Death Loop: I Discovered My Husband's Secret

The crushing weight of the truck tires snapped my spine in half.

I choked on my own blood before waking up on the exact same street corner.

I thought I had been reborn, but then I saw a glowing red number "4" burned into the skin of my forearm.

What the hell was happening?

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Silas's name flashed on the screen.

"Celeste, get home right now," my husband said through the speaker. "Ronan is throwing a fit again. He's hungry."

Before I could respond, a familiar roar vibrated through the pavement.

The massive delivery truck hurdled around the corner frantically out of control.

Muscle memory took over.

I dove hard to the left, scraping my knees on the concrete.

The truck plowed into the nearby barricade.

But when I got home, I was killed by someone who appeared out of nowhere.

When I woke up at the intersection again, the red "4" had faded to "3".

This wasn't a nightmare.

These were my remaining chances.

If that number hits zero, I am dead forever.

Across the street, Silas sat in the driver's seat of his car.

He casually rested one hand on the steering wheel as he honked the horn.

He had just watched a truck nearly crush his pregnant wife.

How could he be so calm about it?

I yanked the passenger door open, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Silas, you saw that. Why aren't you terrified? You almost lost our baby."

Silas barely glanced at me.

"Stop making a scene over nothing.

The truck was far away from you."

"Get in the car. Are you trying to starve poor Ronan?"

A freezing sensation settled in my chest.

He genuinely did not care if I lived or died.

Silas snatched the prenatal checkup folder right out of my hands. He tossed it into the backseat.

"Your pregnancy hormones are making you hysterical," he snapped. "You have this ridiculous persecution complex."

I let him drive me back to the house in silence.

Fighting him was useless right now.

I sat rigidly at the dining table, my eyes locked on the clock.

Eleven forty-nine. Last time, I got kicked out of the house in exactly one minute.

Across the table, Ronan scooped his pasta.

A huge glob of greasy red sauce splattered directly onto my maternity blouse.

I bit my tongue and stared down at the mess. I remained completely silent.

I just had to avoid aggravating Ronan—Silas's adopted son—so Silas wouldn't have an excuse to throw me into the backyard to "cool off".

Silas stood up suddenly. A wave of scalding heat hit my chest.

Ronan stood over me, his empty glass dripping hot milk over the pasta stain.

"Stop glaring at Ronan!" Silas shouted, leaning over the table. "You're terrifying the boy!"

Ronan clapped his sticky hands together. "She's a bad person! Bad women should be kicked outside! Good job, Dad!"

I hadn't even looked at the boy.

Silas was intentionally manufacturing a reason to get rid of me.

Silas grabbed my arm with bruising force.

He dragged me across the living room and shoved me toward the patio doors.

The lock clicked behind me. I stood alone in the pouring rain.

A shadow separated itself from the wet bushes.

A towering man in a mask stepped forward, dragging a butcher knife by his side.

The man who killed me last time.

The clock inside chimed midnight.

I pounded on the glass doors with both fists.

"Silas! I'm sorry, okay? Please let me in! That killer is out here!"

Silas stood on the other side of the glass. He looked directly at the masked man approaching me.

He didn't pull out his phone. He didn't reach for the handles to save his pregnant wife.

Silas simply pulled the curtains shut and threw the deadbolt.