I died during the winter of my fiftieth wedding anniversary.

In the ICU, the monitors screamed a relentless, piercing alarm.

Through the glass, I saw the man I’d spent half a century with—Gabriel. Once hailed as the most promising engineer at the machinery plant, he now had hair gone stark white.

Beside him stood our son, Joseph.

A doctor was speaking to them. I read the man’s lips: “…there’s no point anymore.”

Gabriel nodded without hesitation.

In that moment, I felt no pain, no cold—just a vast, hollow absurdity.

I watched him pick up a pen to sign the DNR form.

He paused, brow furrowed, as if wrestling with some monumental problem.

Finally, with a look of impatience and utter confusion, he turned to our son. “What… what was your mother’s name again?”

…

What was my name?

My name was Brenda.

A name he’d never carried in his heart, a name he’d replaced for fifty years with “hey” or “the boy’s mother.”

As my soul finally tore free, I saw him—prompted by our son—tremble as he finally wrote those three characters.

And beside him, Sophia—the “girl next door” he’d spent a lifetime tending to—gently patted his back in silent comfort.

How utterly pathetic.

My whole life, I’d kept his house and cooked his meals. I’d abandoned my family’s legacy for him, endured the sneers for marrying beneath my station, borne his children, and kept his home for half a century.

And in the end, in his heart, I was nobody. A nameless ghost.

If there is a next life… no. I don’t want a next life.

Let it all end. Let it be swallowed by this endless dark.

The sharp scent of disinfectant flooded my nostrils. I jolted, eyes flying open.

Above me hung a mottled, yellowing ceiling; an ancient ceiling fan squeaked in persistent rhythm.

This wasn’t the ICU.

I sat up sharply. A dull ache radiated from my lower abdomen—a raw reminder of the birth I’d just endured.

Looking down at my own body, weak yet vibrantly alive, my mind went blank.

“You’re awake? Good. Get up. Gabriel’s been waiting outside forever. Need to go register the baby.”

That sharp, familiar voice cut through the silence. My mother-in-law. The woman who’d never offered me a kind look or word.

Gabriel… Gabriel.

I turned my head stiffly, eyes finding the calendar by the bed.

July 12, 1981.

I was back.

I had come back to the third day after giving birth to my son, Joseph—back to another pivotal moment in my tragic life.

My heart hammered against my ribs, not with joy, but with a tidal wave of hatred and dread.

The scene from my deathbed—my husband’s voice asking, *What was your mother’s name again?*—remained, a poisoned blade twisted in my soul.

"Did you hear me? What are you dawdling for?" Gabriel's mother snapped, giving me an impatient shove when I didn’t answer.

I stumbled from the push and caught myself against the edge of the bed.

In the mirror, a face stared back—pale, haggard, yet unnervingly young.

This was me at twenty. Brenda.

I took a deep breath, forcing the churning emotions down. "I heard you," I said, my voice raw.

Once I’d changed, I stepped out of the hospital room.

At the end of the corridor stood a man in a white shirt, his posture straight and proud. This was Gabriel. Gabriel, fifty years younger.

Handsome. Refined—the fantasy of every woman at the Oakwood Machinery Plant.

Once, I too had been fooled by that pretty exterior.

Beside him stood a woman in a floral dress, delicate and soft-featured—his widowed “childhood friend,” Sophia. She was looking down, whispering something, her eyes rimmed red and on the verge of tears.

Gabriel’s brow was furrowed, his eyes full of tender concern as he murmured reassurances to her.

I stood a short distance away, watching the scene coldly. How familiar. For fifty years, this same play had run on repeat. One teardrop from Sophia, and Gabriel’s world would collapse. I was always the inconvenient backdrop.

"Gabriel, it’s all my fault. If I weren’t so weak, you wouldn’t have had to rush me to the hospital in the middle of the night… causing Sister-in-law to misunderstand…" Sophia said, her voice taking on a saccharine tone.

"Don’t talk nonsense. We grew up together. Your problems are mine," Gabriel replied, utterly matter-of-fact.

Ha.

A cold laugh echoed inside me. I’d swallowed those lies before.

He’d claimed their bond was pure, like siblings. He’d called her a pitiful widow with a child. He’d said I, as his wife, should be understanding.

So I was understanding. For fifty years. And my reward? He couldn’t even remember my name.

I was done being understanding.

I walked toward them, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor.

Gabriel and Sophia both turned.

Seeing me, a flash of irritation crossed Gabriel’s face—that familiar annoyance of an important moment interrupted. "What took you so long? Let’s go," he said stiffly, as if I weren’t his wife who’d just given birth, but some incompetent underling.

Sophia instantly adopted a timid expression, shrinking slightly behind Gabriel. "Sister-in-law… please don’t misunderstand, I—"

"Misunderstand what?" I looked at her, my tone calm.

