In My Past Life, I Gave Him Everything—In This One, I Gave Him Nothing

In the dim light of a second chance, I, Mei Lin, emerged from the ashes of my past life, determined to sever every thread that bound me to Ethan Jong. Reborn at the cusp of my ill-fated marriage, I vowed to rewrite my destiny. The first test came with the holiday season. When Ethan announced he wouldn’t return home, I seized the opportunity, packing my bags for the village alone, leaving behind the shadow of his indifference.

In my previous life, my world had crumbled under the weight of a loveless union. Married to Ethan mere days after forgoing university, I bore a child and became tethered to his aging parents while he ascended the military ranks, trailed by Lucy Snow and her daughter. Our children, once mine, drifted to him, and a friend’s photo revealed my son’s wedding to Lucy’s daughter, a union blessed by Ethan and Lucy’s warm smiles. My son’s pleas for divorce—“Dad suffered because of you; let him be with Lucy”—and my daughter-in-law’s rejection haunted me. Defiant to the end, I clung to my misery, dying of a heart attack after a bitter fight, my son’s retreating back my final regret. Now, with this rebirth, I would not repeat that cycle.

Clutching my acceptance letter from the Northwest Institute of Technology, tears brimmed but didn’t fall. I’d secretly altered my application, surprising my teacher. “Didn’t your fiancé stay at the university? How will he wait for you so far away?” he asked. I smiled brightly, “It’s the era of free love now. Childhood betrothals are feudal relics.” His approving pat bolstered my resolve as I wove through the crowd toward home.

In my past, I’d never attended university, my education sacrificed for Ethan’s family. Now, I hid the letter and cooked in the two-bedroom apartment Ethan’s job provided. As the food simmered, I circled my reporting date on the calendar, hope igniting within me. Freedom was near. Dinner ready, Ethan arrived—with Lucy Snow and her daughter, Yin Yen, in tow. Lucy’s sweet apology and red coat masked her intrusion as Yin Yen served food—none for me. Their chatter painted a perfect family, shattered when they spat out my salty dish. Lucy’s whisper, “Your wife doesn’t welcome me,” and Ethan’s soup-pouring frenzy fueled my resolve. Ignoring his frown, I cooked anew. “You did that on purpose,” he accused, confused. “If you don’t like it, they won’t come again,” he sighed. I nodded, plotting my escape.

The next day, I packed, intent on dissolving our betrothal in the village. Among my belongings, I found embroidered bedding—years of secret labor. At the pawn shop, it fetched 30 yuan, a modest start for university life. Back home, I marked another X on the calendar—19 days remained. Ethan returned late, the scent of white tea perfume betraying his dinner with Lucy. I cleaned silently, organizing my books to leave no trace.

A knock—Ethan, ever polite, waited outside my room. “I’m writing the marriage report. Is the 9th next month okay?” he asked—the same day we’d married before. “I’ll check with my family,” I replied, stalling. Alone, I leaned against the bed, relieved he’d accept the delay. With his status, family approval was a formality, but I owed the Jong family nothing more after a lifetime’s repayment.

Surprisingly, Ethan cooked breakfast—fried eggs and eight-treasure porridge, my favorites. “I’ll take leave and drive you back. It’s not safe alone,” he offered. Before I could refuse, Yin Yen burst in, diving into his arms. “Godfather, Mommy’s sick,” she said. Ethan rushed off with her, leaving me to chuckle bitterly. I marked another X—18 days.

In the village, I convinced the Leong elders to cancel the engagement, citing Ethan’s bright future and my unsuitability. Their sighs and reluctant agreement yielded a certificate, the betrothal tokens exchanged. “You’re our daughter now,” they said kindly. Staying half a month, I left with 200 yuan they’d slipped into my bag, tears streaming as I bought a train ticket.

Back at Ethan’s, I marked 15 Xs—4 days left. Entering, I found Lucy using my room, my belongings scattered. Ethan’s excuse—“her roof leaks”—and offer to share his room irked me. “Where are your books?” he asked, frowning at my sold texts. “No need after exams,” I lied. He nodded, oblivious to my plans.

That night, Lucy’s dance practice and Yin Yen’s bed-bouncing suffocated me. Fetching water, I met Mrs. Hu, who warned, “You’re too soft. Ethan’s using you as a shield for Lucy.” Her concern warmed me. Back inside, Lucy’s toiletries dominated the bathroom. Her shove and Yin Yen’s wail after I demanded an apology escalated tensions. Ethan’s pacifying words to Yin Yen and Lucy’s smirk fueled my exit to a hotel—21 yuan for three days.

At the hotel, I wrote Ethan a letter, acknowledging his past support but declaring our paths diverged. A knock revealed Ethan, disheveled. “I was worried,” he said, spotting the betrothal bracelet. “Mom must’ve given it to you. Keep it—we’re marrying soon,” he assumed. I countered with Lucy’s taunts and his hypocrisy. Staggering, he promised to file the report, leaving me cold.

With my teacher’s arranged ticket, I left, immersing myself in university life. Ethan’s monthly letters with 100 yuan pleaded his case, but I ignored them, supported by my teacher’s 50 yuan loans. His final letter admitted defeat, stopping after marrying Lucy under scandal. A year later, his “I’m sorry” revealed her scheme. I burned his letters, returning the money.

Joining the 2011 National Infrastructure Project, I dedicated my life to my country, free from Ethan’s shadow. His epilogue—regret, Lucy’s tyranny, Yin Yen’s tragic end—echoed hollowly. I had escaped, my horizon bright with purpose.