The day Natalie’s wealthy family reclaimed her, a convoy of black luxury cars paralyzed our sleepy village. When the butler arrived, she didn’t flinch—as if she’d expected this. But she hesitated when choosing who to take. Clutching our daughter’s hand, she gave me an apologetic glance. “I’ll take Zoe first. I’ll come back for you later.” Her eyes flickered toward the man in the Rolls-Royce. “As for William... my father likes him, so...” She trailed off, waiting. But I already knew. William was her lost love, the man she belonged with. In our years together, Natalie often sighed that I couldn’t discuss astronomy, poetry, or Proust. Yet when I brought her fresh greens or rich broth, she’d reluctantly set aside her books—complaining about mosquitos, muddy floors, laundry. She never knew I could read her letters to “My Dearest William.” So when she spoke, I just nodded and slung my foraging basket over my shoulder. “Your choice,” I said flatly. “I’m picking morels. We’ll talk later.” 1 The village kids came running to our house, shouting the news, just as Natalie was teaching our daughter, Zoe, her penmanship. Zoe’s pen slipped, smudging a dark blot of ink across the page. Natalie’s expression remained serene. "Zoe, what have I told you? Penmanship is about discipline. A quiet mind." I knew what was coming. She would be reunited with her family, the illustrious McDonough clan, and would soon return to the sprawling metropolis of Veridia. After the family’s initial visit, Natalie remained impossibly poised. She was, after all, the cherished eldest daughter of the McDonoughs. Even after years of amnesia in this backwater village, the grace and dignity etched into her very bones had never faded. And I was even calmer than she was. I went about my business, heading to the mountains to forage as usual. Old Man Hemlock, a village elder, saw me and chuckled. "Leo! About to live the high life in the city with that wife of yours, and you're still grubbing for mushrooms in the woods?" Natalie had told her family she needed a day to pack, that they should return for her tomorrow. She said she was bringing two people with her. The whole village was green with envy, saying my ancestors must have done something truly spectacular to grant me such luck. They’d all forgotten how, when Natalie first washed up here with no memory and no skills, I was the only one willing to care for her like a lost child. It was a small village. To protect her from the wagging tongues and preserve what was left of her honor, I married her. The "wedding" was nothing more than a few neighbors, a few hard-boiled eggs passed around. And for a time, we were happy. Back then, she was my wife. Only mine. Now she was leaving, and it was only natural that she should take her husband and child. But I knew better. In my previous life, Natalie had indeed taken two people back with her to the McDonough estate. I wasn't one of them. Remembering this, I just smiled at Old Man Hemlock. "The morels are especially good this season." Good mushrooms fetched a high price. Enough for me to leave this place and start a new life. 2 When I returned, William was in our small living room, teaching Zoe some basic French phrases. "You have to study hard," he was saying, his voice smooth and encouraging. "In Veridia, kids your age can already hold a conversation in French." Zoe was hanging on his every word. William smiled, ruffling her hair. "You're a quick learner, Zoe. Not like..." Zoe threw her arms around his waist. "It's all thanks to you, Uncle William! If I was like Dad, who only knows how to talk like a country bumpkin, I'd be so embarrassed when we get there." Natalie, who had been engrossed in a book, merely glanced up. A soft, approving smile touched her lips. What a warm, picture-perfect family scene. I’d seen this tableau play out for two lifetimes now. William was a local boy, too. But his father was a violent drunk and his mother had died young. An aunt from the city eventually found him and took him in, giving him a proper education. I never understood why he came back to Stonehaven. At first, I was grateful to him. Zoe had been playing near the river, slipped, and it was William who’d pulled her out. But after that, things began to shift. He started visiting our home and saw Natalie. He watched, mesmerized, as she practiced her calligraphy, one hand behind her back, the other guiding the brush with a fluid, elegant grace. Her slender, clean fingers moved with an artist’s confidence. He leaned in close. "Natalie, you're a woman of culture. Leo is a lucky man." I didn’t understand the poets and philosophers she and William discussed for hours. With me, she only ever talked about the summer heat or the winter chill. But I understood the mockery in William’s tone. I just stood there, my hands calloused and dirty, feeling like an oaf. Soon, William was at our house every other day. He even convinced Natalie to take a part-time teaching position at the village school. From then on, it was always "Miss Natalie." Whenever I brought her lunch, I’d find William sitting right beside her. I watched as she carefully ladled the chicken soup I’d simmered all night into his bowl. Zoe would giggle beside them. "Dad, Uncle William loves your cooking the most!" Yes. I worked from dawn till dusk, foraging and trading for the best hens to feed my wife and daughter. I toiled on that barren patch of land behind our house to grow the tenderest greens. I never saved the best for myself. And now, they were using the fruits of my labor to win the affection of another man. In my last life, I’d said as much, right there in front of everyone. Natalie’s brow had furrowed, her lips a thin, tight line. She gave William a slight, apologetic bow. "I'm so sorry, William. My husband is not himself." As if I had committed some unforgivable sin. Zoe was more direct. "If you won't let Uncle William have any, then I don't want any either!" William, acting like the master of the house, wrapped an arm around Zoe. "Zoe, what have I taught you? You mustn't speak to your father that way." He then looked at me, not with embarrassment, but with an air of righteous ownership. In that moment, my wife and my daughter made me feel like a complete and utter outcast. A discarded husband. A bitter wave of despair washed over me. William was handsome and well-dressed. I spent my days on the mountainside and in the fields, perpetually covered in a fine layer of dust and sweat. Together, they looked like a family. Just like in my last life, when he went with them to Veridia, no one ever questioned if he was Zoe’s father. At first, Zoe called him "William." He'd just smiled and said, "Why don't you call me Uncle?" Only much, much later did I understand his subtle, calculated ambition. 