The Second Chance Trap

The smell of burnt coffee and cheap vanilla filled my lungs, my hands shaking behind the counter of "The Daily Grind."

Just moments ago, I was on a rooftop, the white of my wedding dress stained with grime, watching my fiancé declare his love for my best friend, Molly.

My mother collapsed, her heart giving out from the shock, and I saw her fall before I turned and jumped.

Yet here I was, alive, the calendar showing weeks before that catastrophic wedding day, the memory of my mother's lifeless body still fresh in my mind.

Molly walked in, her fake-sweet smile exactly as I remembered, still utterly oblivious to the hatred now burning ice-cold in my stomach.

She started her tale of a "Karmic App," claiming any man I liked would fall for her instead, her crocodile tears perfected.

This was the lie she told me the first time, covering her tracks as she systematically stole every relationship and piece of joy from my life.

I stared at her, the woman who orchestrated my downfall, consumed by a rage so pure it threatened to shatter me.

Why was I back? Why was I given this impossible second chance, only to relive the agony that killed my mother and drove me to jump?

Then it hit me: The app wasn't a curse; it was her weapon, and this time, I wasn't just back-I was going to be the one to erase her.