The Perfect Luna

Ethan Moore spent ten years being the perfect husband. He worked sixteen hour shifts so his wife Claire could carry designer bags. He paid off his mother in law's credit card debt four times. He covered his brother in law's DUI lawyers, his daughter's private school tuition, and every vacation, every spa trip, every brunch bill that his family racked up without ever once saying thank you. And when he lay dying in a hospital bed with three cracked ribs and a punctured lung, not one of them held his hand. "I called the insurance company this morning. The payout is $750,000, but with the accidental clause, it bumps to 1.2 million." His wife crossed her legs and scrolled through her phone without looking at him once. "What about the stock options from his company? Those vest on death, don't they?" His mother in law leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded. And then his daughter, the girl he carried on his shoulders at county fairs, the girl he stayed up with during thunderstorms, looked up from her phone and said the words that stopped his heart. "You know he's not even my real dad, right? I just want to know if I still get stuff. I really need a new phone." He woke up three years in the past with every memory of his deathbed burned into his brain and a system that returned every dollar he spent tenfold. The man who once apologized to a waiter for sending back cold soup now buys $400,000 suits without blinking. The man who skipped his own father's funeral because his wife said they couldn't afford the flight now carries $20 million in his back pocket. The pushover is dead. And the people who killed him don't even know he's coming.