In my fifth rebirth, I returned to the day before Grayson and I were meant to register our marriage at City Hall.

I signed the contract with the indie music label I had once rejected for the sake of a so-called "family."

Then, I drove to a clinic alone and ended the pregnancy that resulted from one of Grayson's drunken mistakes.

Under my pillow, there was no longer a letter to my future child, but a one-way bus ticket to a music festival in Chicago, dated nineteen days away.

In my third rebirth, I tried playing the part of the perfect wife and mother. I tried showing weakness, even threatened to kill myself, but none of it earned me an ounce of Grayson's affection.

While I was crippled by morning sickness, he was out celebrating with the woman he’d always wanted, their champagne glasses clinking in a toast.

The fourth time, I held on until the very end, just to see how it would all play out.

In my hospice room, I watched as Grayson held Claire, slow-dancing before my deathbed. My daughter, Lily, happily filmed them on her phone, as if they were the real family and I was just an intruder.

I finally surrendered.

So in this fifth rebirth, my goal wasn't to win his love. It was to erase myself from his world completely.

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1

The moment the email from the indie label landed in my inbox, I drove over and signed the contract on the spot.

The agent who met with me, David Chen, watched in surprise as I signed without a flicker of hesitation.

"Paige, two months ago, you were adamant. You said you were getting married, starting a family, that Chicago was completely off the table. What changed? Why the sudden rush to sign today?"

He didn't know I had been reborn. This was the fifth time.

In the original timeline, I was just an orphan who grew up in foster care, waiting tables at a small-town diner. Grayson's mother, Eleanor, was a regular. After I lost my job, she took me in.

I fell in love with Grayson at first sight. He was the star of our local theater troupe—handsome, talented, and utterly magnetic on stage. Everyone said he was destined for greatness, that he’d become a real star and spend his life in the spotlight.

I knew he was in love with the troupe's leading lady, Claire. For a high school dropout like me, he was an impossible dream.

But one night, after a cast party, he got drunk, mistook me for Claire, and we slept together.

From that one night, I got pregnant.

Overcome with guilt, Grayson took my hand, insisting the honorable thing to do was to take responsibility and marry me.

For him, I rejected David's contract offer, eagerly planning a life with him: marrying in our small town, raising our daughter, and caring for his ailing mother, Eleanor.

But after we married, Grayson and Claire toured the country together, officially as "stage partners."

He was away more often than he was home, but he’d send a postcard each time, telling me to hold down the fort and not to worry.

I would clutch those cards to my chest and tell myself it was normal for the theater troupe to be this busy.

I had to be a dutiful wife. Wait patiently. Never push, never disturb him.

He would come back to his family. Eventually.

But by the time I reached middle age, I had buried the frail Eleanor alone and raised a daughter who despised me.

I had been worn down to a haggard shadow of my former self.

I never saw my husband return. Instead, I saw a post on social media hailing him and Claire as the "golden couple of the stage."

The post said they had bought two adjacent downtown apartments, knocked through the wall between them, and filled the new space with production stills from their decades of collaboration.

The post called it the "artistic sanctuary of the golden couple."

My daughter shoved the tablet in my face, her features twisted with resentment.

"Just divorce him already, I'm begging you! You trapped Dad with that pregnancy and made him miss out on the love of his life. Why are you still clinging to him? Just let him go so I can finally live in a nice house!"

How could I just accept that?

Throughout our marriage, I had been completely submissive. I never fought back, never played games, never demanded more.

I played the part of the perfect, uncomplaining wife.

How could I admit defeat without a single fight?

Perhaps if I went back, if I were a little more proactive and a little less meek, I could win his heart.

It was on that day that a magical voice appeared in my mind, offering me five chances at rebirth.

I used three of them to return to different points in our marriage, desperate to win Grayson's attention and love.

The first time, I was reborn in my early pregnancy. I wrote a letter begging Grayson to skip an out-of-town audition and come home to be with me.

He wrote back that Claire had just landed a huge role and he had to throw a party for her, so he couldn't make it.

