A tube of lipstick lay on the passenger seat of my husband Leo's car. An unfamiliar shade of Lancôme L'Absolu Rouge. In my past life, the day after this discovery marked the beginning of my transformation from a respectable, wealthy wife into a madwoman in the attic. I installed a GPS tracker on Leo’s phone. I hired private investigators to follow him. I called the police to raid hotels, hoping to catch him in the act. I stooped to every sordid, undignified trick in the book. Finally, through my relentless efforts, on our seventh wedding anniversary, I caught him in bed with his secretary. Our divorce battle became a public war. He dismantled my life with the precision of a corporate takeover, clinging to every penny of his fortune. I consulted every lawyer in the city and walked away with a settlement of just forty-eight dollars. Shortly after the divorce, I was diagnosed with cancer. When the pain was so intense I thought I was dying, I swallowed my pride and knelt before Leo. He stood by and let his secretary slap me three times, then refused to give me a single cent. Penniless and broken, I froze to death on the doorstep of the home I had lived in for seven years. So in this life, seeing the exact same lipstick in the exact same spot, I calmly picked it up and placed it in the glove compartment for him. 1 My simple action seemed to unnerve Leo. He suddenly felt the need to explain. "That lipstick belongs to Jenna." "I took her to a business dinner last night," he said. "The silly girl thought she could land the contract by drinking the client under the table. She started downing glasses of wine the second she sat down. She got the deal, but she was completely wasted." "I know you don't like other women in the passenger seat, but Jenna is the daughter of a dear family friend. He helped me out when I was just starting my company. I couldn't just leave her there." He’d said the exact same thing in my last life. Back then, the sight of the lipstick, combined with the fond, gentle way he spoke about his new secretary, had sent me into a blind rage. I’d unbuckled my seatbelt and screamed at him. "Stop the car, Leo! You and this car are equally disgusting." I don't remember the details of what happened next. I only remember him pulling over, spitting the word "psycho" at me, and speeding away, leaving me on the side of the road. I walked for four hours in the cold winter drizzle, tears streaming down my face. My heels rubbed my feet raw until they bled. I ended up with a fever of 104 degrees. And as I lay in bed, sick and miserable, Leo was on a plane with Jenna, heading overseas for a business trip. Photos and videos of him adjusting the strap of her slip dress, of her leaning in to kiss his cheek, became the top gossip on his company’s internal forum. How stupid was I in my past life to think that hurting myself would ever make him care? The irony was so bitter that a smirk unconsciously touched my lips. The next second, Leo slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt in the emergency lane. He turned to me, his voice sharp. "How many times do I have to tell you? Jenna is the daughter of my father's friend. I'm just looking out for her." "There is absolutely nothing going on between us. Can you please stop being so unreasonable..." Seeing the sudden anger flash across his face, a familiar bitterness welled up in my chest. But this time, it wasn't for him. It was for the woman I used to be. In my last life, I had pancreatic cancer, one of the most painful forms of the disease. Every day was a blur of nurses jabbing long needles into my skin, leaving me a sobbing mess. Or I’d be curled on the floor, clutching my stomach, begging for a quick death. When I was at my most desperate, I’d taken a fruit knife and stabbed at my own emaciated body, just hoping for a single night of uninterrupted sleep. Yet even then, I could never bring myself to sell our wedding ring for another dose of painkillers. When the doctor told me I had a month to live, I dragged my skeletal frame out of the hospital to find Leo, intending to ask him to remarry me. After all, when my parents died, he had sworn he would take care of me for the rest of my life. But when I finally reached the house we had shared for seven years, I had to kneel and beg the security guard just to call him for me. Leo heard my voice, said my name, and then replied with chilling calm, "Vera, we're divorced. That means we have no relationship anymore. Whatever happens to you, don't contact me again." Then he hung up. I collapsed in the backyard of the villa we once called home. In the final moments before my life faded away, I saw him through the window. He was holding Jenna, his secretary, in his arms. In the home I had so carefully decorated, they were using the dishes I had bought, drinking from the wine glasses I had chosen, sharing a romantic dinner, kissing intimately. The pain in my chest was a physical weight, stealing my breath. Shoving the memory away, I calmly took an eye mask from my purse and slipped it on. "I believe you. There's nothing going on between you and Jenna." "Now, can we please get moving?" Leo’s face was a canvas of shock, but I simply pulled the mask down, shutting out the world. 