My husband was dying of cancer. To set me free, he decided to become a monster.

He started cheating, openly and frequently. He’d humiliate me with cruel words, then freeze me out with cold silence. I finally broke and agreed to a divorce.

That’s when his friends, perched on their moral high ground, told me the "truth"—about his noble intentions, about the cancer.

My world shattered. I threw myself from a rooftop, a final, desperate act of love.

But after I died, Julian was saved. A medical miracle, they called it. He found the strength to weep at my grave, and then, with his friends' encouragement, he pulled himself together and married Lana, the girl who had always been waiting in the wings.

...But now, I’m back at that party. The night it all began.

Julian is laughing, a playful glint in his eye. "Let's get a divorce," he says.

I don't get angry. I just look at him calmly and say, "Okay."

1

After I spoke, a strange, heavy silence fell over the room.

In the sprawling, opulent VIP lounge, I was the only one who seemed oblivious, my head bowed as my spoon traced patterns in a crystal bowl of some lavish dessert.

The hand Julian had been holding—Lana’s hand—slowly slipped from his grasp. His handsome face, which had just been joking about falling for someone else, about wanting a divorce, was twisting into a rigid, ugly mask.

He clearly never expected me to say that.

He knew. He knew the depths of my love for him, knew that even a joke like this should have sent me into a spiral of tears and accusations. He expected a scene.

How could I possibly have said "Okay" with such unnerving calm?

Around us, his friends—all of them with their own hidden agendas—exchanged uneasy glances. The little drama they had orchestrated, the one where they got to watch me break down in a storm of angry, pathetic tears, had just crumbled to dust. The script had been thrown completely off the rails, leaving them all scrambling.

But I felt no triumph.

My gaze drifted slowly across their faces, one by one. Finally, it settled on Lana's striking, vividly beautiful face.

In my last life, I considered her my best friend.

I’d forgotten that she and Julian had grown up together. They were practically family. The fiercer she was in my defense, the more loyal she seemed, the deeper and more agonizing was the knife she eventually twisted in my back.

My stare made her visibly uncomfortable. She glanced instinctively at Julian, only to find him glaring at me, his face a thundercloud, his jaw clenched tight. A shadow passed over her eyes for a split second.

Then, just as quickly, she plastered on a bright, breezy smile and came over to grab my arm. "Hey, don't be mad, don't be mad! It was Zack's stupid idea. We were just messing with you."

I took a step back, letting her hand fall into empty space. My expression remained flat, my eyes fixed on Julian. "But I'm not messing with you," I said.

"I'm serious, Jules. Let's get a divorce."

2

Lana stood frozen between us, her head darting back and forth from me to Julian, the very picture of helpless confusion.

She was always a brilliant actress.

If I hadn't died once, if my wandering soul hadn't witnessed her kicking over my headstone with a look of pure disgust, I never would have known what a twisted, jealous heart beat beneath that cool, confident facade.

This look of genuine shock on her face was a rare sight. It wasn't my doing, but because of her, the entire room was now turning against me.

Zack shoved his chair back with a loud scrape and stormed over. "Monica, don't take it too far!" he snarled, his voice rough with impatience. "We already said it was a joke! Do you have to make everything so damn awkward? What, you can't take a joke?!"

How ironic. They were the ones who made the "joke," I was the victim, and now I was the one being blamed for not playing along.

Zack had always had a sharp tongue, his words dripping with sarcasm. I used to think that was just his personality, that he was like that with everyone, so I learned to ignore it.

Only later did I realize he was only ever like that with me.

As Julian’s wife, I had never truly been accepted by his friends. Not once.

I ignored Zack's barking as if he were just a dog in the distance. My eyes remained locked on Julian.

Seeing my unyielding expression, Julian finally understood that I was, for the most part, serious.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, cold and mocking. He reached out, grabbed Lana’s arm, and yanked her into his embrace. Staring daggers at me, he spat out, "Fine. You said it. Don't you dare regret it."

"Pack your things. We'll be at City Hall tomorrow to sign the papers."

Then, in front of everyone, he lowered his head and crushed his lips against Lana's.

It was a possessive, punishing kiss, fueled by anger. It started with the press of lips and deepened until the intimate sounds of their mouths tangling together filled the air. The soft, ambient light from above cast them in a dramatic glow, like a scene from a movie—the woman's pliant waist arching back, the man's large, long-fingered hand cupping the back of her slender neck.

I saw Lana push against his chest in a half-hearted protest, a classic show of feigned resistance. When she couldn't move him, her hands slid upwards, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

I heard someone suck in a sharp breath, followed by the excited clicks of phones being raised to capture the moment. I was the closest to them, a front-row spectator to every unspeakable detail.

