I'm Welcoming My Second Marriage

On the day her fiancé celebrated another woman’s birthday, Evelyn signed the contract for a heart transplant surgery.

The doctor looked at her solemnly. “The surgery is scheduled for a month from now. It’s incredibly risky. Are you certain you’ve spoken with your family about this?”

Evelyn nodded, but before she could respond, the patient’s parents rushed forward, dropping to their knees with tears streaming down their faces.

“Thank you! Thank you for giving our daughter a second chance at life. We don’t know how to thank you enough…”

The couple, both in their late forties, looked affluent. The man’s tailored suit and the woman’s designer jewelry radiated wealth and status. But at that moment, they bowed before Evelyn, their expressions raw with desperation and gratitude.

Evelyn’s throat tightened. Her chest felt heavy—not from emotion, but from the unbearable weight of her reality.

This couple was about the same age as her own parents. For months, they had begged her to save their daughter, promising her anything she could possibly want if she agreed to the surgery. And her own family? They knew she was barely surviving—haunted and broken, even attempting to end her life—and yet, they said nothing.

And Christopher, her fiancé? He likely wished she’d vanish sooner rather than later.

The doctor’s question about discussing the surgery with her family? Pointless. She hadn’t told anyone. This was her decision alone. But what did it matter? She didn’t care to keep going.

Fighting the sting of tears, Evelyn reached out and helped the couple to their feet. “Don’t worry. Since I’ve signed the contract, I’ll follow through.”

“Boom! Crackle!”

Just as her words fell, brilliant fireworks burst across the night sky outside the window. Colors exploded in dazzling patterns, painting the darkness with celebration.

The timing couldn’t have been more cruel. It felt as though the city itself was celebrating the couple’s victory—their daughter’s salvation.

The couple exchanged relieved smiles. Even the doctor glanced at the fireworks, a flicker of relief softening his usually stoic demeanor.

Evelyn, however, turned her face away, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She knew the fireworks weren’t for her—or even for the life she was about to save. They were for her. Charlotte.

It was Charlotte’s birthday and Christopher had gone to extravagant lengths, arranging an entire city-wide fireworks display just for her.

As the explosions echoed in the background, Evelyn stood, grabbing her bag. Her voice, small and almost swallowed by the noise, was tinged with quiet resignation. “The contract is signed. If anything comes up, just let me know.”

Only then did the others acknowledge her. The couple hurriedly pulled out a check and a business card, pressing them into her hands.

“Ms. Carter, here’s $300,000. Please take it. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to reach out to us.”

“This is just a small token of our appreciation. Please accept it!”

Evelyn shook her head and refused the check. This wasn’t a sale—she wouldn’t dare take their money. Quietly, she accepted the business card instead.

But as her eyes scanned the card, her fingers froze. Her breath hitched and her heart seemed to stop.

[William. CEO of Sinclair Industries.]

Her hands trembled as the truth hit her. These weren’t just any parents. They were Charlotte’s parents.

The air felt suffocating and panic surged through her veins. Without a word, Evelyn fled the hospital.

***

The fireworks were still painting the sky as Evelyn arrived back at her empty villa.

Christopher was already waiting by the entrance. One hand rested in his coat pocket, while the other tapped impatiently on his watch. His face darkened with each passing moment.

It was nearly ten and Evelyn still hadn’t come home.

Beside him, Charlotte shivered in the biting December wind. Winter in Redwood City was harsh, with snow blanketing the streets for most of the month. She tugged at Christopher’s sleeve, her voice soft and saccharine.

“Chris, let’s go back inside. The cake hasn’t been cut yet…”