, I got pregnant, and he got involved with a new intern at his company. He not only brought her home to our rented apartment, but also had me cook for her and bring her water for her foot soak.

The memory made my skin crawl. I’d stood in my own kitchen, hands raw from scrubbing, while he lounged on the couch with her, acting like I was the help. I’d never felt more invisible, more disposable. I’d never felt smaller.

When I argued with him, he threw me out. In a torrential downpour, I asked him for an umbrella. What did he say?

I could still hear the rain hammering the windows, my voice shaking as I begged for just a little kindness. He looked at me like I was asking for the moon. Like I was asking for the moon.

“An umbrella costs twelve dollars. Have you ever earned a cent?”

The words were sharp, final. I realized then that I’d never meant anything to him—not really. I was just convenient, until I wasn’t.

Now, looking at his fake loving face, I resisted the urge to strangle him and said, “Even if we end up at the same destination, the journey should be a little more comfortable.”

I kept my tone light, almost teasing. Let him think I was still playing along. Inside, I was already planning my escape. Counting the minutes.

“Dylan, let’s take first class together.”

I watched his face light up, hope flaring in his eyes. He wanted to believe so badly. Almost made me feel sorry for him. Almost.

My boyfriend stared at me in disbelief. “Cassie, what do you mean? You can get me into Columbia too?”