Part 1Husband Fakes Death for His Mistress

In my last life, my husband had a sudden heart attack and was rushed to the hospital by his colleagues.

By the time I got there, he was already gone.

I was consumed by grief, crying until I collapsed.

When I woke up, my husband had already been cremated.

Before I even had a moment to mourn, debt collectors were knocking on my door.

That’s when I learned that my husband, Mark, had racked up over ten million dollars in loans.

And I was the sole heir to his will.

Ten years later, I was hunched over, picking through trash on the street.

That’s when I saw him—my supposedly dead husband—laughing with his mistress in a luxury car.

Mark smiled, tossed a hundred-dollar bill at my feet, and thanked me for my sacrifice.

My body, already ravaged by years of grueling labor, gave out. I died on the spot, from pure, unadulterated rage.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of his heart attack.

* * *

“Clara, I’m so sorry for your loss. You have to be strong, for your own sake. We did everything we could, but Mark… he’s…”

Dr. Ethan Vance, my husband Mark Miller’s best friend and his attending physician, put on a performance of deep regret, spouting a stream of medical jargon I couldn’t comprehend.

He guided me to a sofa. “Clara, maybe you shouldn’t look. I’m worried it’s too much for you.”

I looked at my reflection in the glass partition opposite me. I was still young, my hands unmarred by the scars of manual labor. I took a few deep breaths, the reality of my second chance finally sinking in.

In my last life, I had raced to the hospital after hearing the news, running three red lights, but I was still too late.

Clutching the death certificate, I had collapsed, my grief so profound it felt like my soul was tearing apart.

When I woke, Mark was gone, reduced to a small, heavy box of ashes. I held that box, refusing to eat or drink, until a group of lawyers from various loan companies showed up at my door.

It was then I discovered I was the sole beneficiary of Mark’s will. I forced myself to sort through his finances, only to find that his company had already been sold by my mother-in-law, Brenda, leaving me with nothing but millions in debt.

The house was quickly seized and auctioned by the court. Homeless, I tried to ask Brenda for help, but she refused to even see me.

The years that followed were a living hell. I lived in a cramped converted garage, hounded daily by debt collectors. I worked four jobs just to survive and pay down the debt, but after the court garnished my wages, I could barely afford to eat. When I got sick, I just had to push through it.

Until that day, when I was scavenging for recyclables and saw Mark, ten years dead, laughing with another woman.

I had rushed forward, desperate to get a closer look. He didn't even try to hide. He just sneered, telling me that at forty, I looked seventy. Then he threw that hundred-dollar bill at me, a "thank you" for the decade of my life he had stolen.

I died right there on the pavement, and Mark, as if he hadn't seen a thing, just drove away.

…

Thinking of it all now, I made a decision.

Last time, you faked your death. This time, I’ll make it real.