Warmth.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Lauren felt warmth spreading across her body. Her fingers twitched, her eyelids heavy, her heart beating softly but steadily.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the gentle light filtering through pale blue curtains. The soft chirping of birds outside the window reached her ears. The faint scent of lilies and baby powder lingered in the air.
Her head throbbed.
She sat up quickly, breathing hard. Her heart raced, confusion clouding her thoughts.
Wasn't I… dead?
Her eyes darted around the room. It was so familiar, too familiar. The white-painted walls, the cream carpet, the small crib by the window with a soft pink blanket folded neatly inside.
On the nightstand lay a framed picture, her wedding photo.
She was smiling shyly beside Adrian, who held her hand proudly, his eyes full of the love she once took for granted.
Tears filled her eyes as realization dawned.
This was their master bedroom, her home in the Yates family mansion.
The large space gleamed with quiet luxury: a queen-sized bed with ivory sheets, two antique lamps that Adrian had bought during their honeymoon in Italy, and across the room, a small wooden cradle holding their newborn daughter.
The walls were adorned with warm pastel paintings, the kind Adrian said made the room "feel like spring."
Lauren's breath hitched. She stumbled out of bed, legs shaking, and went straight to the mirror.
The woman staring back wasn't the thirty-five-year-old she had been before the accident. Her reflection was softer, her cheeks fuller, and her eyes still held that faint glow of youth. She looked barely in her late twenties.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her face. "No… this can't be real."
Her gaze drifted to the cradle again, and her world froze.
Inside it lay a baby, her baby sleeping peacefully, tiny fists curled near her face. The faint cooing sound made Lauren's knees weaken.
She remembered now. Her daughter had been only a few months old when everything began to fall apart.
When her step-sister came to "help."
When her cousin-in-law started visiting more often.
When the whispers began.
And when the pills were first given to her.
They said it was for her nerves, to help her recover from childbirth and sleep better. At the time, she had been fragile, physically and emotionally. The sleepless nights, the crying baby, the emptiness that settled in her chest even when she held her child close.
Postpartum depression, the doctor had said. She believed it. Adrian had been so busy that winter, managing the company's annual reports and reviewing documents late into the night. He would come home exhausted, his eyes heavy, his voice soft but distracted.
She never blamed him for it. He was doing everything for their future. But his absence had left her alone, easy to manipulate, easy to break.
Her step-sister had smiled sweetly then, offering her tea every morning, comforting her when she cried, whispering things like, "He's probably with someone else. You deserve better, Lauren."
At first, she ignored it. But as the days went by, the medicine they gave her made her head heavy, her emotions uncontrollable, her heart anxious. She began doubting everything her husband's love, her family's care, even her own worth.
And that was when it all began to crumble.
Lauren sat on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand over her mouth as tears streamed down her face. The realization cut deep.
This was when they started destroying me.
Every lie, every doubt, every illusion had started here, in this house that once held laughter and love.
The clock on the wall ticked softly, its sound echoing through the silent room. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, landing on the cradle. The baby stirred, letting out a tiny cry.
Lauren wiped her tears quickly and rushed to her daughter's side. Her hands shook as she lifted the small body into her arms. The warmth, the softness, it felt so real, so alive.
She cradled her close, her tears falling freely now.
"I got another chance…" she whispered, voice trembling. "God, you sent me back."
The baby's eyes fluttered open, bright, innocent, unknowing. Lauren smiled through her tears.
"I won't let them hurt us again. I won't let them destroy what I have."
Her voice grew stronger with every word.
"This time, I'll protect my family. I'll protect Adrian, even from my own blindness."
As she rocked her daughter gently, memories of her husband's tearful face in the hospital flashed in her mind, his desperate confession, his grief, his love.
If there's another life… please, come back to me.
Lauren looked up at the ceiling, whispering softly, "I came back, Adrian. And I'll make everything right this time."
Outside, the rain had stopped.
A beam of sunlight broke through the clouds, shining into the room, touching her face like a quiet blessing.
For the first time in years, Lauren smiled, not with sorrow, but with resolve.
Her second life had just begun.