As I retched in the bathroom, I could hear the neighbors whispering, calling me the poor woman who couldn't keep her husband home.

The second time, I was reborn on the day Claire received a theater award nomination. I rushed to the celebration and took care of him all night after he got blackout drunk.

But every drunken word he slurred was for her: "Claire, if we're both still single when we're old and gray, I want to build a home with you."

The third time, I was reborn on the day Claire had a breakup and called Grayson to comfort her. I lost control and had a massive fight with him.

Grayson didn't even spare me a glance. He shoved me to the floor and rushed out the door to be with the woman he loved.

The fourth time, I was on my deathbed, my breath shallow.

And my husband, his hair now gray, was still as handsome as ever.

He held Claire by the waist, slow-dancing right in front of my bed, a tenderness in his eyes I had never seen him show anyone, least of all me.

My own daughter, Lily, sat nearby, holding up her phone to film them.

"Dad, Claire, don't be shy! That last pose would be perfect for a kiss!"

I had spent my life by his side, but I’d never once occupied a place in his heart.

Even my own daughter didn't acknowledge my existence.

Even on my deathbed, I was just an obstacle in their love story, a spectator to their happiness, a responsibility Grayson could never shake.

"For my last chance, can you send me back to before I met Grayson?"

"No. The earliest you can return is the day before you and he went to register your marriage at City Hall."

Through the painful lessons of four lifetimes, I finally understood. His "responsibility" was just a performance to maintain his perfect public image, and my sacrifices only served to free him to chase his muse without a single worry.

This life, I was done playing.

"Then send me back to the day before the wedding."

"I'll end it all right there."

After pressing my final, clear fingerprint onto the contract, I couldn't stop the tears from falling.

David said kindly, "Go ahead and cry. That's good. Musicians need that passion."

"But now that you've signed, you're heading to Chicago for the music festival in nineteen days. And once you're in a band, you'll be touring all over the world. Have you talked this over with your fiancé?"

"I don't have a fiancé," I said, wiping away my tears. They weren't tears of sorrow, but of the sharp, clean relief of a new beginning. "And I'm not getting married."

When I returned to Eleanor's old house, Grayson was at the dining table, looking troubled.

Tomorrow was the day we were supposed to go to City Hall.

In my past life, on this very day, the woman he loved, Claire, had invited him to an important master class—a stepping stone to Broadway. She wanted Grayson with her. Although Grayson ultimately chose me, he spent the entire day on the phone placating her.

My heart had been brimming with the simple joy of marrying him. I prepared a lavish dinner and served it to him.

He picked at his food while on the phone with her. "Yeah, I'm having roasted chicken and your favorite vegetable salad... Why don't you come over and try some tomorrow?"

The day after we registered, he actually brought Claire to our home for a "celebration." In reality, he was making his new wife cook for his muse.

"Paige, we're supposed to get our marriage license tomorrow, right?"

Grayson finally spoke, his fingers drumming restlessly on the tabletop. I nodded without a word.

Grayson hesitated, his gaze drifting. "Claire has a really important master class audition in the city tomorrow. She's anxious and needs a partner to run lines with... You know I'm the one she has the best chemistry with..."

In the past, I would have pleaded with him to stay. Now, I just looked at this master of pretense and smiled calmly.

"If it's that important, you should go with her. Besides, the forecast says it's going to rain tomorrow. Probably not a great day to get married anyway."

Grayson looked stunned, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. A flash of relief washed over his handsome face, quickly masked by a show of hypocritical guilt.

"Paige, you're so understanding. But I can't just leave you. Not when you're carrying my child..."

"It's fine," I interrupted his self-pitying act. "We can reschedule. Why don't we aim for nineteen days from now?"

Grayson found a calendar and flipped ahead.

"That looks like a good day, and the weather's supposed to be nice. Let's set it for nineteen days from now!"

He gave me a grateful hug and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Thank you, Paige. I swear I'll make it up to you when I get back."

I watched his back as he hurried off to make another call, a new lightness in his step. Nineteen days from now, he wouldn't need to make anything up to me. Our shared future would have already vanished into thin air.

Soon, we would both be free.