When my husband opened his mouth again, announcing he was taking his precious first love to watch the sunrise at the beach,

I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene.

I just calmly reached for the unopened box of condoms on the nightstand and slipped it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Oliver Gilbert's hand froze on the door handle. He stared at me like I'd grown a second head.

“Vivian Mercer, what the hell is wrong with you?”

I smiled. Said nothing.

Nothing was wrong with me. I hadn't lost my mind.

I had simply been reborn.

This time, I wanted a different ending.

——

When I made no move to take the box back, his expression darkened further.

His voice carried an edge of real anger：

“I'm talking to you. I'm just going to the beach to watch the sunrise. What exactly is this for?”

I leaned against the headboard, scrolling through my phone without looking up：

“I'm perfectly sane. Hotel condoms are cheap garbage. The last thing you need is to knock someone up and waste money on an abortion. Oh, and double-bag it. Sara Swanson gets around. I'd rather not catch something.”

His face went black as a thundercloud.

He crossed the room in one stride, snatched the box, and slammed it onto the nightstand so hard the glass rattled.

“I've told you a hundred times, there is nothing between me and Sara! Her ex dumped her. She's not thinking straight, she's talking about throwing herself off a cliff into the ocean. I'm going to talk her down. That's it!”

“Sure.”

I bent down, picked the box up off the floor, and tucked it back into his pocket with a pat：

“All the more reason. Who knows what's in the water? Safety first.”

“You!”

Oliver jabbed a finger at my face, so furious he couldn't form a sentence.

“What has gotten into you lately? You used to cry all night if I so much as spoke to Sara, and now you're……”

He was right. I used to cry.

In my last life, this exact night played out the same way. He left at midnight to comfort heartbroken Sara, and I fought him on it.

He slapped me across the face, called me unreasonable, and slammed the door on his way out.

The rage sent my stomach into acute perforation. I collapsed on the cold tile floor, writhing in agony.

I called him thirty-seven times. He didn't pick up once.

I died alone in that house. By the time the housekeeper found me, my body had already started to decompose.

When they finally came back, my three-year-old son Matthew Gilbert was clinging to Sara Swanson's neck, saying：

“Aunt Sara, bad mommy's dead. Can you be my mommy now?”

Oliver stroked his hair, gentle as anything, and said：

“Okay.”

Now that I was back, I would never be that fool again.

Let them love whoever they wanted. All I needed was to survive.

I pushed the covers aside, got out of bed, and straightened his crooked tie：

“I used to have water for brains. It's all drained out now.”

“Go on, hurry up. If you're late and Sara actually jumps, you'll find a way to blame me for her death too.”

The bedroom door burst open.

Matthew ran out barefoot, threw himself into Oliver's arms, and tugged at his sleeve, screaming：

“Daddy, Daddy! I wanna go to Aunt Sara's house too! I don't wanna stay with bad mommy!”

My heart seized.

In my last life, he was exactly the same.

At three, he called me bad mommy. At four, he scraped the meals I cooked into the trash.

At five, he held a fruit knife to my face and said he was going to kill me to avenge Aunt Sara.

I thought being reborn had prepared me. I thought I'd armored myself for this.

But hearing those two words from my own son's mouth again, my chest clenched so tight I couldn't breathe.

Oliver frowned but didn't correct the boy.

He just looked at me, his tone heavy with the kind of blame that assumed it was already settled：

“See? You're too hard on him. He's scared of you.”

“Be good, Matthew. It's too late tonight. Daddy will take you to see Aunt Sara tomorrow, okay?”

“No no no!”

Matthew shook his head hard, his small finger jabbing toward me, eyes full of disgust：

“She yells at me! And she won't let me have ice cream! Aunt Sara never yells at me, and she buys me lots and lots of toys! I want Aunt Sara to be my mommy!”

I said nothing. I turned and walked into Matthew's bedroom.

Ten minutes later, I came back out dragging a small Ultraman suitcase and set it down at Oliver's feet.

“His change of clothes and allergy medication are inside. He needs to hold the blue teddy bear when he sleeps or he'll cry. Absolutely no mangoes or seafood. He'll break out in a rash.”

Oliver's face went white. He seized my wrist.

“Vivian, what the hell is this? You're using our son to get back at me?”

“I'm not getting back at anyone.”

I pulled free of his grip, calm and steady. A ring of red already circled my wrist.

“Since he likes Sara better, let him go with you. Perfect. Your happy little family of three, all together.”

Oliver was shaking with rage：

“What did you just say? He's your own flesh and blood! How can those words even come out of your mouth?”

“Vivian, you really are getting more cold-blooded by the day!”

Matthew joined in, yelling：

“Yeah! Bad mommy is cold-blooded! I don't want you anymore! I'm going with Daddy and Aunt Sara!”

I tugged at the corner of my mouth：

“Sure. Then go.”

Oliver stared at me, eyes heavy with disappointment.

He thought I'd break down crying and beg him to stay, the way I always used to. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

But he didn't know I'd already died once.

