Her Cold Revenge, His Regret

The last thing I remembered was the cold night air and the unbearable pain as my body hit the pavement.

My husband, Mark, and his boss, Ms. Jenkins, had pushed me from the thirty-second-floor office window.

"She's just a trophy wife," Mark had sneered.

Ms. Jenkins had laughed, her arm wrapped around his waist.

I had walked in on them, entwined on his office desk, the contract he so desperately needed forgotten on the floor.

My heart shattered, my screams turned to accusations, and they, to protect their careers and their despicable affair, silenced me forever.

My last thought was regret for loving him, for trusting him, for giving him my entire world.

Then, a sudden jolt.

My eyes flew open. I was standing in the quiet, carpeted hallway outside Mark' s office, the thermos of soup still warm in my hands.

My phone read 9:00 PM. An hour earlier.

I was back.

Driven by a force I didn't understand, I crept closer to the door, peering through the narrow gap.

And there they were, just as before, Mark and Ms. Jenkins, mouths locked in a passionate kiss.

This time, there was no scream, just a cold, hard stone of rage in my chest.

This was a second chance.

I wouldn't waste it on tears.