Reborn to Take the Fall for My Wife’s Old Flame

1
I beat my wife, the woman who once loved me more than life itself, and sent her to the hospital. Then I walked into the police station and turned myself in.
I did it because I remember my last life. I remember when her old flame, the one that got away, came back to town after his divorce.
It started when he lost his mind in a Tiffany & Co., smashing display cases to pieces. It ended with him behind the wheel of a car, a blur of metal and fury, causing a catastrophic multi-car pile-up on the freeway.
But it was the Tiffanys manager and the victims of the crash who came for me. They pointed their fingers, their voices unwavering, and swore it was me. I fought to prove my innocence, but every security camera feed they produced showed my face. My own wife, Katie, insisted it was true, telling everyone my depression had finally pushed me over the edge.
They didnt wait for a trial. The family of a victim cornered me, and a blade in my gut was the final verdict.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back. The day before he, Ethan, was set to destroy everything.

This time, I was the one who left Katie, battered and bruised, at the doors of the emergency room. My cold, impatient demeanor, coupled with the constellation of injuries covering her body, screamed a story far more violent than a simple fall.
Two officers walked in. "Who called this in?"
I immediately held my hands out to them, wrists together. "I did, Officer. I'm here to turn myself in. The woman I assaulted is in the ER right now."
The officer shot me a bewildered look. After a quick confirmation with a nurse, they cuffed me and led me away.
The first thing Katie did after being discharged from the emergency room was try to post my bail.
"I really just fell," she pleaded with the police. "It has nothing to do with my husband."
I squared my jaw. "It wasn't me? Then how did you 'fall' into a pattern of whip marks across your back?"
Katies eyes blazed with a desperate, furious light. "Steve, you're insane! I'm trying to save you!"
But I was a stone wall. "I did something wrong. I deserve to be punished. It's that simple."
She was trembling with rage, but no matter how she argued or begged, I stuck to my story: it was a deliberate, vicious assault.
Given that Id turned myself in and was so cooperative, the police decided to hold me for five days. Katie had no choice but to be wheeled back to her hospital room.
And there, in the sterile silence of a holding cell, a profound peace washed over me.
This time, I thought, none of it can touch me.
In my last life, the moment Ethan returned to this city, he didnt just reappear; he ripped the heart right out of my marriage. Katie was gone, pulled back into his orbit, leaving me to face my nights alone.
I remember lying in a seedy clinic, enduring some quacks electroshock "treatment" for a depression I never had. The pain was excruciating. Then my phone rang. It was Katie.
"Ethans been drinking," shed said, her voice rushed. "I have to go get him. Ill be back for you in a bit."
She left without even bothering to turn off the machine.
She was gone for the entire day. I was left there, strapped down, convulsing, my screams echoing in an empty room. It took two full days at home just to regain enough strength to stand. I was about to confront her, to demand an explanation, when the news broke.
Ethan had trashed the Tiffany's downtown. Then, hed taken his car onto the freeway, hitting 120 mph, and slammed into a chain of twenty cars.
I had tried to be the good guy. Id urged him to turn himself in, told him we could sell our assets, the car, the house, to compensate the victims.
Ethan had just sneered at me. "Steve, youre the one who caused a hit-and-run. Youre the one who smashed up a jewelry store. Why should I sell my things for your mess?"
Then Katie had produced the divorce papers Id been tricked into signing weeks before. "We're already divorced, Steve," shed said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "You're on your own. The house, the cars, they were always mine. Don't even think about touching them."
I was lost. It was Ethan who had committed the crimes, so why was I the one being forced to pay?
But then the store manager, the accident victimsthey all descended on me, demanding blood. They even had the surveillance footage. And on every screen, clear as day, was my face.

