After my husband's brother died, he took Miranda, his widowed sister-in-law in. He claimed that he would give me his love—but gave all his money to her.

He said that since she had no official status, being with him would make her the subject of gossip, so he took her with him and left me behind in the countryside.

Every month, he wrote me three love letters, yet sent all his allowance to her.

During the famine, she and her two children sat in a warm little house eating well, while my two children died before I could return from selling my blood.

One froze to death, the other starved to death.

Later, my husband finally came back, but he didn’t shed a single tear for the children. Instead, he told me he wanted a divorce.

"Nathalie, to apply for housing, we need a marriage certificate. It hasn’t been easy for Miranda all these years. I want to give her a home. Don’t worry, even if I marry her, I’ll still divorce her afterward—because you’re the only one I love."

In the end, I was devastated and threw myself into the icy river.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my children were about to die.

This time, I shook them awake, ready to go reclaim everything that was rightfully mine.

After I was reborn, I sold the cheap watch that Jerome Shaw had given me.

I exchanged it for some money, bought some grains, and went home to cook a meal, saving the two children who were on the brink of starvation.

Once the children had recovered a little, I took them with me to find Jerome.

After a long and bumpy journey, about half a day later, we arrived at the place where Jerome lived.

Only then did I realize he had been living less than 30 miles away from us. Yet, in the past three years, he had not come to see us even once.

I spoke to the guard, and he warmly led us to Jerome's place.

"Mr. and Mrs. Shaw! You have guests!" the guard shouted.

The door opened, and a familiar voice shouted, "Who is it?"

When we met face to face, both I and Miranda Jones froze. She was wearing a floral blouse and clean black pants.

I wore an 8-year-old short-sleeved shirt, one that had already faded from countless washes.

My hair was messy, and my skin had become rough from years of exposure to the sun.

She looked like a wealthy lady out of a magazine, while I looked like a plain, tired country bumpkin.

She clearly had not expected my arrival. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Just then, Jerome sensed something was wrong and came out.

The moment he saw me and the two children, his eyes widened. Panicked, he dragged us inside.

He did not bother to hide his irritation.

"Nathalie, didn't I tell you not to come here? Why did you bring the children too?"

I frowned. "Why did that man just now call her Mrs. Shaw?"

Jerome was stunned momentarily, a look of panic flashing across his face.

Just then, Miranda Jones—the one referred to as Mrs. Shaw—had just finished dealing with the people outside and entered the room. She quickly explained, "Nathalie, don't misunderstand. They're just joking around."

Jerome also nodded. "Yes, they like to joke. You know there's nothing going on between me and her."

Just as he finished speaking, a child, just over a meter tall, ran out from another room, hugging Jerome's waist affectionately.

"Daddy, why did you come out? Come back and keep playing Ludo with me!"

I immediately recognized the child—Miranda's son, Alex Shaw.

Three years ago, he had been small and skinny. Now, he was chubby and rosy-cheeked. Meanwhile, my children were nothing but skin and bones, helping me labor in the fields daily.

Forget Ludo—even chess was something they had never even heard of.

Miranda noticed the change in my expression and quickly pulled Alex away.

Jerome tried to butter me up by grabbing my hand.

"Nat, don't misunderstand. Alex calls me Dad because he doesn't remember my older brother. He was bullied at school, and I stood up for him once."

I said nothing.

He grew anxious and asked, "You're not jealous of a child, are you?"

I had already witnessed this scene in my previous life.

Eight years ago, Jerome's elder brother was severely injured in a mining explosion. Before dying, he entrusted his wife and two children to Jerome.

From that day onward, our two families became one.

At first, Miranda and her children lived with us in the countryside. Jerome always divided his income and gifts into two portions for the family back home. Life was tight, but we got along reasonably well.

Three years ago, Jerome was promoted and given a dormitory. He discussed with me that it was not proper for a widow like Miranda to stay in the village—it would invite gossip.

