The 99th Time We Fell Apart

“My first life ended alone in a hospital room, not with a bang, but with the quiet hum of an IV. My husband, Ethan Lester, had spent months tearing me down, flaunting an affair, and relentlessly pursuing a divorce. It was only after death, in an empty void, that the shattering truth unfolded: Ethan had pancreatic cancer, a secret burden he bore alone. His cruelty was a desperate, twisted act of love, a brutal attempt to push me away so I wouldn't witness his agonizing decline. He even took his own life after my funeral, convinced I'd find happiness with my ex. Then I woke up, alive, the familiar scent of our apartment filling my lungs. Across from me sat Ethan, divorce papers clutched in his hand, his eyes a mask of indifference. "This is the 99th time, Jocelyn," he said, "Sign them. My girlfriend is pregnant." In my past life, those words broke me. But this time, seeing the subtle tremor in his hand, the deep circles under his eyes, I knew I was facing the same painful charade. Why would he go to such lengths to push me away? What kind of love forces such a cruel deception? I picked up the papers, slowly, deliberately, and tore them in half. I knew his secret. And this time, I wouldn't let him die.”