Chapter 1

My husband, a 40-year-old civil servant, fell for a 27-year-old foot spa girl. He was willing to throw away his career just to divorce me.

My family kept telling me to put up with it for the sake of our son. So for my young child, I swallowed my pride and refused to sign the papers no matter what.

When that girl realized she'd never make it to wife status, she jumped ship and found someone else. After that, my husband was a wreck and didn't contribute a dime to the household for ten years.

To give my son a better life, I worked myself sick, pulling endless overtime. It all took a toll on me. So before I even hit fifty, I ended up with cancer. However, barely after I was buried, my husband moved the foot spa girl in. My son even started calling her "Mom" like she'd always been part of the family.

My husband handed her his bank card. "All my pay from the last ten years is right here. I didn't let that old hag spend a single cent!"

He added, "From now on, the three of us can finally be a family." My son was grinning from ear to ear. "That ugly witch is finally dead! I knew it—only someone as pretty as Auntie Riley deserves to be my mom!"

When I woke up again, I found myself back on the day my husband dropped the bomb about his affair.

*****

"I know I messed up. If you agree to the divorce, I'll leave with nothing. Is that okay with you?" he said.

I froze for a moment. Staring at my husband, Eric Todd, who looked a bit younger than I remembered, I realized I was given a second chance.

On TV, the New Year's Gala was playing. At this moment, the festive music felt almost mocking.

My hands were still covered in flour. My son wanted to eat dumplings, so I got up early to knead the dough.

I was about to say something when the phone suddenly rang. Eric picked it up, and his face softened in a way I'd never seen before.

"Okay, just wait a sec. I'll be right there," he said.

"I'm taking Jessica to meet her parents today. Think it over and let me know later," he added. Then, he hurried out. Bang! The door slammed shut behind him.

I calmly went to the bathroom to wash my hands. In the mirror, I caught sight of a middle-aged woman—a face marked by years and exhaustion, skin no longer taut.

I opened the cabinet. All the toiletries were neatly lined up, but every single one belonged to Eric and our son. The only thing that was mine was a cheap jar of face cream, tucked away in a corner.

I twisted off the lid, finding the cream inside had already started to dry and crack. I dabbed some cream onto my hands.

Then I went back to the living room, and placed an order online for a full SK-II skincare set.

Later, I made a call. "Is this Mr. Zane, the attorney? I'd like some advice about my divorce..." I said.

In my previous life, after Eric finally confessed, I slapped him hard. So, everyone knew about the scandal.

Eric was disciplined and dragged into meeting after meeting with his bosses.

But he was still determined to marry her, even if it meant losing his job.

Eric didn't finally settle into this steady job until he was 32. For eight long years, I was the one covering all the bills at home.

My parents were already retired, and every now and then they'd slip me a little cash to help out.

But I just couldn't keep leaning on them, so I started picking up freelance work. By the time I hit forty, my body was a mess—aches and pains everywhere from years of excessive workload.

That job was so hard to come by, but he just tossed it aside like it meant nothing.

All for some foot spa girl who barely made it through elementary school.

Heh.' I scoffed to myself.

All my relatives kept telling me to just hang in there, since the kid was still little.

I listened to them and flat-out refused to sign the divorce papers. When that mistress realized she'd never get to be the wife, she turned around and took off with some guy who sold construction supplies.

After that, Eric was never the same again.

He blamed me for driving her away, and for the next ten years, he subjected me to relentless emotional abuse—barely speaking to me, never showing any care.

He stopped handing over his monthly paycheck to support the household, leaving me to fend for our family.

Desperate to give my son a better life, I worked myself to the bone, taking on every job I could get my hands on.

So my health just kept getting worse. At 48, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and I only lasted three months after that.

However, before my funeral was even over, Eric had already brought that foot spa girl back home.

He didn't just prove he still loved her—he even handed her his salary card.

"Ten years' salary, all right here. I haven't spent a single cent," he said.

"All these years, I used nothing but that old hag's money," he added.

"Riley, all these years, you're the only one I ever cared about," he said.

Riley's eyes brimmed with tears. After so long, the two of them reunited and held each other tight.

My soul hovered in the air, stunned for a moment. Then I let out a bitter laugh, and bloody tears streaked down my cheeks.

I laughed at my own foolishness—at how I'd wasted all those years of genuine love on someone who never deserved it.

Since he's willing to risk it all for love, this life, I'll make sure he gets what he wants,' I decided.