She faltered, her eyes growing even redder as she shot a pleading glance toward Gabriel.

Gabriel immediately frowned at me, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What’s with your attitude? Sophia is unwell. Don’t provoke her."

Watching him shield her, I felt nothing. The part of my heart that had been flayed to death didn’t even twinge. There was only a hollow, endless cold.

"Let’s go to the records office. For the birth certificate."

I couldn’t be bothered with them any longer. Turning, I walked away.

Gabriel seemed taken aback by my sudden compliance. He paused before following.

Sophia trailed along right beside him, as if she were the lady of the house.

At the records office, the clerk at the counter didn’t look up. "Father’s name: Gabriel. Mother? What’s the mother’s name?"

Gabriel opened his mouth out of habit, then froze.

Again.

Just like last time. He’d hesitated then, too, and I’d ended up writing my own name on the form. Back then, I’d made excuses for him—told myself he was just careless with details.

What a colossal joke.

How could a man forget his own wife’s name?

Unless she had never mattered to begin with.

"Mother’s name?" the clerk repeated, impatient.

Gabriel’s brow furrowed deeper, his face a mix of strained effort and faint embarrassment. He nudged me with his elbow, his voice a low command. "You tell her."

I didn’t look at him. Meeting the clerk’s gaze directly, I said, "My name is Brenda," each word clear and distinct.

The woman glanced up, her pen scratching across the paper. "Child’s name?"

"Joseph," Gabriel cut in, a note of haste in his voice, as if reclaiming some lost dignity.

"Alright, form’s filled. Go get it stamped."

Gabriel picked up the form and turned to leave.

I reached out and pressed my hand down on the paper.

He turned back, startled. "What are you doing?"

I looked at him, my gaze as cold as midwinter ice. "Gabriel. I want a divorce."

“What did you say?”

Gabriel stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe his own ears.

Beside him, Sophia gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Her wide, watery eyes were filled with shock.

The shared office space bustled with activity, but my voice, though not loud, landed like a thunderclap, silencing the room. Every curious eye instantly locked onto us.

Gabriel’s face mottled into furious crimson.

He thought I was making an unreasonable scene—deliberately humiliating him in public. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with a force that felt bone-crushing. He leaned in, teeth gritted, and hissed, “Brenda! Have you lost your mind?!”

It was the first time he’d ever said my full name so clearly.

Not on his deathbed, delirious and confused, but here, now—as I demanded a divorce and shattered his pride.

The irony was almost funny.

I wrenched my hand free. Around my wrist bloomed a vivid red ring.

“I’m not crazy. I’ve never been more clear-headed.”

My voice turned to ice as I met his gaze. “Gabriel, I’m done. We’re getting a divorce.”

“You…” He trembled with rage, chest heaving.

In his eyes, I was the undesirable element—the spoiled rich girl fortunate he’d stooped to marry. I was supposed to be grateful. Obedient. How dare I ask for a divorce?

“Brenda, maybe… maybe there’s been some misunderstanding?” Sophia chose that moment to step forward, slipping smoothly into her role as the sweet, misunderstood peacemaker. “You’ve just had a baby. You’re not yourself. Don’t say things you’ll regret. Gabriel does care for you. He’s just… he’s not good with words.”

“Oh? Is that so?” I turned to her, a mocking smile touching my lips. “Not good with words, so he forgets my name? Not good with words, so the night I was in labor, he ran off to take care of you and your ‘sudden illness’? Not good with words, so when there’s trouble, his first instinct is to defend *you*?”

With every sentence, Sophia’s face grew paler.

She hadn’t expected me to lay it all out like this.

“I… I didn’t mean to… I was really sick that night…” The tears came on cue. Her body swayed slightly, as if bearing the weight of some immense, unjust suffering.

The whispers around us swelled.

“Well, well… so that’s how it is.”

“Isn’t that Sophia? Michael the Section Chief’s widow? Always seemed so quiet.”

“Just goes to show. A widow, calling a married man to her side in the middle of the night? Shameless.”

Gabriel listened, his expression darkening further. He wasn’t hurt for me—he was furious his reputation was being tarnished.

He pulled Sophia behind him, shielding her, and glared at me. “Brenda! That’s enough! Must you make such a spectacle? Sophia is like a sister to me! Looking after her is the right thing to do! Your mind is filthy!”

“A sister?” I laughed, a sound so bitter it threatened to turn into tears. “The kind of sister you need to care for in bed in the middle of the night? Gabriel, don’t treat everyone else like fools. You want to look after her? Fine. That’s your business. But don’t drag me into it. This wife? Let someone else play the part.”

I turned to leave, ignoring his livid expression and Sophia’s bloodless face.

“Stop!” Gabriel roared after me. “The baby! You’re just going to abandon our son?!”

My steps faltered. I didn’t turn back.

The baby… Joseph.