2
"The evidence is right here, Steve. Are you still going to deny it? Pay up!"
"A twenty-car pile-up! You couldn't pay for this with your life!"
I stared at the screen, at my own face, a phantom committing crimes I never did. My mind was a tangled mess. How could this be?
But this life would be different. I would not walk that path again.
Five days later, I was released. I hadn't even taken my first breath of fresh air when a hand clamped down on my arm, hard.
"You're the bastard who put my wife in the hospital!" a man roared, his face contorted with rage. "I'm going to kill you!"
He lunged, grabbing for my collar. I sidestepped, my reflexes sharp. Suddenly, I was surrounded. A crowd had materialized out of nowhere, their faces twisted with malice, their eyes hungry for a scapegoat.
"Steve, you goddamn murderer!"
"He's faking it! The depression, all of it! He smashes up stores, drives like a maniache's a menace!"
The mention of "120 mph" caught the attention of passersby. Phones came out, screens lit up. Someone was live-streaming.
Faced with the snarling mob, I clenched my fists. Even after locking myself away, they still wouldn't let me go.
I took a breath and steadied myself. "You have no idea what you're talking about," I projected, my voice loud and clear. "These are baseless accusations."
The guy with the live-stream sneered and held out another phone, a video playing on its screen. "Who's accusing you? See for yourself."
The video showed me walking into Tiffany's with my mother. After a brief, tense argument, my face twisted into a mask of rage. I hurled my phone, shattering a glass counter. My mother was there, grabbing at my arm, her voice shrill.
"Steve, stop! Stop it! We can't afford this!"
But the me on the screen was unmoved. I shoved her away, sending her sprawling to the floor.
My mother, lying on the polished marble, clutched her chest and screamed to the onlookers, "That's my son, Steve! He has depression! He can't control himself!"
A cold dread washed over me, heavier than any I'd felt before.
In my last life, it was Katie who stood outside Tiffanys, screaming that I was mentally ill.
But this time, the very first thing I did was put Katie in the hospital and myself in a jail cell for five days.
And the person screaming my name, branding me with the scarlet letter of insanity, was my own mother.
How? How could this be happening again?
"Nothing to say now, huh?" the man spat.
The Tiffany's story was already a viral sensation. Now, with the "culprit" found, the live-stream exploded, rocketing to the top of the trending charts.
I stood there, my expression frozen, my eyes locked on the face in the videomy face.
The store manager shoved a crumpled receipt into my chest, his own chest heaving with fury. "You smashed three of my counters! The jewelry inside is all damaged to some degree. The total is five million dollars." He was almost choking on his words. "Some of those pieces were one-of-a-kind. And now they're gone. Because of you."
A man whose car was part of the pile-up stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. "My wife is three months pregnant! Your little joyride scared her so badly she's in the hospital right now, fighting to keep our baby. And you had the nerve to flee the scene. You're coming with me to the station, right now."
He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away.
"Yeah! People like you should get the death penalty!" someone yelled. The cry was taken up by the crowd, their anger a single, unified roar.
I fought to break free, shouting over the noise, "Everyone, just calm down! It wasn't me who did these things!"
The manager scoffed. "Your own mother was shouting your name in my store. How could it not be you?"
"The person who did this was Ethan!" I explained desperately. "He's my wife's old flame. Go ask her! He's the one who trashed the jewelry store and drove like a maniac!"
Just as I was trying to make them understand, a sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek.
Katie. She had appeared from nowhere, and her hand had connected with my face in a vicious slap.

3
"You're still trying to frame Ethan?" she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You'll never change." She grabbed the back of my head, trying to force me to my knees. "You've done enough damage. Now apologize to them!"
I wrenched myself free. "It wasn't me! Why should I apologize for something I didn't do?"
From behind her, Ethan peeked out, his face a perfect picture of wounded innocence. "Steve, how could you become like this?" he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. "Katie is so good to you, and you put her in the hospital. Even now, she's just worried about you, trying to get you a lighter sentence by having you apologize."
Ethans words were like gasoline on the fire of the crowds anger. Their glares intensified, thick with contempt. The live-stream chat filled with a torrent of abuse, and within minutes, someone had doxxed me, posting my home address for the world to see.
I stared at Ethan. "I said it wasn't me. Why are you so defensive?"
Katie raised her hand to slap me again, but this time I caught her wrist. "I told you," I said, my voice low and cold, "Ethan did this. What are you trying to do? Beat a confession out of me?"
Seeing the attention shift back to him, Ethan cried out, "Steve, how can you accuse me like this? Yes, I know Katie and I were close once, but that was just a childhood friendship! To avoid any misunderstanding, I even moved to another city! Ive put up with your paranoia for years, not because I'm afraid of you, but because I didn't want to make your condition worse. Steve it's time to face reality."
His saccharine-sweet, manipulative performance was a masterpiece. The crowd ate it up.
This guys sickness is his own damn fault. Paranoid, sees rivals everywhere.
The dude tries to help him and he just attacks him. What a psycho.
I bet his kid won't be a child model lmao.
The chat was a cesspool of mockery. Katie's face flushed with anger. She kicked the back of my knee. "Apologize. Now."
Just then, my mother pushed her way through the crowd.
She looked at me, her eyes filled not with maternal love, but with profound disappointment. "Steve," she said, her voice heavy. "Go turn yourself in."
"We went to Tiffany's together yesterday. The others might not know, but I'm your mother. How could I not know what you did?"
Katie held my leg down. The crowd spat insults. Someone threw a rotten egg. It shattered against my skull, cold, stinking yolk slithering down my forehead.
The commotion finally drew the attention of the police.
"Stop! Everybody back off!"
An officer pushed through, creating a barrier between me and the mob. He saw me and froze for a second, then his expression hardened. "Steve? You're not even home yet and you're already causing trouble?"
Seeing him was like finding a life raft in a storm. I grabbed his arm. "Officer, thank God you're here. You have to help me."
The man whose wife was in the hospital snorted. "Why would a cop help a piece of trash like you?"
Katie sighed dramatically. "Steve, just confess. You might get a lighter sentence."
The officer looked at the chaotic scene, a frown creasing his brow as he finally pieced things together. "You've been out for ten minutes. What could you have possibly done now?"
Ignoring the shocked faces around me, I began to speak, my voice steady.
"They're all saying I smashed up Tiffany's yesterday. A luxury store I can't even afford to walk into. They're saying I was doing 120 on the freeway. And they all came straight here, demanding justice from me."
The officers face went blank. "How is that possible?"
As the crowd exchanged confused glances, Katie shrieked, "Steve! What did you do to get the police on your side too? You caused millions in damages, you wrecked all those cars, people were hurt! How dare this officer cover for you!"