My lips, pale and trembling, parted as if to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say?

A soft place deep inside me had been struck a fatal blow. It felt as if something precious, something I had hidden in the deepest part of my heart, had just... quietly, silently shattered.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my face a numb mask, and turned to walk away.

3

A light, drizzly rain had started to fall outside.

The world was a wash of gray, the streetlights casting a sickly yellow haze. Along the road, the dark, skeletal branches of trees clawed at the air in the cold wind.

A couple stood beside me, whispering for a moment. Then the boy took off his jacket, draped it over the girl, and they huddled together, making a dash for the rain-soaked street. I watched them disappear into a car parked by the curb, a strange fog settling over my mind.

I felt like I’d forgotten something important, but I couldn't grasp what it was.

It wasn't until I got home and started packing my things that I found it. At the very bottom of a storage box was an old umbrella. The moment I saw it, the dam of my composure broke, and tears streamed down my face.

It was a clear, foldable umbrella. The inside was covered in black marker doodles of my favorite cartoon characters.

One day after school, the sky had opened up in a downpour. I was supposed to walk home with a friend, but then I saw him—my desk-mate, Julian. He was standing under the eaves, staring at the bruised-gray sky with a look of distant loneliness. He must have forgotten his umbrella. And at home, there was no one left to bring one for him.

A wave of sympathy washed over me. After a moment of hesitation, I shoved my umbrella into his hands.

"You don't have to give it back! Just think of it as a thank you for helping me with my homework!" I said, my feigned nonchalance a thin veil for my fluttering teenage heart. I didn't even dare to look at his reaction before I turned and ran, huddling under my friend's umbrella and urging her to hurry.

My friend teased me about my beet-red cheeks. I playfully swatted at her, but my eyes couldn't help but dart back through the curtain of rain.

He was still there. A tall, slender figure in his blue and white school uniform, standing out from the crowd. He was holding my umbrella tightly in his hand.

The world was a cascade of falling rain, but the only thing I could hear was the frantic, deafening roar of my own heartbeat.

The next day, the rain continued.

I don't remember exactly what I was feeling when I saw him again, but I remember every single detail of him walking through the back door of the classroom. My clear cartoon umbrella wasn't propped up with the other colorful, forgotten ones in the hallway corner. It was clutched in his long, pale fingers. He carefully wiped the raindrops from its surface with a soft handkerchief, smoothed out its creases, folded it neatly, and placed it reverently inside his desk, right next to his textbooks.

Eighteen-year-old Julian looked up then and met my gaze before I had a chance to look away. He smiled, his eyes curving into crescents.

He said he would treasure it for a lifetime.

We hadn’t confessed our feelings for each other yet, not in words. But in the silent, thunderous space between our two young, restrained hearts, we both knew.

He was saying he would treasure me for a lifetime.

The rain has stopped.

I wiped my tears, forcing my emotions back into their cage. I picked up the umbrella, long forgotten by its owner. Its plastic skin was yellowed and old, the cartoon drawings faded and blurred. Its frame was rusted and rotten, reeking of decay.

I stared at it, sitting by my bed as night fell, and didn't sleep a wink.

I don't know how much time passed before the darkness began to recede. A sliver of dawn broke through the clouds, splitting my silhouette into stark black and white.

My limbs were cold and stiff as I moved, standing up to take the old umbrella and toss it into the trash can.

Then, I dialed Julian's number.

That summer rain from our youth…

It was time for it to end.

4

The phone rang and rang before someone finally picked up.

But the voice that drifted into my ear was a woman's, lazy and thick with sleep.

"...Hello? Who is this?"

She followed it with a yawn that sounded a little too deliberate in the face of my dead silence. After a moment, Lana’s voice came again, now laced with a hint of apology and embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, I grabbed the wrong phone. Hold on, I'll wake Jules up..."

"Don't bother," I cut her off. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Just do me a favor and tell him I have all the paperwork ready. Three o'clock this afternoon. City Hall."

I hung up before she could respond.

I hadn't eaten since last night, but a wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick.

I love you. My love is unwavering.

What a joke. He could say those words and then immediately fall into bed with someone else. A cheater is a cheater, no matter what excuse they hide behind.

I remembered my last life, when I "accidentally" walked in on them. The pain was so sharp I almost fainted. I lost all reason, screaming and demanding answers like a madwoman. Lana, with an apologetic look on her face, insisted it was all a misunderstanding, an accident, and begged me not to blame Julian.

