Chapter 1
In my past life, my successful husband, Grant Thorne, slid divorce papers across the table the very night he learned his first love was single again.
I refused to sign. Twenty-plus years of marriage—I thought I could still win him back.
Then she remarried. He fell apart, tumbled down the office staircase, and lost the use of his legs from the waist down.
I fed him, bathed him, turned him in bed, and cared for him for ten years.
On his deathbed, he grabbed my hand, his eyes full of regret.
"Serena, the greatest regret of my life is not marrying Cordelia when I had the chance."
My son, Lance Thorne, blamed me for it all. Said I'd trapped his father. Then he put me in the cheapest nursing home he could find.
The night I died in those moldy sheets, the wind howled outside, and no one even came to claim my body.
When I opened my eyes again, Grant was sitting right across from me, his tone steady as he delivered the news.
"Cordelia is divorced. Let's end this."
I pushed the pen toward him and smiled.
"Fine. This time, you're free."
*****
"Serena, Cordelia is divorced. Let's end this."
Grant slid the divorce papers across the table just as I set down the steamed leopard coral grouper, the back of my hand still marked with the red sting of hot oil splatter.
The night I came back to life happened to be his victory dinner after landing a major overseas deal.
Lance arrived late with his wife Fiona, the excitement still fresh on his face.
He greeted Grant first, rattling off compliments—"Dad, your instincts were spot on," "That was a brilliant move."
When he got to me, all he said was, "Is dinner ready?"
I had been cooking since noon. The chicken broth had simmered for four hours. Cold dishes and hot plates filled the entire table. I hadn't even taken off my apron.
In my past life, that tone used to cut.
This time around, my ears rang for a second—then went quiet.
Grant looked up at me, his expression solemn, his tie perfectly straightened.
The clink of his fork against the porcelain rang through the room.
Lance froze for a beat. Then his eyes lit up.
Grant continued, his words slow but landing like stones.
"I've never been able to let her go all these years.
"Back when she married someone else, I didn't have what it took to keep her. Now she's alone again. I want to give both of us some closure.
"We're getting divorced."
Fiona kept her head down over her soup, not daring to speak.
But Lance jumped in right away.
"Mom, don't be so set in your ways. A person doesn't get many chances to fight for the one they've always carried in their heart.
"Dad's worked his whole life. It's rare for him to still want to take a shot at love. You shouldn't hold him back."
In my previous life, those words would have made me shake with rage. I would have grabbed those divorce papers and refused to let go.
I cried, I raged, I begged Lance, I pleaded with Grant.
I ground my dignity into dust, and all I got in return was their shared disgust.
Now, reliving the same scene, I couldn't even muster tears.
I opened the agreement and read it page by page.
Grant's hand tightened under the table—he must have expected an explosion.
I looked up, my voice even.
"Who gets the house?" I asked.
He paused for a second, clearly caught off guard.
"The south side penthouse goes to you. I keep the west side villa."
"And the company shares?" I continued.
"Fifteen hundred thousand dollars in cash settlement. The shares stay with me."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"When you started your business, the first capital came from me selling the pastry shop my mother left behind.
"Before the company went public, I did the books. I sat through client dinners. I stayed up nights organizing payroll for your first employees.
"Fifteen hundred thousand dollars? Who are you trying to brush off with that?"
Lance frowned.
"Mom, that's going too far. You've been a housewife. What right do you have to touch the company shares?"
I looked at him and suddenly remembered lying on that metal bed in the nursing home, desperate for a sip of water I couldn't reach.
Back then, he'd sounded so casual on the phone.
"Mom, the home has staff. You won't starve."
Remembering that moment, I snapped the agreement shut and slid it back across the table.
"Fifteen percent of the company shares. The south side penthouse and the east side commercial storefront also go to me.
"And don't use me as a cover story for the divorce. I'm not playing the gracious ex-wife for you."
Lance's face instantly darkened.
But Grant barely hesitated before nodding.
He agreed so quickly.
So quickly that it made me realize all over again just how much Cordelia outweighed everything else in his heart.
"Alright, whatever you want, I'll give it to you—as long as you sign," Grant said.
I pushed the black pen toward him.
"Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. The courthouse."
The next day, I showed up at the courthouse half an hour early.
Grant was already there, his hair neatly groomed, and he was wearing that woody cologne I used to hate.
It was Cordelia's favorite scent back when she was young.
We'd been married for twenty-seven years, and he'd never once worn it around me.
Some preferences were clear from the start.
The lawyer laid out the supplementary terms, explaining each one.
Lance sat to the side, scowling the entire time. Several times he started to speak, but Grant waved him down.
I knew what was eating at him.
In his eyes, his father was a titan of commerce, while his mother was just some relic who'd spent her life in the kitchen.
He'd forgotten the night he was born with a fever that wouldn't break, how I'd held him in the hospital corridor until dawn.
He'd forgotten that half the down payment on the apartment he lived in during his first two years of starting his business came from my family.
When it was time to sign, Grant's phone lit up.
The name "Cordelia" popped up on the screen.
His gaze softened, and even the corners of his lips relaxed.
In that instant, I almost laughed.
His desperation made my stubborn clinging in the past life seem utterly absurd.
The stamp came down, and the weight that had pressed on my chest for decades finally lifted.
As we walked out, Lance blocked my path.
"Happy now, Mom?
"Dad gave up the storefront just to compensate you. Don't start making trouble again."
I tucked the divorce certificate into my bag and didn't look back.
"Your father got what he wanted. I got what I wanted. From now on, separate roads."
He choked on his words, clearly not expecting such a clean break.
Even Grant fell silent for several seconds.
As he got into the car, he softened his tone, unusual for him.
"Serena, don't worry. Even divorced, I won't shortchange you."
I stopped and looked at the man I'd loved for most of my life.
"Grant, you already did all the shortchanging you're going to do."