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The day Victor Jennings and I signed the divorce papers, we died in a car accident. When I woke up, I was back on the day I found out I was pregnant. I clutched the ultrasound printout, marched straight into the clinic, and never once looked over my shoulder. In my previous life, I pushed out two kids for that jerk, only for him to raise my kids with Madeline Summers, his first love, playing house like one big happy family. After the abortion procedure, we signed the divorce papers and became total strangers. Eight years later, Victor was the golden boy of the investment world. He strutted into our class reunion with Madeline glued to his arm. Spotting me solo in the corner, he snorted, "Still pining, Charlotte? Sorry, babe, you're not even in my league anymore." I didn't say a word and just hugged my twin girls tighter. Victor's eyes went bloodshot. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice cracking, "You swore you'd love forever. So why'd you bail and pop out kids with some other guy?"