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I assumed wed have a quiet, if not passionate, life. I never imagined she resented me every one of those years. As we grew old, she brought her lover home to live with us.
If it werent for you, she spat, voice trembling with hatred, Andrea would have saved me. You ruined my life and my true love. I never want to see you again!
My children echoed her, urging me into a nursing home.
You had Moms love for a lifetime. Be grateful, said my eldest.
Uncle Andrea has no one. Hed be miserable in a home, my second son pleaded.
Mom doesnt have much time left, whispered my daughter. Let her be happy.
They cast me aside, spending my pension while playing family with him. Rage and grief overwhelmed me. A stroke left me paralyzed, trapped. When the flood came, I drowned alone.
When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day my wife ran away.
If her greatest regret was never being with him, this time I would grant her wish.
1
"Father, I want a divorce."
Across the grand living room, a younger, vibrant Eleanor stood defiantly before her father. The suffocating feeling of floodwater filling my lungs still lingered, a phantom pressure in my chest.
I looked around at the familiar yet strangely distant room, the heavy velvet curtains, the polished mahogany table. It took me a moment to understand. I was reborn.
On the ornate chair at the head of the room, the old mans face was a mask of fury. "Nonsense!" he barked.
Seeing my father-in-law, Mr. Ashford, alive again after so many years, brought a sting to my eyes. I was an orphan, a beggar he had found on the street and brought into his home. In an era where most struggled for a single meal, he gave me new clothes and full bowls of rice. He taught me to read, sent me to school, and personally mentored me in his business. When I came of age, he gave me a home, a name, and his daughter's hand in marriage.
He was more of a father to me than anyone. I owed him everything.
My lips parted, about to voice the name I hadnt called him in decades, when Eleanor's sharp voice cut through the air.
"Father, I have never once disobeyed you. You told me to marry this this coarse, uneducated boy you took in, and I did," she declared, her voice dripping with disdain. "But I don't love him. He can't discuss literature or philosophy. He's vulgar. We have nothing in common."
Her gaze softened as she continued. "Only Andrea understands me. He loves me, he respects me. Only with him do I feel alive, truly in love. Mother is gone. Can you really be so cruel as to watch me waste my life with a man I despise?"
Her accusations sent a tremor through Mr. Ashford, but he controlled his anger, turning to me with an apologetic look. "Eleanor is young and foolish, Jacob. Don't pay any mind to her words."
I gave a bitter smile. Young? Our three children were already old enough to run around the yard. But perhaps in a father's eyes, a daughter never truly grows up.
Eleanor's cold, merciless gaze shifted to me. "My father says he raised you to take care of me. But I have hands and feet. I have a staff of servants. I don't need you."
She took a step closer. "I've wanted to say this to you for a long time. I have never loved you. Not now, not ever. Jacob, I've made myself perfectly clear. Are you really going to shamelessly cling to this family where you don't belong?"
Those familiar words were a key, unlocking a vault of memories I had buried deep. I glanced at the calendar on the wall, my head spinning.
In my last life, on this exact day, Eleanor had come to Mr. Ashford to demand a divorce so she could be with Andrea. My father-in-law, knowing my loyalty and my quiet, lifelong adoration for his daughter, refused. He had seen how Id cared for her, and in his eyes, I was the only man for the job.
When her father said no, she turned on me. Back then, I believed himthat she was just being spoiled and childish. I couldn't bear to leave her or our children, so I refused as well.
In a fit of rage, she tried to run away with Andrea. They didn't get far. A car crash crushed her legs, leaving her crippled for life.
I put aside my hurt and devoted myself to her.
She, however, blamed me for her fate. She resented me for not letting her go, for "trapping" her. She cursed me for saving her, for caring for her, accusing me of using my service as a weapon to hold her captive, blocking the only path for Andrea to be with her. To the world, she was the tragic heroine, and Andrea was her lost love.
And me? Her husband, who served her hand and foot for a lifetime? I was a relic of a bygone era, a symbol of her fathers feudal mindset, and the villain who had destroyed her one chance at happiness.
Fine. This time, I would step aside. This time, I would grant her the love story she so desperately wanted.
Eleanor and her father were still arguing.
I sighed softly and looked at the old man. "Sir," I said, my voice steady. "Her heart is set. Let her have her way."
2
Though Eleanor and I had raised three children, we hadnt gotten a proper marriage license for over a decade. Back then, all it took was her fathers approval and a written marriage contract. Annulling it was simple. All we needed was his nod.
