Twice Reborn, Twice Betrayed

After being reborn once, I still chose the wrong husband.

In my past life, my fianc James Foster broke both my legs for the fake heiress Claire Shaw and took away my position as principal dancer.

After my rebirth, I married his uncle, Henry Foster.

Before the principal dancer competition, someone broke my legs again.

Henry Foster didn't hesitate to offend the city's elite and powerful figures. He personally sent Claire Shaw to prison.

I mistakenly thought he truly loved me.

Until five years later, I overheard him talking with our son.

"Dad, back then you helped Claire destroy the evidence and gave her a new identity to escape punishment. You married Mom, that useless cripple, to cover it all up."

"Now that Claire is back, can you divorce Mom?"

Henry Foster was silent for a moment.

"No. Because of what I did for Claire back then, I already wronged your mother. I'll spend my lifetime making it up to her."

"Her status as my wife will never change."

I sat in my wheelchair, nails digging into my palms.

So the five years of marriage were an elaborate conspiracy.

So he had always loved Claire Shaw.

Even the son I nearly died giving birth to.

If that's the case, I don't want Henry Foster anymore.

And I don't want this son either.

The door pulled open. Henry Foster stood in the doorway.

The moment he saw me, his expression changed.

From calm to panicked.

Extremely quick, fleeting panic.

Then back to normal.

"Evelyn, what are you doing here?"

He crouched down and held my hand.

His fingers were as warm and dry as usual.

But I knew these hands had helped Claire Shaw destroy evidence five years ago.

Helped her get a new identity.

Helped her escape legal punishment.

Then married me.

Spent five years putting on an act.

"I came to call you for dinner."

My voice was very calm, even slightly cheerful.

"Have you been waiting long? The soup's gotten cold."

Henry Foster looked at me, seeming to judge how much I'd heard.

I met his gaze without flinching.

"Why are your eyes red?"

He suddenly asked.

"I was cutting onions in the kitchen earlier."

"Why were you cutting onions?"

"Didn't you say yesterday you wanted onion-braised ribeye steak? I figured I had nothing else to do anyway."

Henry Foster was silent for two seconds.

Then he stood up, walked behind me, and gripped the handles of my wheelchair.

"Let the housekeeper do this kind of thing from now on. Your legs aren't convenient. Don't busy yourself alone in the kitchen."

"Okay."

I responded.

Just like every time in the past five years.

Obedient, docile, never objecting.

Dinner was very quiet.

Henry Foster served me food several times, all light vegetables.

"Eat more. You've gotten thinner lately."

"Mm."

I finished the food.

Andy sat across from me, head down eating the whole time, occasionally glancing up at me before quickly looking away.

His eyes looked like his father's.

His lips too.

I used to think this was heaven's compensation to me.

Now I just felt they were strangers.

"Andy, how was school today?"

I asked him.

"It was okay."

He gave a perfunctory response.

"I'm full."

He jumped down from his chair and ran upstairs.

"This child is getting more and more undisciplined."

Henry Foster frowned.

"He's just a kid. Let him be."

I picked up my plate and finished the last bite of rice.

"Henry Foster."

"Mm?"

"Tomorrow I want to go to the hospital for a checkup."

He looked at me.

"Why do you suddenly want a checkup? Are your knees uncomfortable?"

"No, I just haven't been in a while. I'll pick up some medicine while I'm there."

"I'll go with you."

"No need. Don't you have a board meeting tomorrow? Just have Charles drive me. It's not a big deal."

He hesitated, then nodded.

"Then be careful. Call me when you're done with the examination."

"Okay."

I smiled at him.

Just like every time in the past five years.

Gentle, understanding, not needing him to worry.

He also smiled and reached out to hold my hand.

"Evelyn, marrying you is the greatest blessing of my life."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

I pulled my hand from his and picked up the plate from the table.

"I'm going to wash the dishes."

"Let the housekeeper wash---"

"It's fine. I feel like moving around today. You go upstairs first."

He glanced at me, then got up and went upstairs.

I pushed my wheelchair into the kitchen, put the plate in the sink, and turned on the faucet.

