In my past life, when my husband, Julian, got cancer, everyone hid it from me. To set me free, he started cheating, verbally abusing me, and giving me the silent treatment. I couldn’t take it anymore and finally agreed to a divorce. That’s when his friends, perched on their moral high ground, told me the truth about his "selfless" intentions and his terminal diagnosis. I fell apart and killed myself to be with him. But after I died, Julian was saved. A miracle. I watched, a disembodied soul, as he sobbed at my grave. And then I watched as his friends convinced him to move on, to rebuild his life, to marry the woman he’d cheated on me with. So when I found myself back at that party, and Julian jokingly said, “Let’s get a divorce,” I didn’t get angry. I just said, very calmly, “Okay.” 1 The moment I said it, a strange, heavy silence fell over the room. The lavish private suite was suddenly quiet, but I didn't seem to notice. I just kept my head down, calmly eating the dessert in my bowl. Julian's hand, which had been holding Isabelle’s, slowly released its grip. His handsome face, moments before joking about being in love with someone else and wanting a divorce, was now a rigid, ugly mask. He clearly hadn't expected me to say that. Or rather, he knew how much I loved him. He thought that even a joke like that would make me panic, get angry, maybe even cause a scene. How could I possibly have said "Okay" so calmly? His friends, each with their own ulterior motives, exchanged uneasy glances. The little drama they had orchestrated, expecting to see me humiliated and crying, had just crumbled. The plot had taken a ninety-degree turn, leaving them all scrambling. But I didn't feel any satisfaction. I calmly looked from one face to the next, my gaze finally landing on Isabelle’s striking, beautiful features. In my last life, I considered her my best friend. But I had forgotten one crucial detail. She and Julian had been inseparable since they were kids. The same fierce loyalty she showed me in public was matched by the deep, painful stab she delivered to my back when it mattered most. Isabelle looked a little uncomfortable under my stare. She glanced instinctively at Julian. He was glaring at me, his jaw tight, his face a thundercloud. Her own expression flickered with something dark for a second. Then, she pasted on a bright, cheerful smile and came over to grab my arm. "Hey, Lena, don't be mad. It was just a stupid joke that Alex came up with. We were just messing with you." I took a step back, avoiding her hand. My face was expressionless. I looked at Julian. "But I'm not joking," I said. "Seriously, Julian. Let's get a divorce." 2 Isabelle stood frozen between us, looking back and forth from me to Julian, the very picture of someone caught in the middle. She was a great actress. If I hadn't died once, if my wandering soul hadn't witnessed her kicking over my tombstone with a look of pure disgust, I would never have known the twisted jealousy that festered beneath her cool, confident exterior. This was the first time I'd ever seen her look so helpless. And even though I wasn't the one who caused it, everyone in the room turned on me because of her. Alex shoved his chair back and stormed over. "Lena, don't take it too far!" he snapped. "We already said it was a joke. You're just trying to make a scene. Can't you take a joke?" How ironic. They were the ones who made the joke. I was the victim. And yet, somehow, I was the one who couldn't take it. Alex had always had a sharp tongue, his words dripping with sarcasm. I used to think it was just his personality, that he was like that with everyone, so I tried to ignore it. Later, I realized he was only like that with me. As Julian's wife, I had never truly been accepted by his friends. I ignored Alex's barking and kept my eyes locked on Julian. Seeing that I wasn't backing down, Julian finally realized I was serious. A cold, humorless laugh escaped his lips. He grabbed Isabelle’s arm and pulled her into his arms. He stared at me, his eyes burning with a vengeful fire. "Fine," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "You said it. Don't regret it. Pack your things. We'll get the divorce papers tomorrow." Then, in front of everyone, he lowered his head and kissed her. It was a rough, possessive kiss, fueled by anger. The sound of their lips, of their tongues tangling, filled the room. The soft lighting overhead created a dramatic scene: the woman's pliant body bent backward, the man's large, strong hand cupping the back of her delicate neck. It was like something out of a movie. I saw Isabelle make a weak show of pushing against his chest, then her hands crept up and wrapped around his neck. Someone gasped. Then came the excited clicks of phone cameras. I was standing closest to them. I saw every intimate, unspoken detail. My pale lips trembled. