Married to my dead wife’s twin

Katy’s POV "Oh, I’m late! I am so, so late!" I scrambled around the tiny room, shoving my feet into boots that had seen better years…decades, probably. I grabbed my apron from the back of the single plastic chair that served as our dining set, office, and vanity. "Mommy? You forgot your juice." I stopped, my heart softening as I looked down at Leo. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress we shared, holding out a crumpled juice box with a sleepy smile. At five years old, he was the only thing in this world that didn't feel like a weight around my neck. I knelt, pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. "Keep it, baby. You need the vitamins more than I do. Be good for Mrs. Gable next door, okay? When I get back tonight, I’ll have the rest of your school fees. I promise." Drip. Drip. Splat. A cold drop of water hit the bridge of my nose. I looked up at the yellowed ceiling. A new leak. "Oh, crap! Not again!" I hissed, yanking a bucket from under the sink and kicking it into place. I didn't have time to cry about a leaky roof. I didn't have time for anything except survival. I kissed Leo one last time, grabbed my bag, and bolted out the door into the humid night. The shift at the cafe was a blur of burnt espresso and aching feet. By the time 11:00 PM rolled around, my caramel skin felt tacky with grease and my tattoo sleeve was itching under my uniform. I was just reaching for the "Closed" sign when the bell above the door chimed. No. Please, no. A man walked in, smelling of expensive gin and even more expensive arrogance. He leaned over the counter, his eyes roaming over my curves with a look that made my skin crawl. "Oh, s**t," I muttered under my breath. "They don't pay me enough for this." I walked over, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "We're closing, sir. Best I can do is a black coffee to go." "I don't want coffee, sweetheart," he slurred, reaching out to hook his finger into my nose ring. "I want to know how much it costs to get a girl like you to walk me to my car." My blood turned to ice. Before he could touch me, I caught his wrist in a grip that had been forged by years of lifting heavy crates and fighting off street creeps. I squeezed until his face paled. "The nose ring stays in, and your hand stays back," I warned, my voice a low, dangerous velvet. "Or I'll see how far that wrist can bend before it snaps. Do you want your order taken or not?" "Jeez, okay! Psycho," he stammered, pulling back. But as I opened my mouth to tell him to get out, a voice cut through the sound of the rain outside. It was a jagged, broken sound like a man screaming underwater. "Sandra!" I froze, I didn't know a Sandra. I looked through the glass window. Across the street, a man was standing under a flickering streetlamp. He looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a magazine. He is tall, imposing, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my life. But his face… he looked like he was seeing a ghost. "Oh, well," I muttered, turning back to the counter. "If it isn't another drunk weirdo." "Sandra! It’s me! Charles!" the man shouted again. He started toward the street, his eyes fixed on me with a terrifying, manic intensity. The jerk at my counter let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, look at that. Your boyfriend is talking to you." "I don't know him!" I snapped, my temper finally fraying. "Now buy something or get the hell out!" I looked back out the window. The stranger wasn't stopping. He was stepping right into the path of a delivery truck that was barreling down the rain-slicked road. He wasn't even looking at the lights, He was only looking at me. "Sandra, wait!" "Hey! Look out!" I screamed, lunging for the door but I was too late. The screech of tires was the loudest thing I'd ever heard. Then came the sickening thud of metal hitting bone. I watched in horror as the man who called me Sandra was tossed into the air like a ragdoll. He hit the pavement and didn't move. The customer in the cafe gasped, but I was already moving. I pushed past the door, the rain soaking my hair instantly. I ran to the middle of the street, kneeling beside the broken man in the expensive suit. His gray eyes were fluttery, struggling to stay open. Blood trickled down his temple, but when he saw me, his hand twitched, trying to reach for my face. "Found… you…" he whispered, his voice bubbling with pain and for a split second, looking down at his handsome, shattered face, a weird chill ran down my spine. It was a feeling of recognition I couldn't explain. Like I had known those gray eyes in another life. "Stay with me, Charles!" I yelled, pressing my apron against the wound on his head. "Don't you dare die on my shift!"