Chapter 1

I was once the woman everyone envied—a perfect life, a successful husband, a cozy home I'd kept together for decades.

But nobody saw the real cost: dragging myself to the kitchen at 5 a.m., sewing late into the night, or the soul-crushing exhaustion of raising two kids single-handedly.

And nobody heard his cold jab. "I'm the one making the money, so what's got you so worn out?"

To him, our home was a pit stop, and I was just the help. We shared a bed but lived worlds apart, strangers who knew each other's habits too well.

When I got old and sick, worn down by years of toil, I needed support.

Instead, he slapped divorce papers on the table. "The kids are grown," he said. "I want my own life now. Laura's been waiting for me all these years."

I stared at those papers, his old vow ringing hollow. "I'll make you happy forever."

Kicked out with nothing, I spent that winter alone, freezing to death in our empty old house, with no one to hold my hand at the end.

Then I blinked—and I was twenty again, sitting at my vanity, staring into the mirror. There he was, Jonathan, holding a bouquet of roses, flashing that charming grin. "Isabella, marry me. I'll make you happy forever."

Not this time. I was done with a half-life of regrets, being the wife he could take or leave.

This time, I was living for me.

*****

"Isabella, hey, wake up," he called softly.

A warm hand grazed my cheek, smelling faintly of tobacco and soap. I forced my eyes open.

There he was—Jonathan Taylor, young and drop-dead gorgeous.

Sharp brows, bright eyes, high cheekbones, lips pursed with worry.

Twenty-year-old Jonathan.

He rocked a crisp white shirt, clutching a vibrant bunch of roses, leaning in close.

My old room surrounded us, with that familiar carved vanity mirror showing a face that was mine but way too young—no wrinkles, no gray, just smooth skin and clear eyes.

Wasn't I… dead?

"You okay? Nightmare or something?" Jonathan reached for my forehead.

I jerked back like he'd shocked me.

His hand hung in the air, a flash of hurt crossing his face.

"Isabella?" His voice was gentle, tinged with worry.

I locked eyes with him, his young face blurring into the memory of him at sixty, shoving divorce papers at me with that same cool stare.

"The kids are grown, got their own lives," he'd said. "Laura's been by my side for ten years.

"She deserves something real.

"Let's call it quits. You keep the house, and I'll send you some cash every month."

He'd said it like he was settling a tab, not caring that I was half-paralyzed from a stroke, worn out from years of slaving away.

Those pathetic checks he promised? Barely enough to cover my prescriptions.

Now, I looked at him and let out a sharp laugh.

"Isabella, what's so funny?" Jonathan's voice faltered, thrown off.

I didn't say a word. I stood, marched right up to him, and yanked the roses from his arms.

One by one, I tore the petals to bits, tossing them in the trash can.

"Isabella, what the hell's wrong with you?" Jonathan's face twisted as he grabbed my wrist, his grip tight—just like every time he'd lost his cool in my memories.

I looked up at him, cool as ice. "Who said I'd ever marry you?"

The room went dead quiet.

His jaw dropped, like he couldn't believe his ears. "What'd you just say?"

No way he thought he'd heard right.

I'd always been his shadow, trailing after him since we were kids.

Everyone knew I was head over heels for Jonathan.

For him, I shot down every guy who tried his luck.

For him, I passed up a college scholarship down south just to be his wife sooner.

For him, I spent a lifetime keeping his world spinning.