2 The moment we got home, I went straight to our bedroom. I called the hospital, made an appointment with a top specialist, and scheduled a full physical for the next day. Whether in this life or the last, all I ever wanted was to live. Just as I hung up, Leo pushed the door open. "What was that in the car all about?" he demanded. "Vera, can you stop giving me the silent treatment over every little thing?" Ever since Jenna became his secretary, Leo had become exceptionally harsh with me. No matter what I did, he found fault. It was his change in attitude, coupled with Jenna's constant provocations, that had driven me mad in our last marriage. I fought back the suffocating ache in my chest and turned to him calmly. "Leo, believe it or not, I'm not angry. I'm not trying to start a fight, and I'm not giving you the silent treatment." "I honestly don't care about the lipstick." Without another glance at him, I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. When I came out, he was gone. But my phone was blowing up with notifications. It was Jenna's signature move. Whenever she was with Leo, she would bombard me with photos of them together, treating my message inbox like her personal cloud storage. In my past life, this would have sent me into a spiral of crying fits or provoked me into a screaming match with Leo. But now, as I looked at the photos she sent, I didn't curse her. Instead, I offered some sincere advice. You're holding the phone at the wrong angle. Leo's profile is more handsome. Try holding it higher next time. And you should crop the photo tighter. Less empty space. It'll make you and Leo look closer. She replied almost instantly. Has your account been hacked? I sent a smiling emoji back. Nope. Just wanted to let you know, he's all yours. Then, I blocked her. This new arrangement worked for me. I wanted the title of Mrs. Vance and the supplementary credit card. As for Leo's body and his affection, Jenna could have them. Unlike the foolish woman I was in my last life, I no longer wanted his love. 3 After dealing with Jenna, I lay down and closed my eyes. But even with a second chance at life, sleep didn't come easily. Just like when I was sick, my dreams were haunted by memories of Leo and me. When we were kids, Leo was quiet and introverted. His mother, a strict teacher, was constantly punishing him. I'd wake up at midnight and see him still at his desk, thick glasses perched on his nose, scribbling away at worksheets while his mother stood over him with a cane. For every wrong answer, the cane would come down hard on his back. Living across the street, I'd watch this happen and my heart would ache for him. Whenever I got candy, I'd sneak it into his backpack at school. "Leo," I'd whisper with a smile, "eat one when your back hurts." The first time I gave him candy, his face turned bright red. He waited until I was a hundred feet away before mumbling, "I... I don't eat candy." I just waved back, grinning. "Leo, you should talk more. You have a really nice voice." It became a habit. The boy who was always a loner started waiting for me, waiting for me to slip candy into his bag. In the small alley outside our neighborhood, we walked through countless springs, summers, and winters together. Then, when we were eighteen, Leo, the valedictorian of our county, was accepted into a top university. He awkwardly handed me a brochure for another school. "I checked," he stammered, pushing his glasses up. "This one is really close to mine, only a ten-minute walk. Your scores aren't high enough for a four-year program, but you could get into this two-year college." Looking at his nervous face, I didn't have the heart to tell him that my parents had already decided I would go to a four-year university, even if it was a less prestigious one. They could afford it. I secretly changed my application, a decision that earned me a lecture and grounding from my parents, but I never regretted it. We went to college in the same city. Away from his mother, Leo blossomed. He swapped his thick glasses for contacts, grew his buzz cut into stylish curls, and traded his plaid shirts for crisp white ones. His old black sneakers were replaced by clean white ones. I didn't understand the sudden transformation until I was gushing about my favorite band coming to town for a concert. Leo grabbed my arm, his eyes red-rimmed. "I've changed everything about myself to be the person you like," he said, his voice raw. "Can't you still find a way to like me?" The word "like" hit me like a sledgehammer. Even though we were at different schools, I’d heard the legends about him—the programming prodigy who won national competitions as a freshman, the coding genius who had job offers from major tech firms by his sophomore year. A group of girls had even started an online forum dedicated to documenting his transformation. I thought an ocean separated us, that we would forever be just friends. I never imagined he felt this way. Without a second thought, I, the girl who was never shy, stood on my toes and kissed him. We started dating. My life revolved around feeding him my favorite milk teas, desserts, and pastries. I had no career plans; my days were spent deciding what to feed Leo or where to take him for fun. Meanwhile, his life continued its meteoric rise. He started his own company while in grad school, secured multiple rounds of funding right after graduation, and by the time he finished his Ph.D., his tech company was ranked among the top 10 in the country. My life went in the opposite direction, as if cursed. I failed the entrance exam to transfer to a four-year program. After graduation, I lived off the allowance Leo gave me. In my second year out of college, my parents, who had always doted on