After my rebirth, I cut off all contact with my childhood sweetheart. When he organized a class reunion, I stayed in bed claiming illness. He enrolled in the local medical university—I applied to study abroad. During Christmas, when he invited me to his family's reunion dinner, I took my parents on a vacation instead. When he transferred to the city where I worked, I immediately signed up for a closed-door research project. I ignored his calls and never replied to his messages. My priority was clear: avoid him at all costs. In my past life, I loved him for forty years—and endured forty years of his cold indifference. The night of the car crash, I shoved him out of harm's way. He landed safely. I didn't. I lay paralyzed, fighting for my life. He held his "first love" and wept, "I almost lost you!" On my deathbed, he was busy throwing her a birthday party. My daughter—the one I raised through sleepless nights and endless sacrifices—looked me in the eye and said, "Don't you feel guilty for tearing Dad and Aunt Lily apart all those years ago?" I died alone in that hospital room, abandoned and forgotten. I would never live that wretched life again. ...... The phone rang just as I was still clawing my way out of the nightmare of my past life. The shrill tone pierced my ears, making my head spin. The memory of the crash—the crushing metal, the searing pain—was etched into my bones. I nearly passed out from the agony. On instinct, I answered. Jack Harlan's voice crackled through, bright and energetic: "Emily, it's June 10th—graduation day! Should I throw a class reunion?" He kept talking, but inside me, a storm raged. I couldn't speak. My throat locked. Then I looked around. This was my bedroom—the one I'd had at eighteen. But hadn't I just died alone in a hospital bed? "Emily?" Jack snapped, irritation creeping in. "I'm talking to you. Are you coming to the reunion or not?" My heart hammered against my ribs. I cut him off sharply: "What's the date today?" A pause. Then, impatiently: "June 10th, 2024. What's wrong with you? You're acting weird." I stared at the wall clock. My lips curled into a slow, widening smile. Just as Jack's patience snapped, I said softly, "I won't be coming to your reunion... I'm sick." He muttered something about it being lame and hung up. I lay back, staring at the white ceiling. I pinched the soft skin of my arm—sharp pain jolted me awake. Then I laughed—freely, wildly—until tears streamed down my cheeks. This body was young. Eighteen. But it carried a soul weathered by decades of betrayal. I sat up and looked at my legs—whole, strong, unbroken. In my past life, I'd lost them saving Jack. And when I lay dying, paralyzed and helpless, he'd held Lily Monroe and sobbed, "I almost lost you!" When I begged him to stay with me in my final hours, he'd said he was busy. Too busy to say goodbye. Because he was celebrating Lily's birthday. I'd turned to my daughter, Sarah, desperate for comfort. She'd looked at me with cold disdain. "You ruined Dad's chance with Aunt Lily. Don't you feel ashamed? Just stay put. Don't drag him down. He deserves to be happy. What's wrong with that?" I'd never forget the crushing weight of those words. Shock. Rage. Grief. And finally—resignation. While I withered in a hospital bed, my daughter and husband were singing "Happy Birthday" to Lily in her cozy Omaha home. They were the real family. I was the ghost haunting the edges. My chest tightened. I couldn't breathe. After a long while, I gazed out the window at the moonlit Nebraska sky and forced a thin smile. In my past life, Jack had planned to confess his love to Lily at that very reunion. By accident—or fate—I'd brought his parents along, ruining his moment. Only on my deathbed did I learn he'd resented me for it all those years, convinced I'd sabotaged him on purpose. But now... I'd been given a second chance. I hadn't yet endured twenty-two years of silent cruelty. I hadn't sacrificed my body, my career, my dignity—only to be discarded like trash. This time, I would stay far, far away from Jack Harlan.