Chapter 1 Clapter
My sister was dying in childbirth, and my father, a top obstetrician, was the only one who could save her.
In my last life, I didn’t hesitate. I called him.
After I begged and pleaded, he abandoned his honeymoon with my stepmother and flew back to perform the surgery.
My sister, Kerry, was saved. But the good news came with a death sentence for my stepmother.
Her depression, they said, had relapsed. She’d thrown herself into the ocean.
15:06
She left a suicide note, a ten–page manifesto detailing a decade of alleged abuse at our hands. The honeymoon, she wrote, was her last reason to
live, and we had destroyed it.
My father read the note. He told us he didn’t blame us, his voice a dead, hollow thing.
But on the day of my nephew’s one–month celebration, he poisoned everyone’s food.
“If it weren’t for you two,” he’d whispered, his face a mask of grief–stricken rage, “Penny would still be alive.”
How could I have raised such venomous daughters? A hundred deaths wouldn’t be enough to atone for what you’ve done.”
He held our heads in the toilet bowl until the world went black.
I opened my eyes.
I was back on the day my sister went into labor.
The first thing I did after being reborn was race to my sister’s house.
I was still too late.