The water rushed and splashed.

I listened to the footsteps from upstairs gradually fade away.

Then I turned off the faucet.

I took out my phone and opened a conversation.

Someone I hadn't contacted in a long time.

I typed a message: "Sophia, that Swiss rehabilitation center you mentioned before---can I still go?"

I sent the message.

Then deleted the chat history and put my phone back in my pocket.

Henry Foster's voice came from upstairs.

"Evelyn, are you coming up? I drew you a bath."

I turned my wheelchair around to face the kitchen doorway.

"Coming."

My voice was gentle, with a smile.

Exactly the same as every evening in the past five years.

The next morning, before Henry Foster left, he kissed my forehead.

"Call me when you're done with the checkup."

"I will. Drive carefully."

"Mm."

He left.

Andy was also taken to school by the driver.

The entire villa became quiet.

I sat in the living room, listening to the pendulum clock ticking.

Then I pushed my wheelchair into the study.

Henry Foster's study was large, with bookshelves on three walls.

On one wall of shelves were my physical therapy records from all these years.

Each one arranged by date, with labels on the spines.

He had told me before that this made it convenient to review during follow-up visits.

Back then I thought he was thoughtful.

Now I realized he just had a habit of filing everything away.

Including me.

I opened his computer. The password was my birthday.

For five years, he'd always used this password.

I used to think that was love.

Now I just found it ironic.

Every piece of evidence he processed to help Claire Shaw escape---he probably used this computer.

I didn't touch those files.

I just logged into a browser, booked a plane ticket to New York for tomorrow afternoon.

Then logged out and cleared the browsing history.

I also checked my bank account balance.

When I married into the Foster family five years ago, I had no assets to my name.

Over these five years, Henry Foster deposited living expenses into my account every month.

I never asked the exact amount, and I never spent recklessly.

After saving for five years, it wasn't a small amount, but not huge either.

At least enough for me to start over in another city.

I transferred the money to a newly opened account.

That card was one I'd secretly opened last week when I went out for physical therapy and passed by a bank.

It wasn't linked to any notifications or tracking alerts. I had the card sent to my sister's address.

After finishing this, I closed the computer and pushed my wheelchair back to the living room.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

"Hello, Attorney Reed? It's me, Evelyn Reed."

"Miss Reed? It's been a while. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing major. I just wanted to consult about child custody issues in a divorce agreement."

The other end went quiet for a second.

"You're getting divorced?"

"Just consulting. Better safe than sorry. Don't tell anyone for now, including Mr. Foster."

"Understood."

"As for custody, I don't plan to seek it. But I want to add a clause to the agreement---the father must transfer all my personal assets to the child after the child reaches adulthood. Could you draft a plan for how to handle this?"

"Miss Reed, are you certain you don't want custody?"

"Certain."

"What about property division?"

"I don't want any of his assets. Some of the living expenses I've saved over five years have been transferred to another account. The rest I'll leave for Andy. As for marital property, I'm giving up all of it."

Attorney Reed was silent for a long time.

"Miss Reed, has something happened?"

I gripped my phone, looking at the osmanthus tree in the garden outside the window.

Last autumn, Henry Foster pushed me in my wheelchair under that tree.

He said he'd planted it for me.

Because I'd once said I loved the fragrance of osmanthus flowers.

Back then I leaned against his arm, feeling like the happiest woman in the world.

"No, I just want to leave myself an escape route. Please draft it for me. When it's ready, send it to my email. Don't call."

"Alright."

After hanging up, I deleted the call record.

Then I pushed my wheelchair to the kitchen and made spaghetti.

The exact same flavor as usual.

No more, no less.

In the afternoon, Charles drove me to the hospital.

After the checkup, I told Charles I wanted to go to the mall to buy something.

At the mall, I said the wheelchair was inconvenient and told him to wait in the car.

Then I exited through the mall's side door and hailed a taxi.

Went to the airport.

I didn't collect the ticket, just stood in the terminal for a while.

Looking at the electronic board showing flights coming and going.

Tomorrow at 2:10 PM, flying to New York.

I took out my phone and sent Attorney Reed a message.

