Love's Wrong Turn

If I hadn't learned the truth just before I died in my last life, I might still be wondering how Zach could be so heartless to us.

That day, when Kathy's arm was scalded, I saw it—pain and guilt flicker across his face. It was faint, but real enough that I clung to it. I kept a sliver of hope alive, thinking maybe he hadn't fallen completely beyond redemption. That's why I reached out to him, pleaded with him to help us.

But the truth was simple. Zach had always put Jennifer first.

He didn't love me. He didn't love our daughter. That truth hadn't changed just because I had been given another chance at life. The way he turned away from us—cold, indifferent, vaguely apologetic—was exactly the same as before.

I held Kathy tighter and made a quiet promise in my heart: this time, all I would ask for was Kathy's safety. Her health. Her life.

Early the next morning, I dropped Kathy off at daycare and went straight to my workplace. I told the director I had decided to accept the transfer to Shaylon City.

He lit up with excitement. "Anna, you've finally come around. With your education, you'll have so much more room to grow in a city like Shaylon City."

He'd brought it up so many times in my previous life, too. He said if I accepted the post and moved to Shaylon City, I'd have a real future there.

I had gone home and told Zach back then. He said the director was lying to me, and if I went, he'd divorce me on the spot.

I believed him. I thought he was just worried I'd be taken advantage of.

But not long after, he told Jennifer everything—and she took the opportunity instead. Got promoted, too.

"Director," I said now, "can I go as soon as possible?"

I didn't want to stay one more minute under the same roof as Zach.

The director, clearly pleased, told me to start packing. The train ticket would be reimbursed by the office.

When I married Zach, we didn't even bother getting a marriage certificate. Looking back, maybe that was fate's mercy. It meant I could leave with Kathy without anything holding us back.

I headed straight to the train station and bought our tickets. Then I returned home to pack.

Just as I stepped into the courtyard, I heard soft, intimate voices drifting from the back room.

Zach said, "She'll just hide somewhere and cry, that's all she ever does. What's she gonna say about it?"

I gave a short, mirthless laugh.

He knew me well. Knew how deeply I loved him.

Back then, in the face of betrayal, crying was all I'd done.

I didn't hesitate—I pushed the door open and walked in.

Zach's face darkened instantly. He glared at me with open displeasure.

"Who told you to come back?"

"It's my house too, isn't it?" I said quietly.

Jennifer looked at me with thinly veiled contempt, slowly straightening her clothes as she got out of bed. She deliberately left two buttons undone.

Her tone was light and mocking. "Anna, we were just talking about you. Where were you last night?"

She gave a theatrical pause, raising her brows. "Taking a kid out in the middle of the night? You probably didn't want to pay for a hotel, right? Or did you end up in some random guy's bed?"

She laughed, tossing a knowing glance at Zach.

His face turned stone-cold as he scanned me from head to toe, that frigid stare trying to peel me apart.

Clearly, he believed her.

He snapped, "Anna! Have you no decency at all? I don't even know why I ever saw anything in you. You're shameless!"

His words stung. I let out a dry, bitter laugh. I didn't even have the strength to argue.

"Think what you want."

I turned away and began folding mine and Kathy's clothes by the cabinet.

Jennifer laughed, shrill and grating, then nestled herself into Zach's arms. With a sneer in her voice, she said, "Zach, I told you, you shouldn't keep hesitating over her. For the elementary school spot, it's better if Felicia takes it."

She glanced at me, full of disdain.

"A mother like her—what kind of daughter could she possibly raise? It'd just be a waste."

My hands paused over the clothes. Her words were laughable, really. But I didn't bother to argue. I just wanted to leave.

"There's no need for him to worry about me," I said flatly.