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.

her mind replayed the dream over and

events after my death, why did Juan speak of revenge? Could it be that he wasn't the one who removed all

of Shelia taking the ring from her finger in

'Could it be Shelia?'

off the covers and made her way

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."

are you out of bed?

his phone. "Your phone's been ringing nonstop. Joe

and, seeing the numerous missed calls,

over to

turned of

heat, and said,

needs to simmer

it'll

S." t

I'll order takeout,"

burnt

a

and it

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