Reborn: No More Begging, We Play Our Own Games

After my rebirth, I agreed to my husbands idea of an open marriage. When my parents pressed about having children, Id shoulder all the blame, never exposing his desire to be child-free. Accidentally seeing him kiss his childhood friend goodbye while taking out the trash? Id pretend not to notice, turning to go back upstairs. Finding his childhood friends underwear beneath his pillow? Id casually wash them, dry them, and fold them neatly.

My friends called me a doormat, saying I was addicted to being a cuckold. His brothers all claimed I loved him, hopelessly so.

Another time, returning home, I saw the chaotic scene in the master bedroom, and considerately closed the door for him. I put on my headphones and started making dinner. When I turned around, he was standing at the doorway, I dont know when he got there, his handsome face clouded with fury.

Delia Jones, wheres your old pride?

I acted as if I hadnt heard him, turning back to stir-fry the vegetables. A bitter taste, however, lingered in my heart. Pride? I simply didnt want to repeat the tragedy of my previous life.

As the last dish C one of Ryans favorites C was placed on the table, Chloe Knight was just buttoning the last button of her shirt in front of the mirror. She turned, her face unable to hide a smug satisfaction and challenge.

Delia, I like this jacket. Can I have it?

I instinctively looked at the man by the table. For the past half hour, his face had been dark. He was the one who suggested an open marriage a year ago, yet now he was the one displeased. Sure enough, as soon as I agreed to give Chloe the jacket he'd given me, his expression grew even darker.

He violently kicked the table leg, sending soup spilling across the floor.

Get out!

Chloes face subtly changed. She took off the jacket. As she brushed past me, she murmured mockingly, watching me mop the floor.

Delia Jones, whats the difference between a woman like you and a doormat? I really dont know why Ryan married a doormat like you!

In my previous life, I had pondered that question too. Ryan was the eldest son of the Jones family, showered with attention and power since childhood. In contrast, the Davies family was just a small, independent household. In my past life, until my dying breath, I agonized over whether Ryan loved me, and why he married me. If he loved me, why did he treat me that way?

Having died once, I no longer agonized, nor did I care. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as the tragedy of the previous life wasnt repeated.

The moment Chloe stepped out, Ryan swept all the dishes off the table. A soup bowl shattered by my feet, the hot liquid splashing onto my calf. A burning pain spread all the way to my heart, making me gasp. Yet, even then, I didnt lose my temper. I limped over to get a broom and started cleaning the floor.

Behind me, Ryan roared. Delia Jones, do you even see how pathetic you are right now? Wheres your old pride? I know I wronged you, but you dont have to disgust me like this!

I paused, turning back, my eyes numb to indifference. Isnt this what you wanted?

The mans eyes were bloodshot. He took a deep breath and said, Delia Jones, youre really something!

Fine, if youre so capable, then be a coward for the rest of your life!

With that, he snatched his jacket and slammed the door behind him. I instinctively wanted to chase after him. But then I thought, there was no need. Every time we argued, Ryan would confide in Chloe. In my previous life, I had witnessed him holding Chloe in his arms countless times. I would cry, become hysterical, and lash out. All I got in return was a powerful slap across the face.

Chloe and I grew up together, best friends. You have no right to hit her!

I knelt, picking up the glass shards from the floor. My friend called, shouting angrily. Delia Jones, when are you finally divorcing Ryan? Chloe has already openly announced it on her social media!

I tapped to open the social media app. The first post was a photo of intertwined fingers. The wedding ring on the mans ring finger gleamed, pricking my eyeballs. I quietly watched for two seconds, then exited the photo and continued cleaning. Divorce? Impossible. Unless Ryan initiated it, I would never divorce him. In my previous life, I had already experienced the consequences of divorcing him; I didnt want to go through it again.

Ryan didn't return all night, and I slept soundly. I woke on time, brewed some soup, and went to the hospital to visit my mother. In the hospital, my mother put down the soup bowl, looking towards the door for the third time.

Delia, have you talked to Ryan about children?

Its not me nagging, but Ryan is almost thirty; its time to have a child

I was peeling an apple. At her words, the knife slipped, and a drop of blood welled up on my fingertip. The sharp sting brought me back to reality, and I said, without blushing or a quickened heartbeat, Mom, Im not in a hurry.

Is it you whos not in a hurry, or is it Ryan who doesnt want one?

A mother knows her daughter best. My mother coughed excitedly, and the entire bed began to shake violently. Delia, tell me the truth, are those photos online real? Whats really going on between you and Ryan?

I quickly pressed the call button for the nurse, swiftly helping my mother catch her breath. Before losing consciousness, my mother gripped my arm, gasping.

Delia, if Ryan doesnt treat you well, how am I supposed to explain it to your father when Im gone!

The doctor arrived in time. After examination, it was just a brief fainting spell caused by extreme emotion. The doctor patted my shoulder.

