In my last life, we went skiing in the Swiss Alps for my sister-in-law’s birthday. But when the avalanche hit, my husband, Anthony, reached past me without a second’s hesitation and grasped his sister-in-law’s hand. I was left alone on the mountain, to die a hopeless death in the swirling blizzard. It was only then that I finally understood. To him, Claire wasn't just his brother's wife. She was the one who held his heart. So, this time, during a formal family dinner, I calmly asked for a divorce. The smile on his face froze, then twisted into a cold sneer. "You'd better not regret this." He was so certain I was just throwing a tantrum. With a flourish of his pen, he signed the papers, looking at me as if he had me completely cornered. But this time, I was truly done with him. 1 "I will never regret it." My words were sharp and final. The atmosphere at the dinner table plunged to freezing. Anthony’s hand, holding his fork, was trembling, his eyes locked on me. Through it all, my expression remained a perfect mask of calm. Finally, he slammed his silverware down with a clatter, snatched the divorce agreement, and scrawled his signature before hurling it, along with the pen, directly at me. The sharp corner of the paper sliced a thin line across my left cheek. The pen, a fountain pen, burst upon impact, and a dark bloom of ink spread across my white dress. No one had expected a family dinner to explode like this. Anthony spat out two parting shots: "I'll see you at City Hall tomorrow. If you don't show, I'll have you dragged there." "Mia, I'm dying to see just how tough you really are." With that, he stormed out. Claire instinctively moved to follow him, but Anthony’s mother slammed her hand on the table. "Sit down!" she barked. "Eleanor, Anthony's furious. He needs someone right now—" "Even if he needs comfort, it won't come from you!" The matriarch’s tone was glacial, her eyes filled with a loathing for Claire she no longer bothered to hide. It was true that Claire had grown up in the Vance household; her mother had been their housekeeper for nearly thirty years. Out of respect for her long service, Eleanor Vance had funded Claire’s education and ensured she never lacked for anything the two Vance sons had. But Claire had crossed a line. At eighteen, she drugged the eldest son, Chris, and climbed into his bed. To protect her reputation, Chris had no choice but to marry her. But because of it, he voluntarily renounced his position as the heir to the Vance fortune and joined the military. He was gone for five years, returning only when both his legs were ruined. The golden boy of New York society was dragged into the mud, his future shattered. If Claire had remained loyal, Eleanor might have eventually forgiven her. But she didn't. She set her sights on Anthony, and for that, Eleanor had come to despise her. She’d never said it aloud, but tonight, the facade was finally cracking. "Claire, you may be able to fool Anthony with that little act of yours, but don't think for a second that I can't see right through you." "Even if Mia and Anthony divorce, you will never have a place by his side." Claire’s fingers clenched into tight fists, her face draining of color. She bit her lip, her eyes shooting daggers of pure hatred at me. I simply met her gaze, offered a small, dismissive smile, and carefully folded the signed divorce agreement. Then, I picked up my fork and knife. And continued eating my dinner. The twisted, toxic game she and Anthony had been playing? I was no longer a participant. After a moment, Claire took a deep breath, her voice softening into a placating tone. "Eleanor, my feelings for Anthony are purely that of a sister-in-law for her brother. Nothing more." "If there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading up to my room." Eleanor let out a cold, humorless laugh and turned away, refusing to grant her another word. Claire excused herself from the table. When the dinner finally concluded, I was about to leave with the agreement when Eleanor called out to me. "Mia." I paused but didn't turn around. "I can see you're serious about this. As Anthony’s mother, I should probably try to talk you out of it. They say you shouldn't let the sun go down on an argument, but—" "This time, I won't." A flicker of surprise went through me. That was unexpected. I turned to face her, meeting her sharp, appraising gaze. The Vance family was one of New York's most powerful dynasties. After her husband's death, relatives had circled like vultures, but Eleanor had single-handedly secured her position. She was a woman of decisive action, always putting the family's interests first. I had been certain she would oppose the divorce. Yet, here she was, not just allowing it, but seemingly supporting it. "What are your plans, after you leave Anthony?" I considered it. When I was first reborn, all I wanted was to go home—back to San Francisco, to leave New York forever. But then I thought, why should I be the one to leave? I aced my SATs to get into Columbia at eighteen. I spent a decade building my empire in this city. Why should I throw away everything I had fought for, all for a man? Finally, I answered, "I'm cutting all business ties with him." From this day forward, our paths would never cross again. 