She did not have good social ties like I did, so he planned to take her with him. He said that he would bring me and our kids over after she and the children got settled in.

Naively, I agreed.

What I did not expect was that, along with Miranda, our living expenses also left.

Every month, he sent me letters saying he missed me, loved me, and missed the children, but not a single cent came with those letters.

I brought that up in a reply, but he ignored it completely—no response at all.

He just kept warning that inspections were strict lately, that he was newly appointed and under a lot of scrutiny, so we must not come looking for him.

In my past life, I thought he must be facing some hardship. I did not want to embarrass him, so after mentioning it twice, I never brought it up again.

I was blinded by his sweet words, believing that loving someone meant never causing them trouble and that I should not let trivial domestic issues waste his time.

Even in raising the children, I made everything revolve around their father.

When famine struck, I would rather sell my blood than pawn the keepsake he gave me as a token of our love.

Because of my stubbornness, my children froze and starved to death. When Jerome finally returned, the first thing he said was that he wanted a divorce.

He said Miranda had been through a lot with him, and he wanted to give her a home.

After our divorce, Miranda came to pick him up with the kids. Jerome held Alex in one arm and wrapped the other around Miranda's waist.

A family of four, full of warmth.

That was when I finally understood—when he said he had never betrayed me, he meant only physically.

All his friends recognized Miranda as Mrs. Shaw.

His salary went to her, she managed his life, and even his underwear was hand-washed by her.

After learning that, I was devastated and threw myself into the icy river.

As I was about to say something, Miranda's gentle voice came from behind, saying, "You two lovebirds should stop being so sweet. Come eat."

The food was simple cafeteria fare—plain bread and two dishes.

Yet, even that made my children's eyes glow with hunger. They devoured it like they were starving.

I had just calmed them down, telling them to eat slower, when I heard a sneer.

Miranda's eldest daughter, Caroline Shaw, muttered in Drakovian, "Eating like pigs. So disgusting."

I looked at her.

She thought I did not understand her and gave an even bigger smile as she said, "So filthy, so smelly, so gross."

I asked coldly, "Who are you calling that?"

Though I was from the countryside, I went to school as a child. A teacher taught me Drakovian back then.

Caroline had not expected me to understand—her face turned ghostly pale.

Even though the others did not understand what she said, they could tell it was not nice.

Miranda got angry. "Caroline! Enough with your broken Drakovian. Apologize to your aunt and take your food back to your room!"

Caroline grumbled a half-hearted apology and did not even bother taking the food—she was clearly sick of it and did not care for it anymore.

Miranda quickly apologized to me, saying Caroline had been learning Drakovian from tapes and was all over the place.

My daughter then asked innocently, "Mom, what's a tape?"

The table went quiet. Even Jerome, who had remained silent the whole time, looked deeply uncomfortable.

After dinner, Miranda took my children to bathe.

Jerome hesitated for a long time before finally speaking, "Nathalie, when are you going back?"

I looked at him. "I'm not going back."

"What?"

The basin in Miranda's hands fell to the floor with a loud crash. She quickly picked it up and hurried away.

Jerome looked worried as he watched her leave, then turned back to me.

"You're not going back? Nathalie, don't be so unreasonable. We agreed—"

I cut him off. "Jerome, there was a major flood in our hometown this year. All the food is gone. We even burned the door for firewood."

I got straight to the point. "I can't afford to feed these two kids anymore. If you want us to go back, are you planning to let us starve to our deaths?"

Jerome frowned. "Can't afford it? I've sent you so much money every month. How can you say you can't afford it?"

I was stunned by the words that came out of his mouth.

"When did you send me money?"

"I sent it every month!"

As soon as he said that, something seemed to occur to Jerome. He strode into the bathroom and called Miranda into the study.

Soon I heard her crying. When she came out, her eyes were red.

Jerome looked embarrassed. He explained to me, saying, "I gave all my salary to Miranda to manage. I told her to send you half every month. She…she must have forgotten."

