The day I was reborn, I came across that anonymous post again.

“My sponsor is like a sister to me, but her husband gives me butterflies.

“I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop myself from feeling this way. Yesterday, we got down and dirty on the couch she bought.”

Back in my past life, this very post broke me.

In a fit of rage, I exposed their filthy secret to the world.

The girl I once gave my heart and soul to help succumbed to cyberbullying and took her life by jumping off a building.

After the funeral, my husband, Taylor Rogue, became a devoted and gentle man, only to lock me up in a mental institution the moment I put down my walls.

“You should spend the rest of your life atoning for ruining Ivy!”

With three years of pills and electric shock stripping away my sanity and dignity, I climbed to the roof and leaped.

When I opened my eyes, I was back to the moment everything began.

I stared at the post, my finger hovering over the screen.

In my previous life, I spat out a slur and shared the post, setting the internet ablaze.

With the online abuse getting to her, Ivy Bell fled to the rooftop.

I was there when she stepped off the ledge.

My husband, Taylor Rogue, was present as well.

He cradled Ivy in her pool of blood and looked up at me.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Three months later, he came back to me, tender and attentive as before.

The moment I lowered my defenses, Taylor signed me into a psychiatric ward.

“You took the love of my life away. You can rot in hell for all I care!”

I spent the next three years in a cage.

Between forced medication and electroshock therapies, I eventually escaped by jumping off the roof.

I opened my eyes, and I was back.

Taking a deep breath, I tapped into the comments.

Hot comment #1: “Wake up, girl! You’re biting the hand that feeds you!”

Hot comment #2: “I can tell that the guy works in academia by his hands. They are calloused and without a wedding ring. Kinda creepy if you think about it.”

Hot comment #3: “Following! I hope the wife goes full savage!”

…

I took screenshots of the post, comments, and IP address.

After documenting everything, I archived the lot to an encrypted cloud folder.

Logging out of my social media, I used an alternative account to search for Ivy’s handle and follow her.

I made sure to subscribe to her online presence on every platform.

With that, I logged back into my social media.

Taylor’s message was pinned at the top.

“Abby, I need to be at an important faculty dinner tonight, so I’ll be home late. Don’t stay up for me.”

Lifting my chin, I stared at the pristine beige sofa in the middle of the room.

The sofa was replaced last week because Taylor, his brows furrowed, whined about an odd scent from the old fabric that bothered him.

Now that I thought about it, it was probably his guilty conscience at play—stains and smells he could never scrub away.

Time passed until the click of the turning lock echoed through the entryway.

Taylor returned home, carrying a faint stench of alcohol and an unfamiliar, sickly-sweet fragrance on him.

My presence in the living room took him by surprise.

“You’re still up.”

His voice dripped with tenderness.

The tone was identical to when he admitted me into a mental asylum.

As usual, I handed him a pair of slippers.

He took the slippers, his gaze shying away from mine. He made a beeline for the bathroom.

“I reek of booze. I’ll hop into the shower.”

The shower was running.

The bathroom door was left ajar.

Amid the steaming shower, I could see the fresh claw marks across his broad back.

I clenched the fabric of Taylor’s pajamas, my mind wandering back to his struggling days as a PhD student.

It took me three jobs to keep us afloat. At the time, he held me and said, “Abby, I’m going to give you the life you deserve.”

The shower turned off.

Taylor emerged from the bathroom drying his hair, water dripping from the ends. He plopped his phone down on the coffee table.

His screen lit up, notifying a new message.

“Professor Rogue, see you at our usual spot after class tomorrow.”

Ivy was saved as the contact.

Color drained from Taylor’s face, and he was quick to kill the screen.

He turned to me, his gaze shifting.

“It’s one of my kids in the department. She’s asking about her thesis.”

“Oh,” I responded offhandedly before grabbing the glass of water on the coffee table for a sip.

“I will be passing by your campus tomorrow. Should I drop off some fruit at your office?”

Taylor paused from towel-drying his hair before uttering with a smile, “Sure. Thank you, babe. I might not have time for you since my schedule is pretty full tomorrow.”

“It’s alright. I’ll head out after leaving the fruit. I’m turning in for the night.” I got up to return to the bedroom.

“Abby,” he called after me.

I looked back.

He sat there under the glare of the living room lights.

A shadow fell across his face.

This was the face I had fallen in love with for a decade.

Now, I didn’t even recognize him at all.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

Taylor dropped his jaw for a moment. In the end, he simply said, “Get some early rest.”

I nodded and sauntered into the bedroom.

The door closed behind me.

Putting my weight against the door, I sank to the floor.

I shivered all over.

However, no tears escaped my eyes.

I did enough crying in my past life.

This time, it was their turn to weep.

…

The next day, I showed up outside Taylor’s office with a basket of fruit in hand.

The door was cracked open. Through the glass, I caught Ivy bending over his desk, wearing the pale blue dress I’d bought her.

It was my gift to her on her birthday three months ago.

With tears in her eyes, she gave me a bear hug. “I don’t deserve you, Abby.”

Now, she was cozying up with my husband in the office in that same dress.

Ivy leaned in, her neckline dipping just enough for her chest to nearly brush against Taylor’s arm.

Taylor sank back into his seat as if keeping his distance as a respectable teacher would.

However, from where I stood, I could spot his hand beneath the desk.

His fingers traced the outline of Ivy’s leg, sheathed in stockings.

My nails dug into my palm, and a sharp pain kept me grounded.