2 Anthony and I were never a match of equals. To be precise, I married down. After I graduated high school, my father began introducing me to the world of business, taking me to all sorts of galas and events. I met Anthony at an auction in San Francisco. He was there with his mother. Throughout the entire event, his face was a stoic mask, cold and distant, as if nothing in the world could capture his interest. That is, until my father outbid his mother for a collector’s grade military combat knife, forcing her to pay a staggering thirty million. For the first time, a storm of emotion flickered in Anthony's eyes. It was a complex mix of envy and resentment as he stared silently at his own mother. At first, I thought the knife held some special meaning for her. Later, at the reception, I found Anthony alone in the gardens. He was just standing there, lost in thought. I watched as he ripped a peony from the soil, root and all, and began tearing it apart, petal by petal, as if asking the flower, or maybe himself: "Why can't she love me a little more? Why does she only have eyes for my brother?" "She was so proud when Chris got into his first-choice college. When it was my turn, it was like she’d been doused with cold water." "I got into the best school, the best program. Everyone praises me, but why can't she see it?" His silhouette was etched with a profound loneliness. He even began to curse his own existence, asking the heavens why, if they had already created his perfect older brother, they had bothered making him at all. And if he had to exist, why couldn't he be treated with the same fairness? He was crying, silently. In that moment, though I couldn't fully comprehend his pain, I didn't approach him. I just stood there, a quiet presence in the shadows, keeping him company. My father had hoped I’d stay in California, go to Stanford. But some strange impulse pulled me to New York, to Columbia. My father was surprised, but he didn't try to stop me. He told me, "You only get so many days on this earth. If you want something, you go after it. You fight for it, you take it." So I did. I introduced myself to Anthony. I deliberately stepped into his world. We met at eighteen. We were married at twenty-two. We were together for a decade. For ten years, whatever Anthony wanted, if I could give it, I gave. If I couldn't, but he still wanted it, I fought to get it for him. I knew his childhood was a void, devoid of sweetness. He once told me that in the past, relatives, even his own parents, would bring gifts specifically for Chris. He was always an afterthought, the one who got something "by the way." Except for Claire. His so-called childhood friend, Claire. The candy she gave him was just for him. Even if it was expired, it became the only glimmer of light in his bleak childhood. That was why, time and time again, he would abandon me for her. I used to tell myself, "Claire is just a symbol of his childhood comfort. The way he treats her has nothing to do with love." But I overestimated my own strength. When I was burning up with a fever, Claire happened to twist her ankle. Anthony chose her. When I needed a date for a gala, so did she, because Chris couldn't go. Anthony chose her again. Birthdays, anniversaries… he’d make a promise every time, and he’d break it every time. There were times I couldn’t take it anymore. "Are you my husband, or are you Claire’s?" I’d demand. And every time, his response was a dagger of disappointment. "Chris is injured. He doesn't want to see anyone. His wife is already going through so much. Can't you just be a little more understanding?" In those moments, the words would die in my throat, my heart constricting with a pain so sharp it stole my breath. Anthony's friends would tell me to be more generous. "If he had feelings for Claire," they'd say, "he never would have let her marry his brother in the first place." And Claire was always there, playing the part of the innocent peacemaker. "There's nothing between Anthony and me. We’ve never crossed any lines. You shouldn't overthink things. I will always be your sister-in-law." But is an emotional affair not still an affair? This marriage became a crucible of pain and torment. I thought about divorce countless times. But I could never bring myself to do it. I couldn't sever the bond. I couldn't let go of Anthony, the boy whose loneliness had captured my heart at first sight. A decade of love had woven itself into the very fiber of my being. Until my last life, on Claire’s birthday. Until the avalanche hit, and he reached past me to grab her hand, leaving me to die on that mountain. He didn't hear my desperate cries for help. He didn't hear me scream, "I can't see the path!" He didn't hear my sobs. And in that final, freezing moment, I found a strange sense of release. You only get so many days on this earth. There was no point in clinging to this any longer. I’ve been given a second chance. And I will not walk the same path again. 