I paid for the wedding. She paid me back in the bridal suite.
The night before our wedding, I walked in on Victoria and her "patient" Julian — in our bed, in the home I spent five years saving for.
Two years, she told me it was therapy. Two years, I believed her.
I'd given her forty percent of my liver. She sold my medication to buy Julian a Rolex.
So I found the antique pocket watch. And I wound it back seven years — to a day before I ever met her.
I thought I left her in the past.
I was wrong. She came back too.
Now she's everywhere. The hallway. My classes. My door. Crying, begging, swearing she's changed.
But here's what she still doesn't understand —
The watch only works for me. She only ever came back because I wound it. She never had a choice of her own.
And this time, I'm not winding it again.
Because someone new is standing beside me now. And she has never once asked me to prove anything.
Two chances. She wasted both. This one is mine.
I Rewound — She Followed