I became Ivy’s sponsor through an education grant when her hometown was hit by a flood three years ago.

Her first letter to me came in neat handwriting.

“Abby, you’re the light in my life. I promise to work hard in my studies and live up to your expectations.”

My heart went out to her as she had it tough in life. Besides her tuition fees, I covered her clothes and living expenses.

I told her, “Just think of me as your sister. Just ask if you need anything at all.”

Yet, this was the thanks I got.

“Mrs. Rogue?”

First to notice me, Ivy barely hid the panic in her eyes and snapped her back upright.

Taylor recoiled his arm and rose to his feet, his smile stiff.

“You’re here as well, Abby.”

I set the basket on the desk and turned to Ivy.

“Oh, Ivy. I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you here to consult Taylor?”

“Uh… Y-Yes… I can’t seem to get this one question right.”

Ivy kept her head down, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress.

A smile hung over my face. “Taylor sure is dedicated, even taking the time out of his schedule after class for his students.”

I deliberately highlighted the after-class session.

Taylor grimaced as tension rose in the air.

Ivy shifted her gaze to Taylor.

Taylor cleared his throat. “You’re excused, Ivy. We’ll finish this discussion another time.”

“Alright.” She grabbed her books and strutted out of the office.

As the door shut, Ivy stole one last lingering look at Taylor.

“What brings you here?” Taylor asked, his voice laced with criticism.

“Is there a reason I can’t be here? Are you trying to keep me away?”

His expression soured.

I responded with a grin, “I was just kidding. Why so tense?”

Getting to my feet, I approached the window.

Down below, Ivy walked out of the academic building.

She was typing on her phone.

Then came a notification on Taylor’s phone seconds later.

With my back facing Taylor, I gazed out the window.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach.

“I should get out of your hair.”

That night, Taylor cleared the dirty plates away for once. He kept the faucet running in the kitchen.

He stepped out of the kitchen, drying his hands, his voice tender.

“You know Ivy’s life has always been a struggle. University didn’t come easily for her. I was just looking out for her a little more.”

His profile, bathed in the warm light, reminded me of his proposal under the stars. He cupped my face in his hands and made his promise.

“You deserve only the best in the world, Abby.”

I smiled without a word.

Taylor’s breath beside me in bed settled into a long, even rhythm in the stillness of the night.

I opened my eyes and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

…

The phone’s screen illuminated my face in the dark.

I punched my birth date, but it wasn’t the right passcode.

My heart sank.

I entered the date of our anniversary. Yet, I was nowhere close to unlocking his phone.

In the end, I tried Ivy’s birthday on a grim hunch.

The home screen came into view.

A whole new world opened up before my very eyes.

The album was filled with hundreds of close-up photos of them, embracing, kissing, and taking selfies in hotel mirrors.

The timestamps revealed that the first photo was taken over a year ago.

There were hotel confirmations and fine-dining bills, paid for using the joint bank account I had given him access to.

Nothing hit harder than the photo of that prenatal check report.

Ivy’s name was listed in the medical record, and she was six weeks pregnant.

Based on the date, she had conceived right when I was in the hospital from a miscarriage.

Taylor’s handwriting was on the ultrasound. “I hope our baby has your eyes.”

Memories slammed into me all at once.

Only two months ago, I rushed out of the apartment with my eight-week belly to sign an urgent document for Taylor.

I slipped and lost the baby.

At the time, Taylor was away at an important conference in the next city. He hurried back through the night and held me in his arms, crying.

That same night, Ivy shared a post on her social media.

“Under the stars with my favorite person.”

Her GPS tag placed her in the neighboring city.

I bolted into the bathroom, locked the door, and cranked the water faucet.

As the sound of rushing water played in the background, I bit down on the towel and let my tears run, my body wracked with tremors.

The woman in the mirror had bloodshot eyes and a discolored face.

I endured three years of fertility treatments, all to bring a child into this world.

In the end, I lost my chance at motherhood forever because I picked up a package for Taylor while he was busy with another woman.

Wiping away my tears, I took pictures of the evidence and sent it to my inbox.

I erased all traces of my snooping before returning the phone to the nightstand.

Taylor rolled over in bed, blissfully unaware.

I lay back next to him and stared at his profile.

This was the face I once loved to my very core.

The only thing on my mind now was to tear it to pieces.

I wanted them to feel what it was like to fall from grace.

The next day, I set my plan in motion.

With the money from my personal savings, I hired a reputable private investigator.

I quietly took stock of the family asset.

The down payment for the apartment came from my family.

Taylor kept his own earnings, claiming that a man of his stature had to keep up with appearances.

I copied every piece of evidence, stored it in an encrypted cloud, and sent a backup USB to my most trusted friend.

My phone buzzed. It was a voice message from Ivy, and her voice was choked with sobs.

“Abby, I-I might be pregnant. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared…”

I stared at the messages, my fingers trembling with anger.

“Don’t be scared. I’ve got you. I’ll take you to the hospital tomorrow. If you’re expecting, I’ll fight for you,” I texted back.

Meanwhile, Taylor came home and held me in exhaustion.

“Let’s try for another baby, Abby. I’ll take better care of you this time.”

I nestled in his embrace, sniffing the sickly scent on his collar. I never felt sicker.

My phone lit up with a message from the private investigator.

“I’ve secured clear footage of them spending the night at the apartment outside campus. Also, I have found some evidence of Taylor covering Ivy’s rent with the research grant.”

I replied, “Don’t stop keeping tabs on them. I’ll pay more for the rushed job.”