I woke up in a hotel room that smelled like expensive flowers.
The ceiling was unfamiliar. The bed was too soft. Someone was knocking on the door with increasing urgency.
"Barry! Barry, you need to get dressed! The photographer is here!"
My mother's voice. Shrill. Anxious.
Then the memories hit.
Not replacing my thoughts, just stacking on top of them, each one showing a different version of the same life.
Fifty-two years in one world. Pharmaceutical sales. Midwest territory. Married. Two kids. A heart attack in an Akron parking lot outside a Holiday Inn.
Something my doctor had warned me about, and I had ignored for too long.
But beneath that—or above it, I couldn't tell which—twenty-eight years as someone else.
Barry Farber. Orthodontist. Upper East Side. Columbia Dental School.
Today's date: Saturday, September 24, 1994.
My wedding day.
To Rachel Green.
Who, according to the memories I shouldn't have, was going to run from this wedding in approximately four hours.
"BARRY!"
I sat up.
The hotel room came into focus. Tuxedo hanging on the door. Boutonniere on the dresser. Schedule card propped against the lamp:
10:30 AM - Photos
11:00 AM - Guests arrive
12:00 PM - Ceremony begins
2:00 PM - Reception
Current time: 9:47 AM.
The knock came again.
"I'm up!" I called. "Give me ten minutes!"
"Eight! The photographer is already setting up!"
I stood. Looked in the mirror.
Twenty-eight-year-old face. No gray hair. No wedding ring yet. The haircut Rachel had insisted on last week—shorter on the sides, professional, something her father would approve of.
I knew what happened next in the original timeline.
Rachel gets cold feet. Runs.
Barry—original Barry—is left at the altar. Humiliated. Eventually rebounds with Mindy, Rachel's maid of honor. Becomes a punchline.
But I wasn't original Barry anymore.
And I had four hours to decide what to do about it.
I splashed water on my face. Both life memories made my head ache—like trying to focus on two photographs overlaid at slightly different angles.
In one life, I'd spent decades chasing quotas. Building someone else's pharmaceutical empire. Long drives between doctors' offices, explaining drug interactions I'd memorized from flashcards. Good at it. Successful, even. But always building equity for shareholders I'd never meet.
In this life, I'd coasted. Taken over a practice. Let it run on autopilot while I focused on proving myself worthy of Rachel Green's last name.
Both versions of me had made the same mistake.
Living for someone else's approval instead of building something real.
The knocking resumed. More insistent.
"Barry David Farber, I swear to God—"
I opened the door.
My mother stood there, makeup perfect, dress pressed, panic barely contained behind a smile that had been practiced in a mirror.
"Finally." She stepped inside, examining me like I was a patient who'd missed an appointment. "You look terrible. Did you sleep at all?"
"Some."
"Well, you can't look exhausted in the photos. Rachel's mother has already commented twice about the bags under your eyes in the engagement pictures." She pulled out a small makeup compact. "Here. Concealer."
"Mom—"
"Don't argue. Today is about presentation."
I took the concealer.
She watched me apply it with the intensity of a quality control inspector.
"There. Better." She adjusted my collar even though it was already straight. "Your father is downstairs with your groomsmen. The photographer wants family photos in twenty minutes."
"Okay."
She paused at the door. "Are you nervous?"
"Should I be?"
"Every groom is nervous. It's natural." Her smile softened. Became almost genuine. "But you and Rachel are perfect together. Everyone says so."
Everyone.
Her parents. My parents. Their friends. The country club set.
Everyone except Rachel and me.
"I'll be down in fifteen minutes," I said.
She kissed my cheek. Left a lipstick mark she immediately wiped away with her thumb.
Then she was gone.
I sat on the bed.
Picked up the phone.
The hotel's wake-up service had left a message light blinking. I ignored it.
Instead, I stared at the rotary dial.
I could call this off right now.
Tell my mother. Tell Rachel. Stop this before it started.
But that would cause chaos. Humiliation for everyone. Financial disaster—the deposits alone were nearly twenty thousand dollars. Money I didn't have in reserve because original Barry had been spending everything trying to look successful.
The comfertable path would be letting it play out. Letting Rachel run. Playing the victim. Accepting sympathy.
The hard path was stopping it myself.
Taking responsibility.
Ending it cleanly.
I picked up the receiver.
Dialed Rachel's room.
It rang four times.
"Hello?" Her voice. Tight. Strained.
"Rachel. It's me."
"Barry! You're not supposed to call! It's bad luck!"
"I need to talk to you."