"Even after all this, you still won't agree, you spineless" Eleanors tirade faltered as my words finally registered. She stopped mid-insult.
She shot me a surprised look, the hostility in her eyes lessening just a fraction. "Good, you've finally come to your senses," she said, her tone shifting. "If you behave, I might consider your years of service to this family and make sure you don't starve."
Her words were as arrogant as ever. Just like on our wedding day, when she stood beside me, a beautiful, untouchable statue of ice. The birth of our children had thawed her slightly; we lived as courteous strangers, sharing a roof but not a life.
Then, six months ago, Andrea had arrived. Hired as a tutor for the children, he immediately caught Eleanor's eye.
From that moment on, she despised my lack of formal education. I couldn't discuss foreign literature with her; all I was good for was fetching her tea and massaging her tired shoulders. I studied cuisines from around the world to please her palate; she complained I smelled of kitchen grease. I spent a fortune importing a rare cologne from France just to see her smile.
She took it from me and gave it to Andrea. "Things of this quality," she'd said, "are meant for cultured, educated men."
Andrea would fold a simple paper flower, hand it to her with a flourish, and murmur, "A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman." She would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl.
I planted an entire garden of roses for her, a breathtaking sea of color under the sun. She mocked me for it, calling me a pathetic, posturing clown.
In her eyes, I could do nothing right. Even the sound of my breathing grated on her. She said I was loud as an ox and belonged in a barn, not a house.
She saw me through a lens of prejudice. Andrea was her perfect man.
She was blind to the truth. No one is perfect. The more perfect someone seems, the more likely they are a carefully crafted trap.
In my last life, during my time in that desolate nursing home, I was consumed by a need for answers. I'd spent my last ounce of energy investigating Andrea and found a mountain of evidence. He was a grifter, a con man who left a trail of financial ruin wherever he went. But by then, it was too late. When I showed the proof to my family, they accused me of slander.
The memories still stung, a fresh wave of injustice washing over me.
Mr. Ashford's voice pulled me back to the present. "Jacob, don't be hasty. Think of your three children. What will happen to them if you two separate?"
A triumphant smile finally broke across Eleanors face. "Don't worry, Father. The children are very sensible. They feel the same way I do. They adore Andrea."
She leaned forward. "If you don't believe me, I'll call them in. They can tell you themselves."
A few moments later, the children entered, but they weren't alone. The elegant, scholarly Andrea was with them.
Mr. Ashford erupted. "Get out! This is a private family matter. You have no place here, outsider!"
Before he could continue, our eldest son, Daniel, stepped in front of Andrea. "Uncle Andrea isn't an outsider."
Our second son, Leo, sniffled. "Grandpa, please, we wanted him to come. Don't make him leave."
And our youngest, Lily, nestled in Andrea's arms, pointed a tiny finger at me. "I don't want that dirty beggar!" she chirped. "I want Uncle Andrea to be our daddy."
Even knowing this was coming, seeing it with my own eyesthe children I had raised and protected siding with a stranger, shaming their own fatherwas a bitter pill to swallow.
I looked at them, and they instinctively flinched, hiding the candy in their hands behind their backs.
So that was it. Andrea indulged their every whim. They constantly complained of toothaches, so I was strict about sugar. Because of me, not one of them had a single cavity. But when they were older, they wrote bitter diary entries about my "tyranny."
Its all genetic anyway. My friend eats candy for breakfast and never brushes her teeth, and shes fine. My dad never bought us sweets, and if he caught us not brushing, wed get a spanking. The pain of a toxic childhood
Thinking of this, I looked away. I wouldn't interfere again.
Andrea shot me a smug glance, then gently chided the children. "You mustn't be rude to your elders. If you do that again, Uncle won't like you anymore."
They immediately fell silent, chastened.
Eleanor raised an eyebrow at her father. "You see? Jacob only knows how to use brute force. The children are afraid of him. Andrea uses modern, scientific methods. He is far better suited to be their father."
Mr. Ashford, who had been so vehemently opposed, now fell silent.
Eleanor turned her gaze back to me. "Jacob, you were brought into this family. After the divorce, the children will stay with me. Do you have any objections?"
The children stared at me, their eyes wide with alarm, terrified I might try to take them.
I smiled, a hollow, empty thing. "That's perfectly reasonable," I said, nodding. "I have no objections."
Defeated, Mr. Ashford could only agree.
When the marriage contract was brought out, he hesitated one last time. He looked at his daughter, his voice grave. "This contract is the only thing binding you. Once it's torn, it's over. Are you absolutely sure you won't regret this?"
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