Ex-Wife, I'll Make You Regret It to Your Guts

In my past life, I was married for seven years, during which I pursued her for the same amount of time, while she took care of her male best friend who also had stomach cancer for seven years.

Even on our wedding night, she had to go look after him.

She justified it by saying that stomach cancer was a big deal, while our wedding was a minor affair.

Now, in this new life, I didn’t care anymore. I pushed her towards her best friend.

Yet she cried and begged me to come back.

“Matt, Mike is going for a hospital check-up today. Can you help me deal with your sister?”

Still struggling to accept my rebirth, I received a call from Denise.

Just like in my past life, she brought up Mike every time we spoke.

“Denise, I’ve played along long enough. If Mike needs you so much, let’s just get a divorce.”

With that final word, I hung up decisively.

As I looked around the familiar room, it took me a while to accept the reality of my rebirth.

Memories flooded back, vivid and overwhelming.

In my previous life, Denise broke up with Mike due to her parents’ objections and ended up on a blind date with me a month later.

On the day of the date, Denise was silent the entire time.

I thought it was just her being shy and reserved – nothing wrong with that.

So, after knowing her for a month, we got married in a hurry.

On our wedding night, after sending off the kids who had come to mess with us, Denise changed out of her wedding dress and into casual clothes, saying that a friend was going through a tough time and might do something rash. She was worried and needed to check on him; otherwise, she wouldn’t feel at ease.

At that moment, I had no idea Mike even existed.

I assumed her “friend” was a female buddy.

I sympathetically helped her grab her bag, telling her not to apologize – friends’ lives are important.

She didn’t say another word; she just grabbed her bag and left.

Not even a glance back.

She only returned the next morning before work.

“Oh, my friend has stomach cancer. I’ll need to be with him for a few days. I hope you can understand.”

Denise’s expression from that day was etched in my memory, like a brand on my soul.

The way she casually mentioned him showed nothing but love for Mike, while I felt no hint of remorse from her.

To her, abandoning me on our wedding night was no big deal.

Back then, how did I rationalize her actions?

I handed her a freshly baked tart and poured her a glass of milk, saying, “Life is more important than anything; I understand.”

And when we went to Denise’s family for dinner, her parents asked why she wasn’t with me. I covered for her, saying she was on a business trip and was stressed from work.

From that first lie onward, whenever she needed to hide Mike from her parents, she always turned to me to lie for her.

In front of Denise, for seven years, I was a good husband – kind, considerate, understanding. I never caused trouble or bothered her and never lost my temper.

I wondered if, when the news of my death at the hands of a mentally ill person reached her, she would feel even a moment of sadness for me.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally felt my breath ease, as if the weight I had been carrying had started to lift.

Wasn’t marrying an aimless first love exactly what she sought in her past life?

I gave her that chance.

I wanted to see if she would be happy if she had married Mike in this life.

“When Mike was suffering, you saw how painful it was for him in the videos. If he had other friends besides me, he wouldn’t be begging me to accompany him. Is this worth the fuss?”

Denise’s call came in again. Just seeing her number, I could already imagine the hatred in her eyes.

Furious, filled with resentment.

She had sent me photos of Mike suffering from his illness.

It was true – Mike was in pain, struggling.

But her pain ran deeper than his.

In those photos, Mike looked pale and trembling, while she carefully wiped the sweat off his bare back with a towel, as if afraid of hurting him.

For seven years of marriage, she had never wiped the sweat from my brow when I was sick.

She didn’t even bother to ask how I was doing.

But what about me?

In my past life, I always understood her, empathized with how hard it was for Mike to be ill, but who ever cared for me?

For seven long years, they stood at the center of morality, yet disregarding me.

They sacrificed my life for their convenience and expected me to empathize with their struggles.

In the end, I even died trying to give them money.

I wasn’t the one who made Mike sick, and I certainly wasn’t a relative or friend with any obligation to pay for his misfortunes.

“What’s this, Denise? We’ve been married for seven years. Have you ever looked me in the eye? I swallowed my anger when you went to be with him on our wedding night, but I have many more years ahead of me. I can’t keep enduring this.”

In my previous life, I was filled with guilt and restraint, never even considering a divorce with Denise before I died.

I knew her attitude.

To her, my mention of divorce must have come as a complete shock.

It was entirely without warning.

After hanging up on Denise, I took a cab home.

“Matt, you finally remembered your sister. Weren’t you supposed to go to your father-in-law’s with Denise? Why are you back alone? Where’s Denise?”

My sister was eating a bowl of plain spaghetti when she saw me come home. She put down her bowl and went into the kitchen to make me some braised beef.

I lost our parents when I was very young, growing up relying on my sister.

She cared for me deeply.

“Sis, I missed you.”