3 Natalie saw me enter the house, my basket heavy on my back, and she subtly stepped away, as if the smell of earth clinging to me was an offense. When her eyes fell on the basket brimming with mushrooms, a flicker of guilt crossed her face. "Why are you still doing this back-breaking work?" she murmured. "We have… we have money now." The last part was barely a whisper. In my past life, after she left, a sum of money would appear in my account every month. Just enough to survive on in the village. Not enough to ever leave. I didn't bother explaining. "Habit. Keeps my hands busy." I set the basket down and picked up a bundle of dried herbs from the table, beginning to mix them for insect-repellent sachets. The herbs lost their potency after a week, and I’d noticed a fresh constellation of red bites on Zoe's legs. For some reason, the sight didn't stir the same ache of pity it once did. Zoe saw what I was doing and wrinkled her nose. "Dad, there won't be any mosquitos in the city. You don't have to make those smelly things for us." True. The McDonoughs had never appreciated anything I made. They’d even laughed at me, a man skilled in what they considered a woman's craft. In my last life, just before their car pulled away, I had rushed to Zoe with red-rimmed eyes, stuffing her arms with everything I could give her. She’d tossed it all out on the road before they even reached the edge of the village. Old Man Hemlock found the sachets and brought them back to me, his eyes a mixture of pity and amusement. I’d assumed it was Natalie’s father who had ordered them thrown away. Later, I scraped together enough money to buy a used smartphone, hoping to stay in touch. But every video call was met with Zoe’s impatience. "I have to go, my riding lesson is starting." "Uncle William is calling me." I saved for months, then made the long journey to her private school, just to see her. She saw me. And she ran, sprinting toward a waiting car, terrified I would call out her name and expose her. Watching her small figure flee from me, I finally understood. It wasn't the scent of the herbs that had faded. It was the love in their hearts. I never tried to see her again. Not until she came of age. By then, years of hard labor had broken my body. The doctor said I didn't have long. I called Natalie. After a long silence, she just said, "I'll arrange a hospital for you." But I didn't want treatment. I wanted to see my daughter one last time. So I wore my best clothes, got a haircut with the last of my savings, and went to her lavish coming-of-age party. "Zoe," I'd whispered, my voice raw. "Don't you remember your father?" She was clinging to William’s arm, and she looked at me with pure disgust. "Who are you? Why are you here, trying to ruin my family?" Natalie stood beside them and said nothing. The cold, calculating pragmatism of the wealthy was on full display. In that glittering ballroom, I was a ghost, a rat scurrying in the corners. I was escorted out, and as I stumbled onto the street, I was hit by a speeding truck. Lying on the pavement, staring up at the indifferent sky, tears slid from the corners of my eyes. Fate had been so cruel. And then, I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day her family came for her. This time, I would not be that pitiable, pathetic fool. 4 So this time, I didn't plead with them to take the sachets and pillows I'd made. I just spoke with a detached calm. "I know you don't like them. These are for Amy." Zoe was visibly confused. Though I could be strict, I had always doted on her, always offered her the best of everything. She pouted. "Amy's not a good kid. She's disrespectful to the teacher! Why would you make them for her?" Amy was one of the few children in the village who wasn't utterly charmed by William. As a result, she was often an outcast at school. In truth, she’d never done anything to disrespect him. She just liked me more. She said I smelled nice. Like herbs and fresh air. A few days ago, I’d seen the welts on Amy’s pale little arms and promised to make her some sachets. What my wife and daughter didn't value, others would. I continued mixing the herbs, my voice even. "I'll make them for whomever I please." Zoe’s face crumpled. "You're mean! I'm going to find Uncle William! He's taking me to the county town for a real steak dinner, and he's going to teach me how to use a proper knife and fork." Her eyes glinted with a childish challenge. "You've never had a steak before, have you, Dad?" I didn't even look up. "No, never have. You go on." Her punch had landed on cotton. She couldn't understand what had changed. Before, I was always jealous of William, always trying to insert myself into whatever he planned with Zoe. For so many years, I believed my child was more important than my wife. In the end, it was Zoe who delivered the final, fatal blow. 5 After Zoe stomped out, a look of hurt confusion on her face, Natalie approached me. "Leo, are you angry with me?" Her voice was soft, placating. "If you're upset, take it out on me. Don't involve Zoe." She sighed. "We're leaving tomorrow morning. Let's not make everyone unhappy." Unhappy? The word felt foreign. In my past life, from the moment they left, joy had ceased to exist for me. And now she had the audacity to say, "Let's not make everyone unhappy." That day, just like in my previous life, Natalie’s ailing father had traveled a great distance to see his long-lost daughter. But the moment his eyes landed on me, standing beside her, his face contorted in revulsion. He let out a shrill cry. "Monster! Get that monster away from her!" I froze. I knew I wasn't much to look at, that her family wouldn't approve, but I hadn't expected this. A member of the McDonough entourage sighed and looked at Natalie. "His mind… it hasn't been right since you disappeared." Though Natalie’s memory hadn't returned, the bond of blood was undeniable. A look of deep sorrow crossed her face. What none of us expected, however, was his reaction to William. He reached for him, his expression softening. "Timothy," he'd whispered, his voice trembling. "You've come back."
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