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what. A soft, vulnerable part of me had been shattered. Something precious that I had hidden deep inside. The moment Julian kissed someone else, right in front of me, it broke. Quietly. Silently. I squeezed my eyes shut, my face a numb mask, and walked out of the room. 3 A light rain had started to fall outside. The world was a murky gray, the streetlights casting a hazy, yellow glow. The bare branches of the trees along the road clawed at the darkness, swaying menacingly in the cold wind. A couple stood next to me, whispering for a moment. Then the boy took off his jacket and draped it over the girl. They huddled together and ran into the rain, disappearing into a car parked down the street. I watched them, my mind feeling foggy. I felt like I had forgotten something important, but I couldn't remember what. It wasn't until I got home and started packing that I found it, at the very bottom of a storage box. An umbrella. The sight of it made the tears I'd been holding back finally break free. It was a clear, foldable umbrella. On the inside, I had drawn all my favorite cartoon characters with a black marker. One day after school, it started pouring. I was supposed to walk home with my friends, but then I saw my deskmate, Julian, standing under the eaves, staring at the gray sky, a look of lonely detachment on his face. He must have forgotten his umbrella. And there was no one at home to bring him one. My heart softened. After a moment of hesitation, I shoved my umbrella into his hands. "You can keep it! Consider it a thank you for helping me with my homework!" I said, trying to sound casual and carefree to hide the fluttering in my chest. I didn't even dare to look at his reaction before I turned and ran to my friends, urging them to hurry up. My friends teased me about my beet-red face. I playfully pushed them, but my eyes kept drifting back through the rain. He was still there, a tall, slender figure in his blue and white school uniform, holding my umbrella tightly. The world was a downpour of gray, but all I could hear was the frantic pounding of my own heart. The next day, it was still raining. I don't remember what I was feeling when I saw him again, but I remember every detail of him walking into the classroom from the back door. My clear, cartoon-covered umbrella wasn't leaning against the wall in the hallway with all the other colorful ones. He was holding it in his long, pale hand, carefully wiping the raindrops from it with a soft handkerchief. Then he smoothed out the wrinkles, folded it neatly, and placed it carefully in his desk, next to his textbooks. Eighteen-year-old Julian looked up and met my gaze. He smiled, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons. He told me he would cherish it forever. We hadn't said the words yet, but in the silent space between our two young, wildly beating hearts, we both knew what he meant. He would cherish *me* forever. The rain had stopped. I wiped my tears, calmed myself down. I picked up the umbrella, long forgotten by its owner. The clear plastic was yellowed and cloudy, the cartoon drawings faded and blurred. The metal frame was rusted and broken, and it smelled of decay. I sat on the edge of the bed, holding it, and stared out into the night. I didn't sleep at all. Sometime later, the darkness began to fade. A single ray of light broke through the clouds, casting my silhouette in stark black and white. My limbs were cold and stiff as I stood up, took the old umbrella, and threw it in the trash. Then, I called Julian's number. That summer rain from our youth was finally over. 4 The phone rang for a long time before someone finally picked up. But the voice that answered was a woman's, lazy and sleepy. "...Hello? Who is this?" She yawned. In my dead silence, it sounded a little forced. After a moment, Isabelle’s voice came again, this time low and apologetic. "I grabbed the wrong phone. Hold on, I'll wake Julian up..." "Don't bother," I cut her off. My voice was flat. "Just tell him I have all the paperwork ready. 3 PM at the courthouse." I hung up before she could respond. I hadn't eaten since last night, but my stomach was churning. I felt like I was going to be sick. *I love you. I'll never leave you.