Chapter 1The Love Letter I Threw Away

I spent fifty years by Rae’s side, sharing a life built on compromise and quiet devotion.

But it wasn't until she was drawing her final breath that I realized how much she resented it.

On her deathbed, Rae confessed. She told me that the love letter fifty years ago had been placed on my desk by mistake. It was meant for Wright, the golden boy of our high school class.

"But I don't regret it," she whispered, her voice fragile against the steady beep of the heart monitor. "Wright was like the wind. Wild, free. I couldn't be selfish enough to cage him."

I couldn't speak, hooked up to the hum of the machines, letting her squeeze my hand.

"Thomas," she said, looking at me with a soft, tearful sincerity. "If there is a next life, I'd marry you all over again."

I gave a microscopic shake of my head. But I wouldn't.

For her, I had turned down Columbia. A single misstep had set off a domino effect, pulling me further and further from my dreams, leaving me trapped in a kitchen of domesticity, dealing with pots and pans for fifty years.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in our senior year of high school.

I stared at the dusty pink envelope sitting in my desk drawer. Without a second thought, I tossed it straight into the recycling bin.

This time, I was going to be like a bird, flying toward my own mountain.

...

* * *

Just as my fingertips brushed the pink envelope, a loud gasp echoed next to me.

"Oh my god! Thomas, is that a love letter?!"

My desk neighbor, Zach, practically shouted, his voice dripping with excitement. Instantly, half the classroom turned to stare, eager for gossip.

I saw Rae's face go pale. She instinctively glanced at Wright, then quickly, guiltily pulled her gaze back.

The kids in the back started chanting, egging me on to open it.

Rae’s eyes darted between me and Wright. I could see the internal struggle waging in her eyes, the sheer panic of exposure.

When Zach reached out, teasingly trying to grab the letter, Rae seemed to resign herself to her fate. She stood up, walking toward my desk.

"It's from—"

Her voice cut off. She froze, watching in absolute disbelief as I calmly stood up and tossed the envelope into the recycling bin by the door.

"Just some stupid senior prank, I guess," I said, offering a casual, easy shrug. I sat back down, picking up my pen, and went right back to my AP Calculus prep.

I could feel a heavy, complicated gaze burning into the side of my face, but I kept my eyes glued to the paper, acting completely oblivious.

Rae stood there for what felt like an eternity, hesitating. Then, without a word to me, she bypassed my desk and went to sit next to Wright.

Her ears were burning red. The raw, desperate longing in her eyes was too bright to hide.

A familiar, dull ache bloomed in my chest.

I had loved Rae in secret for three long years. In my past life, when I found that letter, I had been dizzy with joy.

I had been so hopelessly in love that I threw away my acceptance letter to Columbia just to stay in our hometown, ensuring we went to the same state college. I threw away my dreams of polar research, happily trading them for a lifetime of cooking dinners, doing laundry, and raising three kids.

Until I fell ill. I was lying in that hospital bed while Rae stared at the TV screen, where a documentary about Wright was playing.

"Thomas," she had said, her voice heavy with a lifetime of quiet regret. "Every single night, I wonder... if I hadn't put that letter on the wrong desk, would my life have been less of a struggle?"

On screen, Wright was accepting an award. He had spent his life traveling the globe, writing bestsellers about his wild adventures. He had fame, freedom, and applause.

Rae stared at him like he was a god, then turned her gaze to my hands—rough, calloused, worn down by decades of domestic labor. She let out a soft, bittersweet laugh.

"Well, it's for the best. Wright was a free spirit. I could never have kept him in one place. Thomas, in the next life, let's do it again."

I passed away that night. But in the final second before darkness took me, a thought I had suppressed for fifty years flared up with terrifying clarity:

In the next life, I am not marrying you.

I am going to Columbia. I am going to Antarctica. I am reclaiming my dream.

The memory snapped me back to the present. The lingering ache in my chest vanished, replaced by an icy resolve. I focused entirely on my textbook.

When the final bell rang, I was surprised by how quickly the afternoon had flown. I packed my notebooks, slinging my backpack over one shoulder.

"Hey!" Zach pulled my backpack strap, stopping me. "Aren't you waiting for Rae?"

I turned and gave him a faint, polite smile.

"Not today. Not anymore."