And Julian? He didn't say a word in his own defense. He just stood there silently, letting me scream and cry and rave, letting me throw his past promises back in his face. He looked like he was harboring some terrible secret, burdened by a sorrow he couldn't speak.

By the end of it all, everyone had taken his side. They said he had his reasons, that he didn't mean for it to happen, that I shouldn't be so hard on him.

They were the ones who had done it.

And somehow, I was the one who was wrong.

His chilling calm made me look like a lunatic. I started to doubt myself. Was I overreacting? Was I the one who had pushed him away with my suspicions, tarnishing his "pure friendship" with Lana and driving him to make their ambiguous relationship a reality out of spite?

Lost in a fog of confusion, I finally agreed to the divorce.

But after Julian handed me the papers, his condition took a turn for the worse. Zack and the others, unable to watch it happen any longer, cornered me. They blamed me, screamed that I had pushed him over the edge.

Did I have any idea, Zack demanded, that Julian had done all of this—the cheating, the cruelty—as a twisted act of love, to push me away so he wouldn't be a burden?

We were high school sweethearts. We’d gone from sharing a desk to sharing a life. Julian's parents were gone; I was his only family. He knew I would never, ever leave him, no matter what.

So he chose the most extreme method to force me away.

I had just started to accept the reality that he had cheated and no longer loved me. And now they were telling me he did it because he loved me too much. They told me he should have had two more years, but because of my hysterics, his condition had suddenly worsened.

It was all my fault.

It was my one voice against all of theirs. In the end, my mind simply broke. After one last look at Julian, lying unconscious in the ICU, I ran to the hospital rooftop and jumped.

Thinking back on it now, I was such a fool.

This time, I chose to let myself go, to let go of everything.

But I waited at City Hall for hours. The staff was already packing up to leave for the day when Julian finally arrived.

5

"I wasn't feeling well. I only woke up half an hour ago," Julian explained before I could even open my mouth.

He was breathing heavily, his long trench coat open to reveal a slightly rumpled shirt collar. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He glanced at the closed doors of the municipal office and let out a breath. I couldn't tell if it was a sigh of frustration or relief.

He turned to me, his voice cool. "We'll have to reschedule."

There was nothing else to be done. I told him to contact me when he was free and turned to leave, not wanting to exchange another word.

But Julian's voice stopped me. "When you called this morning, Lana answered. What did she say to you?"

His probing tone sparked a fire in my chest. The resentment that had been simmering for so long suddenly boiled over. I spun around, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Weren't you two in the same bed? Don't you know what she said?"

Julian paused. To my surprise, the tension in his face melted away, replaced by a soft, gentle expression. It was as if my words had confirmed something for him.

He breathed a genuine sigh of relief. For the first time, his tone was mild as he explained, "You misunderstood. I drank too much last night, and she brought me home. I started feeling sick, so she stayed to look after me. That's all."

Putting aside how utterly absurd his explanation sounded, I couldn't understand why he felt the need to explain anything to me at all, given our current situation.

But I quickly understood.

Right in front of me, Julian coughed, and the color instantly drained from his face. He pressed a hand to his chest, his handsome brows knitting together in apparent pain as he coughed again, more violently this time.

I couldn't tell if he was acting or if it was real. Either way, it had nothing to do with me.

I turned and walked away.

I heard hurried footsteps behind me, and then Julian's hand clamped down on my arm. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight. He spoke through gritted teeth. "I told you I'm sick. Don't you care at all?"

I knew he was sick. Gravely ill, in fact.

So what?

I tried to pull my arm free. "Let go," I said, frowning.

He didn't let go. His grip tightened, his expression darkening. He was the one who wanted the divorce. Now that I’d agreed so readily, he was the one who was unhappy.

His eyes burned into mine for a long moment before he abruptly shoved my arm away. He let out another wracking cough, his voice heavy. "...Fine. I'll let you go."

He was suppressing a volcano of anger, his voice thick with a strange, unspoken heartache.

I didn't hesitate. I turned on my heel and left.

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from behind me.

Julian had collapsed.

I frantically called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital. After a moment's hesitation, I called Lana. After we divorced, Julian would be marrying her sooner or later anyway. It wasn't my place as the soon-to-be-ex-wife to stand vigil.

When Lana heard the news, she didn't say a word and raced to the hospital. Zack was with her.

I stood up from the bench in the hallway, about to tell them Julian had been taken into the emergency room. But Lana stormed up to me, her face a cold mask.

She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face.

I stood there, stunned, as Lana’s voice, colder and sharper than I had ever heard it, cut through the air. "You're a walking disaster! Are you happy now? Are you going to be satisfied when you've finally killed him?!"