* All empty words. He could sleep with someone else without a second thought. Some people, no matter the reason, are just born to cheat. I remembered in my last life, when I "accidentally" walked in on them. The pain was so sharp I almost fainted. I lost all control, screaming at them like a madwoman. Isabelle had a look of apology on her face, but she kept saying it was a misunderstanding, an accident, and that I shouldn't blame Julian. And Julian… he didn't say a word in his defense. He just let me scream and cry and throw his past promises in his face. He just stood there, silent, as if he was hiding some terrible secret. As if he was the one who was suffering, the one who was making a great sacrifice. In the end, everyone took his side. They said he had his reasons, that he didn't mean to hurt me, that I shouldn't be so hard on him. They were the ones who did it. But somehow, I was the one who was wrong. His cold silence made me look like a lunatic. I started to doubt myself. Was I overreacting? Was I just being paranoid, ruining their years of "pure friendship"? Was that what pushed him to finally act on his feelings for her? I was in a daze when I finally agreed to the divorce. But after he gave me the papers, his condition worsened. Alex and the others, unable to watch him suffer any longer, came and yelled at me, saying it was my fault, that I had pushed him over the edge. Did I know, they asked, that he had done all of this, this cruel, self-destructive performance, just to set me free? We had been high school sweethearts, married right after college. Julian's parents were dead. I was all he had. He knew I would never leave him, no matter what. So he chose this extreme, painful way to force me away. I had just started to accept the reality that he had cheated on me, that he didn't love me anymore. And then they told me he had hurt me because he loved me *too much*. They said he could have lived for another two years. But because I had made such a scene, his condition had suddenly deteriorated. It was all my fault. It was my word against all of theirs. In the end, I broke. After one last look at Julian, unconscious in the ICU, I ran to the roof of the hospital and jumped. Looking back now, it was so stupid. This time, I chose to let myself go, to let go of the past. But I waited at the courthouse for a long time. The office was closing for the day when Julian finally showed up. 5 "I wasn't feeling well. I only just woke up half an hour ago," he explained before I could say a word. He was out of breath, his trench coat open to reveal a slightly rumpled shirt collar. His hair was a mess, like he'd just rolled out of bed. He looked at the closed doors of the courthouse and let out a breath. I couldn't tell if it was a sigh of frustration or relief. "We'll have to reschedule," he said, his tone cool. There was nothing else to do. I told him to contact me when he had time, then turned to leave without another word. But then he said, "When you called this morning, Isabelle answered. What did she say to you?" His probing tone annoyed me. The resentment that had been building up inside me suddenly erupted. I spun around and sneered, "You were in the same bed, weren't you? What did she say? Don't you know?" He paused. To my surprise, his expression softened, like a storm cloud clearing. It was as if he had just confirmed something. He seemed genuinely relieved. His voice was unusually gentle as he explained, "You misunderstood. I drank too much last night. She brought me home. I wasn't feeling well, so she stayed to take care of me." Putting aside how ridiculous that sounded, I didn't understand why, given our current situation, he felt the need to explain anything to me. But then I understood. Right in front of me, Julian started to cough. His face went pale. He winced, his handsome brows furrowing in pain, and coughed again, a wracking, painful sound. I couldn't tell if he was faking it or not. Either way, it had nothing to do with me. I turned to leave. I heard hurried footsteps behind me, and then Julian's hand was on my arm. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight. "I told you I wasn't feeling well," he hissed. "Don't you even care?" I knew he was sick. I knew it was serious. But so what? I tried to pull my arm away. "Let go," I said, frowning. He just tightened his grip, his expression turning even darker. He was the one who wanted a divorce. And now that I had agreed, he was the one who was angry. He glared at me for a long moment, then violently shoved my arm away. He coughed again, his voice heavy with suppressed emotion. "...Fine. I'll let you go." He sounded like he was in pain, like his heart was breaking. I didn't hesitate. I turned and walked away. But then, I heard a loud thud behind me. Julian had collapsed. I called an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital. After a moment of hesitation, I called Isabelle. Once we were divorced, Julian would marry her anyway. It wasn't my place, as the soon-to-be-ex-wife, to be there. Isabelle arrived quickly, without a word. Alex was with her. I stood up from the bench in the hallway, about to tell them Julian was in the ER, when Isabelle stormed up to me and slapped me. Hard. I was stunned. "You're a fucking jinx!" she spat, her voice colder than I had ever heard it. "Are you happy now? Do you want him dead?" 6 I touched my numb cheek, my ear ringing. I raised my hand to slap her back. But Alex was faster. He shoved me hard, sending me sprawling to the floor. He stood in front of Isabelle, looking down at me. "You even think about touching her, I dare you!" he roared. I pushed