The patients condition is improving day by day, dont worry.

I forced a bitter smile. When I reached a secluded spot, the tears I had been holding back finally streamed down, as if they could melt the ground. My mothers convulsive state on the bed just now was so similar to how she was before she passed away in my previous life.

In my previous life, after discovering Ryan and Chloe's ambiguous relationship, I insisted on a divorce. Under Ryans coercion, I left with nothing. For my mothers health, I concealed these matters. I worked eight part-time jobs daily to save up for my mothers medical expenses. When hungry, I ate steamed buns soaked in water; when thirsty, I drank tap water from public restrooms. In just one month, I lost twenty pounds. Several times, I almost got into a car accident while delivering goods due to low blood sugar.

Just as I finally saved up a million dollars, my mother suddenly had a heart attack and was rushed to the ER. It turned out, my mother hadn't seen Ryan for too long and called him to check in. Unexpectedly, Chloe answered the phone. Not only did she reveal the truth about the divorce, but she also sent my mother photos of me working various jobs, groveling for medical expenses. Along with high-definition, uncensored videos of her and Ryan. Watching the surveillance footage of my mother vomiting blood on the spot and convulsing, I felt a pain like a knife slicing through me.

The doctors snatched my mother from the jaws of death, but also delivered devastating news. Within three days, I had to raise one point five million for the surgery. Otherwise, my mothers outcome would be unimaginable.

I called former friends, bosses, relatives, pleading with them. Some stammered. Sorry, Delia, Mr. Jones said that anyone who dares to help you is making an enemy of the entire Jones family.

Others immediately cursed me out. No money, even if I had money, I wouldnt lend it to you! Dont call me again, if you drag me down, Ill never forgive you!

On the third day, I begged Ryan. The haughtiness from the day of our divorce, when I walked away without a backward glance, was completely gone, replaced only by my kneeling legs and an utterly hoarse plea. Ryan looked down at me, satisfied.

I can save your mother, but on one condition.

Marry me again.

The moment my heart died, and I agreed to this condition, Ryan immediately arranged for the nations top medical team to create a detailed treatment plan for my mother. He invited the worlds most authoritative expert to perform her surgery.

Just when I thought everything was ready, and my mother would finally live a long life, on the day of the surgery, the expert suddenly disappeared. My mother had already been anesthetized, lying on the operating table, her life hanging by a thread. I called Ryan ninety-nine times; all went unanswered. On the last call, he finally picked up. I was crouched on the floor, crying so hard I almost vomited.

Ryan, where did you take the doctor? My mom is really fading fast. If she doesnt get surgery, shell die! Im begging you, save Mom! Shes the only family I have left!

After a long silence, Chloes voice came from the other end of the line. Ryan, who are you talking to? My heart plummeted, all my pleas turning into a joke. Ryan immediately hung up.

At the same time, the hospital finally urgently transferred a doctor from another hospital who could take over the surgery. Unfortunately, it was still too late. In her last moments, my mother gripped my hand, vomiting blood, her body trembling violently.

Delia dont cry Mom will always watch over you from heaven

Moms little Delia you must be happy

I held my mothers urn, walking like a zombie, aimlessly through the deep winter streets. As I took a taxi to the cemetery, my phone pushed a trending news alert.

#Chloe Knight in Car Accident, Mr. Jones Sheds Tears of Concern#

The string of words pricked my eyes like needles. I clicked into the page, staring intensely at the expert bandaging Chloes arm. My hands trembled, unable to hold the urn steady. Just because Chloe had a scraped arm, Ryan took away the expert, personally cutting off my mothers chance at life!

I stood in the freezing snow, laughing hysterically, tears covering my pale face. Reborn into this life, I dared not gamble, nor would I. In this life, all I wanted was for my mother to be safe and sound. Everything else was irrelevant.

I slowly stood up, wiping away the tears welling in my eyes. Back in the hospital room, my mother had already woken up. I held her hand tightly, my face calm.

Mom, its really me who doesnt want children. It has nothing to do with Ryan nothing.

Those photos online are just rumors and fabrications. Dont believe them. Ryan and I our relationship is very good.

After comforting my mother and returning home, it was already eight in the evening. Ryan, unusually, was home before me. He reeked of alcohol, lying on the sofa, muttering something. I habitually went into the kitchen to make him a bowl of hangover soup. As I blew on it to cool it before feeding him, he suddenly cupped my face. His hazy, drunken state reminded me of how, in my previous life, he had called out Chloe's name while he was with me.

I, who never suffered from insomnia, spent the entire night awake, checking his phone for the first time. Those explicit photos and videos were like countless sharp knives, carving through my heart, leaving it raw and bleeding.

Delia Jones

The unexpected name made me freeze. The next second, I was pinned to the sofa by Ryan. His drunken eyes gleamed frightfully, as if they could see through everything I was thinking.

