Chapter 1
At midnight, someone in the Northbridge University alumni group chat suddenly tossed out a trending question. [If you could turn back time, what year would you want to return to?]
Rachel Summers, the department's belle who had been silent for five years, suddenly popped up. [That freezing winter of my junior year.]
A few seconds later, she sent another message. [And to be with Edward Lane again.]
The chat exploded instantly.
Back in the day, Edward and Rachel were the golden couple of Northbridge University. He was the aloof genius, and she was the dazzling belle of their department. Their love was intense and passionate.
But sadly, they went their separate ways when she went abroad.
Everyone was convinced that Edward still loved her.
Even me.
I turned my head to look at Edward, who was sleeping beside me. The once untouchable genius was now my husband.
He was self-disciplined, meticulously considerate, and he didn't love me.
In my previous life, I wasted away in depression over this stone-hearted man, and even in death, I believed he loved Rachel.
Now that I've been given another chance at life, I've made up my mind to keep my distance from him.
I quietly got up, placed the signed divorce agreement on the nightstand, and pulled my suitcase toward the door.
Suddenly, a pair of scorching hands wrapped tightly around my waist from behind.
He clung to me, his tears soaking my collarbone, his voice hoarse and raw with desperation. "Honey, where are you going? Why do you want to divorce me?
"Please, don't leave me, okay?"
*****
"Edward, did you have a nightmare?" I asked.
Edward's voice changed in an instant, one moment raw and desperate, the next back to his usual cool indifference.
He let go of my waist like he'd been burned.
I turned around and saw his back to me, his shoulder blades drawn tight with tension.
The dim bedside lamp cast a yellow glow on his profile, and he quickly wiped away the fresh tear with the back of his hand. "I was having a nightmare. I wasn't really awake yet."
He bent down, picked up the crumpled divorce agreement, and smoothed out the creases with slow, almost mechanical movements, speaking in a businesslike tone. "Sorry I woke you."
He folded the paper again and again, then tossed it precisely into the trash can by the bed.
His movements were crisp and efficient, as if he were tossing away a used tissue rather than a divorce agreement. "The Lane family can't afford the embarrassment.
"No one's ever gotten divorced in our family.
"If you're bored, go out and enjoy yourself tomorrow."
He said calmly, then turned and walked into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
The sound of running water soon filled the room.
I stood there, the last trace of warmth on my collarbone already faded to cold.
He was the same in my previous life.
Sometimes, he'd lose control in the dead of night, but by morning, he'd pretend nothing ever happened, hiding everything behind that impeccable composure of his.
For five whole years, I let myself be moved by those rare moments when he slipped.
My phone screen lit up in the darkness.
There was a new message in the alumni group chat.
I swiped open the chat and saw Rachel had posted a photo. A yellowed movie ticket stub, its edges worn and the print faded, but you could still tell it was from an arthouse film that played during our junior year's winter.
She added a caption. [Some memories belong only to you, even after five winters, they still stay warm.]
There was a string of replies below.
Someone said: [Aw, Rachel, you still kept this? My heart aches for you.]
Another echoed: [Some people are impossible to forget.]
Someone else chimed in: [@Rachel, you deserve better.]
I exited the chat and bent down to pick up the coats by the bed.
My fingers brushed against the professional journal he always kept on his nightstand, and I accidentally knocked it askew. Something slid out from between the pages and dropped onto the carpet.
I picked it up.
It was a custom bookmark crafted from vintage kraft paper, its edges trimmed with gold foil.
It matched the movie ticket stub in Rachel's photo, same design, same font, same layout.
They were clearly a set.
The sound of running water from the bathroom stopped.
The door opened.
Edward stepped out in his bathrobe, saw me crouched on the floor, and paused when he noticed the bookmark in my hand. "That's a freebie from the publisher."
His tone was so flat, it was like he was reading out a tracking number.
I nodded, put the bookmark back in the book, and stood up.
I didn't press him or question it.
I didn't bother to look at him again.
I grabbed my canvas bag and tossed my toiletries in.
Toothbrush, face wash, and the body lotion that was almost gone.
"What are you doing?" Edward asked.
"I'm heading back to my family's place," I replied.
"At three in the morning?"
"Yeah."
He was silent for a couple of seconds. "Leave your suitcase. I'll get the driver to take you."
"No, thanks."