6
213words
Lucas opened the door, pale. When he saw me, his face changed.
He looked flustered, stumbling over his words:
"I thought you weren't getting to the pier until tonight. Why are you back so early?"
My heart sank. He was hiding something.
Was he cheating?
Last time, after I died, he was a wreck. He lost himself, drank every night at bars.
Was it all an act?
I pushed past him, ignoring his protests.
The living room was full of balloons and roses. The walls were covered with photos of me—eating, sleeping, zoning out in class...
Someone in the kitchen called out:
"Mr. Lawson, come check if the food looks right. Does it seem like you cooked it?"
Lucas's face turned bright red.
Then I realized—it was our anniversary.
Lucas knew I'd be back tonight. He'd planned a surprise.
But my heart ached. Last time, on our anniversary, he'd prepared a surprise too—only to get news of my death.
Lucas complained:
"You ruined it by coming early. I worked on this all day—"
I kissed him.
He stopped talking.
Suddenly, my second chance felt even more meaningful.
It wasn't just about revenge.
It was about cherishing the people who loved me.
