Debra jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.

Juan was nearby, soaking a towel. When he noticed she was awake, he asked, "Do you want something to eat?"

The sight of Juan only deepened her fear. Instinctively, she scooted away from him, a motion he couldn't help but notice. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked.

It was indeed a nightmare.

In her dream, it felt as if she had been transported to her past life. She had observed everything as a ghost.

When she had seen the gravestone, the pain of dying on the operating table had rushed through her all over again.

"I..."

Juan silenced her with a look, mouthing, "There's a camera."

Debra composed himself and forced a smile. "Yeah, just a bad dream."

"You've got a fever," Juan said, glancing at the thermometer. "101 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm making some oatmeal for you, and the medicine is on the table."

"Okay," Debra replied smoothly.

left the room, her mind

dream was a glimpse of events after my death, why did Juan speak of revenge? Could it be that he wasn't the one who removed all the type A blood in

the ring from her finger in the morgue suddenly flashed through

'Could it be Shelia?'

the covers

the kitchen, Juan stood in the morning light, stirring a pot of oatmeal. His clumsy movements seemed at odds with his usual composed nature. Debra watched in silence. In her previous life, he had never cooked for her.

"I'll do it."

out of bed? Go back

his phone. "Your phone's been

the phone and, seeing the numerous missed calls, immediately

walked over to the

turned of

heat, and

needs to

it'll

S." t

order takeout," Juan

nearly burnt oatmeal and smiled wryly.

a

and it was

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