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After twenty years of a marriage that felt like widowhood, I returned to the moment when Isaac and I had just gotten married. In my previous life, I had dreamed of a beautiful future together. But during our honeymoon, the adopted daughter of the Gallagher family died, and she became the woman everyone cherished, the one no one could forget. Countless nights, Isaac would grip my throat and demand, "Why wasn't it you who died?" My parents grew distant and cold, spending their days flipping through the photo album of the girl they had once taken in. Under this relentless emotional torment, I withered away and died. Given a second chance at life, I'd made my decision. I would become the one who died early, the one they could mourn instead of destroy.