My wife Catherine despised our arranged marriage. On the day she tried to run away with her lover, a car crash left her paralyzed. I found her, saved her, and cared for her unquestioningly for the rest of our lives. We even raised three children together.
I assumed we'd 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 weren't for you, she spat, voice trembling with hatred, Alexander 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 Mom's love for a lifetime. Be grateful, said my eldest.
Uncle Alexander has no one. He'd be miserable in a home, my second son pleaded.
Mom doesn't 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.
"Father, I want a divorce."
Across the grand living room, a younger, vibrant Catherine 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 man's face was a mask of fury. "Nonsense!" he barked.
Seeing my father-in-law, Mr. Johnson, 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 hadn't called him in decades, when Catherine'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 Alexander 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. Johnson, but he controlled his anger, turning to me with an apologetic look. "Catherine is young and foolish, William. 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.
Catherine'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. William, 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, Catherine had come to Mr. Johnson to demand a divorce so she could be with Alexander. My father-in-law, knowing my loyalty and my quiet, lifelong adoration for his daughter, refused. He had seen how I'd 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 Alexander. 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 Alexander to be with her. To the world, she was the tragic heroine, and Alexander 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 father's feudal mindset, and the villain who had destroyed her one chance at happiness.