me, were rushing to see me in the hospital for pneumonia when they were killed in a car crash. Suddenly an orphan, I clung to their bodies, my tears soaking through their clothes. And Leo knelt beside me, in front of their bodies, and under his mother's cold, disapproving gaze, he swore he would take care of me for the rest of my life. We got married. I had multiple miscarriages. Every pregnancy ended in loss. And then, Leo met Jenna. He started to find fault with me. I had no substance, he said. All I ever did was ask him what he wanted to eat or drink. Unlike Jenna, who could discuss world-famous paintings with him, who could debate the future of the tech industry. Tears welled in my eyes. I blinked them open and realized the sun was up. Just like in my last life, my pillow was soaked. Just then, a message from Leo came through. We're going to the nursing home to see my mom this afternoon. 4 I calmly replied: I'm busy today. I can't make it. His call came instantly. "What are you busy with?" "Vera, how many times do I have to tell you, there's nothing going on with Jenna. Why do you have to keep fixating on this one little thing?" Hearing him bring up Jenna again, a bitter smile touched my lips. Since his company took off, Leo had become a man of few words. This was the first time he'd ever harped on a single issue. Was he trying to convince himself he wasn't interested in her, or was he trying to lessen his own guilt? The pain in my chest was a sharp, trembling thing, but my voice was steady. "Leo, I'm not feeling well. I have to go to the hospital for a check-up. I really can't go with you to see your mom today." "Besides, your mother has a heart condition, and she's never liked me. Isn't it better if I don't go and upset her? And doesn't she adore Jenna? She always said only a woman of Jenna's status was a worthy match for you. You should take her instead." I was genuinely trying to be helpful, but my words only made him angrier. "Fine, Vera. Keep throwing your tantrum." Then he hung up. Listening to the dial tone, I let out another humorless laugh. See? That's the difference between love and no love. When he used to love me, the slightest hint of sadness on my face would have him anxiously asking what he'd done wrong. Now that he didn't, even my most sincere suggestions were just me being unreasonable. 5 The familiar ache returned, but I didn't let it delay me. I went to the hospital, and to avoid any emotional triggers, I left my phone at home. This check-up was too important. It would determine if I was doomed to repeat my past life. For the next seven days, I stayed at the hospital, undergoing biopsies and having vial after vial of blood drawn. I had to thank Leo's connections and his bank account for the thoroughness of the care. By simply using his name, I got an appointment with a specialist I couldn't get to see for a month in my last life. Now, he was the first doctor to check on me every morning during his rounds. In my last life, penniless, I'd had to sell my bags and jewelry. Without connections, every test meant another trip to the hospital, waiting two hours for a blood draw, a week for a CT scan. Now, thanks to Leo, I just had to lie in a VIP room, and the nurses came to me. The results were bittersweet. I did have cancer, but it was in the early stages. When the doctor told me, his face was full of sympathy. I, on the other hand, burst into tears, my body shaking uncontrollably. Everyone thought I was terrified. Only I knew I was crying with joy. I finally had a chance to live. The day I got the results, I checked into the hospital to begin treatment. I was confident I could be cured. This time, I had money, the best doctors, and the best medicine. Chemotherapy was still hell, but because it was early stage, the dosage was lighter, and the imported drugs had fewer side effects compared to the generic ones I had in my past life. Aside from losing my hair and some weight, I had enough energy for daily walks. And because of the medication, I never once felt the excruciating pain of a full-blown pancreatic cancer attack. After a month of treatment, the doctor gave me more hope. He said that after two more rounds of chemo, I would likely be able to go home. It was a spark of hope that ignited a fire in my soul. In my last life, my greatest dream was to be cured, to live. But just as I was about to pay for the third round of treatment, the hospital informed me that my supplementary card had been canceled. The payment wouldn't go through. Hearing the news, I remained calm. As long as we were still married, he was legally obligated to pay for my medical care. I simply asked the nurse for a day pass and took a cab to Leo's company. The receptionist stopped me at the entrance. "I'm sorry, miss, but you need an appointment to see Mr. Vance." I smiled faintly and took my marriage certificate out of my purse. "With this, can I see Leo Vance?" The receptionist's eyes widened. She shot up from her chair. "My apologies, Mrs. Vance. I didn't recognize you." I just shook my head and followed her to the elevator. As we passed the main office area, I felt eyes on me. I knew I looked awful—bald, with a thick down jacket thrown over my hospital gown—but I felt no shame. In my last life, after the divorce, I had come here desperate to borrow money for treatment. I never even made it past the front door. Back then, all I had was a divorce certificate, not a marriage one.
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