Chapter 1
After being reborn, I found myself back on the second day after my husband became paralyzed, and this time, I laughed.
In my last life, I spent ten years taking care of Xavier, worked myself into a terminal illness, and in the end, he handed over his entire fortune to his first love.
This time, I dropped 1.5 thousand dollars to hire a caregiver. I patted Flora's hand and said, "Flora, Xavier's got a soft spot. If you treat him right, he'll never shortchange you."
Six months later, he begged me to sign the divorce papers, and he handed over half the assets without a fight.
With the cash in hand, I hopped on a flight to Solara Bay. Scrolling through their wedding post, I saw his first love and Flora tearing each other apart in the comments section.
I quietly typed: [Peace brings money. We're all family, aren't we?]
Then I blocked every single one of them.
Xavier Doherty could enjoy his so-called "true love".
*****
After being reborn, I found myself back on the second day after my husband became paralyzed. Staring at the ceiling, I burst out laughing.
The sharp smell of disinfectant stung my nose, but the resentment I'd bottled up for ten years finally exploded out with my laughter.
In my last life, I spent ten years taking care of Xavier, worked myself into a terminal illness, and when the blood I coughed up stained half the bed, he was busy handing the property deed to his first love, Eileen Brook.
"Elsie may not have accomplished much, but she worked hard. Give her ten thousand dollars. That should be enough for her to rent a small place," he said, like it was nothing.
I died in a four-square-meter basement. Even as I was dying, I heard the neighbors gossiping, "Mr. Doherty is so devoted. Even paralyzed, he still thinks about his first love. Not like his ex-wife, who disappeared in a flash."
Disappeared? I was squeezed dry, not even left with the strength to crawl.
"Elsie, Xavier was in a car accident last night and messed up his spine. The doctor says he might never walk again. You're his wife, so from now on, it's all on you to look after him," Helen Doherty said.
She shoved the wheelchair right in front of me, her face sour.
I stared at my husband lying in bed, eyes shut tight, brow furrowed, still clueless about what the rest of his life would look like.
But I knew. I'd be the one cleaning up after him, wiping him down day and night, while he just lay there playing on his phone.
Ten years, over three thousand days and nights, I dealt with all his crap, fed him, took care of everything. My hands were covered in calluses, my back so wrecked I could barely stand up. In the end, I got diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer.
And my husband, thanks to my care, got his hands moving again, got his legs working again.
The first thing he did once he could stand was run straight to his first love, Eileen.
He slapped a divorce agreement right in my face. "Elsie, you worked hard these ten years, but my heart's always belonged to Eileen.
"All the money in this house was earned by me, but I'll toss you ten thousand dollars for your retirement."
After the divorce, I ended up renting a four-square-meter basement. No money for treatment, so I just let the sickness finish me off.
I looked at my ice-cold, heartless husband lying there and couldn't help but laugh.
"Helen, my health's not great. I can't take care of him myself. I'm heading to the job center to hire a caregiver," I said.
Helen's eyes nearly popped out. "What are you saying? He's your husband! If you don't look after him, who will?"
"That's exactly why I want to get a pro to take care of him. Can't let him be neglected, right?" I replied.
Her face turned bright red. "Elsie, what are you trying to say? My son's paralyzed and you just want to ditch him?"
"Helen, I'm not ditching him," I said, looking as innocent as possible. "I'm hiring a caregiver for him. It's what's best for him, isn't it? If you think a caregiver isn't good enough, maybe you could do it yourself? You're his mother, you'd definitely do better than me."
Helen instantly clammed up.
Like she'd ever actually take care of him. She couldn't even be bothered to show up at the hospital.
I ignored her and walked out of the hospital room, heading straight for the job center.
In my last life, I was laid up in the hospital for half a year, and I'd seen every type of caregiver out there.
I could tell exactly what each person needed most.
The job center was packed, but I spotted Flora Ellis right away.
She was in her forties, her curly hair perfectly styled, wearing a dress so faded it was almost white, with a small pearl brooch pinned to the collar. As her eyes scanned the job postings, a sharpness in her gaze flickered like the tip of a needle.
"Hello, looking for work?" I handed her a bottle of iced tea.
She accepted it but didn't drink, absentmindedly rubbing the label. "What kind of job?"
I said, "Take care of my bedridden husband. You will receive $1,500 a month, including meals and accommodation. No heavy work, just talk with him and keep him happy."
Flora's eyebrow twitched. "Happy?"
"Right," I leaned closer and lowered my voice. "My husband is soft-hearted. Treat him well, and his savings and house could end up yours one day."