In this new life, I decided to put my sister's name on the marriage certificate.

This time, I fulfilled Oliver's wishes.

In this lifetime, I let my sister wear the Victorian-style dress and placed the engagement ring on her finger for him.

I personally arranged every meeting between him and my sister.

When he took her to New York, I swiftly headed south to attend college in San Francisco.

All because in my previous life, even into our fifties, he and our son still begged me for a divorce.

I surrendered their final romantic fate to them.

Living anew, I only want to spread my wings and soar, leaving love far behind.

...

"Just hand it over once you've filled in the name."

Oliver impatiently drummed his fingers on the table.

I stared at the marriage certificate, tracing the rough edges of the paper with my fingertips, my thoughts wandering.

In my past life, I solemnly filled in my own name as if it were a royal decree, and eagerly dragged Oliver to buy celebratory sweets.

In return, I received nothing but reproach from him because he was in a rush to make spice cake for Zara, who was feeling under the weather.

I replied indifferently, "Got it, got it."

I looked up at his agitated expression and the hand repeatedly checking his watch.

Today, he wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his toned forearms.

I remember Zara loved this look on him, saying it made him look so clean and refreshing.

"If you're busy, just go handle your business," I said, suppressing the bitterness rising within me and pretending to be light-hearted. "I'll submit it once I'm done."

He visibly relaxed, his tone softening.

"Don't worry, since we're getting married, I'll take care of you," he said. "But you must stop being jealous of Zara. If others find out, it'll damage her reputation."

I remained silent. In my previous life, I tried to explain countless times,

but to him, I was always the jealous and petty sister,

unable to handle my gentle, kind-hearted sibling.

Without another word, he hurriedly left.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, yet my mind couldn't help but replay memories from my past life.

On our wedding night, he stayed with his sick sister all night, saying she had never been to New York before.

Even when our son was born, Oliver couldn't make it, too busy comforting Zara about her divorce.

Until my dying moments, our son continued to persuade me:

"Mom, just divorce Dad. You can't compare to Aunt Zara."

"Dad's been putting up with you for years, let him go."

Lying in the hospital bed, I watched my husband, indifferent and silent beside me.

It was this silence that spoke volumes.

I bit my lip hard until I tasted blood, then slowly released it.

No, not in this life. I won't repeat those mistakes.

I picked up the pen and in the applicant column, slowly wrote two words:

Zara Morgan.

Oliver, since you love her so much, have it your way.

I handed the completed application to the clerk, took the marriage certificate, and walked out of the registry office.

I didn't feel sad; rather, there was an indescribable sense of freedom.

In my previous life, after our parents passed away unexpectedly, Zara and I were taken in by the Browns. Zara, with her charm and cleverness, won the two elders over, and they treated her even better than their own daughter. Haven was quick to push for Zara to marry Oliver. However, Zara effortlessly replied, "I don't want to compete with my sister," leading Oliver to willingly choose me instead. It was obvious she never intended to keep him; at the time, Oliver was just a platoon leader, and she aspired to something greater.

I visited the campus to learn about the preparations required for college, along with living expenses, and only after understanding everything did I feel relieved enough to head back.

As soon as I returned to Oliver's home, I overheard Zara's playful banter:

"Oliver, you came back to keep me company instead of Nina—won't she be upset?"

"She's easygoing," Oliver responded nonchalantly.

"But whenever you take care of things, you end up getting hurt. I'm worried about you being here on your own."

Zara laughed, then pretended to be briefly sad,

"Will Oliver still treat me well after marrying my sister?"

"Of course," Oliver replied firmly, "If not you, then who?"

"If your sister doesn't treat you right, I'll divorce her!"

I clenched my fists, trying to quell the heartache rising within me. Here I was, given another chance at life, yet hearing my husband speak so coolly about me still caused pain.

After calming myself down, I entered the room as if nothing had happened.

Oliver stepped out of Zara's room, looking slightly awkward.

"I-I just wanted to check on Zara since she wasn't feeling well," he said, stumbling over his words.

I gave a casual nod and turned to head back to my room. In my previous life, I'd wasted countless hours arguing with him over how close he was to Zara. This time, I wasn't going to let it drain my energy.

He called after me, "Nina."

"How about we get some chocolates to share with the neighbors' wives?"

I looked at him, surprised. Then it dawned on me: this was probably his way of making up for the fact that I hadn't kicked up a fuss about their closeness.

"That's unnecessary," I replied. "There's no point in engaging in such empty gestures."

He seemed taken aback, perhaps because he hadn't expected me to reject his suggestion.

"Are you angry with Oliver for looking after me, sis?" Zara came out of the room, feigning innocence and guilt. She was wearing the Victorian-style dress I had saved up for months in my past life, intended for our wedding photos—a dress I'd never worn.

Seeing my expression, Zara quickly explained, "I saw this dress on your bed and thought it was lovely. I wanted to try it on and forgot to take it off."

She lowered her head, twisting her fingers like a child trying to appear apologetic.

Oliver instinctively began, "Nina, you don't—"

I cut him off, keeping my tone calm, "You look good in it. Why don't you keep it? I never wore it anyway."

I could detect the faint scent of stress and longing on the dress, remembering the nights I'd rushed home in tears. The thought now made me feel repulsed.

As their shocked expressions lingered, I returned to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.