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After my brother-in-law Renaldo Gomez passed away, my husband Timothy Gomez cradled Renaldo's son in his arms and awkwardly broached the subject of divorce. "For the sake of the Gomez family's only male heir, I have to step in for my brother and take proper care of Dolores and her son." I smiled, nodded, and calmly agreed to it. That was because in my previous life, when I was pregnant and couldn't cope with the shock of the divorce, I exposed his affair with Dolores Marsh to the whole world. In the end, overwhelmed by the public backlash, she jumped into the river with her son. Timothy spent many days and nights at her grave. When he came back, he started treating me with tenderness and care. I assumed he'd let go of his old flame and was committed to being a good husband and father. But on the day I went into labor, he shoved me—my belly huge with our child—into the icy river, where the temperature had plunged to twenty below zero. "It's all your fault, you bitch—you got Dolores killed. Now you and that little bastard in your belly can pay with your lives!"