"Now? We're in the middle of hair and makeup—"
"Rachel." I kept my voice gentle. "Are you okay?"
Silence.
Then, quietly: "Why are you asking me that?"
"Because you sound terrified. And I need to know if you're scared of weddings in general, or scared of marrying me specifically."
The silence stretched longer.
I heard voices in the background. Her mother. The bridesmaids. Someone laughing about champagne.
"I can't have this conversation right now," Rachel whispered.
"Then when?"
"Barry—"
"Before the ceremony. Just you and me. Five minutes."
"I don't—"
"Rachel. Please."
Another pause.
"Okay. Before photos. The terrace outside the bridal suite."
"I'll be there."
I hung up.
My hands were steady. That surprised me.
In my previous life, I'd always avoided confrontation. Let things fester. Assumed problems would resolve themselves if I just waited long enough.
They never did.
The terrace was empty when I arrived. Late September in New York—the air carried that edge that warned winter was coming but hadn't came yet.
Rachel stepped outside two minutes later.
She looked beautiful.
The wedding dress was everything her mother had wanted. Ivory silk. Beaded bodice. Train that cost more than my monthly clinic rent. Her hair was half-done—curls pinned on one side, the other side still in rollers.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
We stood three feet apart.
She fidgeted with her engagement ring. Twisted it. The diamond caught the light.
"You wanted to talk," she said.
"I wanted to ask you a question."
"Okay."
"Do you want to marry me?"
Her eyes widened. "What kind of question is that? We're getting married in two hours—"
"That's not an answer."
"Barry—"
"Rachel." I stepped closer. Not touching. Just closer, "I need you to be honest. Not polite. Not worried about what everyone else thinks. Just honest."
Her lip trembled.
"I don't know," she whispered.
There it was.
The truth neither of us had been brave enough to say out loud.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?"
"If you don't know, then we shouldn't do this."
She stared at me like I'd spoken a foreign language. "What?"
"Marriage isn't something you do because you've already sent the invitations. It's something you do because you can't imagine not doing it."
"But everyone's here—"
"I don't care."
"My parents spent—"
"I'll cover it."
"Barry, two hundred people are downstairs—"
"And I won't trap you in a marriage you're not sure about. That's not fair to either of us."
Tears welled in her eyes. Spilled over. Ruined the makeup someone had spent an hour applying.
"I thought I wanted this," she said. "I thought I was ready. My whole life, this is what I was supposed to want. The wedding. The husband. The life everyone expects."
"What do you want?"
"I don't know!" She pressed her hands to her face. "I don't know who I am or what I want or how to be anything except what everyone tells me I should be!"
I pulled the handkerchief from my jacket pocket. Handed it to her.
She took it. Wiped her eyes. Mascara stained the white fabric black.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Don't apologize for being honest."
"I'm ruining everything—"
"You're not ruining anything. You're stopping us from making a terrible mistake."
She looked up at me. "You think marrying me would be a mistake?"
"I think marrying someone who doesn't want to marry me would be a disaster. For both of us."
She laughed. It came out broken. "You're being so calm about this."
"One of us has to be."
"Aren't you angry?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Because I'd seen this coming. Because I had memories screaming at me that this engagement had been doomed from the start. Because Barry had proposed to prove something to her father and socity, not because he actually wanted to spend his life with her.
But I couldn't say any of that.
"Because being angry won't change anything," I said instead. "And you deserve to figure out who you are before you promise to be someone's wife."
She cried harder.
I stood there. Let her cry. Didn't try to fix it.
After a few minutes, she took a shaky breath.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"I'll handle it."
"Handle what?"
"The announcement. The guests. Your parents."
"Barry, you can't—"
"Yes, I can. You stay here. Collect yourself. I'll take care of everything else."
"That's not fair to you—"
"Rachel." I held her gaze. "Let me do this. Please."
She nodded. Unable to speak.
I walked back inside.
Left her on the terrace.
And went to dismantle a wedding.
The photographer was setting up when I found him.
"We need to pause the photos," I said.
He looked up from his camera. "Is there a problem?"
"The wedding is canceled."
His face went blank. "Excuse me?"
"The bride and I have mutually decided not to proceed. I need you to pack up."
"But—I have a contract—"
"You'll be paid for your time. Full contract amount. Just... give us the room."
He stared. Then started packing his equipment with the careful movements of someone trying not to get involved in a disaster.
I found my mother next.
She was in the hallway, discussing flower arrangements with Rachel's mother.
"Mom. Mrs. Green. Can I speak with you both?"