3 Eleanor urged me to think carefully. Even with a divorce, business was business, and personal ties were personal ties. After six years of marriage, our financial interests were deeply entangled; nearly every one of our major projects was a joint venture. Untangling them now would be catastrophic. Besides, at this moment, the only company with the capacity to absorb my corporation's partnerships was Anthony’s. I just smiled. They all seemed to have forgotten one crucial fact: Anthony was never my only option. I chose him simply because I loved him. After leaving the Vance estate, I received a text from an unknown number with a San Francisco area code. "Heard you're divorcing Anthony?" My eyebrow arched. I stared at the message for a long moment before deleting it, blocking the number, and calling my father. I asked him for the name of the best lawyer in San Francisco. Leo. The next day, I had just arrived at City Hall when Anthony’s car, a black sedan, pulled up behind me. Claire was in the passenger seat. She rolled down the window, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. "Mia, don't get the wrong idea." "I was running a little fever last night. Anthony just took me to the hospital, that's why…" I didn't bother dignifying her with a response, walking straight past the front of their car. Her expression instantly soured. Anthony’s brow furrowed in disapproval. "Mia, didn't you hear your sister-in-law talking to you?" "When are you going to drop that spoiled rich girl attitude?" A sharp laugh escaped my lips. I turned, my smile dripping with sarcasm. "You know, Anthony, I'm genuinely curious. Your brother's legs are ruined, but he's not dead. Are you sure he doesn't mind you being so eager to take care of his wife?" "Or is this some kind of threesome thing you all are into?" Anthony’s face flushed with rage, his hands balling into fists. "Mia, what the hell are you talking about!?" "I have no feelings for Claire! I've only ever seen her as my sister-in-law! When is this going to end?" "You're going to divorce me because I peeled a shrimp for her?" "If you're this crazy, maybe I should check you into a—" CRACK! The crisp sound echoed in the quiet morning air. I had stepped right up to him and slapped him, hard, across the face. His words died in his throat. He stared at me, his expression a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and something that looked almost like hurt. Claire scrambled out of the car, rushing to his side to inspect his face, where the red imprint of my hand was already starting to bloom. Her eyes welled with tears as she stood between us. "Mia, how could you hit him?" "What did he do wrong? If you have a problem, take it out on me… but how could you…" Her voice broke into a sob, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. I scoffed. Strangely, Anthony ignored Claire completely. His eyes, full of a complex storm of emotions, remained fixed on me. Inside the clerk's office, just as I was about to sign the final application, Anthony suddenly grabbed my hand. The tips of his fingers trembled, almost imperceptibly. "Mia, are you sure you want to keep this up?" "You know I won't back down. And I will never, ever beg you to come back." "When the thirty-day cooling-off period is over, I won't be coming back to cancel this." He spoke each word with deliberate weight, as if reminding me—and himself. Once these papers were signed, there was no turning back for either of us. He was betting. Betting that I couldn't live without him. Betting that this was just a tantrum. Betting that deep down, I still loved him. But this time— I smiled, and then, with slow, deliberate care, I signed my name to the divorce application. Thinking back, if I hadn't come to New York, if I hadn't been the one to walk into his life, we probably never would have happened at all. Now, all I was doing was returning things to their natural state. A few moments later, I held the receipt for the thirty-day cooling-off period in my hand. Anthony's gaze was so intense it felt like it could burn a hole through me. His voice was laced with ice. "Mia, you're the one who can't leave me. Don't come crying to me when you want to cancel this." With that, he took Claire's hand and walked away. I stood my ground, silently watching his back as it receded into the distance. No, I thought. That day will never come.
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