myself up on the cold, sterile floor, shaking with anger. Just then, the light above the ER door went out, and a doctor came out. Isabelle immediately forgot about me and rushed over, Alex right behind her. But as he passed me, he paused. Then, his expensive, Italian leather shoe came down, hard, on the back of my hand. He was a tall, muscular guy, and he put his full weight on it. A scream of pain escaped my lips, tears streaming down my face. I looked up at him. In the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway, his face was a blurry, malicious grin. "Go on," he mouthed, a silent, demonic challenge. "Call the cops." In that instant, I was thrown back into the darkness of my past life, the moral bullying, the mental breakdown. A bucket of ice water was dumped over my head, chilling me to the bone. The thought of calling the police, which had been so real a moment ago, turned to ash. I suddenly remembered. Alex's family was powerful. Calling the police would be like calling him directly to complain about what he'd done. What would I get besides a dose of his cruel laughter? Before, he might have held back, afraid of what Julian would think. But now, with our relationship in ruins, he wasn't hiding his hatred for me anymore. I used to wonder why he disliked me so much. Now I knew. He was Isabelle’s dog. Isabelle loved Julian, so he followed Julian like a loyal puppy. Isabelle hated me, so he hated me with a passion. I sat on the floor for a long time, waiting for the pain to subside, for the feeling to return to my hand. Then I got up and left, not looking back, desperate to escape. I called a moving company, packed up all my things, and left the bustling city center. I went back to my old family home in the suburbs. I opened the door to the sound of a drowsy, old-fashioned opera playing on the TV. The house smelled of mildew and old memories. An old woman in a wheelchair, dozing on the balcony, lifted her heavy, wrinkled eyelids. She saw me walk in with all my bags. A smug, mocking smile spread across her face. "See? What did I tell you? Kicked to the curb, weren't you?" 7 I acted as if I hadn't heard her, silently unpacking my things. My mother straightened up in her wheelchair and put on her reading glasses. She didn't ask any questions, didn't seem to care at all. She just immediately started trying to set me up with the neighbor's son. "I told you not to punch above your weight. Why would a rich man like him ever want you? You've got no chest, no ass. And now look at you. He used you for a few years and then threw you out like trash." "I never liked the look of that Julian anyway. Good thing you didn't have any kids. At least you can still get married again." "I'll call Mrs. Chen and see if her son is home. Stop unpacking. Go get dressed up and meet him." She started fumbling with her old flip phone, trying to find the right buttons. I slammed a pile of clothes into my suitcase. "What, do you think I can't live without a man?" I snapped. "If you like Mrs. Chen's son so much, why don't you marry him?" "All you ever talk about is setting me up. You'd think he was some kind of prize! Did he even get out of jail yet? You want me to go out with some bum who can't hold down a job? Am I even your daughter?" My mother's face darkened, her eyes glinting with a feral rage. "He's not holding your divorce against you, you should be grateful! You keep being picky and you'll end up alone! You think you can just be a burden on me for the rest of your life?" I felt a lump of anger rise in my throat, choking me. It was impossible to reason with her. She wouldn't listen. Her old-fashioned, toxic ideas were embedded in her bones. Even her own daughter had to bend to them. I stopped unpacking and just shoved everything into my old room, slamming the door. "I won't be a burden on you," I yelled through the door. "I'll be out of here in a few days." I heard the sound of her wheelchair rolling across the floor, then a loud banging on my door. She was screaming at me, saying I had gotten too big for my britches, that I was rebelling. "Even if you move out, you're still going on that date!" she shrieked. "Your divorce is embarrassing enough! Do you want to make it so I can't even face my neighbors?" "And what's so wrong with Kevin? Don't listen to gossip. I'm your mother, I would never do anything to hurt you..." I found my earbuds and shoved them in my ears. Then I opened my phone and started looking for apartments. This house was just as suffocating as it had always been. I thought that if I could just find a place to hide, get the divorce finalized once Julian was out of the hospital, my life could finally be peaceful. But things rarely go as planned. After another day of being unable to eat, of running to the bathroom to throw up, I found myself staring at a pregnancy test. Two pink lines. I was completely lost.
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