Rachel's mother—Dr. Green's wife, perfectly coiffed, diamonds at her throat—smiled. "Barry, darling, we were just discussing whether the centerpieces should—"
"The wedding is off."
Both women froze.
"What?" my mother whispered.
"Rachel and I have decided not to get married. We're calling it off."
Mrs. Green's smile didn't falter. But her eyes went cold. "This is a joke."
"It's not."
"Young man, do you have any idea how much we've invested in this day—"
"I'll cover the costs. Every penny. But the wedding isn't happening."
"You'll COVER the costs?" Her voice rose. "This isn't about money, this is about reputation, about—"
"Barbara." My mother's hand on her arm. Firm. "Let him speak."
I looked at my mother. Saw her reading my face.
She'd always been able to tell when I was serious.
"Rachel isn't ready," I said quietly. "Neither am I. We're calling it off. I'm going to make the announcement myself."
Mrs. Green opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Where is Rachel?" she demanded.
"Taking a moment. She'll speak with you after."
"I want to see my daughter—"
"In a few minutes. Let me handle the guests first."
I walked away before she could argue.
The ceremony space was a cathedral. Vaulted ceilings. Stained glass. Flower arrangements that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
Two hundred guests filled the pews.
Family. Friends. Business associates. People I barely knew.
My father saw me approaching. Frowned. Started to stand.
I shook my head.
Walked to the front where the officiant stood.
"Dr. Farber?" The officiant whispered. "We're not starting for another—"
"I need to make an announcement."
"What?"
I took the microphone from the stand.
The string quartet stopped playing.
Two hundred faces turned toward me.
Silence fell like a held breath.
"Good morning," I said. My voice echoed in the cathedral. "Thank you all for being here today."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
I saw confusion. Concern. My mother's hand pressed to her mouth.
"Rachel and I have decided not to get married."
The murmurs became gasps.
Someone dropped the ceremony booklet. The sound cracked through the silence.
"This was a mutual decision, made with honesty and respect. We both realized we're not ready for marriage. We wish each other well. We apologize for the inconvenience, and we appreciate your understanding."
I set down the microphone.
Dr. Green stood abruptly from the front. "What the hell is going on?"
Before I could answer, Rachel appeared in the doorway.
Still in her wedding dress. Makeup ruined. But standing straight.
"Daddy," she said. Her voice carried across the cathedral. "I can't do this."
"Can't do what?"
"Get married. I'm not ready. I thought I was, but I'm not."
Her mother rushed forward. "Rachel Karen Green, you get back in that bridal suite right now—"
"No." Rachel's voice was firmer now. "I'm sorry. I know this is embarrassing. I know it's expensive. But I can't marry someone just because it's expected."
The room erupted.
Voices overlapped. Questions shouted. Someone's aunt started crying.
I stepped back.
Let Rachel have her moment.
This was her declaration. Her choice. Her life.
I'd given her the opening.
Now she had to walk through it.
Rachel's eyes found mine across the chaos.
Mouthed: Thank you.
I nodded once.
Then I turned and walked out the side door.
The car ride back to my apartment was silent.
The driver—hired for the day, paid in advance—kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Probably wondering if he should say something. Offer condolences.
He stayed quiet.
Smart man.
My apartment was in Murray Hill. One bedroom. Decent location. Modest by Upper East Side standards, but original Barry had been saving for a house. Something to impress the Greens.
I unlocked the door.
Stood in the middle of the living room.
The answering machine blinked. Seven messages.
I pressed play.
[BEEP]
"Dr. Farber, this is Linda from the clinic. I know it's your wedding day, but we have a problem. The autoclave broke mid-cycle. We can't sterilize instruments. I had to cancel tomorrow's appointments. Call me when you can."
[BEEP]
"Barry, it's your father. What the hell happened? Call us immediately."
[BEEP]
"Dr. Farber, this is American Dental Supply. Your account is 90 days past due. If we don't receive payment by Monday, we'll be forced to suspend your line of credit and repossess the leased equipment."
[BEEP]
"Barry, it's Mom. Your father is furious. I'm worried. Please call."
[BEEP]
"Dr. Farber, Linda again. The X-ray machine is making a grinding noise. Marcus thinks it might fail soon. Should we call the repair service?"
[BEEP]
"This is Dr. Green. We need to discuss the financial aspects of today's... situation. The venue is demanding full payment despite the cancellation."
[BEEP]
"Hey Barry, it's Mindy. Just checking on you. Rachel's really upset but I think she'll be okay. Are YOU okay? Call me if you need to talk."