When the heart dies, nothing matters anymore.

“Fine! You said it, not me! Don't come crying to me later!”

He scooped Matthew up, shot me one last vicious glare, and slammed the door on his way out.

The house went quiet all at once.

I walked to the window and watched Oliver's car pull out of the complex.

The headlights traced a cold arc through the darkness.

Then I took out my phone and sent my lawyer a message：

“Get the divorce agreement ready. I don't want a cent of the assets. Full custody to Oliver. As fast as possible.”

Three days later was my third wedding anniversary with Oliver.

In my last life, I'd started preparing a month in advance.

I baked his favorite cake by hand and bought the limited-edition watch he'd been talking about for ages.

I even wore the white dress he said I looked prettiest in.

He didn't come home until four in the morning, reeking of Sara's perfume, and told me：

“Sorry. Sara has a fever. I need to stay at the hospital with her.”

I asked him through tears：

“In your heart, who matters more? Me or her?”

He shoved me aside, irritated：

“Vivian, can you grow up? Sara has no one. She's completely alone. I can't just abandon her. You're my wife. You should understand.”

So this time around, I didn't prepare a thing.

Seven in the morning. The lock clicked.

Oliver was back, with Matthew in tow.

The moment Matthew walked through the door, he charged into the living room and hurled a pink stuffed bunny straight into my face.

“Bad mommy! Look! Aunt Sara bought this for me! It's prettier than any toy you ever got me!”

The bunny's ear caught the corner of my eye, a sharp, stinging flare of pain.

I picked up the stuffed bunny and tossed it into the trash can beside me.

Oliver's brow creased immediately：

“What are you doing? Sara picked that out for Matthew herself.”

I wiped the spot on my face where the toy had hit：

“Oh. I thought throwing it at me meant he didn't want it. Just helping him take out the trash.”

Oliver was too angry to speak.

He pulled a sleek jewelry box from his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“Enough. I know you're upset, so drop the passive-aggressive act. I didn't forget our anniversary.”

“It's for you. Anniversary gift. Sara helped me pick it out. She said it would look good on you.”

I opened the box. Inside was a pearl necklace.

Identical to the one he'd given Sara for her birthday in my previous life.

I smiled faintly, picked up the necklace without so much as a glance, and set it aside.

“You don't have to go through the motions for my sake. Tomorrow's Sara's birthday anyway. Save the necklace for her. It'll make a perfect gift.”

His expression darkened：

“How do you know tomorrow is Sara's birthday?”

“I don't just know it's her birthday. I also know you canceled our anniversary dinner reservation and rebooked the most expensive revolving restaurant in the city for her party.”

I looked at him, my voice as flat as if I were commenting on the weather：

“I even ordered the cake for you. Black Forest. Her favorite. Don't bother coming home tonight. I'll just get takeout.”

Oliver froze.

It probably never crossed his mind that the woman who used to cry all night when he forgot their anniversary would one day volunteer to plan another woman's birthday for him.

“Vivian, you……”

I cut him off：

“Don't be touched.”

“I just don't want to fight with you over this anymore. I'm tired.”

I turned and walked into the kitchen.

Behind me, Matthew's voice rang out：

“Daddy, Aunt Sara said she's taking me to Disneyland tomorrow! I finally don't have to stay with bad mommy! Yay, Aunt Sara!”

Oliver quickly clamped a hand over Matthew's mouth：

“Don't say things like that.”

I leaned against the kitchen door and closed my eyes.

It's fine. It's really fine.

A few more days, and I could leave this hell for good.

That afternoon, I spoke with my lawyer about the divorce agreement.

On my way back, I passed Matthew's preschool. I hesitated, then went in.

I wanted to find his teacher and go over the details of his care going forward.

When I reached the classroom door, I saw Sara crouched down, tying Matthew's shoelaces.

Matthew had his arms wrapped around her neck. He kissed her cheek, his little voice soft and sweet：

“Aunt Sara, will you be my mommy? I don't like that bad mommy.”

Sara spotted me and immediately pushed Matthew away：

“Matthew, don't say silly things.”

She stood, walked over to me, and arranged her face into something apologetic.

“Vivian, I'm so sorry. I just happened to be passing by and popped in to check on Matthew.”

“I never taught him to say any of that. Please don't read into it.”

“It's fine.”

I walked over to Matthew and reached for his hand：

“Matthew, Mommy wants to talk to you about something.”

Matthew shoved me so hard I nearly lost my balance：

“No! You're not my mommy! Aunt Sara is my mommy! Go away!”

There was no time to grieve over his words.

My sleeve had ridden up, exposing the jade bracelet on my wrist.

It was the only thing my mother left me before she died. I'd worn it for over a decade, never once taken it off.

But Matthew's eyes lit up, and he grabbed for it：

“That bracelet's so pretty! I'm gonna give it to Aunt Sara!”

I clutched my wrist：

“No! You can't have this!”

“I want it, I want it!”

Matthew screamed and sank his teeth into my hand.

Blood welled up instantly.

Sara hurried over and pulled him away：