4
Her accusation was all it took. The live-streamer's phone was instantly shoved in the officer's face. The comments section flooded with theories of bribery and corruption.
The officer's face darkened as he saw the screen. "What the hell are you people talking about? Steve has been in police custody, in a holding cell, for the past five days. How could he possibly be the one who did all this?"
A stunned silence fell over the crowd. The live-stream chat froze for a beat before erupting with even more frantic energy.
Wait, so Steve was in jail for 5 days... but the guy who trashed Tiffany's and caused the pile-up YESTERDAY... was also Steve?
Impossible. Unless Steve can teleport.
The victims who had come for my blood now looked hesitant.
I stood up straight, my voice ringing with sincerity. "Everyone, I don't know why my face is on that surveillance video, but I can promise you, at the time of these incidents, I was in a cell, trying to be a better person. I never left."
A user in the live-stream chat suggested the video might be a deepfake.
The Tiffany's manager was the first to shoot that down. "No way. That's from my store's internal security system."
To get to the bottom of it, the officer called in a forensics team to analyze the footage. The result was baffling: the videos were authentic, unaltered. And the face in them was undeniably mine.
The crowd erupted in confused chatter.
Katie, her face a mask of feigned concern, her eyes darting nervously, suddenly had a flash of inspiration. "That is Steve. I've slept next to him for years, I know his face. He must have snuck out!" she declared. "He has depression! He probably faked being sick in jail so they'd take him to the hospital, and then he escaped from there!"
Ethan gasped, playing his part perfectly. "That must be it! Steve used to do that all the time, use his 'depression' as an excuse to get to the hospital and then just sneak out!" He turned to the police. "Officer, the evidence is overwhelming! You have to arrest him!"
His words were the spark that reignited the mob's fury. They surged forward, their voices a unified chant: "Arrest him! Arrest him!"
The officer's face was grim. "During his time in custody, Steve was never taken to the hospital."
But just as he said it, another officer approached, his expression troubled. "Actually, sir... Steve did complain of feeling unwell yesterday. We were worried about his condition, so we did take him to the hospital for a check-up."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Ethans face lit up with triumph.
"You see, Officer? I was right! Arrest him! He deserves life in prison for this!"
Now, even the cops were looking at me with suspicion.
I turned to them, my voice pleading. "Officers, you have to clear my name. I was brought in five days ago. Even when I was at the hospital yesterday, you were with me the whole time."
The second officer looked down, his voice barely a whisper. "For the urology exam... I didn't go in with you."
Ethan seized on it instantly. "That's it! He slipped out during the exam! That hospital isn't far from Tiffany's!" he shouted. "Confess, Steve, and maybe they'll show you some mercy!"
He put on a show of heartfelt concern, a performance that had the live-stream viewers praising his magnanimity. How could he be so forgiving to the man who had wronged him so?
The crowd grew louder, more aggressive. They closed in, shoving, pushing. Hands grabbed at my clothes, my arms. I was a ship tossed in a storm, my face stinging from a fresh scratch.
But as I was buffeted back and forth, a slow smile spread across my lips.
Not because I had lost my mind.
But because I knew Ethan would never let this go easily. And this time, I had come prepared.
"STOP! I can prove Steve didn't do any of this!"
The voice cut through the chaos like a razor. My smile widened.
The person I was waiting for had finally arrived.

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