I stood there. Staring at the blinking light.
Seven messages.
Seven problems.
The wedding was canceled.
My clinic was failing.
I was ninety days behind on equipment payments.
My parents were furious.
Rachel's parents were probably already calculating lawsuit potential.
I walked to the filing cabinet. Pulled out the clinic ledgers.
Original Barry had kept paper records. Meticulous handwriting. Numbers that told a story of slow decline.
Monthly Revenue: $18,000
Monthly Expenses:
Rent: $4,500
Staff salaries: $6,200
Equipment lease: $2,800
Supplies: $1,500
Insurance: $900
Utilities: $600
Miscellaneous: $500
Total: $17,000
Net Monthly: +$1,000
That looked fine.
Until I flipped to the next page.
Outstanding Debts:
Equipment lease (3 months overdue): $8,400
Supplier invoices (unpaid): $4,200
Emergency repairs (credit card): $2,100
Total debt: $14,700
Bank Account Balance: $1,847
Wedding Costs Already Paid (non-refundable):
Venue deposit: $8,000
Catering deposit: $5,000
Band: $3,000
Flowers: $1,200
Photography: $2,500
Total lost: $19,700
Additional Wedding Costs Owed:
Venue (remainder): $6,000
Catering (remainder): $7,000
Total still owed: $13,000
Rachel's parents had paid what they'd promised. The rest—the penalties, the contracts, the mess—were his.
I did the math.
If I paid wedding debts plus clinic debts: $27,700 needed.
Current assets: $1,847.
Shortfall: $25,853.
I sat on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by paper bills and ledgers.
The wedding was canceled.
Rachel was gone.
The honeymoon had been scheduled for the following week.
Rachel's parents had paid for it—called it a gift. Europe had been the plan at first, but the bookings were full by the time everything was finalized. Aruba became the compromise.
In another version of this life, I would have gone there with Mindy.
Not this one.
I didn't have the time.
And more importantly, I didn't have the interest.
And my entire professional life was collapsing.
Original Barry had been so busy trying to prove he deserved Rachel that he'd destroyed everything else.
I had one chance to fix this.
But I had no idea where to start.
The phone rang.
I stared at it.
Picked up.
"Barry Farber."
"Dr. Farber, this is Margaret Chen from Botanical Gardens Venue. We need to discuss payment for today's cancellation. Our contract specifies full payment within 48 hours of the event date, regardless of whether the ceremony occurred."
I closed my eyes.
"I understand. Can we discuss a payment plan?"
"Our policy is immediate payment—"
"I'm asking for an exception. The situation was unusual. I'm not trying to avoid the cost. I'm asking for structured terms so I can pay you and keep my business operational."
Silence.
"I'll need to speak with my supervisor."
"I'll be here."
She hung up.
I sat on the floor. Stared at the ceiling.
Second chance at life.
Same financial nightmare.
Different choices to make.
But this time, I wasn't going to coast.
This time, I was going to build something real.
Even if I had to do it from the wreckage of everything original Barry had broken.
I stood.
Walked to the window.
Looked out at the city.
Manhattan stretched out below. Millions of people. Millions of problems.
Mine was just beginning.
The phone rang again.
I answered.
"Barry Farber."
"Dr. Farber, this is Linda. I'm so sorry to bother you today. But I need to know—are we opening Monday? Because if the autoclave isn't fixed, we can't—"
"We're opening Monday," I said. "I'll fix the autoclave myself if I have to."
"You know how to fix autoclaves?"
"I know how to read manuals and follow instructions."
A pause. Then, quietly: "Are you okay?"
"I will be."
"The wedding—"
"Is over. And I need to focus on what matters now."
"Which is?"
"Saving the practice. Paying my debts. Building something that lasts."
Another pause.
"You sound different," Linda said.
"I am different."
"Good different?"
I looked at the ledgers spread across my floor. At the mountain of problems I'd inherited from Barry's mistakes.
At the opportunity to do it right this time.
"Ask me in six months," I said.
I hung up.
Sat back down with the numbers.
And started planning.
One problem at a time.
One payment at a time.
One choice at a time.
I had 120 days to stabilize the clinic before the debt crushed it completely.
I had a second chance at life.
And I wasn't going to waste it trying to be someone I wasn't.
Not anymore.
END CHAPTER 1
Author's Note: This is a 120+ chapter story. Updates will be regular. The journey is just beginning.
Note: This is a fully original fanfiction (not AI-translated or copied). Every chapter will contain 3,000+ words of story content.