"Forgotten?" I laughed in disbelief. "For one month—maybe I'd believe that. But three years? She didn't send a single cent in three years. Funny how she never forgets to eat."

My tone clearly displeased Jerome. "Nathalie, don't speak like that. Miranda manages everything in this family. It's not easy for her either. She told me the household expenses were much more than I imagined. She doesn't earn money, and those two kids are growing. She didn't pocket anything."

I could not hold it in anymore. "Her kids are growing, and mine aren't? I remember when Justin died—there was a big compensation payout. Why doesn't she use that compensation if she thinks the money isn't enough?"

Jerome snapped, "Don't be unreasonable! That money was what my brother earned with his life. How could you even think about touching it?"

That line completely silenced me.

For a moment, I was at a loss for how to react.

Maybe seeing my expression, Jerome came forward and hugged me. "Nathalie, I know you've suffered. Don't worry. From now onward, I'll personally send the money—no one else will touch it. Since you're already here, stay a few more days. I've really missed you and the kids."

He said he missed us, but at night, he still went to Miranda's room first to comfort her before returning to his own.

When he came back, he could not wait to undress me.

However, just as my clothes were halfway off, we heard a scream from outside.

We rushed out to find Alex lying on the ground crying, his face covered in blood.

My son stood nearby, at a complete loss.

Miranda ran over and picked the boy up. "Alex, what happened?"

Alex pointed at my son. "He hit me!"

Caroline, Alex's sister, immediately shoved my son. "You little bastard! How dare you hit my brother!"

Jerome's face turned dark instantly.

My son turned to look at me, his eyes filled with tears. "Mom, I didn't hit him. He fell and scraped himself."

"I'll take him to the hospital." Miranda stood up and carried Alex toward the door.

Jerome instinctively followed. "I'll go with you."

However, Miranda avoided his hand, her voice distant. "You should take care of your own family first."

After she left, disappointment was written all over Jerome's face.

He turned to my son and slapped him. "Fergus Shaw, who told you to bully your little cousin?"

My son covered his face, his voice trembling. "I didn't."

He said Alex thought he was dirty and would not let him sleep on the bed, so he slept on the floor. However, Alex forgot about it and fell off while getting up to go to the toilet, scraping his face.

Jerome did not believe it and raised his hand again. "You dare lie to me?"

I quickly grabbed his arm. "Jerome Shaw, my son doesn't lie."

He looked at me, took a few deep breaths, and then said, "Nathalie, take the kids and leave."

I froze. "Now?"

"Yes, now!" He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "You've only been here half a day and already turned this house upside down. You wanted money, right? Just go back. I'll send it next month when I get my salary."

Then, he walked into the house and threw out the tattered bags we had brought—roughly and without a word.

Then he turned and rushed out, clearly heading after Miranda.

The front door was wide open. The cold wind howled and blew against me and the kids.

My son and daughter started crying.

"Mom, I must have done something wrong. I'll apologize to Alex. Maybe then Dad won't be mad anymore."

My heart twisted.

Even though I knew Jerome no longer loved us and his heart belonged to Miranda, I still had a sliver of hope.

However, that tiny sliver had vanished.

I took our bags and took the children with me.

My son asked, "Mom, are we going home?"

I shook my head.

I took them to the hospital.

Even though it was late at night, the emergency room was still full of people.

By the time we arrived, Alex's wound had already been treated.

Jerome held him in his arms. A family of four—all smiles and harmony.

I walked toward them with the children.

Seeing us, Jerome panicked. "Why did you follow us here? Leave now! Don't let anyone see you!"

He looked at us like we were some sort of plague.

Only Miranda was calm. She smiled at me and said, "Nathalie, Alex's injury isn't serious. Don't worry. You should go back."

With that smile still on her face, I knelt with my two children.

"Miranda, I'm begging you. Please give me back my husband. Please have mercy on us!"