Chapter 1

I was just about to give my daughter a blood transfusion—we share the same rare blood type—when my husband tried to drag me away to save her.

His precious Isabelle, the woman he’d always loved, was having a difficult birth.

In my last life, I chose my daughter.

I gave her over a pint of my blood, and after that, I was too weak to help anyone else.

That night, Isabelle died in childbirth.

A mother and her baby, both gone.

My husband, Wyatt, was so understanding, so gentle, telling me not to blame myself.

“Our daughter comes first,” he’d said. “You did the right thing.”

But then, the day of Isabelle’s memorial service, he showed his true colors.

Right in front of our daughter, he started draining my blood himself.

“The kid just got pushed, she was fine, but you let Isabelle die on the table just to save her!”

“You love giving your daughter blood so much? Today, you can give until you’re empty!”

As I was dying, I watched the crimson liquid pour from my body, filling bag after bag, and my heart turned to ash.

I opened my eyes again.

I was back.

Back on the day both my daughter and Isabelle were in danger.

Well, if Isabelle and her child are more important than me and my daughter…

Then they can go be a happy little family of three.

…

My daughter, Bella, had been hit by a car after school and was in the ER, waiting for my blood.

That’s when Wyatt’s best friend, Sean, called me.

“Hannah, Wyatt needs you at Preston General right away. Isabelle’s in a bad way, and they’ve used up all the blood you had banked.”

In my last life, I panicked when I got that call.

I mean, it was two lives on the line.

But now, looking back, I just had to laugh.

Isabelle and I both have Rh-negative blood, but she was also anemic.

She was the kind of person who’d get a paper cut and act like it was a mortal wound.

She’d even demand a transfusion when she was on her period, just to “replenish her system.”

And Wyatt? He gave her anything she wanted.

He fed me a diet of organic kale and expensive supplements, claiming it was because he loved me.

The truth was, he was just fattening me up to keep Isabelle’s personal blood bank well-stocked.

And those pints of blood I’d donate, the ones that took so much out of me?

She’d use a little and then have the rest thrown in the biohazard bin.

Said it wasn’t “fresh” enough.

I can’t believe I was her personal, walking blood bag for five years.

“You tell Wyatt I’m already at Preston General,” I said.

“My daughter was in a car accident, and I’m about to give blood to her.”

Sean sounded uncomfortable.

“Yeah, about that… Wyatt said you’d probably try to make excuses. He said if you don’t come down to maternity, he’ll have them use Bella’s blood for Isabelle.”

“And… uh… Wyatt’s in the delivery room with her right now, so I can’t really go in.”

She’s giving birth, and the doctors can’t even go in, but Wyatt, her ex-boyfriend, can.

Right.

In my last life, I had to beg and plead just to get a message to Wyatt.

To tell him that our daughter had been shoved by another kid at her preschool, stumbling into a cab that had veered into the bike lane.

To tell him she was seriously hurt.

Our daughter has the same rare blood type, and I was the only match available.

I wasn’t even asking to use Isabelle’s stored blood; I just wanted to save my own child first.

But Isabelle’s labor went south, she lost too much blood, and both she and the baby died.

And yeah, part of it was her fault for wasting all that banked blood, but I still blamed myself.

Two lives were gone.

If only I had picked Bella up from school earlier, she wouldn’t have been hit, and I could have saved Isabelle.

Wyatt saw how guilty I felt and even comforted me.

“Our daughter comes first,” he’d said. “You did nothing wrong.”

But then he locked himself away, refusing to eat or drink, just praying in front of her picture.