“At this point, maybe the best thing would be to marry Emily off to our Tom,” an older man's voice murmured. “That’ll finally put an end to that troublemaker from the Lee family sniffing around. We could finally have some peace. After all, Tom and Emily aren’t even related by blood.”

“No, absolutely not,” a younger woman snapped. “That Lee boy’s nothing but a thug. As long as Emily’s living here, he’ll keep showing up and stirring trouble. We’ll never get a moment’s rest.”

“She’s right,” another woman chimed in. “Honestly, it makes more sense to have her marry my brother. At least then, whatever mess the Lee boy causes won’t be landing on our doorstep.”

“Oh please,” the first woman scoffed. “So this is really just about finding your brother a free wife, isn’t it? Stop acting like you’re doing anyone a favor.”

The second woman’s voice rose, defensive and indignant. “How can you be so heartless? I’m thinking about what’s best for this family! Or have you forgotten? She got pregnant before marriage, lied to get out of school, and had an abortion! She was expelled! Her reputation is in the dirt, and she’s tangled up with someone like Lee’s son. My brother’s willing to take her in—honestly, she should be grateful.”

“Enough!” A woman’s voice cut through the room—grief and fury rippling in every syllable. “Emily’s still in bed, barely conscious, and you’re already planning out her life like she’s some problem to be solved. Let her wake up first. Let her choose her own path.”

“Hmph,” someone muttered under their breath. “Ever since she came back from school, she’s been lying there like some pampered little princess, still thinking she’s a college student…”

As Emily Carter opened her eyes, the familiar voices drifted through the haze in her mind. Her head throbbed, and she felt dizzy, like she’d just emerged from a fevered dream.

What the hell… wasn’t I dead?

She remembered her old life—years of scraping by, always moving, always fighting to find stability. She’d finally managed to buy a small house in the city, only to be poisoned by the very person she called her best friend.

In her final moments, her friend’s voice still rang in her ears:

“It was me. I was the one who drove you and Charlie apart. I made sure you’d never find him again. I got you kicked out of college, and I made you think I was your friend while pulling every string. Now I want your house. So die already.”

As the poison tore through her, her “friend” had even turned on the TV—deliberately, smugly.

And there he was.

Charlie Lancaster. The man she had spent half her life looking for. Standing at the front of a military parade in full dress uniform, his broad shoulders adorned with stars, every inch a leader. Dignified. Commanding. Strong.

Time had only sharpened his features, deepened his presence.

A reporter approached him.

“Colonel Lancaster, what inspired you to join the military in the first place?”

Facing the camera, his voice was calm, steady—but there was something haunted in his eyes. “Honestly? It was simple. Someone once told me that guys look their best in uniform.”

The host raised her eyebrows, intrigued. “And who was she? You're still the country's most eligible bachelor!”

He hesitated, then gave a small, bitter smile. “Just… someone I wish I could forget.”

Those words had shattered her.

Emily had taken her last breath with her eyes wide open, filled with pain, regret—and rage.

When she came to, she found herself lying on a hard, lumpy mattress covered with a faded, floral blanket that smelled faintly of mildew and old soap. Familiar voices drifted from the next room.

She sat up slowly, her hands trembling, and pulled back the worn curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the house.

Her eyes widened in shock.

Around the square kitchen table, her family sat—just as they had twenty years ago. Not a single face was missing.

She scanned the room, her heart pounding in her chest. Then her eyes landed on a cheap paper calendar tacked above the counter. The date read June 14, 1990.

She turned slowly toward the mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. A young face stared back at her—her own, barely twenty years old, smooth and fresh, untouched by heartbreak or betrayal.

She was back.

Back in the 90s. Back before everything had gone so horribly wrong. Before she lost her love. Before she lost her future.

Why now?

If only she had come back just a little earlier…

But she couldn’t let herself dwell on what-ifs. Being given a second chance was a miracle in itself.

The past had already taken her college dreams. That was gone. But there were still other things she could fight for.

This time, she wouldn’t be so naive. She wouldn’t let the people who destroyed her go unpunished.

And she would find him again—Charlie.

No matter what, she wouldn't lose him this time.

Outside, the family was still locked in their heated discussion, voices rising and falling like waves. None of them noticed as Emily quietly pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the room.

The room fell dead silent.

“Emily!” Her stepmother, Grace, rushed to her side, panic and concern etched deep into her features. “Sweetheart, you’re awake! Are you okay? Your fever’s been out of control. Come on, lie back down.”

Under the dim bulb overhead, Emily looked ghostly pale, her body thin and fragile as she swayed slightly on her feet.

“Mom…” her voice cracked. “Can I get some water?”

Tom, who had been squirming awkwardly since his dad suggested marrying her off to him, quickly stood up and stammered, “Uh, sit here… you can take my seat…”

Emily had been Grace’s stepdaughter, brought into the family after Grace remarried. There was no blood relation between her and the other kids. Marrying her off to Tom would’ve been cheap and convenient—no dowry, no drama.

Grace ignored Tom’s offer and helped Emily to her own seat. She grabbed the kettle from the stove and poured a cup of warm water. Emily clutched it in both hands and drank deeply.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart? I can whip up some eggs,” Grace offered gently.

But Emily’s heart was a storm of thoughts. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sit still.

Before she could answer, a loud bang rattled the front gate. Heavy footsteps and shouting voices echoed across the courtyard.

Something—or someone—was coming.