"After you finish the agreement, keep it with you. Wait for my notice."

After sending it, I deleted the message.

Then I returned to the mall and bought a tie.

Navy blue with a subtle pattern.

Exactly the same style Henry Foster usually wore.

"Charles, let's go back."

"Yes, ma'am."

Charles glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"Ma'am, you look a bit pale. Were the examination results not ideal?"

"No, the doctor said I'm recovering well. I'm just a bit tired."

I leaned my head against the car window and closed my eyes.

My hand clutched that tie.

Just like every time I'd bought him a gift over the past five years.

Except this time, I knew he would never wear it.

At dinner, I gave Henry Foster the tie.

"I bought this for you. At the mall today, I thought this one would really suit you."

He took it and looked at it, then smiled.

"You still remembered I mentioned last week I wanted a new tie."

"Of course I remembered."

He stood up, walked over to me, and placed the tie on my lap.

"Help me put it on."

I picked up the tie. He lowered his head.

I wrapped the tie around the back of his neck, my fingers moving to tie a Windsor knot.

I'd done this action for five years.

Every morning before he left, I would help him with his tie.

Sometimes when he woke up late, I'd chase him to the garage to do it.

Andy used to say, "Mom is Dad's personal tie specialist."

"Evelyn."

He called my name softly.

"Mm?"

"Keep helping me with my tie every morning from now on, okay?"

He asked so gently, so earnestly.

For a moment, I almost believed we were just an ordinary loving couple, without those secrets, without Claire Shaw, without that car accident that broke both my legs.

But that thought only lasted a second.

"Sure."

I responded, my voice light and sweet.

He lowered his head and kissed my forehead.

Just like every time before he left over the past five years.

Except this time, I didn't close my eyes.

That evening, I prepared his bath, heated a glass of milk and placed it on his nightstand, and straightened his slippers.

I'd done these things for five years, flawlessly.

After he lay down, he held my hand.

"Evelyn, good night."

"Good night."

He fell asleep quickly.

His breathing steady, his expression relaxed.

I'd looked at this face for five years---from unfamiliar to familiar, from moved to dependent, from love to pain.

I gently pulled my hand away.

He didn't wake.

I pushed my wheelchair to the study.

Closed the door tightly. Didn't turn on the light. Only the blue glow from the computer screen fell on my face.

I opened a blank document and started typing.

"Divorce Agreement"---four words, bolded.

Then my fingers hovered above the keyboard.

A wind suddenly picked up outside. The osmanthus tree in the garden rustled.

Last year Henry Foster pushed me under that tree and picked a small branch of osmanthus flowers to place on my lap.

He said, "Evelyn, I'll take care of you for the rest of your life."

The osmanthus was very fragrant then. He spoke so earnestly.

I lowered my head and typed the first line in the document.

"The husband Henry Foster and the wife Evelyn Reed voluntarily dissolve their marriage."

I stopped there.

Light footsteps came from the hallway---Andy's slippers on the wooden floor.

He got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Passing the study, his footsteps paused for a second, then continued.

He didn't push the door open. He probably thought I just couldn't sleep.

I continued typing.

"Regarding child custody: The biological son, Andrew Foster, shall be raised by the husband. The wife voluntarily gives up custody rights. Regarding property division: The wife voluntarily gives up all marital property. The wife's personal premarital assets and independent post-marital savings shall be managed by the husband and transferred entirely to the biological son Andrew Foster upon his reaching adulthood."

I lifted my fingers from the keyboard.

Read it through from start to finish.

Very fair.

He wouldn't lose anything. I wanted nothing.

I wouldn't even fight him for the child.

Andy wanted Claire as his mother---let him have his wish.

I clicked print.

The printer hummed and spat out an A4 sheet.

I picked it up, blew on it, folded it, and put it in my bag.

Then returned to the bedroom.

Henry Foster was still sleeping, his position unchanged.

I lay back down and closed my eyes.

Tomorrow, everything would be different.

The next day was the weekend.

Henry Foster got up later than usual. I helped him with his tie and stood at the door watching him leave for the office.

After he left, I started packing.

Not luggage---traces.