Delia Jones. He spoke again, his voice carrying a subtle hint of complaint. Do you really still love me? I somehow feel like you dont care about me as much as you used to

Just as I didnt know how to answer, Ryan buried his face in my ear, his voice a whisper, but remarkably firm. No, you cant not love me. You just care about me too much, which is why youve become like this.

My heart felt like a spilled spice cabinet, complex and chaotic. Only one thing was clear. The Delia Jones who loved Ryan had long since died.

The next morning, Ryan immediately forgot what he said while drunk, spending a long time alone in the attic. As I just finished setting breakfast on the table, he rushed down the stairs, fire blazing in his voice.

Delia Jones, where are those paintings?

I paused, feigning ignorance. What paintings?

At my words, his angry, somewhat contorted face was inches from mine. Of course, its the paintings your father left in the attic! Besides you, who would touch that rubbish!

The last two words slammed heavily into my battered heart. A hint of sarcasm flickered in my eyes. In his eyes, those paintings were indeed rubbish. In Chloes eyes, this rubbish was enough to gain her significant recognition in the art world.

In my previous life, my mother had barely been buried when Chloe, using my fathers paintings, held a solo exhibition, her popularity soaring, earning her the title of a genius calligrapher. I instantly recognized the paintings in the livestream C the ones that had accompanied me day and night, giving me reason to carry on. Enraged, I took a taxi to the exhibition and caused a huge scene.

When reporters asked Ryan if the paintings were Chloes work, he unhesitatingly nodded. I saw Chloe create them with my own eyes.

As for my ex-wife, he looked at me, a fleeting hesitation in his eyes, replaced by complete ruthlessness. Its just because shes resentful after our divorce and is maliciously seeking revenge, trying to ruin my best friend.

Overnight, I was slammed on social media. Every day, people would throw dog blood at my rental door. Some even found my parents graves, kicking and spitting on their tombstones. In despair, I lost the will to live and swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. But Ryan had me rushed to the hospital and revived. His eyes red, he desperately clutched my hand.

Delia, lets stop fighting. Never again.

I nodded. As he left the hospital to buy my favorite peach crisps, I jumped from the top floor, landing right in front of him.

In this life, I not only had to protect my mother, but also my fathers legacy. I said, expressionless, I already threw away those paintings.

Ryans eyes widened. Are you crazy? Who told you to throw them away? Go get them back immediately! Chloe needs them urgently!

But no matter how anxious he became, I maintained an unconcerned demeanor. Watching his furious retreating figure, I let out a long breath, and the heavy stone that had been weighing on my heart finally fell.

As usual, I prepared dinner and went to the hospital to visit my mother. On the way, a trending livestream with over a hundred million views caught my eye.

#Chloe Knight, Calligraphy Genius#

This headline hit me unprepared. I trembled as I clicked into the livestream. When I saw my fathers paintings hanging in the main exhibition area, with Chloes name attached, I felt as if plunged into an ice cellar, as if I had returned to that long, snowy night when my mother died in my previous life.

I frantically called Ryan while rushing to the hospital. Pushing open the door, my mother lay peacefully in her hospital bed, knitting a hat for the child I would never have. Seeing my breathless face, my mothers expression subtly changed.

Whats wrong? Did something happen?

I suppressed the fear and unease in my heart, forcing a terribly strained smile, and shook my head. I took my mothers phone and blocked or uninstalled all apps that could potentially expose her to news about my fathers paintings. Only then did I feel relieved enough to push my mother for a stroll outside the hospital.

Midway, I took a phone call. When I returned, my mother had suddenly disappeared. At the same time, a nurses shriek echoed through the hospital lobby.

Doctor! Quick, help lift her! A patient here is vomiting blood and has collapsed!

I pushed my way through the crowd, and a scene identical to my previous life crashed into my eyes. My mother was on the ground, limbs convulsing, vomiting blood. Above her head, Chloes exhibition livestream played prominently.

Mom!

Outside the operating room, I knelt on the ground, my bloodied hands pressed together, pleading with Death not to take my mother. After a long while, the doctor emerged from the operating room and shook his head. My condolences.

The world spun, and I collapsed to the ground, my face ashen. As I walked out of the hospital entrance, holding my mothers urn, Chloes exhibition had concluded perfectly. Ryan stood by her side, like a perfect couple, utterly matched.

I felt no hatred, no anger. Only a numb despair, an emptiness deeper than death. It seemed, even given another chance at life, I couldnt protect what I wanted to protect. Now I had nothing left to lose.

Ryan, goodbye. No, never again. My mothers dying wish for me to be happy echoed in my ears. I looked down and drafted a scheduled divorce text message.

Congratulations, you are finally free of me forever.

Then, carrying a simple suitcase, I vanished into the night.